The Book of a Thousand Sins

by Wrath James White

  Just before he perished, Timothy smiled over at Jacque with Lord’s dick in his eye-socket and asked if he had gotten it all on film. Jacque smiled and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “Yes Timmy. We got it. We got it all. You’re going to live forever.”

  Next Lord found further use for both William’s peculiar talents and Pinay’s still lovely corpse, amputating her lithe and delicate limbs and fucking William in the ass with them. As both his own passion and the savagery of the acts depicted in the book increased he sliced off and ate one of Sue’s breasts and then sewed a muskrat up inside her vagina. He slid one of the smaller boa constrictors up into Alex’s rectum and sewed it shut before taking the scalpel to the young doctor’s penis. After he’d skinned and bisected it he ordered William to give the doctor a blowjob. Jacque zoomed in for a close up as William stuffed both bleeding halves of Alex’s cock into his mouth.

  After Alex reached a bloody screaming orgasm, Lord cut him up the middle in the “Y” incision used by coroners, peeled back the layers of skin, muscle, and fat covering his rib cage and nailed it to the floor. He then drove penny nails into his body all over, ripping pages out of the bible and sticking a page on the head of each nail. He used up the entire bible before he ran out of places to drive nails in. He then laid a crucifix inside Alex’s exposed ribcage, right beside his heart, and then pissed on it as Alex drew his last anguished breath.

  Lord could barely keep track of where he was in the book. The pages were almost turning themselves and inspiration far beyond anything contained within its pages flowed into him.

  He composed a symphony out of their flesh. Twisting and shaping it into fluid shapes like sound from an instrument or colors on a painter’s palate rather than the skin, muscle, and bone of sentient human beings. He sculpted nightmarish works of living art from their writhing shrieking bodies, carving into them to reveal the masterpieces that lay hidden within, waiting to be uncovered. A chorus of anguish rang out as the screams reached a crescendo beneath his scalpel and his whip.

  Jacque could hardly keep the camera still, this was so much more horrible than he had anticipated. Still, it was beautiful. This was indeed a masterpiece. It would however, have to remain anonymous until after he was long dead and beyond man’s ability to prosecute. No way could he put his name to this now. Even in the photos it would be obvious that the models could not have survived these poses.

  Both the temperature and the occupancy of the room suddenly began to increase. Others guests, not of earth, were coming to join the party. Demons of every description, not the tortured meat puppets that Anja was dragging around in search of him, but fallen angels grown hideous during their aeons of infernal incarceration, had come to play. They scooped up Lord’s slaves like dessert on a buffet table. Those not already dead soon found themselves praying for death as appetites and imaginations even darker than Lord’s consumed them. Long phalluses many times larger than a man’s ripped into them and slavering mouths and tongues tasted them in places they would have thought unreachable until the demon’s claws and fangs granted access to them. Lord and Jacque were the only human beings in the room not being fucked, tortured, or eaten alive. Lord ordered Jacque to continue shooting and he did. Whatever was going on, they were apparently not on the menu.

  ***

  Anja heard the shrieks and knew she was heading in the right direction. She’d had to cut a swath through half the deviants in town to get this close and her pets were now crazy with bloodlust. They streamed along ahead of her, snatching innocent pedestrians off the street and raping and mutilating them. She had given up on trying to control them. She just hoped they wouldn’t be spent by the time they reached Lord.

  It had been a stroke of luck that she had spotted the girl in the latex fetish gear weeping her eyes out at the bus stop. She’d seen the woman earlier that evening being led around by the nose, following Lord and his little entourage from one pick-up joint to the next. Anja noticed, just before she set her pets on her, how much she truly did resemble Bettie Page.

  The woman did not hold up for more than a few seconds with Anja’s hideous pets savagely fucking and torturing her before she’d given them the address to Lord’s little party. That was another stroke of luck for Anja. Had she held out longer she would not have had time to tell Anja anything before the vicious beasts ripped her to shreds. They were now well beyond Anja’s ability to control. They had gone completely mad.

  Her pets were not merciful with Lana and neither were they very respectful of her corpse. They tore her head off her shoulders to allow for two more holes to insert their engorged cocks in. Four of the beasts latched on to her decapitated head and fucked her skull through the neck, the mouth, and the empty eye sockets. Cocks punctured her body from every angle.

  They tore her apart completely as they each reached orgasm. Her steaming viscera was left to decorate a street sign, and the rest of her was strewn from one end of the block to the other. Except her breasts, which one of the mad little beasts kept as a snack.

  Anja quickly made her way to the house she’d described and was pleased to see the limousine parked just were Lana had said it would be. The driver spotted them right away and took off quickly down the street without bothering to alert his passengers inside.

  When she started up the stairs of the little Victorian with the Sesame Street color scheme, Anja’s pets suddenly fell back, quivering in fear. Anja felt it too. The place reeked of hell. They were too late. She darted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and burst through the door in time to see Lord, exultant like the god he’d always believed himself to be, watching his lovers being torn apart by the infernal lusts of the minions of hell.

  Lord smiled at her in that superior way she’d come to both love and loathe and scooped her up into his arms. She melted there, suddenly powerless. He tore off her clothes in rapid gestures and began to make love to her. He still had the scalpel in his hand and it joined in their foreplay, adding a searing contrast to his loving caresses. He entered her even as he continued to cut into her. Anja felt the love pour out of her in liquid waves as his blood and gore soaked organ pounded up inside her. He bit her several times, his eyes glazed with lust, and his blade bit even deeper. Even after all she’d experienced in both her life and her afterlife nothing compared to the love of Lord. The voluptuous pain and torturous ecstasy he was capable of had no equal on earth or in hell. Anja screamed in torment as her every nerve sang out in salacious agony and a massive soul-consuming orgasm built within her. They reached their climax together, an earthquake that shook the room. Anja felt as if she had died again.

  As the screams, and shrieks and sounds of animalistic torture and murder surrounded them, Anja looked into Lord’s eyes and finally admitted to him the source of all her rage and hatred.

  “I love you,” she said with tears welling up in her eyes.

  “I love you too,” Lord replied brushing the hair from her eyes and kissing away her tears. He smiled as he stared deep into her eyes which had now softened with love then he lifted her off his cock and flung her into the midst of the demons.

  “Did you get that on film?”

  “All of it,” Jacque replied.

  As Anja was torn apart and raped from the inside out Lord and Jacque gathered up all their film and left, The Book of a Thousand Sins tucked under Lord’s arm. A fiery lake rose in Vanessa’s living room and all its occupants joined the inferno seconds before the two artists left the house. Lord’s head was still swirling with inspiration as they walked down the darkened street. He stroked the cover of The Book of Sins and grinned happily. He had a lot of writing to do. With the book’s help, he would write a new bible, a bible for a new religion with him as the central deity.

  He imagined his word spreading across the globe as millions of sensualists and thrill seekers flocked to his temples in search of an experience that would transcend life and give meaning to their mundane existences. And he would gather them all to his bosom and gr
ant them the ecstasy they seeked. He would free them from the mores, traditions, and societal, moral, and cultural restraints that have for so long fettered the development of the human spirit and show them how to suck the marrow out of life. He imagined the worship of Lord replacing Christianity as the world’s dominant religion. He imagined a world where passion reigned, where lust was canonized and abstinence abhorred, where his name was sung in hymns and whispered in prayers. By the time he died, he’d be more powerful than Satan, larger than God.

  Lord began to hum to himself as he turned onto Haight Street. Then he began to sing, making up lyrics as he went along, composing the first hymn in honor of lust and desire; in honor of Lord. The words spilled out of him as if he’d opened an artery and was bleeding it out.

  “. . . And I will love you in my dreams and with every conscious breath/ And I will take you ‘tween my thighs and hold you to my breasts/ and I will drink your semen down to commune with you my Lord/ Give my flesh to your whip and blade to prove my love to you oh Lord/ and let my blood pool at your feet as I drop down to my knees/ and give you my beating heart for you to do with as you please . . .”

  Jacque looked over at him.

  “Those are some pretty cool lyrics. It sounds like gospel music. What is that you’re singing?”

  “I just wrote it. It’s called Giving Your Heart to Lord.”

  “I like it.”

  “Good. I’ll teach you the words. I’ll teach everyone.”

  No Questions Unanswered

  My jaw hung open in awe as I watched the blood spill through the gaping wound I’d somehow ripped in the fabric of creation. I saw his face then, contorted in agony. I recognized him instantly, as I knew I would. I watched him writhe in indescribable pain as the explosions tore through him with a sense of profound dread descending over me like a dark shroud. It was like watching the universe grind to a halt and expire, and at that moment that’s exactly what I believed I was witnessing. His death throes, I was certain, would mean the annihilation of all that existed. I watched him perish screaming and convulsing, meeting his end with as much mortal terror as any man, staring me directly in my eyes, knowing that I had murdered him.

  In my mind I had committed the greatest sin imaginable. In my mind I had doomed us all. I knew—I hoped, that my punishment would rival any torture ever imagined by man, that I would suffer as no one ever had before. That’s how it should have been.

  ***

  I didn’t mean to kill him. That was not my intention at all. I guess I wanted to know the truth. I knew there would be a price for that. We all know it and that’s why most people are comfortable just adopting the beliefs of their family and culture rather than seeking true knowledge. Knowledge always comes with pain while ignorance does provide a kind of bliss. Besides, if we have faith that our beliefs are correct then it almost feels like genuine truth. But deep down we know it isn’t the same. And being a man of science I had to know, not just believe.

  You can build consensus around knowledge. Knowledge has predictive power. It allows you to accurately predict events that logically follow from that truth, e.g. gas is combustible. If this is true than it follows necessarily that if I touch a lit match to gas it will combust. This is a sound theory and if this theory is correct then it is a fact. We can create experiments that will confirm or refute it. Such as actually placing that lit match into a gas jug and watching the ensuing conflagration. Belief has no such capabilities. No predictive power. Since it is not based on any genuine facts you cannot set up an experiment to confirm or refute it. How would one set up an experiment to confirm or refute the statement that God loves us?

  “If God loves us then He won’t allow innocents to suffer.” Yet, innocents suffer everyday by the millions and it does not impact faith one iota. “If God loves us then He wouldn’t allow evil to overcome good.” Yet, everyday the pious fall prey to the wicked and the faithful explain it away. Because the statement “God loves us” isn’t based on empirical evidence, it cannot be refuted by it. Therefore we can’t build consensus, hence, the multitudes of different faiths and beliefs.

  “But what if I could set up an experiment to prove it? Not to the world. Just to me. What if I could prove that God did or did not love me? Did I say me? I meant us. I meant the world.”

  Of course I’d said exactly what I meant. I didn’t care if God loved the world. I wanted to know if He loved me. I wanted to know why He allowed my parents to be murdered by that burglar when I was eight-years-old, leaving me to be raised by the State in one foster home after another. I wanted to know why He allowed that wrinkled old septuagenarian who reeked of Ben Gay and gin to beat me with his cane and lock me in the basement with his dogs every night. Why it took the State so long to finally discover it. And why, when they did, they just shuffled me off to yet another foster home, this one the home of a sweet, loving, overweight woman who’d previously been accused of sexually abusing the two foster kids already in her custody. Why I still can’t get her sickening perfume and pastry smell and the squishy feel of her flesh out of my mind. I wanted to know why I’d never married or had kids. I wanted to know if HE gave a fuck about me!

  I sound angry, don’t I? It almost makes me sound like I did this on purpose. But I assure you that what happened was an accident. Not that you’ll believe me. In fact, I’m pretty sure that you won’t believe any of this.

  That’s okay though. I know what happened. And I know why it happened. There was no revenge or animosity involved at all. It was just a simple miscalculation. Even geniuses make those, you know.

  Anyway, that’s how the idea to use the Ion Engine got into my head. I needed to do something bigger than anything anyone had ever done before. Something that would decide the question of God’s love once and for all. If He loved His creation, would He let one man destroy it?

  The Ion Engine works on the principle of quantum acceleration. Electrons traveling many times the speed of light, punching holes in the fabric of time and space. I knew I could build such a thing. I’d been commissioned by the government to do just that in the hopes of creating an engine powerful enough to take a spacecraft to another galaxy. The problem was containment. At that speed, a single electron would acquire so much mass that it would hit with the force of a nuclear bomb. And this thing would fire millions of electrons! Launching it would annihilate everything surrounding it for miles. Of course, we could use standard thrusters to lift it into orbit and then fire up the accelerator once it was safely in space, but an entire ship propelled at that speed would be hit with specks of dust that would likewise have the impact of nuclear explosions. What kind of shielding could withstand that? So the project was scrapped. But, I still have all my notes and all the knowledge. I even have access to all the equipment courtesy of Uncle Sam and Lockheild Aeronautic Industries. I could do it. I would do it.

  “Would God let me, though? Would He let me destroy the world?”

  If He loves us, than I guess He wouldn’t. I had to find out. That is both my greatest asset and my greatest weakness. Once a question comes to my mind I cannot rest until it is answered. It’s what led me into quantum physics in the first place and from there into quantum mechanics. It’s what led me to the Nobel Prize as the first man to discover the Higgs boson, the particle that gives rise to a field through which all other subatomic particles, quarks, gluons, photons and electrons, must pass and explains on a subatomic level why matter has mass. They called it “The God Particle” because figuring out how it works would give us the answer to how the universe itself was formed. It was only a theory until I isolated one in a fission reactor right here in my laboratory at Lockheild. Proving theories is what I do. It’s what my mind was made for. It’s why I can’t let this question rest.

  “Does God love me?”

  They, Christians that is, say that one shouldn’t tempt the Lord. I’d always been willing to risk hell for the sake of knowledge. I guess you have to be. I wasn’t even sure that it was the Christian God I was a
fter. I rather doubted it. I was almost certain that our concept of divinity was flawed by our own fears and desires as well as our vanity. The idea that we were made in God’s image was almost definitely another of man’s egocentricities. But, whatever God was, I meant to find Him to isolate His love the same way I’d isolated the “The God Particle.”

  The principle of the ion generator is simple. It works like a modified particle accelerator using an electromagnetic field with an alternating current to propel negatively charged electrons at protons with an antithetical charge. This creates a snowball effect as the collision of the two oppositely charged particles causes an explosion that propels those protons into other electrons which hit other protons and on and on building up speed with each successive impact until you’ve got those babies traveling faster than they did at the moment of creation. Well, it’s simple if you’re an award winning physicist, like me.

  The problem is that nobody knows how big this snowball will get and if it will ever stop. It could be the answer to perpetual energy or the end of all creation, possibly the end of the entire universe. I knew that it was both. And that’s why I knew that a just and loving God would never let me create such a thing.

  I woke up that morning drenched in sweat and shivering despite the humid temperatures outside. The fading echo of a nightmare still cast its pall over me as I struggled from sleep like I was swimming to the top of a great pool of mud. I was thankful that I couldn’t remember the dream, but suspected that I’d be having it again soon if I was still alive. Knowing what I was about to do, I was surprised I had survived the night. I half expected to be murdered in my sleep like my parents or to suffer a stroke or a heart attack, anything that would have kept me from getting into my car and driving to Lockhield Laboratories. But the sun smiled down through the broken slats in my wood blinds just as it did every morning. Squinting against the sunrays, I rose from my bed and dragged myself into the shower.