“You don’t think this is the least bit odd?” Brody said, trying to play down the inappropriately electric jolt that her nearness had triggered within him.
She ignored him, pouring them each a drink.
Within minutes the ravenous duo had polished off the tray’s contents.
Brody bent to set it on the floor, the quick movement making him dizzy.
“That was fucking outstanding,” Cindy blurted out, hand flying to her mouth. She swallowed nervously, trying to understand why she felt so incredibly free.
“A little wine and miss forensic biologist turns into a longshoreman, huh?” Brody said, feeling a giddy warmth spreading through him.
“No, I mean,” Cindy gulped hard, but was unable to stop herself from leaning in close to brush against him. “Is it hot in here or—”
“Is it just me?” Brody’s grin widened at the stale joke that strangely sounded like the funniest thing he had heard in years. He felt good, too good. A warning flashed in the back of his mind. Then it disappeared as Cindy’s devouring stare ate him alive.
Cindy’s body tingled in a way that had her face flush, her mind fuzzy and swirling. She had wondered once or twice, okay more than once or twice. She shook her head as if trying to clear the cobwebs that accumulate after a deep sleep. A tingling sensation rippled across Cindy’s skin, her hands roaming across her thighs.
The decrepit TV sputtered to life, volume first and surprisingly loud, a woman moaning coupled with the sound of deep grunting. Then the TV screen popped on in garish high definition. Cindy gasped at the most horrifically lewd sight she had ever seen. A pale skinned naked woman was on her hands and knees, braced against the pounding hips of a man kneeling behind her. Cindy stared harder at the man. Was that some sort of Halloween mask, why was he getting darker?
The woman’s face turned sideways toward the unseen camera, dilated pupils black and devoid of emotion.
”My God,” Cindy cried out, “It’s Kateryna.” Her hand slammed down and locked Brody’s thigh in a death grip. “I can’t believe it!”
Brody fought to analyze what he was seeing. He couldn’t believe it either. Something was very wrong. His eyes widened as he recognized what Cindy was missing. Kateryna had been drugged, and that monster was raping her. Brody’s fist clenched at the same moment a shockingly unexpected wave of pleasure jolted through his body. He glanced down to see Cindy’s hand squeezing his thigh harder.
Cindy blushed at the depraved sight of the librarian’s jiggling body. A part of her brain told her the images and sounds were utterly repellent, but she didn’t care, rhythmically squeezing and stroking ever higher on Brody’s thigh.
Brody’s eyes fixated on Cindy’s hand, his senses heightened, transfixed by a dizzy kaleidoscope of feelings, a hungering fascination fighting against the urges telling him to stop this before—
Cindy leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth, beyond caring about her husband or anything else.
Brody responded. His attraction for Cindy was undeniable. However, a voice in the back of his mind became increasingly strident, overriding his physical need. He pulled back.
Cindy chased after him, flashing hotter at the incredible sensations floating through her, dimly aware her drink must have been drugged even as she attempted to get into Brody’s pants.
Brody’s head spun in a daze but he gripped Cindy’s hand, his eyes boring into hers.
No.
Cindy’s reacted in surprise, disappointment, then in shame. She wept. Brody let her bury her head in his chest, hugging her tight, burning with anger as he thought of what they were doing to him and his friends.
------------------
Owen’s jugular vein throbbed as he stalked into the sparkling clean bathroom. He stared into his reflection in the extravagantly gilded mirror before bending his head to the marble basin, washing away the caked tears that had reddened his puffy eyes. He toweled dry and strode into the main room.
Grabbing up Ernie’s papers he fell into a chair, perusing page after page of yellowed letters and notes dating back to the Second World War. Some were typed; others creased and wrinkled, bearing the furtive scribbling of a frantic mind. Old envelopes marked the letter’s providence, faded blue stamps depicting a transport plane, the most common stamping from the Feldpost. The handwriting further placed the letters in the wartime era. It was the Sütterlin style, commonly taught in German schools from the First World War into the early 1940s - when the Nazi party banned it for being “Jewish”. The script rolled in precisely clipped but closely placed strokes, so straight it was as if the paper were lined. Owen smiled wanly, finding the upper case “G’s” as illegible as usual. Ascenders and descenders in one line crossed over to another. Nevertheless, he picked up the elaborate handwriting’s cadence at the same time one letter separated itself from the pile. Dated March of 1944, it was written to Ernie’s mother from his father - Erich Bekensteiner.
My Dearest Luisa,
Something dreadful has happened.
I have not slept a wink in two days. I do not wish to frighten, but there were stories we were told as children. Stories we at one time even believed. Then we grew up, and they were pushed aside. Now I am not sure that was wise. It seems that I have awakened an unthinkable evil. It wants retribution for what I did. Tonight is that time.
I long to see you and little Ernst, and I hope with all of my heart that he is well. Nevertheless, what I am about to tell you is disturbing. Heed my words, for your sake as well as his. The thought of my family suffering what is in store for me is too unbearable to consider.
If I do not return home then you must protect him from what I have discovered. That might mean travelling great distances. I know it will be unpleasant, but do not hesitate. There is more than enough hidden in our special place to help you start over, including our best silver. I implore you to take it, have it forged anew. Do this. I can’t say any more, other than I pray that you won’t need it.
By now I have hopefully opened your eyes to the nature of the unspeakable truth hunting me down. I will do everything in my power to rejoin you. But if I cannot, then you must know that my memories of you and Ernst will warm my heart forever more. Even though you are hundreds of miles away as far as I am concerned you are here, comforting me. Until we meet again my darling, I kiss you affectionately.
Yours in endless love,
Erich
Owen let the letter float to the floor.
There it is. Or was it? Could Tanya have murdered Ernie’s father? What if Ernie’s father had killed Tanya’s family? Context, as it was whenever one examined actions of those caught up by history, was everything. How does one who has never been tested judge one that has?
Owen stood and paced, rubbing his hands as if lathering them up with soap. The door hissed open. Owen whirled about, nearly leaping from his skin, nerves burning. A well-muscled man wearing black jeans and a matching skin tight t-shirt entered the room. He wordlessly hung a suit on a closet door and disappeared, replaced in the doorway by Vukovich.
“Feeling tense?” The older man said, cruising into the room and sitting down by the window.
Owen contemplated testing the window’s strength with the man’s body. Then he thought better of it, easing down opposite Vukovich.
“Unrestrained impulses can destroy even the strongest of us, no?” Vukovich said, fixing Owen with a cold, knowing stare.
“Why am I here?”
“The question should not be why, but how it is you came to be here,” Vukovich said.
Owen rolled his eyes, gripping the chair’s puffy arm, feeling dizzy, “Where are my friends?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Vukovich said, snatching the remote off the coffee table.
The TV mounted to the far wall switched from the endless droning of talking heads to a split screen image. On the screen’s l
eft side Cindy and Brody were locked in a passionate kiss, their hands roaming across each other’s bodies. On the screen’s right Owen saw the Kateryna woman that had pulled a gun on Tanya was being mounted from behind by a man morphing into…Owen shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying not to be obvious about his discomfort, or for that matter his swelling and inopportune response. He spun toward Vukovich.
“Don’t look at me,” Vukovich said. “Your friends are acting of their own free will.”
“Free will my ass—”
“They had a choice,” Vukovich said, jumping up. “Everyone gets a choice.”
Vukovich thumbed his finger at the suit hanging on the closet, his voice firm in the manner of a man accustomed to having his orders followed. “Clean up. You want to see your friend’s, fine. You can ask them all about that,” Vukovich waved his hand at the TV, “this evening at dinner. Otherwise we have more meaningful topics to discuss.”
He stalked from the room.
Moans and groans accompanied by the sounds of hotly slapping flesh echoed from the TV.
A tremor swept through Owen’s crotch. He fumbled for the remote, pressing the ‘off’ button as it stirred more insistently within him.
Chapter 30
August 2016 – The Western Ukraine
Owen walked down the spotless hall, his suit’s silky cashmere wool blend failing to distract him from the raw sensations coursing through his body. He couldn’t focus on anything other than his escort’s plump ass pumping along in a lascivious form fitting dress. The raging hungers churning within him fueled an overwhelming urge to stick his face, among other things, between her incredible cheeks.
As if on cue the woman glanced back over her shoulder, licking her full lips and nearly sending him over the edge. Her long hair swayed down her back as she put an extra wiggle in her hips before coming to a stop in front of a steel door in yet another barren corridor. There she pressed close to Owen, the scent of orchid, vanilla, and sandalwood bringing him achingly erect. “Enjoy your dinner. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.” With that she slapped him on the butt, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Owen entered and the door hissed shut behind him. Windows lined a westward facing wall, the orange-yellow light of a brilliant late afternoon sun streaming inside. A slate gray industrial style dining table dominated the room, the place settings marking service for seven.
“Please, sit,” Vukovich said from the head of the table.
Owen complied, glancing at a bank of wall mounted monitors. Each flashed green, red, and yellow dots within white country borders. The majority of the brightly blinking dots marked London and the U.S. East Coast.
An ample breasted redhead emerged from the shadows to fill his glass with a blood red cabernet, her freckled cleavage swinging heavily before him. A predatory look crossed the woman’s face. She glanced hungrily at Owen’s crotch before stepping away, Owen’s eyes trailing after.
Vukovich observed. Owen’s response to the females was as it had been to Tanya; laughably Pavlovian. Nevertheless, the man’s mind appeared to be transforming along with his body. Perhaps he could be an asset yet.
“This is the headquarters of my company, Security Services International,” Vukovich commented as he swirled a robust semi-dry red around his wine glass. “One of the most exclusive private security firms in the world.”
Owen half-listened, distracted by of all things his napkin. It was embossed with the same coat of arms he saw at Tanya’s. Only after a stunned pause did he turn his attention back to Vukovich, “SS huh, I suppose the corporate logo is a swastika?”
“In our clientele’s price point there is an enduring affinity for, how should I say, certain worldviews.”
The door slid open.
Tanya glided into the room wearing a plunging black dress. Owen jumped up, hugging her tight. She let him go after a perfunctory squeeze and sat down to Vukovich’s right. Owen barely had time to register his displeasure before the door hissed open again.
Brody and Cindy entered. Each dressed resplendently; they smiled at the sight of Owen. He nodded politely in turn. Behind them came Kateryna. Owen couldn’t help but notice her breasts practically spilling out of a tight leather dress barely covering the bottom of her ass. She stumbled along, dazedly clinging to the arm of a handsome but rough looking man. The man’s shirt collar shifted, revealing a puckish pink scar running the width of his throat…
“Karlovic!” Owen exclaimed, whirling on Tanya. “You said you killed him!”
“Not exactly,” Tanya responded.
“Who are you? Bill-fucking-Clinton?” Owen snapped. “Silly me. I didn’t make you specify what you meant when you said you nearly separated his head from his body.”
“Owen’s got the right idea,” Brody said to Tanya. “It’s a shame you didn’t finish the job.”
“Is that so?” Karlovic said.
“My father always taught me to put wounded animal’s down.”
“Taking a life isn’t as easy as it looks,” Karlovic said. “That is until you get used to it.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Brody said.
“It’s more complicated than that, isn’t it Tanya,” Owen said, licking his teeth and noticing how sharp his canines had become.
“Why don’t you lay off?” Brody said to Owen, reluctantly turning his attention away from Karlovic.
“That’s rich, coming from you and your new girlfriend,” Owen said. “By the way, I saw the two of you on TV, making out like teenagers barely hours after Ernie died. You should be ashamed—”
“We were drugged,” Cindy said as she settled into her seat, noticing a painting of Adam and Eve on the opposite wall. I cheated on my husband. A red apple lay on the ground, two conspicuous bites hollowed out of its lustrous red exterior. A smiling serpent slithered across the sand.
“Enough,” Vukovich said, rising to his full imposing height and leaning forward, knuckles grinding into the table top.
The server’s rushed around, eyes shining like children’s on Christmas Eve, a strange tension running like an undercurrent through the room. The wait staff unfurled napkins and placed them on laps jumping when eager fingers rubbed below the smooth linens.
“You have much to learn,” Vukovich said to Owen.
Owen ignored him, downing his wine in one gulp and reaching for a nearby decanter of cabernet.
“I can’t believe you fell for this guy,” Karlovic said to Tanya.
“He killed his best friend to save me,” She replied. “That’s more than you ever would have done.”
More servers swarmed into the room, laying out a lavish spread of caviar; pan seared sturgeon; roasted prime rib encrusted with salt, cracked peppercorns, and dried herbs; pork loin smothered in sautéed apples; a dazzling array of hand folded pierogi’s along with heaps of sour cream and butter; hearty rye and black breads; fresh fruits and chilled decanters of vodka coupled with a wine selection ranging from dry and crisp whites to heartier reds. Vukovich surveyed the feast with pride.
“What’s this all about?” Brody said. “With the exception of him,” Brody gestured at Owen, “Kateryna, Cindy, and I are—”
“More valuable than you think. I wanted to wait until after dinner,” Vukovich said with a sigh. “However, if you must know, there’s a war being waged and your side is losing. Badly, I might add.”
Owen glanced outside at the sun dropping lower, his right leg frenetically bouncing under the table.
“You know something is wrong,” Vukovich said. “Yet for one reason or another you believe there are real choices offered by your ‘Democracy.’”
Brody felt someone looking at him. He glanced over at Kateryna. Her eyes seemed to brighten in response. A weak smile twitched at the corner of her lips as she turned toward Karlovic and blurted out, “Oh, how I
love the Maidan Nezalezhnosti during this time of the year. I can’t wait to see it.”
Everybody turned to stare at her.
She looked down and away. Brody’s stomach clenched as Kateryna looked up again. Whatever brief glimpse of what had been her was gone once more, replaced by someone else. Brody stared at Kateryna a moment longer and then shot a murderous stare at Karlovic. The beast didn’t notice, busy cramming a buttered hunk of rye bread into his mouth.
“You see your governments and leaders as failures. Yet, they are doing what their masters request.” Vukovich said, having shrugged off Kateryna’s interruption. “If you are one of the privileged few and make a bad bet in the Wall Street casino, then you are reimbursed. Blow up the economy? The system of socialized losses and privatized gains is granted to you as a birthright.”
“Wonderful speech,” Brody said, his anger boiling over. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve got to pair with dessert, perhaps a soliloquy on the pointlessness of human existence?”
“This wasn’t always the reality of your existence,” Vukovich said, shrugging off Brody’s sarcasm. “By the middle of the last century the wealthy had been clobbered by their self-indulgent greed. For the first time ever they paid a fair share into the system that had enriched them. In turn, millions enjoyed the good life. Nevertheless, economic crisis gave the plutocrats the chance to unwind the wartime social compact. Leading the charge is a financial sector turning the screws on what had been the middle class. The rampant inequality, disintegration of the nation-state, and breakdown of social norms you see at home are all natural outgrowths of this war centralizing power into fewer hands.”
Owen grimaced at a tremor wracking his heaving stomach. He hadn’t eaten a bite even though he couldn’t remember being so hungry in his life. He gripped his chair, his fingers whitening as Karlovic’s fleshy lips smacked every time he licked his greasy fingers.
“Am I missing something here?” Brody said. “You’re a werewolf, so excuse me if I don’t get where the morality trip comes from?”
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