“He does?” Keith asked, lighting up with a hope that transformed his sinister grin into a beatific smile.
“He does. Of course he does.”
“He’s been avoiding me, you know. I’ve been after him in the worst way. He’s everything to me.”
“I know. You’re pretty special to him. You need to call him to tell him you know he was delayed. He’ll come over as soon as he can. He wants to.”
“Goody.” She thought he was going to clap his hands with glee, like a child presented with the toy he most wanted, but he just said “Goody!” a few more times. Then that demonic giggle set in, rising to a deranged register.
If he weren’t about to kill her, she might have felt sorry for him.
“I think I dropped my phone in Mummy’s bedroom, and I don’t feel like going in there right now. So you call him and then give me the phone. Not a word about crisscross,” he whispered, his painted gash-like red lips moving against her ear.
“I left my bag in the living room,” Sophia said.
“I’m coming with you, Doctor. You’re not going to be the one that got away,” he said, turning on a dime from mirth to menace. “Let’s see which knife I’m going to reserve for you,” he mused as he scanned the room proudly, happily humming a few bars of “The Candy Man.” He paused. “Or for Barth to use. He owes me. I did Mummy. We’ll see when he comes over. I’ll let him choose the knife. It’s only right.” He dragged Sophia to her feet. “Let’s go get that phone. Lead the way. I’m right behind you.”
Sophia found her bag on the couch, a large stylish red-and-black Prada, beautifully made. How silly it all seemed now.
“No, no,” Keith said. “Just the phone. Leave your bag here.”
It was as if he had read her mind. She was hoping to find something in there that would serve as a makeshift weapon, or she could even use the bag as a weapon. Now that door had closed. Keith was sharp. His madness hadn’t made him sloppy—except when it came to Barth. Then, he turned into a gooey marshmallow.
“Let’s go back to my hideaway. I feel safe there,” he said. “You lead the way. I’m right behind you.”
She could smell the blood on the way back past Amanda’s bedroom. Even though she averted her eyes, in her mind’s eye, she saw Amanda, her throat cut from ear to ear.
Better keep a clear head. She had to fight for her life, or she would end up just like Amanda. Would he put her body next to Amanda’s? she wondered.
When they were back on the red couch, sitting chummily side by side, he nodded at her to call Barth.
Barth answered on the second ring. She was afraid he might not answer, and then what? But there was his beloved voice billowing toward her, filling her with hope and the fierce will to live.
“Sophia, darling. Are you okay? Did you get some rest?” Barth asked before she could say anything.
“Put it on speaker,” Keith instructed.
“I’m here with Keith, and he wants to talk to you. We’re on speaker.”
“Where with Keith? What’s going on?”
“At Amanda’s and Keith’s place.” Funny, she had always thought of it as Amanda’s because Keith seemed like such a child. “He just showed me his special knife room. It’s off-limits to Amanda. It’s really a knife museum.” Just the mention of Keith should alert him. Why, oh why hadn’t she even given him a second thought when she had marched over here to save Amanda?
“Knife room? What are you talking about?”
“I can’t wait for you to see it, Barth,” Keith interjected. “Sophia said you wanted to meet me but couldn’t make it. Come over now, Barth. I can’t wait to plant my ruby-red lips around your hard cock. Whoopsie. I guess I shouldn’t have said that in front of the doctor here,” he said putting his hand to his mouth, miming coyness.
Barth, sufficiently alarmed, said, “Hold that thought. I’ll be right over. Don’t do anything till I get there, Keith.”
The momentary relief she had experienced turned to dread when she watched Keith stand and begin humming “The Candy Man” again while scrutinizing the knife-laden walls.
“Maybe I should choose the weapon now. Barth probably doesn’t know anything about knives,” he said, more to himself than to her.
“What happened to the knife you used on Amanda?” Sophia asked and then wished she had bitten her tongue before all the words were out.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, Doctor? I’m not one of your patients. You sound like Mummy. Don’t question me.” He had turned vitriolic.
“I…I need to use the bathroom,” Sophia stammered.
“Why? You’re going to piss yourself thinking about what’s coming? Or maybe shit yourself. Be another poopy pants?” He laughed crazily, staring at her as if she were an annoying mosquito buzzing around him. “Okay, but I’m going to watch you. I hope it’s number one. I hate the smell of shit. And I don’t especially want to watch you wiping your ass. But you’re not pulling anything. Who knows what you could grab in the bathroom. Or maybe you’re getting as excited as I am about Barth coming over. I’m sure you’ve put your lips around that thing a few times. That’s some mighty schlong. Maybe we should let you watch. You can see how it’s done. Hmmm. Let me think about that one. I surprise myself,” he said. “Okay, let us go to the bathroom. We’re going to my bathroom, not Mummy’s.”
He held onto her hands as he marched her to the small, mint-green bathroom.
She demurely pulled down her jeans and panties and sat on the seat. She found herself looking at a World War I poster of a soldier crouching in the trenches, desperate eyes staring out of a face camouflaged by dried, caked mud. In his right hand, there was an odd little knife with a long thin blade and an easily grasped wide handle.
“I see that trench knife has gotten your attention,” Keith remarked as Sophia released a steady stream of urine. “It was developed to kill efficiently at close quarters. I love them. I’ve collected a whole bunch. Now that’s what we should use on you. Perfect. Now, hurry up and wipe yourself, so I can show you my fine collection of combat knives. Maybe you can help me choose the right knife for you!” He chuckled. “I’m full of great ideas. I’m full of piss and vinegar. I’m full up to here with Poopy Pants,” he concluded, slashing his index finger across his throat and rolling his eyes upward.
“No, no, no. No hand washing after wiping your twat,” he protested as she sidled up to the sink. “Who knows what you could fling at me? I’m not taking any chances. Now hurry up, Pissy Pants. I want to find the right trench knife for you. No dawdling, Doctor,” he said, shoving her forward.
Was it too soon for Barth to get here? How much longer could she handle this before sinking to the floor in a hopeless mess? Renewed panic gripped her.
Keith hurried them back to his knife room, pushing her ahead of him every few steps as if she were a recalcitrant toddler holding him back.
When they were back in the knife room, Keith settled Sophia on the couch and proceeded to search for the perfect combat knife to do her in.
“No, no, no. I need you up here with me,” he said, dragging her to her feet again. “Let’s look together. Let me show you some amazing knives.” He beamed, gazing at his case filled with war knives. “Here’s just the ticket,” he said as he pulled out the very knife that had caught Sophia’s eye, the one with those amazing brass knuckle holes. US 1918 was stamped into the brass, and the blade appeared to be a triangular flinty affair. It looked like Black Death to her. She felt faint but steeled herself. She wanted to be around for her end, not passed out in a lifeless heap as he searched for her throat for the coup de grace.
They both turned as Barth, his brown eyes black with fear, swooped into the room like an angel of mercy with feathery white wings.
“Keith. What the fuck is going on here?” Barth shouted.
“Keep cool, dear,” Keith flashed, rushing over to kiss Barth full on the lips while gracefully holding the knuckle knife, his four knuckles in the accommodating holes.
<
br /> Sophia was attempting to speak with her eyes. She was trying to engage Barth’s eyes in order to signal him to stop shouting. No need to rev up Keith’s mood.
Barth looked her over as if to reassure himself that she was intact. He relaxed a bit. He turned to Keith and said, “I didn’t know if you were going to kiss me or kill me with that monster in your grip.”
“Kiss you and kill Sophia,” Keith said, without missing a beat. “No, no, no. That’s all wrong.” Keith seemed to remonstrate with himself. “Kiss you and your monster, of course, and have you kill Sophia. I had to kill Mummy because I didn’t think you were keeping your end of the bargain. You know, crisscross. Sophia told me I was wrong. I hope she’s not a lying cunt,” he spat out as he led Barth over to Sophia.
“Of course she’s not,” Barth soothed. “I’m here, aren’t I? I came as soon as I could get away.” He didn’t dare look at Sophia again, giving the knife-wielding Keith all his attention “Now what do you want?” Barth asked.
“Actually I had a brainy brainstorm when I was watching old Pissy Pants here. I think she should watch me give you the blow job of a lifetime before you cut her throat,” he proposed, waving his brass-knuckled right hand. Keith suddenly shouted, “Keep calm and lutsch mein schwanz.”
“What?” Barth asked.
“You should know what that means. It’s German for ‘suck my dick.’ It’s the big refrain in Score, my favorite gay bar at the moment.”
“I know what it means. But is that what you want? Now?” Barth was trying to stall any way he could.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m feeling very powerful for a change. And my hands are full. Sophia can watch you doing it to me. Even better. Down on your knees, my darling. I’ll be watching Sophia watching us. I have my weapon aimed at her while you have my other weapon in your lovely mouth. It sounds like heaven all around. I can be brilliant when I put my mind to it. Positively inspired. Sophia will be very close so you don’t get any ideas to bite and run. If I get hurt, she gets very hurt. If I enjoy myself, maybe we can keep her around for a while to watch. It’s always nice to have a third set of eyes. Might be lots of fun,” he said, his laugh, rising from a titter to a tempestuous squeaking howl.
“Unzip me, my boy,” Keith ordered, draping his left arm around Sophia’s neck and placing his lethal right hand at her throat so that she could feel the cool, razor-sharp tip biting into her flesh. “Let me feel that glorious mouth and tongue working its magic. Swallow me up. Watch and learn, Doctor.”
Sophia, numb and wooden, stared at the back of that familiar golden-haired head moving rhythmically with Keith’s penis in his mouth. She felt the searing pinch of the blade tip, circling ever so slightly at her throat as Keith’s other hand began to clasp and unclasp the side of her neck, his arousal rising.
“You’ve got my divided attention. I can enjoy myself and still keep one eagle eye on you, Doctor.” Keith’s voice was hoarse and thick with passion. “No, no, no, Barth. Keep those sexy hands glued to my butt cheeks. Oooh. Just your tasty tongue please. I feel like my knob is in hot liquid silk. Don’t stop.”
When was she just going to drop? How much could she take? How annoyed would this maniac be if she ruined his fun now? She realized she had to stay put and hope he didn’t pierce her throat when he really got going.
Then she heard a loud crack, fracturing the tension-laden air, and she watched Keith topple onto the kneeling Barth, the threatening blade dropping from her throat, falling with Keith, his knuckles still encased in the brass-knuckle handle as he crumpled further over Barth.
An ever-widening pool of red blossomed beside Barth’s and Keith’s prone forms as they lay jumbled together. Barth was in a fetal position now, on his side, with Keith spread-eagled over him.
Whose blood was it? Sophia was frozen to the spot. Speechless. Staring. Afraid to find out.
A familiar voice was saying, “Are you all right?”
Jack. It was Jack, who was dropping his gun as he went over to examine the confusing heap on the floor.
“Whose blood is it?” she asked.
“How did you get here?”
“Barth called me on his way over,” Jack said. “It’s Keith’s. I shot him right behind the ear. He’s gone. I couldn’t risk anything less. You and Barth are safe,” Jack reassured her, embracing Sophia before disentangling Barth and helping him to his feet.
Relief swept over her in warm waves. Her limbs, boneless, loosened into soft cotton candy. As her knees gave way, Jack caught her and placed her on the red couch. She flashed to her recent terror, sitting there with Keith, and shuddered before returning to the present. Barth was sitting next to her, and they were embracing, grateful to be together and intact.
“As soon as Kelly gets here, I’m going to have her drive you home. I’ll get your statements tomorrow. I recommend brandy, whatever tranquilizer Dr. Clyde prescribes, and sleep,” he said, corralling them out of the room and out the front door to the elevator to wait for Kelly.
CHAPTER 31
They were in bed, brandy snifters at their sides on their night tables, huddled together for warmth and safety like two homeless refugees, insecure and unmoored but anchored together while wandering the earth.
After Kelly installed them at home, they showered together, letting the warm tingling spray take them over. Once they were in toweling robes, Sophia handed Barth the bottle of Courvoisier she had grabbed along with the snifters on the way upstairs. She also handed him a low-dose Xanax she happened to have lying around the house and then popped one in her mouth, washing it down with the cognac.
Sophia tried playing some low-key, soothing piano music, but both their jangled nerves screamed out in irritation as if she had tried playing Metallica. Maybe Indian music. But Sophia ran out of energy before she ran out of ideas. Everything and anything was overstimulating.
“I should check my phone,” she said. “It seems as if that stint at Amanda’s lasted for days.” Yet time had ballooned and mushroomed to a standstill during the ordeal. Telescoped. It felt as if it had stopped inexorably marching forward while it enveloped her in its fungal folds of fear. The hallucinations distorted time too. But not like this. Time had stood still and pinned her down, helplessly wriggling.
“Don’t check anything. Everyone can wait. You need to rest and recover. You need to be here with me and forget the rest of the world,” he said, hugging her tightly to him. “Let’s get some sleep. I’m beginning to feel the effects of the drug and alcohol.”
Sophia was feeling those same tongue-loosening, disinhibiting consequences, and they gave her a pressing urge to confess about Dirk, which she fought. Her woozy, wooly mind had latched onto the thought of coming clean while a miniscule pocket of better judgment sent out warning signals.
As Sophia began, “Barth, there’s something I need to tell you,” Barth cut her off, placing his fingers on her lips.
“We need to sleep to properly begin recuperating. We need to put some distance between the freaky ordeal and ourselves. Now give me your glass.”
Sophia handed him her snifter, which he awkwardly put to her lips, getting her to drain it. Then he drained his own.
“Now, come to Papa,” he said as he pushed her wounded backside firmly into his groin, beginning to softly snore before he had even finished putting her in the spooning position, oblivious to her gasp of pain when her raw backside pushed into him.
One last lingering wisp of a thought floated by her before the comforting arms of sleep enfolded her. “I have to tell him about Dirk. Can’t have two papas.”
Sophia shot up in bed a few hours later, castigating herself for that urge to confess to Barth. She looked over at the peacefully snoring Barth and sighed with relief. Then, a steel trapdoor clanged open to reveal a snarling tiger. The fear and trembling of yesterday’s ordeal sprang out and pounced, smacking her square in the solar plexus with its heavy paws.
She threw back the covers, leaped to her feet, and grabbed the cognac, pouring her
self a liberal shot, which she began slurping as she headed for the bathroom to relieve herself.
There. She was getting woozy already. She couldn’t handle the memory of the blood, the corpse, the mayhem, and Keith’s ominous presence, his mad mood swings, and his abrupt demise when she had been certain she was facing imminent death. She drained the snifter, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and cuddled up carefully to Barth’s backside, throwing her right arm over his chest, waiting for sleep, which obligingly came quickly.
The morning brought little relief. Solid sunshine, singing birds, and fluttering butterflies were no match for yesterday’s trauma. When Sophia opened the blinds, she saw none of the harbingers of a glorious day but only a bleak grayness.
She snuck downstairs, leaving Barth asleep. There was a lengthy text message from Dirk with all sorts of silly details about Elayne Angel and her tour schedule. He had found that he couldn’t buy her a stud for her piercing. It had to be provided by Elayne at the time of the piercing.
Despite her irritation at the thought of a clitoral-hood piercing after yesterday’s events, Dirk’s message still managed to make her heart pound. She couldn’t think about meeting him now, but the thought of not seeing him for months saddened her. It made her feel cold.
Sophia texted that the piercing was off for now due to unforeseen events, and she would call him soon. Piercing indeed. After she had almost been pierced by a knife wielded by a madman. The thought of Dirk’s raspy voice quickened her pulse. She would call him soon to get that charge.
As if on cue, Barth appeared, and Sophia darkened her phone. He kissed her on the top of her head and proceeded to make coffee while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Jack will be coming around soon to question us,” Barth reminded her as he handed her a mug of coffee fixed just the way she liked it.
She had been sitting there dully, and she marveled at how she had lost time between Barth’s preparations and the completion of the coffee. It seemed as if he had made it instantaneously.
“I guess I lost time there. Between you descending the stairs, starting the coffee, and handing it to me, I went into some time glitch. Some mysterious door creaked open, and time stopped.”
Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1) Page 22