(For those of you not familiar with my character Bridget O'Brien, perhaps a bit of introduction is needed. Bridget was an Irish tavern girl who became a vampire in the 16th Century.
I've kept some of the vampire mythos, and changed some. The major change I made is that my vampires (Bridget, Robert, Ling, Thorfinn, Dominic, et. al.) are not automatically "evil" because of what they are. Like all other humans, living or undead, they have free will. They remain the same people they were as mortals, the same loves and hates and desires. A long discussion of my ideas can be found in my story "Bridget's Nights", especially Chapter One. Suffice it to say that Bridget considers herself as basically a "good" person and tries to act accordingly.
One other thing. The Stasi mentioned by Wilhelm was the notorious East German Secret Police, who would, of course, have had a file on a CIA agent who was also a vampire.)
How DO I end up in what seems to be the same predicament time and time again? Yes, I know that when you're over 400 years old some patterns are bound to repeat themselves. Yes, I know that if I wasn't such a party girl I wouldn't drink so much, chase so many guys and girls, ingest a variety of strange substances and therefore wake up in the damndest places. My current situation was just the latest example.
I gathered my thoughts. I had made one of my periodic trips to Ireland. Instead of returning to the US, I had decided to swing through Europe. I hadn't really spent any time there since the beginning of the Cold War. I had been in Berlin when the Wall was going up, working frantically to extract certain people from East Germany. Me being me, I had helped a number of people not covered by my orders from the Company, ordinary people who had wanted nothing more than to flee from the Iron Curtain descending over Eastern Europe. I got in a sticky situation while assisting a family to escape. I had been forced to get well, violent, when confronted by a group of NKVD men. There wasn't enough time to hide the bodies very well and the resulting uproar had forced me to leave for the States. Not long after that I had accepted a return assignment to Asia where I would remain for years, until I was literally blasted out of Vietnam.
I visited Paris, always a favorite city of mine, and of most vampires. I then swung down through Italy, visited Greece and Austria and wound up in Germany. I really had no business visiting Berlin, still a divided city at this time. I had even less business "painting the town red", but when you've has been around for four centuries you tend to think, arrogantly perhaps, that you're always in control of any situation.
It was my fourth, or maybe fifth, gausthaus. I was about three quarters drunk on good German beer and had been dancing with several different guys. One of them had come on really strong and I had decided on him. Once again, I let my desires overtake my common sense. He was tall and blonde and well built and when we had been dancing close I had felt a nice big hardon throbbing against my body. So I had all but drug him down the hallway and outside into a dark alleyway.
I let him push me against the wall, his mouth seeking mine, his hands roaming over my body. I let him take the lead, allowing him to think he was the one in charge. His six foot plus muscular body non-withstanding, I was tremendously stronger than him but I was enjoying his ravishment of me and saw no reason to change things.
I managed to release his cock about the same time that he pulled my blouse open and pushed it down my arms. It was a good thing I hadn't bothered with a bra. It allowed him to reach under my skirt and grasp my ass, lifting me until his mouth could fasten on my breast. I had kicked my shoes off, hiked my legs up and proceeded to use my toes to shove his open slacks down his legs until they pooled at his ankles.
His cock head rubbed along the inside of my thigh. That wasn't where I wanted it. His teeth had hold of my nipple and freeing it from them caused me some rather delicious pain. And marks too, which amused me, after all, generally I left the marks of my teeth on my lovers. Okay, my fangs. But I persevered and managed to guide his shaft up inside me as I dropped down onto him. I had not worn panties either.
He must have enjoyed the feeling as much as I did when he buried his cock up my wet pussy. I could tell by the way he slammed me up against the wall and began to fuck me as though he intended to drive me through the bricks. The rough scraping against my ass and back drove me wild and I clenched him with my legs until I had to relax for fear I would snap him in two.
He was mumbling endearments in German as he thrust furiously into and against me. Words like "slut" and "whore" were about all I could pick up from his gasping. I stiffened suddenly as I picked out "Fucking American Bitch" just as his cock swelled and then emptied its load into me. I stiffened partially because I myself was cumming, but at the same time an alarm bell was ringing wildly in my mind.
I had learned to speak German, Hochdeutsch or High German, in the 17th Century. I had kept up with it, a talent for languages being one of my gifts. According to those who knew, my accent was that of Northern Germany. How did he know I was an American?
I tried to push what's-his-name away but was hampered by my alcohol slowed reflexes and the fact that I was in the middle of an orgasm. Its like trying to sneeze with your eyes open. Not that vampires sneeze, but you just can't do it. Nor can you stop an orgasm dead in its tracks. I may have been nearing 450 years old, but it was hardly something I was practiced at for heaven's sake.
Regardless of reasons, I was just slow enough that I was still encumbered by the guy I was somewhat impaled by when another shape rose up beside us and drove a needle into my neck. I had just enough time to appreciate the irony of being stuck in my jugular when the world got very dizzy. I did manage to shed my partner by throwing him against the far wall and staggered about six steps towards the back door when the world went black.
Okay. That was what had happened before. So where was I and what was happening now? I wanted to peek, but thought I should lay here for a minute or two. I felt very weak, weaker than I could recall being in a very long time. And, I was hungry. I had planned on feeding sometime during the night but would not have been distressed if I had not been able. Myths to the contrary, a vampire doesn't need blood every night, any more than the amount needed to sustain "life" is every drop in a mortal human's body. Granted, bodily damage requires more blood to heal and, damn it, human blood IS what sustains us, but I shouldn't be this hungry. I felt as if I was starving.
"Wake upppp, Bridget O'Brien." The voice was male, almost sing-song. The voice changed. "She should be awake by now, shouldn't she?"
"Its hard to tell," came another male voice. "We don't really know that much about her kind and its reaction to drugs. The usual tell-tales; the monitors we use to measure heart rate, respiration, skin temperature simply don't work on a vampire." There was a pause. "However, the involuntary movements we have observed over the last 12 hours seem to have ceased, indication that her conscious mind is back in control."
"Well then, quit laying slug-a-bed and get up Bridget. Daylight's wasting, to coin a phrase you might appreciate." Oh great, a humorist.
I sat up and looked left and right. I was in a large room, probably 20 by 20 with a ten foot ceiling. The walls were metal, steel probably, pierced by one door, also steel, that looked like it came out of a bank. The hinges were on the other side, naturally, and there was just enough room around the seal to spy the locking lugs. Those seemed to be about 2 inches in diameter, beyond even my strength to force open.
"Over here, Bridget," the first voice called to me. Loudly. I winced. I had such a headache. I often wonder about that. Headaches, I mean. Why would I have them? Its not like the blood pressure in my brain becomes excessive or anything like that. And what the hell was I doing wondering about things like that now?
I stood on wobbly legs and turned around. The wall that had been behind me held a window. It seemed to be about six feet wide by four feet tall. I could see a bank of machinery behind the two men who were examining me through the window. One was short and rather heavy set. The other one was a complete opposite. He was tall, and so slender he appeared emaciated. His black hair hung in tangles around his ears, in contrast to the neatly trimmed Van Dyke he wore. I suspected the way he was stroking the beard with his left hand was a constant habit.
I walked over to the window and tapped on it. Plexi-glass. Looked too thick for me to break through. I slammed the base of my fist against it anyway. The short man jumped. The other one didn't.
"I'm sorry," said the tall man, sounding anything but sorry. "I had this window specially constructed for you. Its not glass, obviously, but plexi-glass, thick enough to withstand your strength, or the strength of any vampire for that matter."
I settled down. No point in acting until an opportunity presented itself. He knew I was a vampire. I didn't know anything about him. Though I was then, as I have always been, Irish to the core of my soul and therefore prone to acting on impulse, I had learned patience over the centuries. I had also learned that the more information one had, the better the chances of things going the way that one wanted them to go. Right now I had basically squat.
.... There is more of this story ...