Beautiful Abomination Read online

  Beautiful Abomination

  Frances Duncan

  Published by Frances Duncan, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Frances Duncan

  Edited by J.C. Hart (she made this book much better)

  Cover design copyright © by Dwell Design & Press (isn’t it beautiful?)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for personal enjoyment only.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental, to a certain extent. Christchurch exists, earthquakes exist (and these ones sadly happened), vampires however do not exist...as far as we know.

  Also by Frances Duncan

  Alison's the Sensible One

  Beautiful Abomination

  Watch for more at Frances Duncan’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Frances Duncan

  Dedication

  Beautiful Abomination

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  Notes

  Acknowledgements

  Sign up for Frances Duncan's Mailing List

  Also By Frances Duncan

  About the Author

  For Gram

  1

  “Come on baby, it’ll be fun.” He spoke directly into her ear, so she could hear him over the noise of the music. His hand moved from her waist to her butt to pull her into him.

  With a show of reluctance, she gave into his eager smile and let him lead her down the corridor, her hand in his. When he glanced back a thrill ran through her but she made sure her gaze was on the floor, sticky beneath her shoes, so he wouldn’t see her excitement.

  Desire rolled off him to mingle with the fumes of the cheap beer he’d drunk. He wanted her, but men always did. She didn’t pretend it was anything special, just enjoyed the ride while it lasted.

  He pushed the door of the disabled toilet open and ushered her through.

  “VIP all the way baby,” he said as she passed, his hand on the small of her back.

  She rolled her eyes. At least it was better than a stall; more room, more privacy.

  The door swung shut and he was on her. Pushing her against the wall, it felt cool against her back, solid. His mouth slid against hers, his body pressed close, his hands tangled in her clothing; seeking skin. Her hands curled in fists at her side, waiting. His breath became ragged and the sound of blood pumping seemed to drown out everything else.

  He didn’t notice she was unresponsive, they never did. His body moved away from hers as he fumbled with the fastenings of his trousers trying to release his erection.

  This had gone far enough.

  She stilled his hands with hers. He smiled, assuming she wanted to take over. His mouth descended towards hers but she shifted her hands to hold his wrists, one hand came up to grasp his chin. His eyes widened in surprise. She tilted his head to one side, gently but with an iron grip, and brought him close. He tried to pull away but couldn’t. She rose on the balls of her feet.

  “Come on baby,” she crooned in his ear.

  His breathing kicked up a pace as did his blood pressure. He finally saw her for what she was and understood the danger he was in.

  The stupid men seduced by her appearance couldn’t see the face she wore underneath, at least not until it was too late. These were moments of clarity when she could smell her prey. The scent of his fear was intoxicating, the closest thing she could imagine to his earlier sexual arousal; she savoured it. If they weren’t in a public place she’d consider drawing it out, extending the experience.

  Her mouth moved down his neck to the pulse beating there, hammering against the skin.

  “It’ll be fun,” she murmured against his neck, her lips brushing his heat.

  Finally, her teeth grazed his flesh. He shuddered then stiffened. The moment just before was her favourite. They knew what was happening and they either surrendered or fought—it didn’t matter which.

  She inhaled his fear then sunk her teeth into his neck right above the pulse which fought like a trapped animal. She’d show it freedom.

  Blood. Better than sex. Better than breathing. She drew it into her mouth and it slid down her throat like a warm embrace. She moaned.

  He started to sag, she moved her grip to hold him up. He struggled weakly and she squeezed till he stopped. Her heels settled back on the floor. For a man who’d wanted to be close to her before he certainly didn’t want to be now. If her mouth wasn’t busy she’d make a sly comment. A little back and forth was fine ordinarily, verbal or physical, but she wanted to concentrate on her meal rather than play with it tonight. The pickings had been slim recently with the tremors narrowing her hunting ground and the pool of prey.

  She wouldn’t hurt him. She knew better than that. She’d improved from when she first started. He’d wake up with a headache like he would have done anyway. There might be some embarrassment at passing out supposedly-drunk on a bathroom floor but it wouldn't be in a pool of his own vomit, she wouldn't leave a mess. She was considerate like that.

  His chest continued to move against hers as he drew shallow breaths. The pounding of his heart quietened. She’d have to stop soon. Only once had she lost control and gone too far. Never again, it was too risky.

  Someone was walking down the hall towards them, she felt the vibration of their steps before she heard them over the racket of the bar. Nothing to worry about, no one could bother them here. Still, over his shoulder she trained her eyes on the door. She had survived this far by remaining alert. The last thing she wanted was someone bursting in and ruining everything.

  The footsteps paused. The moment lengthened, she could smell the woman on the other side of the door.

  As the handle began to rotate she realised, in her hunger, she’d forgotten to lock it. The handle engaged and the door began to move, she extracted herself from the man’s neck to call, “Occupied!” and the door slammed shut. Letting out a sigh of relief she turned back to her victim. His face was pallid, she’d eat no more tonight.

  She released his body and let it slide to the floor.

  2

  14 February 2011

  Josie rushed to work with only a coffee to fill her up—bloody Monday morning—and had just sat down at her desk and slapped her romance novel next to the keyboard when David came to lean against the wall of her cubicle.

  “Morning Jo. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “Morning David.” She smiled back, let out a breath, and switched on her computer. Her novel was thankfully cover down. “What have you got going on today?”

  “Same old, same old.” He was grinning and had started bouncing on the balls of his feet. Something was up, definitely not “same old, same old”.

  Josie turned to give him her full attention. “What is it? I can see you’re bursting to tell me something. Oooh does Mary have some juicy gossip?” Mary, the office manager, knew everything about everyone and loved to talk about it.

  He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her yet this morning.”

  “Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess? Um, you managed to unjam the
printer by yourself?” He shook his head again. “Is it about you? Right. You got a new job? Oh no, don’t tell me you’re leaving.”

  He shook his head, grinning. “I don’t have a new job but I do have a new role.”

  Josie ran through a mental list but couldn’t figure out what role he could possibly be moving into unless... “Is someone else leaving?”

  “No. Someone else is arriving.” He frowned. “Will be arriving,” he amended.

  She tried to let this sink in but couldn’t make sense of it. “I give up. What’s your news?”

  “I’m having a baby!” he shout-whispered.

  “Oh—oh my God.” Josie leapt from her chair in shock. David opened his arms, assuming she intended to hug him. She obliged, patting his back as he squeezed her.

  “Isn’t this amazing?”

  “Amazing,” she repeated blankly, his hands remained against her upper arms as she stepped back from the hug and wrenched her face into some semblance of a smile.

  “Of course, I haven’t told anyone else yet because the whole three months thing—what’s it called?”

  “The first trimester,” she answered automatically.

  “Right, the first trimester. But I had to tell you, Jo.” No one else ever called her Jo, her mother had never approved.

  “I’m—I’m so happy for you,” she forced out.

  He pulled her back into his arms, she closed her eyes briefly revelling in the smell of him. Her eyes were damp when she pulled away.

  “I can see you’re just as affected as I am. I cried too. I’m going to start again.” He laughed. “I’d better go. I don’t want to lose face at work.” David squeezed her hand and was gone.

  Deflated, Josie fell into her chair. She stared blankly at the login box on her screen.

  Deep breaths. Focus.

  After several failed attempts she managed to log in.

  Fuck it. Her boss hadn’t seemed to notice she was late; he was probably still recovering from the weekend. She went out to get another coffee.

  “HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY,” Josie told her friend Kate at lunch.

  “Please tell me you didn’t invite me to lunch for Valentine's day. First off, that’s just sad. Secondly, it’s a Hallmark holiday and we shouldn’t be supporting it. You’re a good Catholic girl, didn’t they teach you about St Valentine in school? He was a Christian martyr—a rebel who died for his beliefs, not overpriced roses.”

  “My relationships aren’t as disposable as yours. I don’t have men wanting to marry me left and right and showering me with flowers. Surely there’s nothing wrong with celebrating love?”

  “I don’t believe in love,” Kate stated flatly.

  Josie frowned. “What about all those men that loved you, that wanted to marry you?”

  “They don't love me. My independence scares them. They want to tie me down, to change me, to put me in a socially acceptable role.” She stabbed her lunch with a fork.

  Josie frowned again. Not knowing how to respond, she launched into what she really wanted to talk about. “Did I get married too young?”

  “Yes,” Kate said through a mouthful.

  “Thanks for your support.”

  “Well, you were young but you were also pregnant and determined not to have a child out of wedlock even though that is such an outdated—”

  “I was there.” Josie cut off Kate before she could start one of her lectures.

  “I half suspected you were batting for the other team even though you weren’t taking any women’s studies courses which seemed to be some sort of prerequisite.” She seemed to be about to launch into a rant but stopped herself. “Wait. Are you and Gary having problems?”

  “No more than normal.”

  “Things still tense since Patsy left?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you heard from her recently?”

  “I saw her for her birthday. She still refuses to see her father.” Josie sighed. “She assures me that she’s fine, she has electricity and clean water, which is more than some people. She just needs some space, some independence. She’s 18 now, what can I do? I wish we could be friends, like I was with my mother. I wasn’t much older than Patricia is when she—you know.”

  “Died, Josie. It’s OK to say it. Saying it doesn’t change things.”

  “As you reminded me at the time.”

  “You didn’t mention it for months! Jesus.” Josie flinched but Kate continued, “If I’d known! You’re very nostalgic today.”

  “I hardly think remembering losing my mother is a fond memory.”

  “What would you call it then—reminiscent?”

  “Much better.”

  “You are such a book nerd. You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Kate just looked at her, eyebrows raised in question.

  “Fine. A guy at work knocked up his girlfriend.”

  “Ah, so it’s making you think about your pregnancy and subsequent marriage.”

  “Yes. No. I—Kate—I—” She finally rushed out with, “it bothers me and I don’t know why.”

  “You were pretty adamant about it at the time but you don’t have to be tied down by the choices you made then. You’re a different person now, you’re stronger.”

  “What? What the hell does that have to do with it?”

  “Are you thinking of getting divorced?”

  “No!” Josie reeled in shock. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “Maybe not divorce then. Maybe your God won’t mind if you don’t live together.” When Josie looked confused, Kate asked, “What exactly are we talking about then?”

  Josie shrank back. “The guy,” she mumbled. “The knocking up.”

  “Do you want to get pregnant again?” Kate guessed. “Want to fill the void with Patsy out of the house? You might not have difficulty conceiving if that’s what’s holding you back, you managed to get pregnant the first time. That’s pretty good fertility. Though you will be classed as a ‘high risk’ case because you’re over 35.”

  “I'm pushing 40 and I don’t want another kid. I want—I want him.” She realised it just as she said it.

  “Him who?”

  “David.” She loved just saying his name, she leant back in her chair and savoured the feel of it in her mouth.

  “Are we back to talking about divorce again?”

  “We were never talking about divorce. It’s just a silly crush.” Josie waved her hand. “It’ll pass.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  Josie shrugged. “Not much to tell. He works with me. We’re friends. He’s English. He’s a couple of years younger than me.”

  “Is it the age thing? Him being young and Gary being so much older than you?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.” She cast around for something else to talk about. “Hey, do you remember how in Uni you wanted to petition them to change women’s studies to feminist studies?”

  “That was short-sighted of me. Feminism has such a bad rep and it would completely leave out herstory. I like Caitlin Moran’s definition of feminism—do you know it?”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

  “Do you have a vagina?”

  She was grateful to have distracted Kate but wasn’t sure this topic was any better.

  “Yes, do you have to use that word? What does it have—”

  “Do you think you should be in charge of it?”

  “Ah, yes?” Wasn’t that obvious?

  “Then you’re a feminist,” Kate concluded. “But it’s a limiting definition as it excludes male feminists. I guess the question for them would be, well, the question for everyone should be ‘do you think women should have control over what happens to their own vaginas?’”

  “Do you have to use that word?”

  3

  14 February 2011

  “Gary, I’m glad you’re here early. Do you have time for a chat?” Bob tilted his head towards his office.
>
  Gary was a little surprised when Bob shut the door behind them. Bob had an open door policy. Gary was more surprised when, instead of taking a seat behind the desk, Bob sat next to him and turned the chair so they were facing each other.

  “As you know, times have been tough recently and we’ve been looking at how we can continue the business.” Bob paused.

  Gary nodded. He wondered who they’d be firing. It sounded like Bob didn’t want to do the job himself.

  “We've had to make some uncomfortable decisions. Today we are talking to all staff members in affected positions—” Gary shifted in his chair, a strange sensation rising in his throat “— I’m sorry Gary.”

  Bob looked a little embarrassed. Receiving no reply, he looked down at his hands and continued, “I am sorry to inform you, Gary,” Bob looked up as though following instructions; make eye contact, mention them by name, “that your role is being disestablished. The reason for this is that there is — that the management, the review decided that we don’t need a senior in this team.”

  Gary’s face felt hard and hot, as if little bubbles were popping under the surface of his skin across his entire body. How could they get rid of him? He thought he’d be the one doing the firing.

  “Now I understand,” Bob continued, “this will come as a shock.” He modulated the tone of his voice to sympathetic. “And I know it is not a particularly flourishing climate at the moment—”

  “I’ve worked here for twenty years,” burst out of Gary’s mouth. He had been distracted lately, maybe that was the reason. He’d thought it would be last in first out, that he’d be safe after such a long tenure.

  Bob blathered on about compensation and counselling.

  Gary liked numbers. They were precise, unemotional. If they didn’t add up, you reworked them until they did. If he only had to deal with numbers, things would be much simpler.

  “There isn’t the work there was. Businesses are closing across the city. We’ve kept people as long as we can but we can’t go on like this. I’d hoped, with some people moving north, we’d be able to stem the cut offs but the drop in work is too big. I’m really sorry Gary.”