by Tim Waggoner
“We’re trying to find someone who’s lost.” Nicola put a slight emphasis on this last word, and the man nodded sagely. “We think she was a customer here. She purchased a copy of The Book of Oblivion.”
The man chuckled. “Her and every other Shadower who’s ever set foot in here.”
The man’s response irritated Jayce. There was nothing amusing about Emory being missing. But before he could say anything, he noticed something strange about the man’s eyes. At first they were a normal brown – a human brown – but as Jayce watched they shifted to become cat’s eyes, then lizard eyes, goat, fish, bird, insect.… They continued morphing every few seconds, running through the same sequence over and over. The effect was disquieting, and Jayce wondered if the man ran a store filled with mystic books because of his special eyes – All the better to read you with, my dear – or if his eyes were like that because of all the books he’d read, rare and dangerous as they were.
“What’s her name?” the Bookman asked.
Nicola turned to Jayce to prompt him to answer, but he was transfixed by the man’s ever-shifting eyes and didn’t say anything at first. Nicola nudged him with her elbow, and he finally said, “Emory. Emory Lewis.”
The Bookman thought for a moment. “Sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell. You have a picture?”
Jayce showed the man Emory’s picture on his phone, and he studied it for several seconds, eyes morphing from wolf to horse to fly. He looked away from the phone and shook his head.
“Sorry again, but I don’t recognize her.”
Jayce wanted to ask him to take another look at Emory’s picture, but a customer had approached the counter and was standing behind them, waiting to be served. Jayce couldn’t tell the person’s gender. Whoever it was, they were short, almost child-sized, and wore a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. The hood was up and the person kept his or her head down, so Jayce couldn’t see any features. The customer held a large book that looked as if it were bound in uneven patches of tanned hide that had been stitched together.
Hide? Mother said. Or skin?
Written on the cover, or perhaps tattooed there, was the title: The Insanirarium. Jayce could feel wrongness coming off the book in waves, and he couldn’t keep from shivering. Only then did he notice that the hands that held the book had very long fingers with twice the number of joints they should have.
“Thanks anyway,” Nicola said to the Bookman, and then she turned to Jayce and said, “Let’s go.”
He didn’t need any further encouragement.
They wended their way through the maze of shelves once more – Jayce trying not to think about how there would be no room to run, or defend themselves, if either the Harvest Man or Ohio Pig attacked them here. Soon, they were back outside on the sidewalk. A light rain had begun to fall while they’d been inside, but it wasn’t much more than a sprinkle and was easily ignored.
Nicola looked at him and grinned.
“Next stop, sex shop.”
She took his hand and they started walking. Jayce tried not to read anything into the way she’d grinned at him before they set off, but he couldn’t help it after their kiss in the alley.
They walked two blocks before the rain began to pick up, and by the time they drew near the sex shop they were running. It was absurd, but Jayce almost felt like laughing. Here he was, searching for his daughter in a place like a madman’s nightmare, after discovering that he’d been transformed by a darkness-breathing monster when he was thirteen, and he was happy – even if only for this moment – to be holding hands with a beautiful woman in the rain. Was he truly so lonely that this actually seemed romantic to him? Or was he crazier than he realized? Maybe both, he decided, but right then he didn’t give a damn.
The sex shop was far less nondescript than Tainted Pages. A large neon sign jutted from the building’s brick façade, spelling out the establishment’s name in blazing vertical letters.
“The Hole Thing?” Jayce said aloud. He turned to look at Nicola. “Seriously?”
Without answering, she led him to the entrance – a glass door with iron bars covering it – and pushed it open. A bell jingled as they entered, and the door swung slowly shut behind them. They stood there for a moment, clothes sodden, both of them dripping onto the floor. Unlike Tainted Pages, this place was brightly lit by fluorescent light panels in the ceiling, and while there were numerous display shelves, the entire floor was a single open space, and there was plenty of room to walk around and browse. The separate sections were clearly labeled, with large signs with big red letters. Lubes, Dildos, Vibrators, Sex Dolls, BDSM, Assplay, Watersports, Whips, Restraints, Leatherwear, Rubberwear, and an extra-large section labeled Fetish World! complete with exclamation point.
Jayce wasn’t the most worldly of men when it came to sex, but he didn’t consider himself a prude by any means. Still, there were several section labels for sexual proclivities he was unfamiliar with: Autopsychotic Degradation, Molecular Bestiality, Genital Deconstruction.… But worst of all were the smaller signs attached to the shelves, each of which contained a different, but equally terrible, pun. Urine for a treat! I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enema! Dildon’t miss out on this deal!
Everything in the store – aside from the products on display – was white. Ceiling, walls, floor, shelves.… It reminded Jayce of how the future was portrayed in Seventies films: large empty spaces where everything was white, white, white, and there wasn’t a single scuff mark or speck of dirt to be found anywhere. The smell of the place was far different from the rank miasma of sweat, semen, and desperation he’d expected. It smelled like a hospital, as if every surface had recently been scrubbed with bleach and antiseptic. He could already feel his sinuses beginning to burn from the chemicals in the air.
The Hole Thing was busier than Tainted Pages, which given its wares was only to be expected. A dozen people walked around or stood in front of displays, some alone, some in pairs, some in groups of three or more. Some were quiet and serious, giving off a definite creeper vibe, while others laughed with lighthearted amusement or awkward embarrassment at whatever products they were checking out. Men and women were represented in more or less equal numbers, and their ages ranged from early twenties to a foot-and-a-half in the grave. They all had hints of what Jayce had started to think of as being Shadow-touched. Altered features, distorted bodies, strange behavioral tics.… But as near as he could tell, none of the people were dangerous. He wondered if that was merely wishful thinking on his part, or if he was actually beginning to learn his way around Shadow, at least a little.
“What do we do now?” Jayce asked. “Start going up to people and asking if they’ve seen Emory?”
“It would make more sense to check with the owners first,” Nicola said. “They don’t sell Pink Devils to just anyone. The things are way too dangerous.”
Jayce looked around, but he didn’t see any signs indicating Pink Devils were sold here. Nicola must’ve guessed what he was thinking, for she said, “They keep the really hardcore stuff downstairs, on the pro level.”
“And how do you know that?” Jayce asked.
Nicola gave him a gentle hip bump. “How do you think?”
He smiled and tried not to think about all the things Emory must’ve done to qualify for the ‘pro level’. If she’d summoned the Sanguinem Seminis when she was fifteen, how much more – and worse – had she done in the years since? She was an adult and he knew her sex life wasn’t any of his business and that it wasn’t his place to judge her, but he feared what her exposure to the people and things of Shadow – and beyond – might have done to her.
But before they could begin their search for an employee, one approached them. He wore gray coveralls and black shoes, and he carried a plastic bucket in one hand and a mop in the other.
Nicola glanced down at the puddles of water around their feet, then looked up and smiled apologetically. “So
rry about that.”
“No problem. Rainwater’s not the worst thing I clean up around here, believe me.”
Jayce and Nicola stepped aside to give the man room to work. Jayce tried not to stare as he put the bucket on the floor and started mopping up the puddles. He was medium height, on the stocky side, with black stubble on his head. No facial hair, not even a hint. His lips, nose, and ears were small, almost underdeveloped, and his skin color was strangely indeterminate, sometimes looking lighter, sometimes darker, depending on how the light hit him as he moved. His voice was soft and higher-pitched, like a boy who hadn’t been through puberty yet, and he spoke without any particular tone or inflection. Taken together, these characteristics made it difficult to guess his age. He could’ve been anywhere from mid-teens to mid-fifties. Maybe he’s a eunuch, Jayce thought. He’d always had the impression that eunuchs were something that had gone out with the Middle Ages, but maybe not. And even if they were a thing of the past, that didn’t mean anything in the Cannery. This place ran by its own set of demented rules.
“You might be able to help us, Ronnie,” Nicola said.
Jayce looked at her, and he was surprised to see how unattractive she appeared in this garish light. She was pale, hair wet and scraggly from the rain, features boyish, figure all straight lines and hard angles. He thought of how she’d kissed him in the alley, and the memory sent a shudder of revulsion through him, accompanied by a twist of nausea. How could he have ever let her do that to him?
Nicola looked at him then, and her lips pursed in distaste. She averted her gaze quickly, as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him. The feeling was mutual, Jayce thought.
He was so caught up in the disgust he felt toward Nicola that he almost forgot why they had come here. He took his phone from his pocket, brought up the picture of Emory, and held the device out for Ronnie to look at it.
“My daughter’s been missing for two weeks,” Jayce said. “I know she…was a customer. Do you remember seeing her?”
The man stopped mopping and leaned in close to get a good look at Emory’s picture. He stared at the image for several moments, the soft, almost girlish skin of his brow furrowed in concentration.
“She does look familiar,” he said after a time. “But we get a lot of customers in here.” He looked away from the phone and met Jayce’s gaze. “Do you know what she was into?”
Before Jayce could answer, Nicola said, “Pink Devil.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened.
“Not everyone can handle one of those babies. We keep that kind of thing downstairs, but I don’t have much to do with any of that stuff. My wife’s in charge down there. She might be able to help you.”
“Thanks,” Jayce said. He pocketed his phone and he and Nicola moved off. Their clothes were still wet, but at least they weren’t dripping as much now. As soon as they’d put some distance between themselves and Ronnie, Jayce felt a warm flush come over him. He looked at Nicola, and she was beautiful once more, and the way her wet dress clung to her body made her look sexy as hell.
Nicola saw him staring at her and laughed.
“It felt weird, didn’t it? Ronnie is antisexual. He projects some kind of energy that suppresses other people’s sex drives, to the point where they begin to find the very idea of sex, or anything related to it, repulsive.”
Jayce glanced back over his shoulder at Ronnie. It had felt strange, like for a brief time a fundamental part of himself had ceased to exist. It was as if, in an emotional sense, the world had lost all its color and become dull, gray, and cold.
“Seems a quality like that wouldn’t be good for business.”
“Once he’s no longer near you, your sex drive returns full force, making you more horny than you were before. You’re even more inclined then to buy stuff and rush home to try it out.” She smiled. “I’m feeling it right now, and I bet you are too.”
Jayce gave her a strained smile. “No comment.”
They walked through the store until they reached an unmarked door in the back. It was painted black and had a highly polished chrome knob. Before Jayce could ask, Nicola said, “It doesn’t need a sign. When people are ready for this level, they find it.”
Jayce reached for the knob, but Nicola put her hand on his wrist to stop him before he could open the door. Her touch was electric, and he felt his cock stiffen. He told himself the response was an aftereffect of whatever strange ability Ronnie possessed, but that didn’t make his reaction feel any less powerful.
“Ronnie’s wife Sela is his exact opposite,” Nicola said. “He suppresses sex drives, but she enhances them. The effect can be overwhelming if you’re not used to it.”
“I’ll keep thinking about cold showers,” he said.
Nicola let her hand linger on his wrist a moment longer. Then she removed it, he opened the door, and they began heading down a flight of creaky wooden stairs.
* * *
Nicola closed the door behind her just as someone entered the shop. The bells rang softly, and as the man stepped inside, Ronnie looked up from his mopping.
“Can I help you?” he asked in his toneless voice.
The man – nose bent and swollen, chunk of flesh gouged from his cheek, eyes blazing with hatred – smiled, displaying a mouthful of broken and missing teeth.
“Thanks, but I plan on helping myself.”
* * *
Jayce could feel it before they were halfway down the poorly lit stairs. A pressure in the back of his head, beads of sweat appearing on his skin, a tingling in his balls. Next came the odor, a thick, rank smell, like something that would waft forth from the lion enclosure at the zoo. His cock didn’t so much harden as become instantly engorged, tight flesh throbbing in concert with his pulse.
“You weren’t kidding, were you?” he said, voice low and husky.
“Nope.” Nicola’s voice sounded normal enough, if a bit strained, and Jayce wondered if that was because she’d had experience resisting Sela’s power or because – despite their earlier kiss – she wasn’t really attracted to him.
He pictured himself grabbing hold of her, hiking up her skirt, tearing off her panties – assuming she wore any – unzipping his pants to free his cock and fucking her from behind right here on the stairs. He’d pound her so hard that by the time he was finished, she wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week. That would show her.
A different image flashed through his mind then, two of the Pink Devil’s tendrils wrapped around his wrists while a third slithered into his pants. He recalled how trapped he’d felt, how helpless and violated, and those memories blunted his heightened state of sexual arousal. More, they made him feel guilty for his fantasy about Nicola. Not guilty for imagining having sex with her, but for the anger bordering on rage that had accompanied the fantasy.
He gave Nicola a sideways glance, as if afraid she was somehow aware of what he’d imagined and the emotions that had come along with it. But she looked straight ahead, not meeting his gaze. He realized then that she was concentrating, doing her best to manage the feelings Sela’s power stirred in her. He thought again of the rage he had felt a moment ago. Had it been entirely an effect of Sela’s influence, or had her power only intensified something that was already inside him and brought it closer to the surface? The Harvest Man’s darkness – or at least some measure of it – dwelled within him, and it had emerged once. Once he remembered, that was. Maybe the rage he’d experienced was a precursor to the darkness emerging again. By going down to the store’s lower level to talk with Sela, he might be putting her, her customers, and most of all Nicola, in danger.
Oh, for Degradation’s sake! Mother said. You might be a monster, but you’re a goddamn wishy-washy one. If you want to find Emory, quit being so fucking sensitive and get on with it!
For the first time in his life, Valerie had actually given him some good advice. Even more shocking, he d
ecided to take it.
The stairs ended at another door exactly like the one on the upper level. Jayce opened it – finding the knob warm and a bit sticky – and he and Nicola stepped through. The atmosphere on the other side of the door was so sexually charged that for an instant Jayce experienced a wave of vertigo and his vision blurred. The worst of the dizziness passed after several seconds, and when his vision cleared, he got his first good look at The Hole Thing’s lower level.
He’d expected something dark, dim, and dungeon-like, but it was as brightly lit as the upper level. The walls were mirrored, intensifying the light to the point where Jayce had to squint to keep his eyes from hurting. The walls formed a large curved circle, and in the center was a round structure that rose all the way to the ceiling. It was made of highly polished dark wood, and there were curved doors spaced at regular intervals. Mounted on the wall next to the doors were various devices, none of which Jayce recognized, but it didn’t take a genius to intuit their purpose. These were sex toys, but they were as far removed from simple dildos and vibrators as a laptop computer was from a child’s first book of numbers. The devices were fashioned from different substances – plastic, metal, wood, leather, and what looked to Jayce like actual flesh. They were shaped in enigmatic, even alien configurations that made their specific functions impossible to guess at, but they all shared the same basic purpose: to take their users to the highest level of sexual fulfillment that was physically possible without killing them. And who knows? Maybe even past that point and back again.
Fewer people browsed down here than upstairs, and while Jayce expected them to be more obviously into kink than those on the upper level, they didn’t look all that different from other people he’d seen in the Cannery. To be sure, several of the customers were tatted and pierced and wore their share of leather, but most were more nondescript and wore T-shirts, light jackets over dress shirts or blouses, along with jeans or slacks. A few were alone, but most were couples or trios, mixed gender or same gender, talking about the devices’ different features and their pros and cons without bothering to keep their voices low. These people obviously felt no embarrassment or shame about being here and didn’t give a damn if anyone heard their conversations.