Another Cold Day, Part 2

Another Cold Day
Part 2 of 2
an4@anon.lelnet.com

Belinda clicked the link for part 2.
   she leaves cigarettes sitting out by her computer. now, cigarettes aren't
cookies or ice cream, and getting caught having stolen them carries different
consequences than pinching a few of mom's chocolate chip wonders or a few
scoops of homemade rocky road. this is the big time.
   i was almost comatose from the excitement.
   of course the question is why is this in alt.selflove. well, my sister has
always said that smoking is better than sex because you can do it with your
clothes on. there's a little bit of truth to that, but really, my sister is
the last person to pass on sex. the reason is that she loves to masturbate. i
think there are two types of people- people who do, and people who lie. She's
definitely one of the former, and more than once she's told me about how she
likes to combine smoking and masturbating. so there's your selflove.
   well, that's what i was  thinking about. i had the house to myself, my
sister's cigarette are sitting there by her computer and i wanted to try one.
   it's funny how smoking can sneak up on you. i mean, mom always smoked and
nanci has been smoking so long it's hard to remember back to when i was six or
seven and she didn't yet. but i'm not one of those girls who's `always wanted
to smoke'. you know those stories they have on the internet about some pretty
teenage girl who first thought about smoking when she was four or five and all
that. it doesn't happen that way, at least it didn't for me. i just got up
this morning and went to school and never thought about it. but walking into
the house this afternoon it just hit me. i can smoke if i want to.
   The cigarettes are there. The urge, which wasn't there a short time ago, is.
The availability is a big thing. I don't think I would have walked into a
store and bought cigarettes, but my sister gave me an opportunity and I
decided to take it.
   (end part 2)
   Belinda clicked the `get all segments' link.
   well, i lit that cigarette and drew deeply on it. when you live with smokers,
knowing how is part of life. I knew that taking a deep inhale the first time
was risky, but it wasn't like my lungs weren't ready for it.
   they were and it was- well, fucking awesome. awesome or freaking awesome or
really awesome wouldn't cut it. it was fucking awesome. i took a second hit on
the cigarette and the only thing I could think about was masturbating. it hit
me like a wave. i mean, i just dropped my pants right there in my sister's
room and went to it.
   i came before i finished the cigarette, so i sat there and finished it, lit
another one, and did it again.
   i smoked four cigarettes that way and by then i was so exhausted i just went
and took a long hot shower. my mother came home about fifteen minutes later
and went straight upstairs to her room. if she noticed the smell in the house,
she didn't say anything. that was about a week ago. it took me this long to
put the experience into words, but i feel a lot better having done that.
   i've told my sister that i've started smoking- good idea, because now she
gets me cigarettes when i need them. i smoke about half a pack a day and soon
i'll tell my mom, who will probably be all right with it.
   and in the tradition of alt.selflove, i masturbate while smoking every chance
i get. in fact, i was smoking (and masturbating) while i wrote this. maybe
tonight i'll tell my mom what i've been doing- the smoking part at least.
   i hope my story encourages other young women to try smoking. you don't know
what you're cheating yourself out of by not smoking. if you read this, you
probably like to play with yourself as well, and self-pleasure is so much
better when it's done while you smoke. feel free to send me an email and let
me know what you think.
   love,
   amyjet
   (smoker/masturbator extraordinaire)

   Any doubts about what to do next were gone. But first, Belinda opened Claris
Emailer and started a new message.
   
   Dear Amyjet,

   I read your posting to alt.selflove.  I was impressed with a number of things
about your writing. Your candor was refreshing and as a fellow new smoker, you
made me feel as though you understood the experience I myself was having. It's
especially nice when you can look at your own emotions through someone else's
eyes and realise that while you remain unique, you are not alone. 
   I'm not going to take up a lot of your time and I don't expect you to
respond, but I want you to know that as soon as I send this e-mail, I'm going
to go upstairs, light a cigarette, and pleasure myself. You're an inspiration.
I hope that means something to you, because I was so impressed by what you had
to say.
   
   belinda manello

   She sent the e-mail and walked up the stairs to the bathroom, taking her dish
with her. Once she was naked, she lit a cigarette and lay down in the middle
of the floor on a towel. She just lay there smoking until the bathroom was
full of the sweet smell of second-hand smoke, and only then did she start to
work with her free hand. She took her time, finishing the cigarette and
pausing to light another one. After her climax, she lay back and smoked in
glorious silence, wondering if her writing skills would be up to the task of
putting something like this into writing. She had her doubts, but she knew
that at some point she would have to try.
   She waiting a while, finishing the cigarette and then lighting another. Once
she was bathed in the smoke from it, she began the gentle task of pleasuring
herself yet again, recording every subtle nuance of the experience. She wasn't
exactly sure where she could place such a piece of writing but she had a
strange feeling that there would be a market for it somewhere, if not for pay
then for her own personal edification.
   
   The sun went down somewhere. It was not a thing you saw, living here in the
woods, not even on the best of days. And this was by far not the best of days.
But it was a good enough day to know. Belinda steeled herself for her guest.
She left a few things out, things that you might not have available for just
any guest- only when the instinct struck you as it had when she'd spoken to
her earlier.
   By the time it was truly dark, Belinda found herself left with just three
cigarettes. In some cases, that might be a problem for a smoker-
   "I'm a smoker, she said happily just before the knock came on the door. "A
smoker, damn it. And I love it." As flesh was applied to wood, she lit a
cigarette, wanting to show off her newfound liberation. She held the smoke
from the lighting in her lungs until just before she swung the door open,
greeting her guest with an off-white plume that was marvelous in feel.
   "May I come in ?"
   It was Anne. The voice matched the woman on the phone, deep and fearless yet
utterly feminine.
   Belinda made a non-committal tilt of her head and waiting. Anne made no move
to enter the house, although it was frigid outside. Instead she lit a
cigarette, smiling.
   "I see that you took my advice," she said with a wry smile.
   "Yes. Come in, please."
   The offer given, Anne crossed the threshold of the house easily.
   "It looks like you have a nice place here," she said with another smile. Her
teeth were straight and white, perfect in every way.
   "I get by. It's amasing how much money you can make spitting out your
weirdest ideas onto a computer screen, you know ?"
   Anne laughed. "I read Antic's Call today. Pardon me for saying so, but I
doubt you consider what you do to be anything as crude as spitting out weird
ideas. That story was purely genius."
   It was never easy for Belinda to take a compliment, especially now, in this
particular circumstance. She forced herself not ponder the obvious, that this
was why she'd left the city in the first place. It would only make the rest of
it that much more onerous.
   "I'm sorry I took some of your cigarettes."
   Anne's nose turned up slightly, an aide to scent. "Not at all. you've been
smoking ever since we got off the phone. I'm proud of myself."
   "Come on in and sit down," Belinda said. As they walked towards the living
room she added "You take pride in getting other people to smoke ?"
   Belinda took the chair farthest from the fireplace. It was particularly
uncomfortable this evening, but there was a good reason for that.
   "Yes. Changing people in many ways. It's more of a passion than a hobby, but
you certainly don't have to apologise for taking my cigarettes. It was exactly
what I wanted you to do, so what could possibly upset me about that ?"
   Anne drew deeply on her cigarette. The tip flared orange, but her chest
didn't heave in the slightest.
   "It was a long walk up here and I'm fairly parched. Would you-"
   "Oh god, where are my manners ?"
   "Wine would be great."
   Taking a long draw on her cigarette, Belinda made her way nervously to the
kitchen. She didn't like letting Anne out if her sight, but that was the way
the game was so often played. She opened a bottle of Merlot and poured two
glasses, then walked back into the living room. She handed one glass to Anne
and then sat down in the chair.
   It was no longer uncomfortable. She looked into the fireplace and saw that
the thing which she had added to her furniture was now burning away.
   Coy or confrontational. That was the question now. Coy would buy time, but
sooner or later the sun would come up. There was little utility in playing
games and Belinda knew it.
   "You found the stake ?"
   Anne sipped her wine, drew on her cigarette, and smiled as the smoke poured
from her nostril. 
   "Yes, of course. I can smell your fear, and that's too bad, because I like
you. Reading your work changed how I felt about you. You have to understand
that your reputation proceeds you.  I mean, you are well-known in our circles.
When I heard that you moved in, well, I called and changed your grocery order
because I wanted to meet you, to try and talk to you. I think you just don't
understand what we have to offer."
   "Why would you say that ?"
   "Because you try to kill us. That's the best indication that there is a
misunderstanding,  isn't it ?"
   "Not necessarily. Anne. I know what you are, and I don't want your life."
   "You didn't want to be a smoker either," Anne said with the barest hint of
sarcasm in her ancient voice.
   "That's different. Smoking is a life choice."
   "I'm offering the ultimate life choice, Belinda."
   "What do the dead know about life ?"
   A big puff of smoke from Anne's mouth was her only answer.
   "You won't leave here alive, Anne."
   "That's the thanks I get for turning you on to smoking ? A stake in the heart
? I must say that's scant thanks, poor gratitude."
   Finishing her cigarette, Belinda lit another. She felt bold as she always did
shortly before the kill. Anne was underestimating her. Perhaps thinking that
she'd finished the job by burning Mr. Pointy. She didn't know about Mr.
Pointier. Or Ms. Pointiest. This was going to be easy.
   Again, Anne did nothing but take one last deep draw on her cigarette. She
didn't feel quite as good as she had earlier in the bathroom, but it was
close. Anne would soon be dead, her body turned to dust as it should perhaps
had been years ago. There would be no more talk of life choices. She might
have turned her on to smoking but that was no reason to let a demon live- or
rather, exist. They had jobs to do. She would kill, Anne would die, and all
would be well on the side of this sleepy snowy mountain.
   She put her wine down. There was no sense impairing her motor skills. There
was another spike on the hutch behind her and she had a clear path to it.
   "Can't we talk about this, Belinda ? A few hours ago you didn't even smoke,
and look what's happened there. Are you sure that you don't want to at least
think about what I'm offering before you soullessly slaughter me ?"
   Belinda pulled on her cigarette and spoke as she exhaled.
   "You're the one without a soul, you freak. You came here to drink my blood,
to feed. You didn't have to force the issue."
   Anne frowned disappointedly.
   "You don't seem to be very flexible, Belinda. I thought that writers were
open to all possibilities."
   "I'm not Fox Mulder, Anne. I kill things like you. You shouldn't have come
here."
   Was there the barest hesitation in her voice ? A hint of regret ? Anne had
just wanted to get in the door. She knew all about Belinda, about how she did
what she did. It was her impression that Belinda had never once had this type
of conversation with one of the breed.
   She stood up. Moved backwards. She was going for the spike in the hutch. Anne
noticed with amusement that she didn't put her cigarette down. perhaps she was
thing about taking a big hit on it right after she staked her, of enjoying the
kill with a little nicotine high. Trying something different and unique. Well,
Anne had created this monster and there was nothing to do now but play out the
gentle string and see what happened.
   She knew Belinda was good, and there was some fear, but her type had a
saying. 
   "We bury our dead alive. Conscience is just the voice of the dead, warning of
us of our own damnation."
   It would be apt here.
   Her movements were fluid. Anne could see just how it was that she'd killed so
many, and thinking about the truly dead did nothing but make her angry and
willing to do what she'd come here for. Even if Belinda had no doubts, she
did. You always did. Killing them was easy. turning them- that was a big step,
fraught with peril. Sometimes they got angry and then-
   Anne forced aside the thoughts of what then entailed, took one final pull on
her cigarette, her chest heaving not at all, and then tossed it behind her
into the fire without looking. 
   She opened her arms wide, asserting the space between her breasts for
Belinda's edification.
   There was one fluid motion. The spike was retrieved from its hiding place.
The arm came forward, a blur of motion, and the sharp wood flared out like the
brand of a cigarette tip, white hot with passion and purpose.
   It shattered against the breast plate that Anne was wearing. Her hand flashed
out, caught the wrist holding the stake, and snapped it effortlessly. Belinda
howled in pain and dropped her cigarette, which Anne stubbed out. It was a
nice house after all- no sense having it burned down. She flashed out with her
free hand and broke Belinda's pert, pretty nose. A shame, but it would heal
once she was dead. 
   The woman collapsed from the pain. There was no faulting her for that. She
might have gotten by with the nose or the wrist, but both ? Anne had faced
others like this one, and she always knew what to do- and the metal
breastplate, inherited from her father in 1562, was certainly a help as well.
Anne followed her to the floor and wasted no time. She sunk her teeth into the
woman's neck and drank, drank until she was all but sick from it, more than
even her ancient appetite called for.
   As Belinda expired, Anne calmly lit a cigarette, wrote Belinda a brief note,
and then walked back out into the night snow, confident that eventually, she
would see her new friend again. Hopefully she wouldn't choose to hold a
grudge.

   Belinda woke up with the worst hangover of her life. It was pitch black in
the house and a little cold. She looked at the fireplace and was surprised to
see that the fire had gone out- in fact, there was a thin layer of what looked
like snow over the ashes.
   She started to remember things. Reaching up, she felt at her nose, which
should have been broken. But it perfectly straight. There was crusted dried
blood which came off in her hand- she couldn't see it, but she could smell it,
even though it had entirely oxidised. Shaking her head, she stood up and
walked into the kitchen. Water and patience, they were the things for an
hangover.
   There was something more, something besides what had happened to her nose.
But she couldn't remember, it was all a blur.
   The light over the sink was on. The carton of cigarettes was still sitting
there, and she had the most overwhelming urge to smoke one.
   As she picked up the carton she saw that there was a note attached by a piece
of tape.
   "You'll have plenty of time to smoke these now- Anne."
   Belinda's scream was only broken when she slid the first cigarette from the
pack in her mouth and lit it.

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