Lucretia’s Reflection
Christine Frost
Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, Mexico
Lucretia was happy to recuperate from the frigid and inclement weather in Boston. She could thaw her sensibilities in one of her favorite havens. In Mexico, she appreciated the calmer pace and enjoyed the culture and architecture. She found the nights exquisite. Even the occasional rain was invigorating compared to the cold, depressing rain of Boston’s storms.
The brilliant red sunset burned still, but soon gave way to a cooling blend of blues and grays. A smattering of stars glinted in the sky as the full moon slept just above the tree line. Lucretia enjoyed a walk into town from her condo in a local resort. As she strolled down the boardwalk, she thrived in the abundant activity. Vendors sold everything from silver jewelry to colorful skeleton figurines to commemorate the Day of the Dead. The holiday folk art was so popular that it was sold all year.
An elaborate steeple created out of sculpted metal on a nearby church shimmered under the light of the slumbering moon. Lucretia found a charming café with outdoor seating on a busy street in the center of town. The bar inside was crowded, but several open tables remained outside. She wore a revealing white blouse with black jeans and red suede boots. A gold chain around her neck held a pendant in the shape of an Egyptian ankh made of lapis lazuli. She wore spectacular rings and large hoop earrings. Several wives tugged angrily at their husbands’ shirts as they walked by her. Lucretia would occasionally smile at a good-looking man. She hummed a song by jazz musician Kip Hanrahan from his tribute to the Thousand and One Nights, in which a modern-day Scheherazade chooses a lover by the sound of his boots on the pavement on a sweltering night. The idea suited her mood, and she began to watch men’s feet as they walked by. She wanted the perfect rhythmic gait to attract her attention. The game amused her for a long time, discovering which ones carried handsome faces.
Soon a man solved her game. He was a tall, rugged man with chiseled features. He wore faded jeans and a crimson shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows. His boots struck the pavement in tune with his self-assured pace.
When Lucretia winked at him, he stopped midstep to greet her. “Mind if I join you?” he asked. She smiled and gestured toward an empty chair. He introduced himself as she looked at him expectantly. “Oscar Naranjo,” he said. “How long have you been in Puerto Vallarta?”
“Just got here, but I have visited many times before. Where are you from?” asked Lucretia.
“I’ve lived here for seven years, but I come from New Mexico,” he said.
“I love it there. I rented an apartment in Santa Fe for a few years. I still burn piñon incense to remind me of it,” she said.
He smiled and rested his forearms on the table. Leaning in, he was close enough steal a kiss, but clearly resisted the impulse to do so. “New Mexico, Puerto Vallarta, do we have any other places in common?” He grinned.
“How familiar are you with the Middle East?” she asked.
“Only what they show me on the news.”
“Well, maybe we’ll run into each other somewhere new in the future,” Lucretia said as she dipped her finger into the tall glass in front of her and put it in her mouth. She smiled as she tasted the spicy flavor of the Bloody Mary. “Shall we order you a drink?” she asked, stretching her arm to gesture to a waitress.
Lucretia was grateful for the ability to ingest a mortal’s drink in small quantities. As with a human, the effect of alcohol could make her drunk. Many vampires fed on drunk or high people for a rush. Lucretia laughed suddenly at labeling herself a “social drinker.”
“How’s the Bloody Mary?” he asked.
“Try it. I like it, but I prefer my drinks very strong.” Lucretia grinned.
Oscar licked his upper lip after enjoying a taste. “It’s heavy on the pepper and horseradish, I like that. A lot of lime juice, nicely done,” he said, looking for a waitress. Once he made his order, his attention focused again on Lucretia. “So what do you do when you’re not relaxing here?” he asked.
“I’m a writer, a historian, actually. Historical fiction…it’s hard to classify so neatly. What about you?”
“Contractor. I do painting, carpentry, tile, and plastering.”
“Quite a variety of skills. Nice to have so many talents,” said Lucretia.
Oscar smiled as he touched her hand, stroking down her fingers and admiring the cool softness of her skin. By the time his drink was delivered to the table, they looked like newlyweds as he continued to caress her hand and gaze at her.
Time passed in flattering conversation, and Oscar had several more drinks while Lucretia drank at a leisurely pace. By the time the check arrived, Lucretia was sitting in his lap and his face glowed in ecstasy. When he offered to pay the bill, she refused. “I’m here on family money, allow me,” she said.
After paying the check, Lucretia and Oscar went for a walk through town. Lucretia sat on the lap of one of the alien-looking sea creature sculptures designed to be chairs on the boardwalk. Tourists loved to take pictures of each other in them. She bought Oscar a cup of coffee that smelled of cinnamon and orange. Eventually, she brought him back to her condo. They fooled around, made love, and he fell asleep in her arms as she made up a story that she pretended was part of her own life. She slid down and cradled him, kissing his neck. She nuzzled him, but he slept deeply. Her teeth traced down his throat, not yet cutting the skin. Her mouth lingered over his carotid artery. She bit him with tenderness, using pressure to conceal any sharp pains that might jolt him awake. The rich flavor of warm iron filled her mouth.
She took only what she needed. She considered killing him, but decided that she didn’t want to have to deal with the body. She liked him and preferred to have a reason to kill. She would enjoy watching him swagger out of her condo in the morning. The sound of his boots fading away would remind her why she chose him to spend the night.
Still, she couldn’t help but compare Oscar and Dante. Oscar was handsome, but he didn’t clutch at her heart and make the world slow down like when she first noticed Dante. She smiled as she recalled countless trite scenes from television—the enamored couple wrapped in each other’s arms, the music crescendos, the dim lights, and the time slowed down as they kissed. But Lucretia was that ridiculously in love with Dante. When asked why she felt such love, Lucretia insisted that the intensity of their love was eternal. She believed she would never survive if she ever felt his destruction. By virtue of being his creator, she knew of the link that existed between them. She lamented the fact that the link had to be maintained, or else it would fade and only the vaguest of impressions would be successfully transmitted. Dante had disciplined his mind to block her probing about how to find him, but Lucretia knew his destruction would be perceptible. She therefore could console herself knowing he was out there, somewhere.
Lucretia watched the ceiling fan churn the air. The soft whirring engine lulled her into a pensive state of mind. To her, it was a monumental injustice not to be able to confront and reason with Dante. In her most melodramatic moments, she compared herself to a political prisoner, with the world without Dante as her cell.
Her attention returned to Oscar, caressing his forehead, chasing away strands of his hair with her fingers. His eyes flickered for a moment, but remained closed.
“You poor innocent,” she whispered. “You think you know what it’s like to chase love? I bet you’ll pursue a woman for months before giving up. I’ve been hunting for centuries, but I’m sure I’ll find him. He’ll come to realize my value to him. I’m the only one left from his life. I understand Dante like no other.”
Oscar rolled over, his slumber impervious to her words. She appreciated his quietness. He exuded a sense of calm not normally present in mortals, and she idly wondered if he would be a good candidate for becoming a vampire. She cast aside the idea after a moment: she had no desire to serve as a mentor and to guide him through the course of discovering his new role in the world.
Lucretia allowed herself to rest. She curled against Oscar and enjoyed his body’s warmth. She concentrated on breathing. It was a concerted effort, since it was an unnatural routine as a vampire. She could only imagine his reaction if he discovered her unmoving next to him, cold and immobile as a marble statue. Inducing the usual unconscious mortal habits was a chore at times. Pretending to breathe, shifting and rolling over in sleep, and yawning in the morning were all tasks to be remembered.
When morning came, she rubbed her hands over Oscar’s chest, admiring the shape of his muscles against his ribs. His build was similar to Dante’s. He awoke slowly, but smiled at her affectionate way of rousing him. She kissed his chest, his hands, his neck. He asked her to join him at breakfast, but she politely refused, complaining of an oncoming migraine.
“Will I see you later?” he asked.
“Give me your phone number. If I have time, I’ll give you a call,” Lucretia said.
Oscar’s smirk betrayed his belief that their encounter was nothing more than a one night stand. Although he would have enjoyed her company in the nights to come, he knew she would never call. After he got dressed, he gave her his card with his cell phone number scribbled on the back.
“Be seeing you,” she said with a sultry grin.
“Yeah, sure. Take care,” Oscar said. He walked down the flagstone path, stretching his hands behind his shoulder blades to relieve his back muscles. He basked for a few moments in the bright light of the sun.
“Enjoy your day,” Lucretia said after a few minutes. But he was already on his way, out of earshot. She watched the tropical scene before her: the rustling palm trees, the occasional sound of a coconut plummeting to the ground with a heavy thud, lizards crawling on the walkways and walls. Bright red flowers flourished in the humid air. Bird calls she didn’t recognize surrounded her.
She closed the door to the world of daylight and returned to bed. She longed for dreams about Dante. Even dreams of the ancient past would satisfy her. In spite of her vampiric powers, Lucretia was unable to force any visions. She realized she should have feasted better before venturing to Mexico and promised herself that the next night, she would take what she needed to make up for the loss.
It was a frenetic Saturday night in Puerto Vallarta. The streets were crowded, and Lucretia wandered happily among the people. Restaurants and clubs beckoned, and she meandered in and out of them, searching for the perfect locale. Eventually, she discovered a basement-level nightclub that suited her needs. The clientele was mostly comprised of young people, barely of drinking age. Lucretia admired their youthful exuberance, revealing outfits, and shameless behavior. She could only imagine what dreadful punishments would have awaited her in her day as a young mortal woman if she gyrated and flashed herself in the way that some of them did in the pulsating rhythms that pounded through the sound system. She envied their freedom.
Lucretia scanned the dance floor for a target. Her call was answered by a young man wearing leather pants and a T-shirt advertising a punk band. His black boots were scuffed and his greasy hair hung lazily in his face. He danced alone in spastic, hopping movements. He looked at her with a lascivious glare, confident in his ability to maintain her attention. He swaggered over to her and tugged at the hem of her tank top. “I’d ask you if you got a light, baby, but you’re hot enough to light a whole pack of cigarettes,” he said in a deep voice.
“If you say so,” Lucretia said, placing her arms around his neck and luring him out of his jerky dance movements. She glided with him across the dance floor, staring into his eyes.
“I know what you want,” he said, placing his hands firmly on her hips.
“Do you really?” she asked with a coy expression.
“Hard and fast, baby, that’s how I dance,” he said as he resumed jolting around.
She danced with him, trying to acclimate him to a smoother rhythm. He was reluctant to adjust to her style, jumping up and down like a wild pogo stick. “If you don’t behave, I’ll leave you,” she warned.
The boy steadied his pace once he discovered how easy it was to touch her when he danced in the way she preferred. Without grace, he grabbed at her hips, pulling her to him in clumsy thrusts. He couldn’t seem to help returning to his rabid style of dancing, though. Lucretia endured his tiresome maneuvers long enough to make him winded. His fetid breath reeked of tequila as he panted in her face. His eyes rolled and crossed as he wavered.
“Do you want to go outside and get some fresh air?” she asked, holding him by the shoulders.
He nodded, lurching toward the door in long strides. His clammy hand held hers with a feeling of urgency. She worried that he might get sick, and she didn’t want to deal with a stinking mess, but reasoned that she could leave him unconscious in an alley if he got to be too much trouble.
Once they got to the street, she encouraged him to take deep breaths. They paced slowly in front of the club. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Scott,” he said between gasps. He squinted under the streetlight, disoriented.
“Come on, Scott, let’s get away from the crowd. You’ll feel better,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him out of the narrow street into a more open thoroughfare. His posture straightened and some color returned to his face.
“Guess I did too many shots,” he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
“How many did you have?” Lucretia asked.
“Nine or ten, I think.”
“You’re here on vacation?” she asked.
“Yeah, my parents drag me here every year. It’s all right, though. Now that I can go party.” He laughed, glancing at her from the side, and he toyed with the silver stud pierced through his eyebrow. A blackened phoenix emerging from embers of red and yellow was tattooed on his upper arm.
“Where are you from?” Lucretia asked.
“Tucson,” Scott replied. “Love it there. Nothing beats the scene I have there.”
“How are you feeling now?” she asked, placing her arm around his waist.
“Why, you wanna go make out?” he reached under the back of her tank top. She arched her spine like a cat to escape his rough groping.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” He said. “You touched me first! You some kind of tease?” He sounded like a petulant child.
“Not yet,” she giggled, pulling Scott along. “Not in public. Who knows what it could lead to with us!”
“Now you’re talking. Lead on, then.” He smiled, eagerly following her. “So what’s your name?”
“Lucretia.”
“Weird name. Where are you from?”
“Lately, Boston.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere out of the way.” She was determined to keep him walking at a leisurely and unassuming pace although she was growing impatient as her hunger began to take control. On the wide spectrum of craving, her appetite was dictated by the calculating predatory nature of a wolf. Her senses burned with the scent of this boy’s anticipation. The sharp flavor of Scott’s hormones would flood the taste of his youthful blood.
They eventually came upon a dark cabin near the beach. It was far away enough from the town to provide them with privacy. Pretending to use mild force, she pulled the padlock settings out by the screws. It appeared inside to be a small restaurant kitchen. She noticed a large window, boarded up, that had a wide shelf to serve take out. Lucretia jumped up on a stainless steel counter and allowed Scott to kiss her with wet abandon. He tried to crawl up on her, pushing her down on the counter. Lucretia resisted his shoving and held out her hands to pull him up to recline with her on it.
“I’ve got condoms,” Scott offered, checking several pockets before beaming at the sound of the crinkling plastic packaging. He held it up, flicking it between his fingers like a suave presentation of a business card.
“Good for you,” she said in a voice suitable for a porn movie.
He pawed at her chest as he humped her pelvis with reckless force. If Lucretia were a mortal woman, it would have been painfully uncomfortable. But her preternatural strength spared her the suffering. She rolled him on his side to gain more control over him. Scott moaned and dug his hands into her with ferocity. Lucretia began to press gently on the arteries in his neck with her fingers, cutting off the circulation to his brain. Within a few minutes, Scott grew unbearably drowsy and could not prevent his eyes from closing. He no longer spoke. His vocal chords rasped as he sighed into unconsciousness.
Lucretia gnawed at Scott’s neck, pushing her teeth into his flesh. his blood flowed into her mouth. Her tongue darted over the wound like a thirsty animal’s. His blood was bitter like citrus and infused with tequila. The sting of a manufactured drug—she guessed it was something like ecstasy—flowed over her lips. She tasted hidden rage. She could see him punching walls in frustration and speeding through red lights. She had visions of him throwing endless tantrums. A deepening violence was harbored in Scott’s darkest desires, and she felt his incurable urge to cause suffering. Lucretia realized she was eliminating a dangerous element from society, and she savored his blood. Her teeth tore into him, and she gorged on the waterfall that poured down her throat. She began to feel heavy with his intoxication. A dream-like state descended upon her mind like a thick fog that had to be navigated with caution. She needed to be especially careful of using her vampiric powers because of their influence: the loss of control made her vulnerable to weak judgment.
Once she was done feeding, Lucretia jumped off the counter and gathered Scott’s crumpled form into her arms. She carried him out of the cabin and onto a nearby dock. Before she dumped him into the ocean, Lucretia healed his wounds by rubbing a small amount of her own blood on them. What was left of his blood would show high levels of alcohol and drugs, so she had no reason to be concerned with how officials would determine the cause of Scott’s death.
Finally sated, Lucretia wandered back to her condo, taking a long, scenic tour of Puerto Vallarta’s nightlife. Without the aggravating feeling of hunger, she was able to relax and to enjoy watching people celebrate. Newlyweds embraced and held hands as retired couples hobbled down the sidewalks with canes. Rambunctious children of distracted tourists crashed through crowds like rampant thugs, knocking obstacles out of the way for sport. Elderly local men sat on the curbs, playing dice or cards for money with anyone who was interested. Roaming musicians serenaded romantic couples with soft voices accompanied by the melodic arpeggios of their guitars, crooning traditional songs in the hopes of receiving tips.
Lucretia approached her door with a sensual sway. Her keys jangled in the lock, and the door swung open to reveal her dark and humid quarters. She was pleased with the solace it offered. She relaxed on the hard mattress, stretching until her spine curled upward. But she found that she wasn’t ready for sleep.
She went out onto her patio and sat under the umbrella of the café table. A coconut dropped from a tree, shaking the ground in a dull wave of heavy impact. Lucretia sighed as she stared out into the night, focusing on the collage of constellations drifting overhead. She guessed that Dante was most likely in Europe, a third of a day away from her. He would be sleeping, hiding from the searing glare of the sun. Hoping he was alone, she imagined herself curling against him and kissing his bearded chin. She knew he could never forget her, but she feared that his resentment mounted into an indomitable citadel of revenge. She traced the grooves in the beveled glass table with her fingertips.
Watching the clouds snake across the sky, Lucretia admired the beautiful night. She centered her necklace pendant and traced her fingernails along her veins, longing for Dante’s deepest kiss that would draw her powerful blood. Her heart ached as she watched the unmoored constellations rise and descend in the sky. The moon stared at her with bruised eyes, forlornly sinking into the sea.
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