"That's the best you could do?"

"The only other people there were mothers with their children. I had to make it quick so I just picked the first loser who eyeballed my cleavage."

Red looks down at the pitiful looking man at her feet. His dirty blond hair is matted with blood and vomit. She scrunches her nose in disgust.

"Beggars can't be choosers, mother. If you want my help with the monthly ritual, you'll have to take whoever I bring home."

Carmine is annoyed. She made all the sacrifices. She let this sorry excuse for a man lick her face. All just so she could appease her mother and bring home a body for the ritual.

"Don't you dare give me that tone of voice! I asked for at least an Eight. This...This here is a Three. Four at best." Red bites her lip. She bends down and straightens out the crumpled man. The man lets out a soft groan.

"You think an Eight would've been strolling down the seashore on a Tuesday morning?" Carmine continues defiantly, "No. An Eight would've been locked in his office screwing the new secretary during lunch break."

Red rolls her eyes. "Touché. Now help me lift him up to the gurney."

The two women hover over the body on the floor. The man's breathing is very shallow and weak. Carmine slips her hands around his armpits while Red grabs his ankles. Together, they lift him up and then heave him on top of the gurney.

Red tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ears. "Push him into the Sacrifice Room while I get the tools."

Carmine nods. She wheels the gurney into the centre of the shadowy Sacrifice Room. It is a small room located in the unfinished basement of their house. It's drafty and incredibly damp. The cold sticks to Carmine's skin like a wet sleeve.

At one point in time, it was supposed to be remodelled into a second kitchen, but the Redozas never got around to saving up enough money. So all it had was a simple white sink hooked up to one side of the wall and a shoddy old carpenter's work bench pushed up beside it.

Carmine tiptoes until she reaches the single incandescent lightbulb hooked up to the electrical grid in the basement. She gives a quick tug on the thin metal chain and the bulb flickers on. The room is bathed in a sickly yellow glow.

Carmine shudders, a prickle of excitement crawling up her spine. She sweeps a few cobwebs off the wooden workbench and runs her fingers across the odds and ends scattered around the table: various vials in odd shapes and sizes, a magically-sealed leather bound journal and a dented metal box filled with nails, a hammer and wrenches.

The victim starts to stir behind her.

Shit. She was hoping they didn't have to tie him down. Carmine turns toward him and checks his pulse. Weak but still beating.

"Arghnnn," the petrified victim cries. "Errnn!" The guttural, animal sounds coming out of his mouth reaffirms what Carmine already knows: men are nothing more than dumb beasts.

"Shut up." Carmine reaches over and slaps him across his cheek. "Make another sound and I will make you suffer even more."

The man tries to move his arms and legs but the severe blood loss he suffered gives him a mini-seizure.

"That's it," Carmine says, clenching her teeth. She flocks to the other side of the room and digs through a set of creaky wooden drawers under the workbench until she finds a roll of duct tape and plastic wrap. Leftover supplies from last month. Satisfied, she walks back to the man and starts binding his upper arms and calves to the gurney with plastic wrap. Then she secures the plastic with generous layers of duct tape.

Unable to resist, the man surrenders completely. His head lolls to one side and he goes unconscious once more.

"What took you so long?" Carmine asks when she sees her mother return.

"I couldn't find the tubes," Red explains.

"He woke up. So I tied him down."

"Good work. Now elevate the gurney to a forty-five degree angle and I'll do the rest," Red instructs as she snaps on a pair of disposable surgical gloves.

Carmine does as she's told and adjusts the angle of the bed. Then, she stands at the other side of the bed so her mother can insert the the thin draining tubes into the man's neck.

The man lets out a final moan as the needle punctures his blood vessel. Bright red blood instantly starts spiralling through the thin tubes and drains into a tall pitcher.

Once the pitcher is full, Red removes the needle. The man makes a few exhausted whimpers.

He is sailing close to the brink of death.

"Can I lick off the extra?" Carmine asks. As if she was asking to lick raw cookie batter off the spoon.

"No." Red sanitizes her equipment with rubbing alcohol and then goes to the sink to wash off her bloody hands. "We have to test the blood first. You know the drill."

While Red's back is turned, Carmine lowers her mouth to the fresh wound and laps up the last bits of blood dribbling out.

Screw the test.

*** As you can probably tell by now, this is a pretty dark story. If you liked reading it, please leave a vote and comment! What do you think of Carmine's character? Likable or no? The next chapter is another walk down memory lane...

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~Jackie