The Acolyte
Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
Chapter 20
Henry crouched at Mena's feet, naked except for shoes and the rags clinging to his ankles. His mind was paralyzed like a trapped rabbit. His body hurt in places he didn't want to think about.
A distant clanking noise added to his confusion. As he wondered whether it was real, the noise stopped.
Now, strolling towards him out of the shadows; the woman, the architect of this nightmare. Her usually stiff and pained gait was smooth. She carried the cane, ghastly in the firelight, over one shoulder; in her other hand a shiny black case.
As she neared the light of the campfire, which the monster was feeding back to life, Henry saw that the woman was flushed; she was smiling broadly and her eyes shone. Her whole demeanor had altered drastically from their last confrontation. Dread flooded him; it was like being approached by a tiger that has just fed...but not so much that it would turn down a second helping.
"It's amazing what a little evening out can do." She set the case down; rising, patted her leg brace. Clink, clink. "Haven't even had to use this," the woman held her elegant cane out in front of her. "...yet." She freed the blade with an ominous slithering ring. Firelight reflected from the metal; for a moment Henry saw a sword of hellish flame.
The woman handed her empty cane to Mena. The naked girl took it, and winked at Henry. She was smiling, dimples forming on her cheeks. Mena reached down and patted him - none too gently - on the cheek, then she stepped back. Henry realized what was going on when she made an 'all yours' gesture. His moan dried up in his throat and his heart raced violently. He saw the Devil slinking around into his blind spot; at the same moment Helen raised the sword to strike a blow.
A voice rose to a banshee wail in his mind. She's going to chop you up and then the Devil will eat you, damned soul and all!
A surge of adrenaline, and his body reacted with a nimble speed previously unhinted at, darting towards his only means of immediate escape; the tunnel passageway from which the girl had come earlier. He had no idea whether it was an exit or not, there was no time for thinking anymore...only survival. The passageway was his one hope, and he dove into it at full speed, ricocheting off the walls.
It was pitch dark, but there could be no turning back. Scuffling, scraping sounds, then a deep snarl echoed towards him from behind... the monster had followed him.
Henry screamed, a keening, breathless shriek.
* * * * *
Henry disappeared into the darkness in a heartbeat, Helen and the monster pounding after him. The echoes of their flight faded quickly to silence. Mena was alone in the control room.
The girl gingerly washed her tender privates, then slipped back into her clothes. She winced as the leather brushed her scraped and bruised back, and pulled it carefully over the scratches on her chest. As she was buckling the shirt, the monster and Aunt Hel came sauntered leisurely out of the tunnels, side by side.
Mena smiled. All part of the plan. He just needs time to think things over. She had high hopes for the man.
Helen sheathed her blade, pulled up a campstool and the black case, and drank deeply from a canteen. Mena stood, arms raised to show off her new outfit; the leathers she had completed that afternoon. "How do you like my new ink?" A nice tattoo graced each breast of her sleeveless shirt: 'Daisy Duke M.C.' on one side, and a large Chinese dragon on the other. The leathers were stained a mottled dun color, stitched neatly for the most part, but crudely lashed in big Frankenstein stitches at odd intervals.
Her hunting livery, all straps and buckles to be tight-fitted; the effect was very Mad Max. Helen studied her niece up and down, impressed.
"You're really dressed to kill, aren't you?" Helen chuckled. Mena made a face.
Her aunt went on, shaking her head. "You'll never pass for civilized, with clothes like that." She paused, squinting through one eye. "Though... it's not the clothes, really. It's that freaky look in your eyes." Helen put a finger up - Wait - and stepped over to the office stash. She emerged moments later, put a pair of cheap sunglasses on Mena's face. "There, now you'll pass."
They settled near the campfire again. Mena took the shades off, stirred the coals with a long crowbar, while her aunt washed her hands in the bathwater.
The monster paused before the washtub of warm, soap-murky water, threw a laughing wink at her. "Like you," it grumbled, tilting its bony head. "She likes...bath."
"Well, everybody likes to get clean," Helen retorted, pouring some water onto the back of her hand where a smudge of blood had dried.
Then she paused, thinking, turned to peer at the creature. "Except you. I've never even seen you wash off." She glanced at Mena, who was shaking her head, shrugging. A thought occurred to both of them at the same time.
"How do you get all the blood an' shit off?" the girl asked.
The monster looked at them as though the answer were obvious, then demonstrated.
The frenzied scratching lasted only a few seconds, but didn't miss a single place on its scaly body. Sharp, ragged claws peeled at the rough skin. The dark creature began at its head, scratching furiously like a dog that has been set upon by fire ants; then it continued without a pause to rasp and gouge its way down. Both women cried out aghast when the beast scraped ungently at its phallus, but the monster kept going, debriding its legs and feet; then it was over. A hazy cloud of dust drifted around the creature's form, the remains of a layer of hide.
The monster smiled, savage and pleased. "Clean," it said. Its fresh skin looked just as ancient and tough.
"Ho-ly shit." Mena's eyes bugged out.
"Yeah, that's pretty disturbing," Helen snickered. "Think I'll stick with the bath."
She paused, a puckish smile growing, and threw a sly glance at the monster. "There's a surprise up top for you. See if anything is appetizing..." Reaching into her coat, Helen pulled out a thin leather case, opened it and lifted out a glinting scalpel; the blade and her eyes mirrored firelight. "I'll take care of the rest."
The monster, curious, stalked up the metal stairway. Mena looked at the scalpel her aunt was returning to its pocket, and then at the black doctor's bag. Stretching a leg out, nudged the case with the toe of her boot. A barely audible clink of tiny glass objects. "Aunt Hel...?" The girl lifted an eyebrow, smiling uncertainly. "What did you do?" She hesitated, thinking. "Let me guess, you robbed...an ambulance...?"
"Close." Helen chuckled. "I knocked over a drugstore."
Mena gaped.
Her aunt went on. "With a garbage truck."
* * *
"All I wanted was a refill," she began.
* * * * *
Helen pushed open the glass door. A robotic chime dinged in the back. She clomped slowly up the main aisle, her stride more awkward than usual.
The physical therapist at the hospital had instructed her about the hardware, how to adjust it morning and night. Screws in the vertical supports had to be given a quarter-turn with an allen wrench, putting tension on the pins imbedded in her body, to keep the new bone tissue growing properly. The fresh ache each time she made the adjustment was akin to the pain of orthodonture when the wires have been tightened, forcing the jawbone into a new shape. Her surgical incisions burned and screamed, reminding her that she'd only recently been sliced up.
The pain medication and antibiotics she'd been given at the hospital had run out. After a day and night of growing agony, Helen finally had to admit defeat. She returned to the city for a refill.
Nearing the pharmacy counter along the back, Helen couldn't help notice the cold, suspicious glare of the white-coat behind the counter. The top of another pharmacist's head was visible, moving among the racks of drugs, busy filling an order. The one at the counter just watched her approach, his arms crossed.
She stared back at him, saw in his face, in his defensive posture, that he disliked her. He was either unable or rudely unwilling to hide his contempt. What fresh, stinking hell is this? read his face. The pharmacist stared at her handstitched jeans, her often-ripped and patched shirt. Only a junkie would wear clothes like that, he thought. That femoral brace probably isn't even real. Why do I have to put up with these freaks and cons? Venom oozed from his narrowed eyes. Scum.
A flash of anger, but Helen was long accustomed to this kind of treatment, and ignored it.
She reached the counter, propped her cane aside to fish in her pockets. Fingers closed on the empty bottles, and she set them on the counter, along with her ID.
The pharmacist didn't even glance down, kept eyeing her with sour distaste. "May I help you?" he spoke, but his tone said, "Fuck off."
Helen looked pointedly down at the bottles, back up at the man. "I need a refill, please."
Still the pharmacist glared at her. Helen just blinked and raised an eyebrow.
He picked up the bottles and her ID, inspected them closely. Unfortunately, they had come from this drugstore, were valid for refills, and appeared to be prescribed to the person standing before him. His tight-pressed lips twisted in displeasure, and he gave her another nasty glance, retreating to his computer terminal to check the doctor's notes.
The man shortly returned, a snide triumph all over his face as he nodded faintly, looking down his nose at her. He pointedly kept hold of the bottles and ID, as well as a printout.
"Missus 'Murdoch', or whatever your name is, now would be the time to turn around and leave."
Helen's mouth dropped open. "...What did you say to me?"
The man held the printout before him. "According to the database, these prescriptions were all cancelled three days ago, by a doctor..." he squinted at the paper for effect, "a Dr. Allen. She instructed that they not be reinstated by any other physicians without her written approval." He sniffed at her. "Also, the hospital reported you as missing, under...ahem - unusual circumstances."
Helen laughed, shaking her head. That bitch. Even from the grave she has to fuck me in the ass. I wish she were alive so I could kill her myself.
"If you still want to pursue this," he continued, "I suggest you contact your doctor and the hospital, have them straighten it out. In the meantime..." he looked her up and down with open scorn, "you are unwelcome in this store. Go try to scam someone else."
"Unbelievable..." she muttered, not willing to tell him her doctor was dead. That would only make things worse. The only option left was to go to the hospital in person, prove to them that she was alive and well. Helen held out her hand. "My things..."
The pharmacist sucked his teeth, then shook his head. "No, I think not." As Helen croaked her disbelief, he went on. "I believe the police will be interested in these." The man opened a drawer under the counter, dropped her ID and empty bottles in.
She stabbed him with poisonous eyes, nostrils flaring. "I want to speak to the other one, now." She nodded at the rows of shelves.
"Mmm-hm," he muttered, locking the drawer. "Roger! Could I interrupt you, please?" the man called, never taking his eyes off Helen.
From a far aisle came the second pharmacist. A smaller man with glasses, just starting to go bald, he looked mild and friendly. Reasonable, she hoped.
"This man refuses to give me either my prescriptions or my property."
'Roger' was led by the elbow to the computer terminal, where the pompous asshole pointed out the notes and gave his conclusions. Helen overheard the situation being related, the jerk wasn't making any effort to be quiet. "...possible impersonation...controlled substance...making trouble, refusing to leave...she's probably a junkie..." They conferred in low voices, returned to the counter before Helen. There was a smug look on the asshole's face as Roger did his best 'console the customer' routine.
"I'm sorry ma'am, but it's policy," said the man. He held his hands up - what can I do?
Helen choked briefly.
Roger continued in an appeasing tone, "Under questionable circumstances such as these, a pharmacist on duty may confiscate suspicious items until the matter has been resolved."
"It's policy to steal from your customers?" she fumed, eyes wide with fury. Struggling not to shout at the smaller man. "You're defending him?"
He just shook his head, looking superficially helpless. "I'm sorry ma'am, it's policy."
The first pharmacist, staring snidely at Helen, picked up the phone and dialed; after a pause, "Police, please. ...No, it's not an emergency."
Her mouth hung open in disbelief. "You...bastard," she spat, then turned and stalked out, her cane striking the floor with loud cracks at each step.
* * *
Three hours later, Helen sat in the driver's seat of a garbage truck parked near the drugstore. She was ready.
She had watched from a couple of blocks away for the first hour, but no police ever arrived; the man had been bluffing. Grinding her teeth in combined rage and physical torment, anger focused her thoughts. I came here for my refills, and I'm not leaving without them.
It took little time to find a vehicle sturdy enough for the task. Getting up into it wasn't easy, nor was working the brake, with her throbbing leg. Helen drove the garbage truck to a vacant lot and practiced until she could operate the controls more easily. For what she planned, there would be no time to waste fucking around.
Out of curiosity, she lowered the disposal gate on the back. Peering into the reeking maw, she saw piles of the usual rotting detrius a city produces, in neat, sanitary plastic bags. Helen was just about to close it back up, when a sleeve protruding from an open bag got her attention. She used the hook on her cane to pull it out, then shook it free of the bag.
An old coat, somewhat worn and badly stained. Dark leather, rubbed pale in places, with wide cuffs - it looked antique. She tried it on, was pleased that it fit well. The coat came to her knees, and had slit square tails for easy movement. It was ridiculously out of fashion, seemed almost like a costume. "Perfect," she muttered, closing the gate.
Watching the drugstore from the high cab, she waited with all the patience she could muster. It grew dark, and when the last customer left, Helen started the rumbling motor. She lowered the huge forks and pulled into the road. When the truck was opposite the little building, she yanked hard on the wheel and gunned the engine. It roared as she picked up speed, barreled straight at the drugstore.
The front crumbled with a squealing crash, and she drove right through, knocking over shelves of vitamins and hemorrhoid cream, plowing her way to the pharmacy counter. She slammed on the brakes just as she struck it, crushing the counter; then Helen raised the forks, lifting the mangled remains out of the way.
Alarms were blaring as dust swirled and settled. She quickly unbuckled and slid down from the cab, using the cane to ease her landing on the rubble-strewn floor.
Almost under the door, she saw a pair of legs sticking out from under the idling truck, half-buried under shattered formica. The woman grabbed a foot and hauled. It was the asshole, quite dead, run over by the front wheels. He had obviously hidden under the counter at the sight of an attacking garbage truck. She shook her head, scowling, picked her prescription bottles and ID from a broken drawer. Helen went to look for the other man.
Stepping over the rubble, she walked briskly past the rows of prescription drugs, searching. Huddled near the back of the last one, the other pharmacist, Roger. Helen approached and nudged him with her foot. "What's your policy on disgruntled customers?" He made a strangled sound, cringed. Flipping her cane, she hooked him in the nostril with the recurved claw, pulled him to his feet.
He wailed, eyes rolling in terror, but had the presense of mind not to struggle.
She held him close to her face. "Refills. Quickly," she said firmly over the alarms, then shoved her empty pill bottles at him.
He tried to nod, winced. She released him and followed him closely. Within seconds he found the prescriptions, and grabbed a counting tray. Helen knocked it out of his hand. "Just fill the bottles." The man's hands were shaking badly as he obeyed; a few spilled capsules plinked to the floor.
Helen glanced around as he hurried; her eye caught on a large black doctor's bag, open on the pharmacy bench. Stepping over to it, she peered inside. It was neatly crammed full of bottles, vials, and boxes. A long printed list lay beside the case; an order being filled. She scanned it with growing interest. "Percodan... Demerol... amtyl nitrate... Seconal... Vicodin... morphine sulphate... Oxycontin... Dilaudid..." Helen scooped up the large bag and brought it over to the pharmacist, who was screwing the lid down on her bottles. She held the open case out. "Thrown 'em in here."
"I can't..., you can't take..." he cried, staring horrified at the full bag. "I'll lose my job..."
"That's not what you should be worried about losing, Roger."
He hesitated, but then saw the look on her face, dropped the two bottles in without another word. The first time this drugstore had been robbed, and this woman didn't even have a gun, or a knife, or anything, but she was terrifying all the same.
Helen grabbed his arm, pulled him back to the truck. "Gimme a hand..." she said, pointing at the crushed body. "Get him up in the cab." Roger looked green, but stooped to grip his coworker under the arms, obviously repulsed by the blood seeping from the dead man's lab coat. She ordered him to climb up, and together they hauled the broken body into the truck.
Pulling herself in last, Helen slammed the door shut. She shifted gears, backed the garbage truck out of the drugstore; strident warning beeps competed with the alarm sirens. The bulky truck rolled into the street and cruised nonchalantly away.
The pharmacist sat in the passenger seat, his dead partner crumpled awkwardly on the floorboards. He tried to find the handle, hoping to yank it and make his escape, but after groping around, realized it had been smashed off. The comprehension that he was being taken hostage finally hit, but...a hostage corpse?
"Wha-...why did you bring him?" he asked in a tremulous voice.
Helen looked over at him, one side of her mouth lifting to show teeth. "Waste not, want not." The man just blinked at her, mouth hanging open.
At the first stop light, she retracted the forks, grabbed the black case and set it on her lap. Here's where an intimate knowledge of books comes in handy. A 'Gladstone' bag, she remembered from old murder mysteries. The first bottle she pulled out read 'Tylenol-3'; codeine, an easy one from the Physician's Desk Reference. She tossed it back in, grabbed another. Helen made a crowing sound when she read the label. "Ever tried Special K, Roger?"
He tried for indignant, but was far too frightened, just shook his head rapidly.
"Me neither," she said, and tossed the bottle onto his lap as the light turned green. "Take five."
He stared at it, fumbled the bottle open and shook pills out. "I... I...," he stammered. At her glare he spoke quickly. "I don't have anything to swallow them with." Helen reached into her coat pocket. The man hastily crammed the pills in his mouth, thinking she was reaching for a weapon, but she pulled out her flask and slammed it against his chest. He sipped, coughed and choked, finally got the pills down. She took the flask back and swallowed her painkillers.
"Have a nice trip, Roger," she laughed as they sped into the night.
* * * * *
The monster came clomping back downstairs, a lab-coated figure under each arm. One dangled limp, dragging on the floor; the other struggled and moaned, utterly disoriented. A brief sniff at the dead man, and the creature brought him over to the women, dropped the body beside them. Even as it let go, the monster was becoming interested in the live one, savoring some elusive aroma.
The pharmacist giggled when the beast sniffed at his midsection; his head rolled and he stared at the ceiling, as if seeing stars. The man's arms reached out to clutch at empty air, then he mumbled, "Don't go..."
Mena's head tilted; she looked aside at her aunt. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's hallucinating," Helen snickered. "I gave him ketamine." She patted the black bag. "This thing was full of all kinds of surprises."
Unable to home in on the smell, the creature straightened, gripped the man by his upstretched arm. Shaking him like a rag doll seemed to sober him up enough to see what was in his face; the monster gave a gutteral snarl as its head unfurled like a freakish alien blossom.
Helen noticed Mena turn away with a shiver, affected.
The man responded with a hearty gasp, followed by a piercing scream. The creature dangled the man before its face, inhaled deeply again, seemed pleased. As the dark beast dragged its meal away, the pharmacist saw Helen and Mena. He reached out, his jaw working in a panic. "Help! Help me!! Help meeee!!"
"Sorry, Roger." Slicing into the pile of bloody clothing at her feet, Helen carved a thick muscular slab from the crushed body. "It's policy."
The man's noisy cries became earsplitting, were silenced abruptly when the monster plunged a wide blade into his solar plexus, pinning his spine to the edge of the table. Jerking the knife back and forth, the creature opened a gaping fissure; it reached in and felt around. Some dark glistening organ emerged, slowly snapping free of viscera, and was crammed into the monster's jaws.
While their friend noisily continued its feast, Helen dissected the broken pharmacist, asked her niece to set up a grille over the hot coals. All the unwanted entrails, she tossed in a bucket; offal was given to the crows. Helen saved the bones. The monster never threw bones away, though he only used a tiny fraction for carving. Finally she rinsed her scalpel in the washtub and stowed it, then rummaged in the doctor's bag. Came up with a large jar - 'Selmon Brother's BBQ Sauce' - and smiled at Mena. "We're going to have a little party."
They laid dark pink strips on the grille, dribbled thick sauce over the sizzling meat as it slowly cooked. Finished with its meal, the monster came over to investigate the curious ritual. It watched with an expression of growing distaste while they elaborately ruined their meat. When Mena sampled a sticky morsel, the dark creature looked at her and shook its head, made a face. How can you eat that?
"Hey, it's fucking delicious, so bite me."
The monster perked up instantly, before Mena shouted, "No, no! It's just an expression!" The creature huffed and retrieved some tools from its workbench. Shaking its bony head, the beast left to tinker with the garbage truck.
"You know, I never imagined I'd say this," said Mena, "but asshole tastes just like chicken."
The control room resounded with laughter.
* * * * *
Henry had no idea from which direction he was being followed, or even if he was anymore. Sound came from everywhere, especially since he was hyperventilating. His panic was complete, and he sobbed loudly, crashed into another wall, slowly sank to the gritty floor. Crusty scabs on his scraped knees split open, unnoticed. This was nothing but another prison.
He had run until no sounds pursued him, and then kept running, hoping to erase what had happened by getting far away. The further he had blundered through the suffocating darkness, the more he felt an irrevocable judgement had been cast. He was damned, had always been damned.
They hadn't brought him here to corrupt him. They had simply recognised the evil already within. Now his wicked core had sprung to sudden, gruesome life. Henry had been chased into a hellish industrial labyrinth to be the Devil's own pet monster.
He couldn't stop seeing her in his mind. All he could think about was being inside the girl, finally controlling her, how powerful it had made him feel, and yet a complete slave of his own tortured instincts. How he had reacted with animal panic when the devil sodomized him, ...how he had vented his horrified pleasure into her.
Henry could barely grasp what had been done to him...or what he had done. In the moments before he had fled into the tunnel, he'd seen the smears of blood on his organ of sin. Momma said I'd hurt some girl with it one day if I wasn't careful. I must've torn her all up inside. I did that...
Despite her cruelty, her teasing, and his violent reaction, he found himself still wanting her.
It gave him a little comfort to desire her...after what the Devil had done, had made him feel. Henry was stricken. The beast had known his awful secret. Compared to the devil, Mena was both his downfall and his salvation.
Curled up tight and shivering, he tried to sleep. Instead, relentless memories scourged him.
* * *
Henry and his cousin climbed into the sweet-smelling oven of the hayloft, flushing a swallow. Any other time, the heat would be stifling, but with their teenage bodies chilled by an afternoon swim in the cold creek, the dry heat was heaven. They soaked it in, damp jeans and shirts tossed aside. John Lee sprawled like a young rustic god in narrow beams of sunlight; strong and sun-brown.
They had grown up like brothers, though Henry couldn't even remember exactly how they were related. Many branches of the family lived around the farm, isolating themselves against the evils of the world. Most of them were as austere in affection as they were in lifestyle; not exactly cold, but withdrawn and solemn. John Lee was the eternal summer of Henry's world, always laughing, always shining. Henry smiled as he drowsed in the shadowy warmth. There was no place in the world he'd rather be than here, with his friend, his hero.
"Henry."
He opened his eyes, had dozed off in the heat haze. John Lee was crouched close by, his beseeching eyes unguarded, earnest. "Please." He reached toward Henry's midsection, but didn't touch. "Please...," he repeated. Henry looked down, already knowing, as John Lee softly touched his thigh. Then moved to the part of him that was swollen and hard.
He couldn't say 'no' or 'stop'. All his life, he had never been able to refuse his cousin. Nothing John Lee did could be all that wrong. And strange as this was, Henry didn't want to refuse. It felt good; it felt right.
It wasn't real, couldn't possibly be. The sparkles of hay dust drifting in a golden shaft from a knothole in the ceiling. The dreamy heat. Cicadas buzzing a hypnotic chorus. John Lee's head moving in his lap. Henry's shaking fingers twined in his cousin's sunstreaked hair.
A choking, creaking sound from nearby. As his head snapped up, Henry saw Uncle Raymond finish climbing up the ladder; the man cocked a shotgun. Henry's blood ran with ice; everything had turned from best to worst in an instant. He hastily covered himself as John Lee rolled away and scrambled to his feet.
John Lee's father stared at his son as though seeing a ghost, then seemed to scarcely notice him. The enraged man turned to Henry and sputtered, choking on his fury. "You...you wicked, perverted boy...you SNAKE!" he screamed, taking aim.
John Lee leapt at the man. He grabbed the barrel and yanked up as his father pulled back. Neither expected the deafening blast, and John Lee twirled in a clumsy half-dance before he ran out of floor, and disappeared over the edge.
A crunching, final thud immediately followed.
Henry crawled to the edge, already hearing a sorrowful moan from Uncle Ray. John Lee, unmoving, head bent at a sickening angle. One eye bulged slightly from its socket. Blood ran in a slow river from his mouth. The oblique shotgun wound to his forehead was barely more than a scrape, but Henry didn't have to look twice to see that his cousin was dead.
* * *
Uncle Raymond tearfully confessed to killing his boy; there was no other way to explain how John Lee had died naked and gunshot by his own father. The county coroner ruled it an accident, 'death by misadventure' they called it.
The entire family came to the same conclusion though, that it was Henry who was responsible for leading his cousin into sin and the immediate divine punishment. No one ever said it aloud, but he was reviled. Most painful of all was his own father, telling him to get out, to go to the cities where sinners and sodomites were welcome. His father, always nurturing, became hostile. "You're a stranger to the Lord, and to me," the man growled. "Get away from this house, boy."
So in shock he could barely speak, Henry accepted the harsh judgement. That stifling night, he crept away, leaving only a note for his mother. His father found it in the dawn light, crumpled the note up and threw it in the kitchen garbage.
* * *
Henry moaned, weeping himself dry in the darkness. He was getting exactly what he deserved.
* * * * *
The impromptu barbeque had burned down, and Helen shrugged back into her new coat. "Time to take care of the garbage," she said. "Wanna come?"
Mena had dragged the washtub to a floor drain, and was tipping it carefully over. She shook her head. "I'm going to leave some goodies for my 'man of the cloth'," the girl held up a shred of black shirt, "...heh...and make sure he's ok." Fingers brushed the 'tunnel vision' headset dangling around her neck.
"Have fun giving him nightmares," Helen grinned as she twirled her cane and sauntered out. "Remember, the way to a man's heart is through his ribcage." Her neice chuckled at the veiled threat.
Helen emerged into the cool night air filling the ruined ground floor. At first surrounded by rotting brick and concrete, she felt her way carefully over rubble to the main door, then out into the moonlight.
Her beast had removed a great deal of machinery from the garbage truck, and set it aside. The hydraulic system, minus the brakes, she hoped. The dark creature looked up, and moonlight glinted from its teeth.
She motioned with her head to the BEATNGU. "Wanna follow?" The monster nodded; Helen continued. "I'll trash the trash truck, and then...we can play." She smiled. "Probably'll hurt tomorrow, but for now, I feel great."
Leering happily, the creature stepped in close to sniff. Before its hands could close on her, Helen ducked and trotted away towards the stripped garbage truck. "Catch me!" she called over her shoulder.
* * * * *
The eastern sky was just turning from grey to dust-choked rose when the monster's truck rolled back up to the old powerhouse.
Small hours of the morning had yielded a rich and bloody harvest. The back doors, their windows blinded by scratched, peeling paint, were opened with a surprised creak. A woman and a beast dressed as a man surveyed half a dozen seeping figures, most bound in blankets and rope.
The monster stepped into the back of the truck; Helen propped her cane against the bumper and awkwardly climbed in behind. She reached down and grabbed the rope binding one of the sheet-wrapped bodies, used it as a handle to pull the corpse out.
Pausing, she covered her nose with a free hand. "God Almighty, it stinks...."
The creature turned a bewildered face to her, a dripping bundle under one arm.
Helen raised her eyebrows while she dropped back to the ground. "Smells like fifty pounds of used tampons in here."
Sniffing deeply and with obvious relish, the monster spoke up. "Smells - good."
She chuckled silently, shaking her head, and dragged the body away behind her.
There was one carcass left when she returned to the truck, hung by its bindings from a hook far back in the right corner. This one was too special to get tossed on the pile, huh?, she thought, wrapping her arms around it. Helen lifted, but the corpse was limp and flopped to the side, refused to come free of the hook.
She leaned against the wall to get a better grip behind the stiff. This time the heavy bundle came free...but she couldn't move.
Helen grumbled, and tried to see what she was stuck on. With her arms full, it was hopeless, and she reluctantly let go of the body. As it sagged into the corner, she was able to make out the snarl of hooks and chains she had inadvertantly leaned against, entangling them in her hardware through the side slit of her coat. Even better - a part of the brace she could barely see or reach, almost under her ass. Sighing, she tried to loosen them, but in the dim light made little headway.
The monster's jaunty bootsteps crunched up to the truck. Helen swung around as far as she could, leaning her back against the interior wall. When the creature's silhouette appeared in the doorway, still dressed for business, she gave a wry smirk.
"I shoulda known this thing would be booby-trapped." She patted the metal wall. "I'm stuck."
A slow smile crept up the monster's face. The axle creaked as it stepped up into the back of the truck, turned and slammed both doors shut. It stooped slightly and clomped over to her, its body blocking the muddy rectangles of light. Chains and implements clanked when the creature brushed through them; a soft flump as its hat was knocked off, fell to the floor.
"Caught you."
The creature sniffed briefly at her face, then stooped to inspect her predicament. Instead of freeing her, though, it straightened and seized her left wrist in one bony hand. "Hey-," she barked as her arm was stretched far and high; then her monster impaled the leather cuff on another hook. It stepped back, appraising her, chuckling.
"Huhhh huhhh huhhhhh," it growled. "Caught you."
Helen laughed too, and her blood was already racing; little as she cared for imprisonment, being trapped by this beast was an unexpected thrill. She reached out with her free hand and grabbed the monster's coat, pulled hard until they were face to face. It kicked her left foot aside, stepped in to press its body close to hers. Helen groaned as the creature bent to nuzzle her neck, the underside of her jaw, tasting.
A large hand snaked between their bellies and curled around the waist of her pants. She swatted it away. The monster growled, startled, blinking at her. Helen just smiled, took its hand back, and guided a claw to the ring dangling from her waistband.
The beast pulled the zipper down, ...and down, ...and still it didn't end. "What a concept, huh?" Helen said with a snort; her monster was clearly fascinated. "It's so difficult to get out of these," she waved at the straps and buckles interlaced through her hardware, "I just rigged 'em so I don't have to." The creature's mischievous eyes raised to meet hers.
She leered, whispered, "It goes all the way back."
Her pubic hairs were tickled as the rough hand unzipped between her legs; then its edge dragged back over her tender flesh, delving into the nascent slickness there. She gasped and her hips curled forward, but the creature lifted the hand to its face, inhaled deeply. A growling moan, and it crashed to its knees, clutching her tightly as it mashed its face into her groin and took long breaths.
The monster's tongue extended, slid gently along her swelling labia. Helen's free leg opened wider to the creature's hungry attentions. The tongue made a second pass, dipping between to taste. The creature whined, began lapping at her deeply, unhurriedly. It grasped her hips in a firm grip, one underhand, one over, holding her to its mouth. Her head fell back, bounced lightly against the rusty sheet metal, her mouth open in a sigh.
Helen managed to settle her left thigh on the monster's shoulder, though it's wing jerked under the coat for a moment. She stuggled to lift her head; she wanted to watch the dark beast.
The sight shot an electric spear of heat up her body. In the half-light from the ruined back windows; the monster's head buried between her legs, moving slightly as it savored her. It's eyes were half-closed, unfocused. The stringy white tail of hair spilled down the back of its coat.
The beast crouched and fed on her, absorbed. Helen reached out with her free right hand, laid her spread fingers on the leathery scalp. Bony spines twitched underneath, and the monster's eyes burst open, looking straight at hers. Its mouth never paused.
The monster blinked slowly, it's expression somewhere between a stare and a dreamy gaze.
Captured in the feeding creature's eyes, she repeatedly found herself falling into a trance, her muscles relaxing. Time became mutable, as Helen felt a euphoria that seemed to grow over minutes, or hours. Each time she felt herself slide under the spell, she breathed deeply, fighting the loss of control. Her fingers curled on the back of the monster's scalp, scraping her nails lightly over the stretched skin.
Still gazing at her, the creature slid one dark hand slowly up her body, over her breast. The hand clenched; an echo of her gesture, claws shredding her shirt as it pulled back down. Helen had to close her mouth and swallow before a drop of spittle escaped. She let go, let the monster have her reins. Almost immediately, the wildfire orgasm swept over her.
She'd have fallen if she weren't hung, and propped from below. Helen's body rocked crazily as she rode it out; panting whines spilled from her open mouth. The intense sweetness didn't fade, but seemed to disperse all over her skin, into her bones. A deep growl rumbled into her from the creature; its eyes had closed again, mercifully.
The air inside the truck had become very warm and close; the muted flecks of light brighter. Sweat plastered hair to her cheek. The monster took one last lick, then began to rise; it slid out from under her leg, which she kept wrapped about its body. The creature smeared its sticky face into the sweat on her belly, between her breasts, rubbing her scent into the gnarled hide of its torso. It reached her face, seemed slightly unsteady; grinning like a fool, breathing heavily, pressing against her.
She reached for its fly, but it wouldn't be hurried, just nuzzled her face dreamily, sniffing as it ground its body into hers. Finally the monster yanked at its own pants, too mindless to be neat, popped a mouldering seam open enough to free itself. It slid into her, began fucking her with slow, sharp strokes. In tense hands the creature grasped her head, held her to its face.
She was briefly startled when the monster's wings jerked out, rending the coat apart. The wings flexed and shuddered, flicking the rags mostly away. They swept up to enclose her head and the creature's; a second pair of bony hands. In the dim amber light within its wings, the creature's eye gleamed ravenously at her.
The beast licked her face when she came, but kept going at the same agonizing pace. It breathed deeply, its wings squeezed down tighter.
Her skin tingled, every sensation amplified; the monster's groans not heard, but felt. The sound of her own labored breathing masked the rushing in her ears. The tingles flowed to her lips, her fingers, became a numbness. She realized dimly that the numbness was spreading, that her entire body cried out, starving for oxygen. No words came to her lips, and she began to slide down.
The monster noticed her slumping, slowed, pawed her face. Helen managed to fill her lungs enough to croak, "...air. ...need...air." Half conscious, she felt the monster pull out of her, regret at the sudden emptiness; vague sensations of unfurling movement and pulling; then brightness and open, cool air; tumbling to the grassy earth.
As she filled her lungs with the delicious air and forced her vision to clear, she saw the creature lying beside her on its back, wings half open and flapping loosely through shreds of its coat. The monster was growling or laughing; its head lolled drunkenly back and forth. It ripped up a handful of grass, tossed it in the breeze.
Lifting her left arm, Helen saw the big crude hook still in her sleeve, along with an eyebolt and splintered wood. She rolled aside and felt behind her; same thing - the tangle of chains and hooks had just been ripped from the wall. Her beast seemed to be recoving its senses; it crawled over to her, a goofy smile still plastered on its normally dreadful face. It inhaled deeply, still chuckling.
"Huhhhhh huhhhh," sniff f f, "...good...huhhhh hhuhhh," sniff f.
She glanced down and a broad grin spread across her face. The monster was still hard and eager. Helen pulled the sweat-drenched coat off as she got to her feet, then climbed into the truck again, turned and curled fingers at the creature. Eyes wide, it leapt after her, slamming the door shut behind.
A few moments later, half of an axehead punched through the metal side of the truck; it was yanked back and forth to widen the gap. With a screech the axe was removed, a thud as it was tossed aside. A smiling mouth appeared in the hole, gasped sharply as a grunt came from behind her.
The truck creaked faintly as it swayed from side to side.
End of Chapter 20
A/N: A scrap of inspiration came from the excellent novel I Am Legend by Richard Matheson.
Music: 'Cheap Sunglasses' by ZZ Top, 'Mercy' by Lorrie & Larry Collins
Chapter 21 is in progress. Be patient. Or I'll cut you.
The Acolyte and illustrations Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
~plagarists will be flayed alive~
redplanet@trinidadusa.net
