by Nikki Sex
John frowned and pursed his lips. "I don't like it. The balance of power has changed somehow and it was always a delicate balance." John put his hand to his chin, and rubbed it as he considered. "What could have happened I wonder?"
"Then it's all lies then, John?" she asked eagerly. "Something your father put in the file?"
"Not all, Kelly," John said. "Just almost all lies."
"Oh."
"I have never taken drugs, probably because I never had friends," John said. "I suppose I would have tried drugs and alcohol if I had been a normal sort of kid going to parties and such. The opportunity was simply never there. I certainly never sold drugs."
He chuckled, and shifted back further on the couch. "I've never even seen them. You know yourself that I broke that boys arm in self defense. These accounts of incidents of violence can be easily challenged. They are all twisted stories, embellished to make me look worse. The psychiatrist's reports, well, let's just say my father has a lot of influence. I was seen by a crap load of psychiatrists as a child."
Kelly felt John's penetrating gaze reveal everything she was thinking as he searched her face. Kelly trusted him completely; at least she had until this morning. Would John lie to her? Could he? And if he did, how would she know?
But did she really want to hear the truth? That was the real question.
Noooo! a craven animal voice wailed from somewhere inside her. I can't face it! I can't!
Couldn’t she turn back time and somehow un-know what she knew now? More than anything she wished Detective Irwin had never visited her parents. Then Kelly could have gone along as always, and nothing would have changed.
The truth – if it was what Kelly was afraid it might be – would be the one thing that could break her and John apart forever.
Standing up abruptly, John began to pace from the kitchenette, across the living room to the hall, and back again. "You are upset over the pictures of tortured animals that are in that file."
"Yes," she rasped in a hoarse voice. "You didn’t… did you?"
Her turned and looked at her with narrowed eyes and an intense stare. "And if I did?"
Oh God, Kelly thought, if John has tortured animals, I don’t think I can possibly love him anymore.
16. John's Greatest Sin
Kelly simply couldn’t speak, and she couldn't move.
John was a sadist, she knew that. He enjoyed causing heightened anxiety, torment, and pain, and he particularly loved tears. John said that because he couldn’t cry, his subs cried for him. Or was it begging he wanted? No, she remembered suddenly. What had he told her once? That he could only connect to people through pain.
"Kelly?" John said authoritatively. "Answer me."
"I don’t know, John," she said, trying to find the words that would explain what she felt. "I think I would look at you and not see you anymore. I think I would just keep seeing those poor animals."
John strode back and sat down at the other end of the couch. With a large expulsion of air, he said, "My father tortured animals for awhile. That wasn't his real kink. I think he did it partially to break me. I ran away once, not long after being taken from my aunt Brenda. The police brought me back. I tried to tell them about my father, but they didn’t believe me. Why would they? Judge Taylor was well respected, and he had a golden tongue that explained everything. Who would believe a kid?"
"Besides," John explained. "My father kept telling me to do exactly as he said or he would kill Aunt Brenda. I believed him. Even though I wasn't allowed to see her, I loved her too much to imagine a world without her in it."
John scrubbed his face with his hands, and Kelly realized she had never seen John display these common human reactions before. He was usually so calm, measured and self-contained.
"My father made me watch as he tortured cats and dogs, and he wanted me to do it, too," John said. "I have to say, I never once enjoyed it. They were under our care, they couldn't speak. It was wrong on every level. As dumb creatures they didn’t understand, either. It's not like whipping a human being for punishment or pleasure. The most I did, was whip them, and that was over a period of about six months when I was eight."
Kelly noticed that John's voice had become dry and hoarse. He looked tense and uncomfortable.
Jumping up off the couch, John strode to the little kitchenette and before he could start looking for a glass, Kelly said, "Right hand cupboard over the sink. There's Coke in the fridge."
John got down a glass and turned on the tap. "Water's good," he said. Swallowing the entire glass full, John resumed his initial place on arrival, leaning with his back against the kitchen counter, but this time his hands were on either side of him, gripping the countertop.
"My father caught me playing with a puppy." John shut his eyes for a moment. His expression became grim and his hands on the counter whitened with the strength that he was gripping it. "It was a little brown mutt, and because of a dog's naturally generous nature, that little pup gave me unconditional love."
John's voice was strange and strained, as if filled with some undefined yet powerful raw emotion. It kind of frightened her. "I used to call it 'Pup' as if that was its name, and the trusting little creature came when called. It was my only friend. Animals are so much better than humans sometimes, you know? So generous with their affection and so loyal."
John ran a hand through his hair. "I don't think I ever saw my father so angry. I won't go into it, but it took three days before I did what he asked. He made me kill that puppy, Kelly, and I swear I did it willingly in the end – as quick and as painlessly as possible. I refused to torture it. That was what he really wanted."
Kelly saw that John's face had become impassive once more. His eyes seemed empty, lost and remote.
"It was a turning point," John said, "and it was the last time I can remember ever being able to cry. I cried for hours over that puppy, Kelly, but I was simply unable to cry after that. It was like everything in me died. I was black and dead inside."
Kelly's eyes stung and she felt too shocked to move, or to speak or to even make a sound. Tears welled and began to roll in warm trails down her cheeks.
John came back to the couch, and sank down into it with a defeated look. Like he was contagious or diseased, he sat at the other end of the couch, again as far from her as possible.
"I refused anything my father wanted after that, no matter what he did to me," John said. "I was cut off and completely disconnected. I think I went a little mad. I was an eight year old having a nervous breakdown, I guess. All emotion, sensation and pain seemed the same to me then. My father punished me, but he couldn’t touch me, not the hidden person inside. The real me just went away I guess."
John's hands were balled into tight fists and his body was tense, his expression empty. Kelly still found that she was afraid of him, frightened by the pain and violence inside of him.
"By then he had what he wanted," John said. "Evidence that I had been torturing animals, proof that I was screwed up and mentally ill. I had so many psychiatric interviews where I sat sullenly and couldn't speak or explain the dead animals. I wasn't able to tell, do you see? How can an eight year old explain that his dad, a prominent district judge, was the real psychopath of the family?"
"But those pictures," Kelly said. "Of cut up animals…?"
"Never," John said, leaning back against the couch, appearing as if he was trying very hard to force his tense body to relax. "I never cut one, or burned them or any of the other despicable things in those pictures. I did whip them for about six months, as I already explained. I still feel so ashamed and guilty for that, and for killing my only friend, poor little Pup. I planned to eventually tell you, Kelly, but of all my sins, these are honestly the last ones I would have spoken to you about. These are the ones I burn with the most shame for."
"Trust me, Kelly," he said. "The disturbed, angry and hate-filled child that I was, is not who I am now."
Kelly saw that John had more to tell her, but how much m
ore could she take? Already she felt like throwing up.
17. Vulnerable
Kelly steeled herself.
John took a deep breath. "I will not discuss this right now, but I will give you an idea," he said. "My father made me call him Sir. That's why I hate that title."
"You have probably guessed that not only physical abuse but sexual abuse was part of my childhood, too," John said, standing up and resuming his pacing. It was as if he was too full of explosive energy to sit still.
"It was pretty ugly, and until you came along, I had cut myself off from sex. Sex was one big trigger. But this is what I want you to understand. You know what I have found in life, Kelly? It doesn’t matter what was done to you. These things can hurt, yes. Being a victim is always difficult. It destroys any chance of self esteem or self love. Yet in truth, nothing burns like knowing you've done wrong."
"Victimizing others hurts far worse than any pain you can imagine, Kelly. Was I ashamed to be sexually abused? Yes, but I was a victim and that dishonor belongs to my father and my mother. If I ever really want to squirm with humiliation and regret, I simply recall the terrible things I myself have done. Because those shameful things were my choice, no matter what the circumstance. Those were the moments I victimized another and made the decision to do wrong."
John looked up at Kelly and their gaze met.
"I learned not be a bully," he said. "It would have been so easy to go down that road, to take all the hate and violence I had inside and put it onto others. I wanted to cause pain to anyone and everyone, Kelly. I wanted them to hurt like I hurt inside. But the goodness of that puppy taught me right from wrong. That trusting, loving little puppy never doubted me, even as I killed it. Do you have any idea what that was like? I felt as if I was killing myself. Perhaps committing that sin against an innocent did kill a part of me. It was horrific, and it was shameful, but it was a lesson I have never forgotten."
John spun on one foot toward her suddenly, and Kelly, too stunned to think, didn't flinch this time. "Where is the bathroom?" he asked her.
Kelly told him, and she was left alone, while her brain processed all John had said. What would it take to make an eight year old child kill his only friend? Jesus, no wonder John had been seeing a counselor regularly. Was he screwed up or what? But he had only ever been considerate of her. John cared about her, and he didn't hurt others. Not really.
John seemed to be spending a long time in that bathroom. Again, Kelly suspected he was doing that for her, letting her think over all he had said.
When John returned he seemed much more composed. He sat back on the couch, again far from her.
"André helped me direct my needs, Kelly," he said. "He taught me how to use my sadistic nature to cause pleasure. That changed everything for me. I could control a scene, bring a sub to the bliss of sub space, and I could connect with others, finally. I needed the connection, Kelly because no matter what has happened in life, a person can't really be human without that vital link to another human being. Do you know what I am talking about, Kelly?"
Mind reeling, Kelly just stared at him and nodded.
"And now I am connected to you, Kelly," he said in a raw, low voice. "I always feel connected to you. I don’t need to cause pain, I don’t need anything anymore – I only need you. I've gone through the fire, and I've come out the other end. For the first time in my life I am honestly happy. That is all because of you, Kelly."
Kelly looked at John and her chest ached to see the openness in his expression. The tough, sadistic Dom, 'Father John,' was defenseless because of her. He was vulnerable… but only to her.
The tight painful knot inside her loosened, and then disappeared.
Instantly Kelly felt an overwhelming all consuming need to touch John, to ease his pain, and to make him feel better about himself. Ever attentive and aware of her desires, John put a hand out to her. When Kelly took it she felt a burning sensation flow right through her, like scalding water - only it didn't hurt. It was a hyper-awareness and a strong, almost spiritual bond. It felt good.
This was her John, and she loved him, and he went through so much as a child. It was a wonder he was sane at all.
Smiling sympathetically, as if knowing what she was thinking and how she felt, John pulled her gently toward him, and Kelly came willingly then, cuddling up onto his lap. She melted into him as John stroked her back and hair, and gave her light, soft kisses on her head and neck.
Soothing, but not sexual. The images of dead animals were still vividly in each other's mind.
"Thank you, Kelly, for listening, and understanding," he murmured. "You really do make me feel human. You force me to accept my own goodness. You, Kelly, are enough to make me believe that maybe there is a God, because only God could create someone as pure and perfect as you. Perhaps God has forgiven me. I dare to hope that maybe I deserve to be happy, and to find peace. Did he send you to me, do you think, Kelly?"
"If he did, he knew that you were just the right person for me, too," Kelly said and her eyes stung as tears welled once more. "We make each other happy, John. I love you so much."
And with that they hugged each other. They pressed their bodies as close together as possible, and fully connected once more.
18. A Walk in the Park
Homicide Detective Lorenzo Martin walked down the street, enjoying the mild weather. April in Portland was often wet or overcast and that had more or less been the case so far this month. Today it was sunny and a balmy fifty-seven degrees. Consequently Lorenzo was happy to take the mile walk to his favorite restaurant for lunch.
As he neared the Portland Police Bureau entry, a familiar silver Mercedes sports car pulled up beside him, and the passenger window rolled down.
"Detective Martin?"
What does this fuck head want? Lorenzo frowned, suddenly re-thinking the whole walk thing. "What do you want, Taylor?" Lorenzo said, making no attempt to hide his irritation.
"To show you something."
"Is that so?"
"Hop in."
"I don’t think so."
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed as Taylor, the asshole, chuckled. "Okay, fair enough," Taylor said. "How about we go for a drive in your car then?"
Curious now, Lorenzo acquiesced and, using his ID badge, he opened the gates, letting his suspect, John Taylor, into the cops' private parking lot. Taylor parked and got out of his car. It beeped when he locked it.
"I would prefer not to have your partner in on this," Taylor said.
Lorenzo raised his eyebrows at that, but nodded his agreement. "If you're going in my car, and not sitting behind the perp protection in the back seat, I'll have to search you for weapons."
Studying his suspect in his watchful cop way, Lorenzo caught just a brush of an odd shift in Taylor's features in response to this demand. It was a strange combination of possible emotions, anxiety, tension, and then resignation perhaps. Lorenzo had observed that stiffening tension earlier when he had acquainted Taylor with a physical search before taking him downtown.
Did the man have something to hide? Or did he just hate to be touched? Lorenzo wondered.
Without a word, Taylor obediently put his hands against the police cruiser 'assuming the position.' Fast learner, Lorenzo thought. Utterly motionless, Taylor allowed Lorenzo to search him.
"Alright, you're clean," Lorenzo said. "Hop in."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened as John Taylor, the most likely suspect for the brutal murder of Professor Maria Christina Lopez got into his car.
19. Holladay Park
"Where to?"
"Holladay Park."
"Fine," Lorenzo said with another frown.
While on the job, Lorenzo had found there were bad criminals - the kind that were just plain BAD. And there were mad criminals, the real fruitcakes, and they were just plain MAD. But this guy, he had to be the full deal, both BAD and MAD. And they were the worst of all.
What was this good-looking bastard up to? Christ on a fucking cracker, th
e man should have been a model. Lorenzo never usually gave the subject much thought, but it seemed to him that a man like John Taylor would be a serious chick magnet. What was the saying? Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly cuts right to the bone?
Well, in that case John Taylor, the sociopathic murdering bastard, was both seriously beautiful and bone deep ugly.
Taylor was wearing blue jeans of some expensive type that was out of Lorenzo's pay scale. A shiny name brand button down shirt, and casual leather shoes and matching belt that also looked above his pay grade finished this ensemble. Casual as it seemed, John Taylor, with his dark handsome features and nice clothes, looked like he had just hopped off a catwalk in Italy maybe.
Both men remained silent as Lorenzo drove, and he was happy for the peace.
Bloody Lucille drove him nuts with her constant complaining chatter. The woman would subtly grumble that he was late back from lunch, but tough titties. Lorenzo parked the white and black police cruiser and got out. Taylor got out, too, and without a word, started walking at a pretty fast stride. Where was the bastard going?
Well, that was okay with Lorenzo. He could use the fresh air. Keeping up with Taylor's brutal stride, Lorenzo walked behind him with an open careful eye.
Holladay Park could be a little sketchy at times as it had been the end of the line for MAX's Free Rail Zone (which was no longer free). It was also across the street from the mall. Mostly it was filled with harmless transients. There were also high school kids skipping class, or else hanging out there after school.
Lorenzo checked his watch, surprised to find that he had been diverted from his job completely, just by enjoying a good pace and watching the people go by. Christ, they had been walking for over a half an hour.