Chapter Text
Randy Bradley sat, slumped, in the passenger seat of a 1974 Chrysler Newport. He sat, slumped, next to a monster.
“How you holding up, Bradley?” The thing asked him. The thing reached an arm over to clutch the back of his neck. It felt impossibly heavy on his back.
He squeezed, and Randy felt his breathing stop.
Randy didn’t see it all happen. Not the beginning, anyway. Not much more than a blur of movement in his peripheral vision as Benson lunged forward. As Benson buried his teeth in Chris’ neck. As an involuntary, choked cry came from Chris’ throat. But he saw the result. He saw Benson spit out a mouthful of flesh and sinew onto the linoleum floor. It made a sickening splat. He saw Chris’ shaking hands as he tried to cover the fountain of blood flowing from his artery. He heard Jess start shrieking. He saw Chris’ body crumple into the booth, scarlet leaking through his slack fingers.
“Bradley,” Benson said, snapping Randy away from the memory. He squeezed harder, and Randy knew it was a warning.
“Where…” Randy forced the word out over the heavy metal on the car’s stereo, the rest of the question dying in his throat. He swallowed, the taste of spoiled meat still thick on his tongue. “Where are we going?”
It was dark. The headlights of Benson’s car illuminated the black asphalt in front of them and the dry fields that framed the road, but not much else. They were on a country highway, now. The lights of their town were small in the rearview mirror. They were further from home than Randy had ever been.
“Away,” was all that Benson offered. Randy felt the pit in his stomach grow. His breath was shallow. He tried to clamp down on the panic rising in his chest.
“Hey,” Benson looked over at him. His eyes seemed to reflect the glow of the headlights, like an animal. Too bright and too blue. Alarmed, Randy jerked away from his grasp, as far as the confines of the car would let him. His back hit the interior side of the vehicle heavily.
“You don’t have anything to worry about, Bradley,” Benson said. The thing smiled. Too-sharp canines. “After all that, I’m not hungry.”
—
He couldn’t shake the image of Benson standing in front of him, blood covering his face and shirt. The feeling of fear and certainty that he would be next. The familiar sensation of his nails digging red crescents into his palms. But Benson hadn’t lunged forward. Benson hadn’t ripped his throat from his body. Benson had spared him. But he hadn’t let him go.
The night got darker the longer they drove. There were no lights on the highway, the distant glow of small towns passing only once every dozen miles. All of the heavy metal songs on Benson’s CD sounded the same to Randy, one continuous drone of noise.
They had made only one stop at Benson’s house, to gather supplies. Randy had contemplated the phone. Benson had cracked the wood paneling, shoving him against the wall so forcefully that his feet didn’t touch the ground. His mother hadn’t moved from the couch. She looked gaunt and pale and sick. All of the blinds in the house were drawn.
“Doesn’t smell like ketchup,” Benson’s mother had said, pointing at his shirt. She’d swiped drool from the corner of her mouth when she put the cigarette to her lips.
“We’re gonna be away for a while, Ma,” Benson had told his mother. “There’s bags in the fridge.”
He felt like he was swimming in Benson’s shirt and jeans, the bottom hem of the pants pooling around his ankles. He did his best not to cough as Benson chain smoked in the driver’s seat beside him, the glow of the end of the cigarette between his fingers moving back and forth as he exhaled smoke. Wind whistled through the driver’s side window, just barely cracked.
Randy’s sharp panic had dulled somewhat, his nervous system unable to support the same heightened activity.
“You’re calmer. That’s good,” Benson said, glancing over at him, one hand on the wheel. When Randy didn’t respond, he kept talking. “I know what you’re thinking, how could I know that?” He looked over again. “Come on, Bradley. Ask me. I’ll tell you.”
Randy breathed in and out shakily.
“How–” Randy cleared his throat. “How do you know?”
“Your heartbeat is slower,” Benson, looking satisfied with himself, gestured to his ear with the cigarette. “After you get bit, it’s like you get super-loaded hearing aids.”
Randy glanced at Benson, then back to the dirty floor of the sedan. He nodded, a jerky little movement.
“It’s a blessing and a curse, though. I fuckin’ hated hearing Hardy’s porn through the walls, and those two assholes fucking in the freezer. But I doubt you needed super-hearing to catch that, huh, Bradley?”
“My name is Randy,” his voice was quiet, even to him.
“What?” Benson frowned, looking over at him.
“Randy,” he forced the words out louder. “My first name is Randy.”
“Huh,” Benson nodded. “Randy,” he repeated, like he was trying out how the word felt in his mouth.
Randy nodded.
A silence stretched between them, filled by the music on the stereo and the wind.
“Benson?” Randy asked finally.
“Yes, Randy?” Benson answered, slightly mocking in his tone.
“Will you tell me where we’re–”
“Ask me a different question,” Benson cut him off, irritation apparent.
Randy could feel his own heartbeat speed up in his chest, now keenly aware of it.
Benson took another drag from his cigarette, making a little hurry up motion.
“C’mon. Ask me something else.”
Randy searched his fractured mind, coming up with nothing but the images of the three broken and bleeding bodies. After you get bit, Benson’s voice echoed in his ears. Chris, Jess, and Hardy had been bit. He turned towards him slightly. Something close to hope expanded in his chest.
“You bit them. Will they… will they be like you?”
“Nah,” Benson shook his head. “They’re really dead. You don’t need to worry about those assholes anymore.”
Randy’s stomach twisted in on itself. The hope that he wasn’t complicit in three murders was crushed.
Benson looked over at him.
“This is good, Randy. This is a fresh start. I want to help you,” he said.
“Help me do what?” Randy asked before thinking.
“Help you stop being so goddamn pathetic,” Benson answered. Another drag from the cigarette, smoke pushed through his lips. Randy watched, almost transfixed, as the smoke curled around his fangs before dissipating. “I’m gonna teach you how to stand up for yourself. I’m gonna teach you how to turn yourself from prey to predator.”
“What does that…” Randy shook his head. “What does that mean?”
Benson glanced at him, tossing the cigarette butt out of his window. A long exhale of smoke.
“You see, Randy. Up until now, all you have been is prey. People sense that weakness in you, and they exploit it. They exploit it because you let them exploit it. But we’re gonna change that. I’m gonna teach you how to be a predator. Top of the food chain shit. I’m gonna fix you. And nobody is ever gonna fuck with you again. You aren’t gonna let anybody fuck with you again. You hear me?”
Randy’s dread only deepened. He nodded.
—
Another hour passed in silence before Benson turned to Randy again. Cornfields surrounded them, blurred by the motion of the car. Randy looked out the window, focusing on his breathing. Counting the seconds as he inhaled in and exhaled out. In and out. In and out.
“I’m gonna pull over, next chance we get,” Benson said. There was a warning in his tone. “Don’t try to run. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He reached over to grab him by the back of the neck again, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Don’t force me to do that.”
Randy nodded.
Only one car had passed them going the other direction in all the time they’d been driving. It had been too dark for him to try to wave them down in any way. Besides, Benson had been staring at him the whole time as it passed.
“Good choice,” he’d said when Randy had sat, frozen, after the other vehicle passed.
Benson pulled into a one-pump gas station. There were no lights on in the market. The hand-painted sign was flipped to CLOSED. Benson reached over to kill the engine, and Randy knew this was his only chance.
He jerked the car handle open and ran.
He stumbled a little in the dust before he found his footing, sprinting as fast as he could into the cornfield surrounding the station. He threw himself into the corn, pushing his way through it. He could hear his own breathing, hard and fast in his chest. The dry stalks cut at his skin as he ran, sharp and stiff.
“Randy!” Benson’s voice behind him sent a bolt of fear up his spine.
He ran and he ran and he ran until he had no more breath in his lungs and he had to stop, bent over, hands on his knees, his chest burning.
“That was the wrong fucking move, Randy!” Benson’s voice called into the night air. He tried to suppress the sound of his breaths, choking on air, nearly sobbing. His cheeks and hands had been cut by the stiff stalks. He looked around him, trying to catch a glimpse of the man. Trying to figure out what direction he had run from, and which direction he should run in.
Crickets were chirping. A train whistle echoed in the distance.
He could hear Benson moving through the corn, but he couldn’t determine the direction. Worse, he wasn’t running. He was moving slowly, at a leisurely pace. Randy was so fucking scared. He tried to catch his breath, tried to move.
A force collided with him from behind, tackling him to the ground. He cried out, then sobbed, clawing at the ground, trying to find something to grab onto. Benson slammed his head into the ground.
"What the fuck did I say to you?!"
Benson’s face was close to his neck. Benson’s mouth was close to his neck. Randy went still. Freeze response. Benson grabbed a fistful of his hair, lifting his head from the dirt. Bringing it closer to him as he straddled his body, stomach-down on the earth.
“You try that again, you’re gonna force me to do something worse than getting dirt on your shirt. Do you understand me, Randy?” Barely-suppressed rage.
Randy nodded, tears cutting through the blood from the shallow scratches on his face.
“I’m sorry. Benson– I’m sorry.”
Benson leaned in closer, too close. Randy squeezed his eyes shut. He prepared to feel Benson’s teeth ripping into his skin. But Benson seemed to regain some of his self-control, releasing Randy’s hair and letting his head drop back to the ground.
“Get up,” Benson ordered, rising to his knees, then his feet.
When Randy didn’t move fast enough, the older man pulled him onto his feet. He gripped the back of his jacket in his fist, steering him the same way he’d done in the parking lot of Burgers Burgers Burgers. When Randy stumbled, nearly falling, he just hauled him back up again, grabbing him under his arms.
When they reached the car, Benson pushed him towards it until he collided with the metal of the car’s exterior.
“Stay there,” Benson said, no room for argument in his voice.
Randy trembled, chest pressed against the car. Benson moved behind him, bending down. The younger man flinched when Benson tore the bottom of the jeans Randy was wearing, continuing to rip the fabric until he had a long strip of material.
“Give me your hands,” Benson ordered. Randy complied, feeling them shake as he lowered them to his sides. Benson jerked his hands behind his back, tying them together tightly with the strip of fabric.
“Get in the back,” Benson instructed. When Randy hesitated, Benson opened the back door, roughly pushing Randy into a sitting position in the backseat, then pushing him down until he laid on his back across the seats. He repeated the same process with the other pant leg, tying Randy’s ankles securely together with the denim. He slammed the door shut.
Benson pumped gas into the car, each dull mechanical sound making Randy jump. His chest moved quickly, shallow breath moving in and out of his nose. He tried and failed to count the seconds. Benson moved around the vehicle, jerking open the driver’s side and climbing in.
There was a long silence before Benson sighed, starting the car. The music turned on with it.
The time that passed could have been ten minutes, could have been an hour. Benson drove and Randy tried to breathe.
“You got it out of your system,” Benson said finally, hitting his palm against the steering wheel in time to the music. An almost nervous movement. Like he was willing the statement to be true. He adjusted the rear view mirror, and Randy could see his eyes. “You’re gonna be a good boy from now on. Right, Randy?”
Randy nodded, then, realizing that Benson might not be able to see him in the mirror, willed himself to speak.
“Yes.” His voice was hoarse. Almost a whisper
“Yes, what?” Benson prompted, voice and eyes hard.
“I-” Randy couldn’t stop the small gasp that came from his throat, a product of the uncomfortable position and his fear. “I’ll be good, Benson.”
“Good,” Benson nodded, continuing to hit the stirring wheel in time. “Good.”
—
Just before dawn, Benson pulled into a roadside motel.
Benson was still for a moment after he parked. He cracked his neck, a quick movement.
“Don’t move,” Benson told him, opening his door and slamming it shut again. Even if he wanted to, Randy didn’t have much range of motion to work with. He didn’t try to sit up, eyes fixed on an empty, crumpled cigarette box on the floor of the car. The whole interior of the car was stained with cigarette smoke, a thick brown-yellow film that clung to the ceiling and the seats.
He could hear Benson’s footsteps in the gravel, closer and closer. He opened the back door closest to Randy’s head, and Randy craned his neck to look up at him. The older man twirled a motel key around his finger.
“Good news, Randy. Man up front said that we’re the only people here,” Benson glanced at the sky in the distance. The horizon was warm with the approaching sunrise. A flash of something close to fear went across Benson’s face. “Shit. Let me get my stuff.”
When Benson moved away, Randy caught a glance at the front desk. No one was there. The neon “NO” in front of “VACANCY” was illuminated on the flickering sign. A sick feeling turned his stomach.
Benson grabbed something from the trunk and shut it again. He had a duffel slung over his shoulder when he came back into Randy’s line of vision. The same one he’d packed quickly at his mom’s house.
The older man seemed to calculate for a moment before he grabbed a fistful of Randy’s shirt, pulling him towards himself until he could crouch and flip Randy over onto his stomach, lifting him over his shoulder like a fireman with strength he shouldn’t have had. He gripped the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans to stabilize him, kicking the rear door closed.
Randy could only look at the gravel below them as Benson walked. He wondered where they were. He wondered if he would be alive long enough to find out.
The motel room was small and smelled like mildew. Benson unlocked the door with one hand and kicked it open, leaving a black scuff mark on the cheap wood. He dumped Randy on one of the two beds, dumping his duffel bag on the other. He closed the door and latched it.
“Home sweet home,” Benson said to no one in particular, ripping the zipper of the duffel open and pulling a roll of duct tape from it. He went to the one small window, ripping the tape from the roll and beginning to tape the blackout curtains to the wall.
Randy, with much more pressing things to be worried about, distantly wondered if they’d be charged for damage to the room.
The sloppy sealing job did what it was meant to, only a small sliver of light escaping at the top of the window. It was too dark for Randy to see more than shapes. When Benson turned towards him, the dim light reflected off his eyes again. Randy tried to swallow and found that he didn’t have enough spit in his mouth.
Benson moved past him to the small table in-between the beds, turning on the lamp with the stained shade.
Randy didn’t know much about vampires, other than what Hayley had told him about Twilight. He could guess that those movies weren’t super accurate to whatever Benson was. But the blood drinking, what he’d said about being bit, and the aversion to the sun confirmed that he was something close in Randy’s mind. He had always assumed Benson took the night shifts because they paid 50 cents more. Apparently, he’d had a different reason.
Benson just looked at him for a long moment, looming over him as he sat, tied, on the bed.
“It’s been a long day,” Benson said finally. “And I think we both need some rest before we keep going.”
Randy didn’t say anything, just looking up at him. He’d tried and failed to clear his eyes of tears for the last hour. They came up again, now. Making the world seem blurry. His shoulders ached from the unnatural position, hands bound behind his back. The words keep going settled heavy and smothering on his chest.
Benson sighed.
“I’m gonna untie you, and you’re gonna sit and listen. Alright?”
Randy nodded quickly.
The older man pulled the tight knots loose, tossing the strips of denim to the side. Randy sat up slowly, wincing as his muscles contracted in pain as he flexed his shoulderblades.
Benson sat on the bed across from him, elbows resting on his thighs, evaluating.
“No offense, Randy, but after that escaping act at the gas station, I’m finding it hard to trust you.”
“Are you going to, um… are you going to kill me?” Randy forced the words out. His fear only allowed him to look at Benson for a few seconds at a time. He wanted to be able to prepare, if the answer was yes. But what would he even do? What could he even do?
“No, Randy, I’m not gonna kill you,” Benson scoffed, as if it were a stupid question. “I told you I wanna help you, and I meant it.” Benson just looked at him for a long, tense moment. “I think what we need are some ground rules.”
Randy took a shallow breath in and out. He nodded.
“You do what I tell you to do, you stay out of my way, and nobody gets hurt,” Benson’s eyes never left him. “You don’t, and I kill somebody. Anybody around. Somebody that this has nothing to do with.” Benson tipped his head towards the motel door. “The poor asshole at the front was the cost for this time.”
“What–” Randy tried to clamp down on the panic that tightened in his chest. “What did you do?”
Benson’s eyes narrowed.
“What the fuck do you think I did?”
Shame pooled hot and acidic in Randy’s stomach. If there was anything in it, he might have thrown up. Someone was dead, because of him. Someone’s life was ruined, because of him. Again. Because he’d let himself react. Because he’d let himself choose.
“Do we have an agreement, Randy?” Benson’s stare was hard.
There was a ringing in his ears.
“Randy?”
“Yes,” he choked the word out. He couldn’t see through the tears. They spilled down his face, cutting through a layer of grime.
“Alright,” Benson nodded, some of the tension dropped from his shoulders. He pulled air in and pushed it out of his lungs. The older man nodded to the far wall. “Get in the closet.”
“What?” The order pulled Randy out of his head. Surprise. Confusion.
Benson raised his eyebrows.
“Randy, did I mishear you when you said you were gonna be good? Was that someone else in my fucking car?”
“No, Benson.”
“Then do what I tell you to do,” Benson said. He sighed and groaned when Randy didn’t move, just frowning at him, tears still rolling down his face. He leaned forward, speaking slowly. “I cannot trust you not to make a break for it right now, so I gotta use security measures so we can get some fucking rest.”
Randy stared at him a moment before he stood up from the bed shakily, forcing his legs to move across the dirty carpet. He made it to the closet door without collapsing, turning the handle and stepping inside. Benson got up behind him, walking to the door and giving him a little push between his shoulderblades. It was a tiny space, barely enough room to stand in. There were slots of wood in the door, like window blinds. Randy turned to look at Benson in the doorway.
“You know what happens if you try anything,” Benson said. His expression twitched. He raised a hand. Randy had no space to step backwards, trapped against the wall of the closet. Benson cradled his face, thumb brushing away the tears and blood on Randy’s cheek. A gesture too gentle for what he was. For what he’d done. Randy exhaled a long, shaky breath. Benson withdrew his hand. “Get some sleep.”
The door was shut. Randy could hear Benson drag a chair from the small table in the corner. Randy could hear him wedge it under the handle. Thin strips of light illuminated his face through the slots until the lamp was switched off.
Randy sank down to sit on the closet floor, knees drawn tightly to his body, head buried in his arms. He did his best to stifle the sobs as they came up in his throat.