Wes came to for the second time that day, when he was unceremoniously dumped into a tub filled with hot water.
He gasped and sputtered, thrashing around wildly, while he tried to orient himself.

Breathing hard, he forced himself to calm down enough to sit up, taking stock of his surroundings.
He was in a small, unfamiliar bathroom, nothing strange or fancy, the kind you'd expect to find in a million flats all over the country. There was a set of toothbrushes and the usual array of bottles and tubes full of creams, soaps and lotions on the counter next to the sink.

It looked like it had been fairly clean and well kept until someone had flooded the entire room, left smears of blood on every available surface, dumped a small mountain of towels onto the floor and had thrown a blood-soaked tracksuit into a corner.

The "someone" in question was currently staring down at Wes, grinning slightly at his shocked expression.

He looked fairly young, somewhere in his twenties at most, and wasn't very tall.
He had something of a boyish cast to his face, that was complimented by his slim build, and was dressed in a simple dark shirt and jeans that were slightly too large for him, making him seem even younger.
He also had oddly long hair, still wet from having been washed, that looked like it had never even seen a brush, and that had been tied back into one massive, horribly matted ponytail.

Wes wondered, how someone who looked like that - all mischievous charm and angelic, boyish features - could ever appear to be the least bit dangerous, much less loom intimidatingly over anyone, but the young man standing over him somehow managed to do both just fine.

He found himself curiously reminded of juvenile panthers.
You knew they were almost grown, but their still large, beautiful eyes and playful antics made them seem cuddly and friendly.
It made you want to come close, pet them and stroke their alluringly shiny, silky fur, while at the same time, you could very much tell that you would lose more than just your arm if you tried.

The stranger's presence confused him for a second, and Wes was just about to "politely" inquire (i.e. shout angrily) who he was, why either of them was here, and why he had seen fit to throw Wes - still fully clothed - into a bathtub in such a rude and plainly unbecoming manner (how did he manage that anyway? Wes must weigh at least twice as much as the guy in front of him) when he remembered where he had seen the boy before.

He hadn't been able to make out a face at the time, but he recognized the hair and the build.

When he had last seen him, the young man had been a shadowy, blood-drenched figure, approaching him, surrounded by heaps of dismembered corpses...

Wes' heart stopped as the memory returned.
In that fraction of a second, as realization and recognition hit, their eyes met, and Wes's breath stuck in is throat at the indifference he encountered.

Time stopped for just a moment as he stared up at the monster gazing down at him, seeing his own vulnerability, his powerlessness in the face of something... "other" reflected back at him, and had he had any capacity for thought in that instant, he would have been glad that his trousers were already wet as the water in the tub grew a little warmer where he sat.

The moment broke.

Wes suppressed a panicked scream. Splashing wildly, he tried to move as far away as he could.
It turned out, that wasn't all that far, seeing as there was fairly little room in the small bathtub. He ended up pressed against the wall behind him, his eyes wide with fear.

"Holy shit, holy shit, you killed them," he whispered in horror. "Oh god, you killed them all."

All those screams.. the blood...

They had been begging.

Riot...

Riot had tried to run...

Even after his legs had been ripped off.

He had still tried to run...

Tried until the second he was finally dead.

That twitching foot landing in front of him.

Oh god.

Wes remembered now.

The sight of that Riot-less leg, still spasming, like it tried to get away even without its former owner, the movement spraying blood everywhere.

All over the floor, the ceiling.

All over Wes.

It was what had made him pass out.

Wes's body started to tremble, and he could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
The memory made him sick.

What kind of monster was that guy?

How was anyone even strong enough to do something like that? You can't just rip people apart with your bare hands and... teeth.

Oh god.

Oh fuck.

The teeth.

That thing wasn't even human.

And now it had kidnapped Wes.
Was he for later?
In case it got bored?

His light tremble turned into uncontrollable shivering, and a small sound of utter terror escaped him.
He was going to be tortured, slaughtered and eaten by some crazy, murderous nightmare-monster.

The monster just shrugged in response to his whispered exclamation.

"So? You're still alive, aren't you?", it observed, its voice rough and raspy like it hadn't spoken in a long time.

Wes swallowed. Oh sure, but for how long?

He had a host of urgent questions he wanted answered (like "How do I get out of this with all my limbs still attached and if possible still breathing, please?"), but for now a meek "Why?" was all he managed.
Of course, it never paid to tempt fate, but he just had to know what that thing planned to do with him, and why it had seen fit to kidnap him only to dump him fully clothed into a bathtub.

"They were going to kill you. I killed them. Which makes me your savior, isn't that so?", the monster that looked like a young man, began.
Wes didn't quite see how that was an answer to his question, but he did not like where this was going.

"I didn't set out to do it, but I did save your life. Which, I believe, traditionally means it's now mine. To do with as I want."

Oh god.

Wes did not like where this was going at all.

The young man continued evenly: "Actually, I can't say I care much for that kind of crap, so keep it for all I care."

Wes started to breathe again but did not relax yet. It sounded like he might get out of this with all of his bodily functions still intact, but something was coming, he knew it. After all, why else was he here?

It came.

"However, you do owe me. You owe me for keeping you from being killed, and you owe me again for not killing you along with the rest. After all, you're the one I was originally after. Well, weren't you lucky your friends were in the way..."

An icy chill ran down Wes' spine as the words sunk in.

You were the one I was after...

His opposite went on as if he hadn't just told Wes he had come to the parking garage with the explicit intention of inflicting on Wes all of those things Wes had watched him to to the six guys Bareck had sent.

He almost laughed at the thought that he had ever been afraid of anything Bareck could do to him.

"I need a place to stay, money, clothing, and... food. You will repay your debt by providing these things and anything else I might need. In return, you not only get to live now, but you get to stay alive in the future as well. Understood?"

Oh shit.

"Y-yes," Wes breathed obediently since he wasn't a suicidal idiot. At least not THAT much of one. After all, he HAD managed to "lose" most of the drugs he was supposed to sell for Bareck.

But oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Being the Linchpin's little whore was nothing compared to THIS.

He was going to become Dracula's Lackey.

Would he have to call the guy "Master"?
Go out and buy a coffin?
Help lure innocent people to their death?

Wes felt increasingly cold, despite the warm water.

"Um.. what about this place? I-it's not yours, then?" Wes asked carefully.

"No one was home, so I broke in.
Which is why you better hurry and get cleaned up. I still need you to cut my hair before we leave, and I'd like to be gone before the owners return.
I feel I've killed quite enough people for a single evening.I'll leave fresh clothes by the door." With that, he turned around, adding:
"Oh, and do change the water before you wash, please. I don't much fancy having to smell your piss all night," as he left.

***

"That went well," I commented, as I sat down on the edge of the large bed.

I had just gone through the closet for the second time and had come up with some trousers, boxers, a simple shirt and a particularly ugly button-down that looked like it might fit my tall, lanky friend in the bathroom.

"Alright, I suppose it could have gone better. But it was his fault really. No need to react like that when I was being perfectly friendly."
I sighed.

The couple on the bed didn't answer.

But then, they couldn't, so that was only to be expected.

I could hear soft whimpers and splashes along with the wet gurgling of the water being drained from the tub, as my new friend went about trying to remove his wet clothing with that broken wrist of his.

"So, yes, that last comment was uncalled for, I know. He doesn't look the type to enjoy bathing in his own blood and filth anyway. But that terrified act was just so... so very irritating."

I shook my head at myself.

"I don't get it. Why do I even care? No offense, but I don't even like you people all that much, I think. I really shouldn't care at all."

I gave the man's leg a friendly pat. My hand came away bloody.

"I wonder what made me lie about you guys," I mused while I absently studied the red liquid coating my fingers.

"It's not like it's important what he thinks of me."
I frowned, until a sudden, sharp gasp of pain, coming from the bathroom, distracted me from my thoughts.

My friend must have tried removing his wet shirt.

I could almost see his fingers probing his side and finding the stab wound that no longer bled.

After all, I had glued it shut.

Shame about the bit of his shirt that got stuck in the liquid adhesive.
I hadn't noticed until it was far too late to remove it - too occupied with the other "little accident".

A short yell of pain told me, that he too had now discovered the little mishap with his shirt, and that, no, he did not want to rip it off.

I continued to listen to a series of groans and the slapping noise of wet fabric against skin, as he struggled to get out of the shirt despite a corner of it being stuck to his side.

This was followed by a very long pause while - I assumed - he admired my work.

"What. The. Fuck."

Ah, yes.

I nodded to myself, quite proud really.

"Well, sounds like someone just discovered our little 'superglue-surprise'," I told the woman who was tied to the bed next to her husband, while I slowly licked his blood from my fingers.

"You really should have put that glittery stuff in a more secure container. I'm afraid some of it is now permanently glued to your carpet. You don't mind, do you?"

She didn't.

Very nice of her, really, I thought. That carpet had looked rather expensive.

But then, I suppose being attacked by a blood-drenched monstrosity with fangs and claws and then being gagged and tied to a bed does that to people.

In the bathroom, meanwhile, the water had started running again, drumming noisily against the porcelain of the tub, before gurgling merrily down the drain.
A few more groans, coupled with the distinct snipping sound pf a pair of scissors told me the t-shirt debacle had been resolved successfully, and a proper cleansing could now be undertaken.

Well, isn't it nice when things go smoothly?

(2093 words)