Down And Dirty wc-5
Page 38
She stepped into a shabby one-room apartment lit only with a few small lamps scattered in odd spots. The furniture was negligible-a bureau that might have come from the same flea market as the lamps, an old wooden table and a couple of chairs, a broken-down sofa near the windows. It was not the most reassuring place she had ever come to, but, she reminded herself, she had not come for reassurance.
"This is not the place I usually choose to entertain in," Croyd was saying as he shut the door and ran down a line of four locks. He turned to her, raisipg a hand to his mirrorshades, and licked his lips again. "So. I'm afraid I don't have a lot to offer you in the way of refreshment, but I can make any kind of gin and tonic you like."
She laughed nervously, hugging herself. "How many kinds are there?"
"Well, there's gin and tonic, of course. Tonic and gin," he said, moving closer to her. She made a countermove farther into the room, hugging herself tighter. "Gin and not much tonic. Gin and no tonic at all. Gin and an ice cube. Which sounds great to me. You think it over." He licked his lips for the third time in as many minutes and went to the kitchenette.
Jane turned away, trying to get the shudder building inside of her under control. In the company of this man who wanted her, the void was eating away at her like acid. It would make no difference if Croyd's latest persona were the god of eros. Just being in the same room with him was an excruciating reminder that pleasure could only be Ti Malice; anything else was a pale, crude substitution to force time to pass.
"Decided?"
She jumped as he touched her shoulder and moved away from him, rubbing the spot as if it were bruised. "No, Inothing for me, I guess." She gave another nervous laugh and winced. He tilted his head curiously and she saw two Janes in the mirrorshades. The distortion made her look as if she were trying to disappear into herself.
"You sure?" Croyd upended the glass and took a couple of ice cubes into his mouth, crunching them noisily. There were only ice cubes in his glass, she saw. "Nothing at all?"
"Well, not nothing…" She made a face, giving a long sigh. "God, I'm no good at this."
"At what?" Croyd had another ice cube. "What is it you're not good at, Bright Eyes?" He came a little closer and she backed away. "And why is it so important to be good at it?"
Something caught her abruptly behind the knees, and she plumped down hard on the couch. Croyd moved in quickly beside her, rolling another ice cube around in his mouth. His left arm slid along the back of the sofa and she shrank away from him. His knee touched hers just as his hand went from the couch to her shoulder, moving very lightly. He reached over and set the glass on the windowsill behind the couch, disturbing the drawn shade; his hand, she saw, was trembling slightly. Jane looked from the glass to Croyd. His tongue flicked out and ran along his lips every few seconds now. It was more like a tic than an expression of desire.
"Talk to me, Jane," he said gently as she reached the corner of the couch. He put his other hand on her arm. She flinched at the contact; there was another sensation under the displeasure of a touch that was not Ti Malice's, a tremor, as if he were running a long distance and going as fast as he could instead of sitting here on the couch trying to take her in his arms. "Come on, talk to me. Tell me."
The words came to her unbidden. "`Sleeper speeding, people bleeding."'
He froze. Jane looked into the mirrorshades, seeing only her twin reflections. Impulsively she reached for the glasses and he pulled back. "Don't." He twisted around, looking for the ice cubes, and Jane nodded at the windowsill. "Thanks. Speed dries you out."
"Where do you get it?" she asked.
"What, the speed? Why?" He crunched a couple of ice cubes. "You planning to stay up all night?"
"I was just wondering if whoever you got it from might… well, stock other things." She took a deep breath. "Other kinds of drugs."
He looked at her sharply for a moment and then suddenly lunged at her, grabbing her upper arm to pull her close. "Stop, you're hurting me!" Jane flinched from the mirrorshades thrusting themselves into her face and tried to pry his fingers off her arm.
"Are you strung out? Is that why you came here?" He was almost laughing. She twisted away from him, started to get up, and stumbled, landing on the floor in a heap.
"Get up." He pulled her back onto the couch roughly. "Talk to me, and this time, tell me something I don't know. Are you strung out."
"It's not what you think," she said, not looking at him. "It never is, Bright Eyes." He was licking his lips again. It was beginning to drive her crazy. "So, what kind of drug were you shopping for-horse? Lady? Blue dreamers? Reds? White crossroads? Black bombers, screaming yellow zonkers? What's your pleasure?" His voice was hard and ugly and she was aware, with no little amazement, that he was as disappointed in what he thought she was as Tachyon had been.
"God, what am I supposed to be, everyone's idea of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, the Sweet Virgin Ace?" she shouted at him. "Am I supposed to stand up here on my pedestal, playing God's Good Girl, just so you can all pat me on the head and call me virtuous in between your own debaucheries? Dear little Water Lily, lily white Water Lily, virgin-white Water Lily! It doesn't work that way! You all had to drag me into this, you had to involve me in your stupid games, in your fucking gang wars, you all had to use me for your own purposes, and now everyone's so shocked because I've turned up with the same filth you wallow in splashed all over me. What did you expect!".
She realized she was kneeling over him on the couch, screaming into his face. A few flecks of saliva were spattered on the mirrorshades. He stared up at her openmouthed.
"I guess," he said, pausing to lick his lips, "speed isn't the only thing that can dry you out."
Jane doubled over with a sob as the aching emptiness renewed its attack on her. She felt Croyd's hand lightly on her hair and shouted, "Don't touch me, it hurts!"
"I thought it was kind of strange that you weren't, ah, moist, but I wasn't sure. Everything seems a little strange at this point." He crunched the last of the ice cubes. "What is it? Plain old heroin, or something more exotic?"
She raised her head from the musty cushion. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me. Tell me what you're looking for."
With great effort she pulled herself all the way up and sat with her legs tucked under her. "I need something that goes directly to the pleasure center of the brain and stimulates it continuously."
"Don't we all," Croyd said grimly, tapping the last drop of water from his empty glass.
"Well?" she said after a moment. "Well what?"
"Do you know of anyone who has such a drug and will sell it to me?"
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Hell, no."
She stared at him, feeling the void consume her hope along with the rest of her, and then, absurdly, she sneezed. "Gesundheit," he said automatically. "Listen, there's no such thing, not animal, vegetable, or mineral. Except maybe about five hours of good, dirty sex, and frankly I'm not up to more than an hour at a time. Terrible to have to admit that-"
She was off the couch, heading for the door. "Hey, wait!"
She stopped and turned, looking at him questioningly. "Where are you going?"
"The only place I can go."
"And where might that be?"
She shook her head. "You're wrong, Croyd. There is such a thing. It exists. I know it. And I hope you never do. It's the worst thing in the world."
He licked his lips again and wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand. "I doubt that, Bright Eyes."
"Good," she said. "I hope you always will. Stay where you are. I'll let myself out."
But she couldn't. She had to wait patiently while he undid all four locks before she could rush away from the 'twin reflections of her own hopeless face.
Hiram opened the door to her this time, Hiram all alone in the empty apartment. She didn't have to ask to be let in. "It left you," he said quietly.
"Yes." Her voice was a whisper as she stood with her head bow
ed.
"Are you…" his voice failed him for a moment. "Are you… all right?"
She looked up at him and his eyes reflected the emptiness she felt inside. "You know I'm not, Hiram. And neither are you."
"No. I suppose we're not." He paused. "Can I get you anything? A glass of water or something to eat or…" His words hung in the air between them, futile absurdities. He was offering a teardrop to a forest fire.
It was too painful to leave at that. Jane raised her head with as much dignity as she could muster. "A cup of hot tea would be nice, thank you." It would be no such thing, and she almost never drank hot tea anyway, but it would be something they could do besides just stand there and ache together.
He busied himself in the kitchenette while she sat at the small table, staring at nothing. If pleasure was real, then the absence of pleasure was a palpable thing as well; where there had been rapture in every movement there was now the pain of the void he had left. Mg Master, she thought with dull revulsion. I called him Mg Master.
"I couldn't let you go after you'd seen," Hiram said abruptly. He didn't turn around and she didn't look up. "I'm sure you understand that, now that you know."
She made a small murmur but said nothing else.
"And he'd seen you in my thoughts many times as well. So when you showed up…" Pause. "Why did you come here?" The memory made her burst out laughing. Alarmed, Hiram turned around from the counter where the tea was brewing and stared at her. He looked so frightened that she tried to stem her laughter, but she had no control. She only laughed harder, shaking her head and waving him away as he made a move toward her.
"It's all right," she gasped after a while. "Really. It's just just so-" She was off again for nearly a minute while he stood watching her, misery emanating from him in waves she could almost feel.
"It's just so… insignificant," she said when she could finally speak again. "Brightwater delivered a load of rotten fish and I had to send it back. Nobody knew what to do about getting in a replacement shipment for the sushi bar, and Tomoyuki said that Mr. Dining Out was coming from New York Gourmet to review the twilight sushi bar-" She laughed again but weakly this time. "I guess we wont be offering the sushi bar tonight. I told Tom to get sick if I weren't back in an hour. That was-I don't know. What time is it?"
Hiram didn't answer.
"No, I guess it doesn't matter, does it?" she said, staring at him. "I got the address off the back of your desk blotter, but I wasn't going to use it unless I really had to, and I felt like I did. They're all turning against you, Hiram. Emile's walking around saying he thinks you're a junkie."
"I am," Hiram said bleakly. He checked the teapot and then set it on the table with two cups. "And so are you. And Ezili. And everyone else he's kissed."
"Is that what you call it?" she said as he poured the tea. "Do you have a better word for it?"
"No."
"It's an instant, permanent addiction," Hiram went on, almost matter-of-factly. "He connects directly to the pleasure center of your brain. That's why everything feels so good. Eating. Moving. Making love. Just breathing. And when he leaves you-it's like death. There's no cure, no relief. Except the kiss. I'll do anything for it. And so will you."
"No."
Hiram paused in the act of raising his teacup.
"We've got to pull ourselves together. There must be some kind of cure we could take, or even a drug that could act as a block or a replacement-"
"No, nothing." Hiram shook his head with finality. "There must be. We could look for it together, you and I. I went to Tachyon's clinic-"
Hiram's cup clattered into the saucer. "You what? You went to Tachyon?" His face had actually gone gray; she thought he might drop dead of horror.
"Don't worry, I didn't tell him. And he didn't find out."
"He's swamped with new wild card cases. He didn't bother reading my mind. But if you went back there with me and talked to him-"
"No!" he roared, and she jumped, spilling tea all over the table. Hiram immediately went for a dish towel and began wiping up the mess. "No," he said again, much more quietly. "If anyone finds out, they'll kill him. He can't survive without a human host. We'd lose him and we still wouldn't have a cure. We'd have to be like this for the rest of our lives. Could you stand that?"
"God, no," she whispered, putting her forehead in her hand.
"Then don't talk crazy." Hiram tossed the dish towel at the sink and took her hand. "It'll be all right. Really. It's not so bad a lot of the time. Not really. I mean, does he demand that much for the pleasure he gives? And he does leave you alone a lot, and it's not like he's evil, not really. If you were the only mount, could you deny him his life? If you knew he would die without you, could you let that happen?"
She pulled her hand away, shaking her head. "Hiram, you don't know what's happened to me."
"You don't know what's happened to me!" he cried. He knelt down to look into her face, and she was horrified to see tears in his eyes. "Whatever you've done is nothing compared to what I've done! Don't you think it's been horrible for me? The fear of detection, the powerlessness-I've considered suicide, don't think I haven't, but the awful part is, there might be an afterlife and he wouldn't be there and that really would be hell! What happened to you-! Know what happened to me? I let him take a friend! I swore I would not, and I did it anyway! I let him take you!"
She pulled away from him. "Oh, Jesus, Hiram, I wish I'd died that night when the Astronomer came to Aces High. I wish you had let me fall!"
"I wish I had, too!" he bellowed at her.
Hiram's statement seemed to echo in the silence that followed. It was over, she realized wonderingly. Aces High, her obligation to Hiram, her life as an ace if she'd ever really had one, everything. It had all been wiped out, leaving both of them with nothing.
"You're not wet," Hiram said, belatedly aware.
Before she could answer him, there was a knock at the door.
Hiram jerked his head at the bedroom and she went without protest, pulling herself into a huddle on the floor next to the bed. Whatever was coming next, she wasn't ready for it.
Exhaustion suddenly swept over her; she leaned her head against the side of the mattress and let herself fall into a strange half-sleep. She heard the voices in the other room, but they made no impression on her, even when Hiram's rose angrily. Some uncounted time later she sensed someone's approaching and she tried to push down into unconsciousness, away from the presence, fantasizing again that Hiram had made her weightless so she could drift off into the sky.
But strong hands pulled her up and flung her down on the bed. She struggled feebly, her eyelids fluttering with- groggy alarm. Then she felt the feather touch of small fingers along her back, and she stretched her neck obligingly for the kiss.
The scene in the living room was troublesome, but she was far above it, riding in a state of transport with her Master. There was Hiram of course, and Ezili, and two men she didn't recognize and couldn't be bothered to care about, and Emile, of all people, bound and gagged and lying on the carpet. Her Master forced her attention to him and she acquiesced, all the while reveling in the renewed contact.
"Jane," Hiram said tensely. She turned to look at him through pleasure-glazed eyes. He seemed to be having some difficulty keeping his gaze on her, or perhaps on her Master. It didn't matter, though. Everything was all right again.
"jane."
"Heard you," she said, completely happy. "What is it?"
"Why did you give Emile the spare key to my office?" Her Master commanded that she answer, and it was exquisite to obey. " I put him in charge while I was gone. It seemed to be the logical thing to do."
"When I gave you that key, I told you no one- no one-but you was to have it, for any reason."
"You gave me that key ages ago, before you left on the trip, and after you came back, I thought you'd forgotten all about it. It just didn't seem to make any difference because you didn't seem to care anymore." She smiled dreamily.
"You don't understand what you've done, Water Lily," Hiram said miserably. "You've killed this man."
Something in her started at the use of her ace name, but she let it go. Her Master liked it. He liked the water that was trickling down her face and running from her hair, saturating her clothes and soaking the carpet around her feet.
"If she was responsible," her voice said at her Master's command, "then she can take care of it, yes, Hiram?"
"It will kill her," Hiram said. "Or drive her mad."
"She's already mad." Her Master had her laugh for him. "And she's not really so terribly interesting, except for her power." Her face turned to Emile. His eyes widened, and he made desperate little noises against the gag.
"Get him ready for her, Ezili," said her Master. " I am so curious as to what it will be like."
Ezili struggled to pull down Emile's trousers while he tried to wiggle away from her. One of the men Jane didn't know forced Emile over onto his back, crushing his bound hands against the floor, and knelt on his shoulders. Emile began to scream against the gag, but it came out as muffled bleats. His bound legs kicked upward, and the man pressed harder on his shoulders until he was still.
After a while Ezili got up, wiping her mouth delicately. "Show him a good time, little girl."
Jane moved to Emile and knelt beside him. Her Master had already explained wordlessly what was required of her. It wasn't too much to ask. He wanted to know how it would feel; her only mission in life was to show him. She pulled up her dress and casually ripped away her underpants.
The horror in Emile's eyes fed her sensation as she straddled his body and lowered herself onto him. He stiffened and she heard him grunt in pain. Water poured down on him in rhythmic splashes. More sensation. She gave herself over to it, letting her consciousness dissolve so that it, too, was like fluid. Somewhere lost in the pleasure was the little tiny Jane screaming against this atrocity, but little tiny Jane didn't count for much in the face of this magnificent pleasure-power. What had to be sacrificed for Ti Malice's enjoyment would be; if Emile could have known, he might have offered himself up willingly. It was more than an honor. It was a blessing; it was a state of grace. It was-