Page 11 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

More than ever, Regina was committed to saving Zebulan.

Even if he did consider her Satan’s sister.

Chapter 3

What’s your worst nightmare? . . .

It was like an old-time movie reel playing over and over in his head, and on the walls of the cave, and on the ceiling. Even on the dirt floor. No escape. And it was driving Zeb crazy. No, not crazy. Madness might be a relief, actually. Anything but this continual amping up of his emotions to the point of either crushing shame or a raw yearning for what he would never have again, then slam-bang back to the reality of his cave prison. A brief respite. Then a repeat. Amp up, slam back, pause. Amp up, slam back, pause. Amp up, slam back, pause. Again. Again. And again.

Welcome to Hell on earth. Personalized torture. Only the most wicked mind could think of this type of torment.

Zeb had never considered himself invincible, but after a year of agonizing physical torture, he’d deluded himself into thinking he might just be able to withstand all that Jasper threw his way.

He was wrong.

Once Satan entered the picture, the game changed. The essence of evil understood that, for some men, the worst torture involved the head, or the heart. Emotional zapping of the very soul, over and over and over. Pictures of the love he had had, and lost. Pictures of what he had done to gain riches, and how he had paid a price beyond measure.

If only he had been satisfied with his small vineyard in the Shomron valley which fulfilled the needs of his small family and half a dozen workers!

If only he had stayed at home and never bartered his fighting skills with the Roman Army in exchange for coin to purchase more land!

If only he had not returned to the wasting fortress city of Masada!

If only he had not killed, even indirectly, his sweet Sarah and precious twins Mikah and Rachel!

If only he hadn’t taken his own life before he had a chance to repent, assuming he would have come to his senses, eventually!

Days ago, Zeb had been released from the rack. That should have been his first clue that the game had changed. He still had iron cuffs about his raw and bleeding wrists and ankles, but the chains linking him to the walls were long enough that he could lie on the filthy mattress.

He fought sleep, though, because every time he closed his eyes he saw a replay of his sorry human life. And not just the horrible end where he witnessed the dead bodies of his wife and children, and his role in their fate, but the early, happier days when they all lived together on the small plot of rich soil passed down through his family for generations of vintners, a property which had never been enough for his greedy ambitions. Of course, this agonizing replay of his human life was visible all around him, not just in sleep, like 360 degrees of HD television screens.

To make things more unbearable, Craven was always around as witness to Zeb’s visual life. Like a peeping tom of the worst sort. Craven had once been a servant of the Marquis de Sade. Enough said!

Jasper joined Craven on occasion. Dumb and Dumber. Mean and Meaner. They would sit about in demonoid form in special recliners designed to accommodate their tails watching his life as if it were a fucking soap opera. They even ate popcorn and slurped on red slushies made with the blood of the latest human harvest.

Their running commentaries added fuel to Zeb’s burning emotional torture. As intended, no doubt.

“Look at them titties,” Craven said when Zeb was seen making love to his wife.

Slurp, slurp, crunch, crunch.

“I’d like a taste of that honey bush,” Jasper added.

Slurp, slurp, crunch, crunch.

“Ah, look at the little kiddies, master.” Craven was watching Zeb’s children as they played tag among the grapevines. “Wish we had sweet morsels like that here at the castle. Wouldn’t I love to prick some young skin!”

“Children are innocent. We want no innocents here, fool,” Jasper replied.

Slurp, slurp, crunch, crunch.

Lucipires killed evil, irredeemable humans to increase their ranks, but they also preyed on those sinners who might have repented if given a chance to live to their natural deaths.

“I know that!” Craven said. “I’m just saying.”

On the next screen was a view of Masada, and Jasper remarked, “I do like a hellish fire. Wish I had been there.”

Craven nodded. “I do love the smell of burning bodies!”