Pretty Baby

by Pretty Baby (NCP) (lit)

  “It’s the second time today, it seems,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I have to admit though, that you gave me quite a jolt as well.” Realizing he was insulting her appearance, he began to stammer. “I mean … it … well, it’s not everyday a man runs into … uh....” He looked at her sheepishly, knowing he would get himself in deeper and deeper no matter what he said.

  She wasn’t listening to him. Instead her large eyes searched his handsome face, noticing that he must have shaved because his beard was gone. His face was rugged, chiseled, revealing a masculine strength that scared her a little. And she was scared … even though the strength in his face was softened by two dimples that deepened into lines when he smiled.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said, watching her closely while she cringed against the door, afraid he would touch her. “My name is Shadoe Madison.” When she didn’t respond an awkward silence stretched between them. Finally he said, “And you are … Julita … uh … Van Dare. Right?”

  “Y-you know my name?” she whispered, placing her trembling hands on her mouth.

  “I … well … your sister … she … it’s a beautiful name, by the way.” Get out of that damned corner, Shadoe thought, but instead he shrugged, and asked, “Why are you here? Did you need something?”

  “R-room … I was....” she answered disjointedly, then pointed down the hall. “Look … looking for room twenty-four.”

  “Yes, that’s this room.”

  She frowned. “No … it’s down....”

  “Here, I’ll show you,” he said, passing her very carefully so as not to frighten her, then reached out to open the door. “See?” he said, indicating to the number. “Twenty-four right there on the door.” When she didn’t say anything, he thought maybe she was illiterate. “You can read,” he asked softly, “can’t you?”

  She looked at him, feeling a twinge of anger overtake her. It was clear that he thought she was stupid. Suddenly her fear turned to the familiar stab of rebellion. “Yes, I can read,” she spat, then turned and picked up his tray from the table in the hall, brought it in and set it down loudly on the credenza in the entryway.

  “Oh yes, the coffee,” he said, smiling.

  “I thought....” she began, her voice faltering. Then lifting her trembling chin, she forced herself to try again. “I just … I thought this room was empty.”

  “That’s probably because I just arrived this morning.” He looked at her for a moment, wondering why she was so frightened. “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching out to touch her. She recoiled, but he caught her hand. “You don’t have to be frightened.”

  Seeing her hand in his, her eyes lifted and met his. Their green glow was breathtaking. She didn’t know what a swoon felt like, but believed the weak feeling in her knees must be close. He was so big, she thought, and strong. He towered over her. What would it be like to … she was ashamed of the pictures that were forming in her mind. “I have to go,” she whispered, and began backing away, then turned and reached for the doorknob.

  “Wait!”

  She stopped dead still and turned around slowly. She kept her head lowered, her eyes angling up toward him suspiciously.

  He reached over, picked a bill up off the dresser, and extended it toward her. “This is for you.”

  She stood looking at the bill as if she didn’t know what it was. Then she looked up at him as if waiting for his permission to take it. When she saw him nod and smile, she reached out and snatched it out of his hand and quickly turned away. She looked at it, smelled it, then folded it gently.

  He watched her curious behavior, then spoke. “It’s customary to tip good service. I’m sure you know that.”

  She turned her head, cutting her eyes back at him suspiciously while pulling at the top of her dress to deposit the bill beneath the tight binding that Lucretia made her wear. To her surprise the binding snapped, and her breasts ballooned before the man’s eyes. “Ohhh!” she screamed, holding her breasts as if they were going to fall out.

  Shadoe’s mouth and eyes widened in shock. “Oh, my God!” he cried, seeing the little girl in the shapeless dresses and dirty feet suddenly turn into a woman … a full blown woman.

  Julita stood in a crouch, folding her arms over her full breasts as if she were standing naked before him. With her eyes wide with fear, she turned and darted for the door.

  “Please,” Shadoe said, reaching out. “I wish you wouldn’t go. Would you like some coffee?” he asked stupidly, looking at her mask and wondering what other things she may be hiding. “Can you drink through that thing?” he asked curiously, then reached out and took the edge. “Here, let’s take it....”

  “No!” she yelled, then turned, yanked the door open and darted through it.

  He rushed to the door and saw the little urchin streak down the hall. “Nice going, Shadoe,” he muttered, then slammed the door angrily, the sound echoing through the upstairs corridor. He paced for a while, raking his hands through his hair. A little girl with a flat-chest and dirty feet had suddenly turned into a woman. He understood the mask, but why in God’s name was she wearing those dresses? For that matter what was she doing bound up like that? Was it true that she’d been mangled? How badly? he wondered. Maybe she could have something done … an operation. He pictured her once again standing there with her breasts hanging out, and suddenly felt something hot and damp swirling in his groin. He was ashamed of his feelings, but one thought led to another, and a picture of her long, shapely legs caused a sweat to break out along his neck. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Because I’m an idiot, he told himself. Finally he stalked to the dresser and combed his wet head. As he stared at himself in the mirror he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He kept seeing the dingy little mask and those incredible violet eyes. Finally he threw down the comb and wandered over to the tray and poured himself some coffee. Whatever was under that mask surely couldn’t be so bad. After all, what kind of monster would have eyes like that?

  * * * *

  Finding the familiar narrow steps that led to the attic in the tower, Julita bound up them loudly, stumbling in her haste until she reached the door. She burst in, quickly climbed into her bed and crunched up into a fetal position. She was visibly shaking, and pulling down on the mask as if afraid someone was going to tear it off. “I c-can’t! I … I can’t! I’m ugly … ugly!”

  She stayed in her room all day, cringing in the corner of her bed. She didn’t want to face Lucretia, because Lucretia would know she’d been bad. She didn’t know how her sister found out, but she always did. Finally when the sun dipped low in the sky, and shadowy creatures filled up her room, she knew it wouldn’t be long.

  * * * *

  That night when the last of the guests had retired to their rooms, Lucretia walked silently through the shadowy corridors, her anger seething, and her eyes shooting fire. When she finally came to the attic steps, she paused, looked up, then began to climb the narrow steps to Julita’s door.

  When Julita saw her, fear jumped inside her, causing her breath to become shallow. She watched Lucretia slowly pull a hypodermic needle from her pocket and hold it up threateningly. “You were in his room,” she whispered.

  Julita’s frightened eyes quickly glanced down at the hypodermic and then back up at Lucretia. “No … no, please,” she whispered as she inched backward, fear etched on her face.

  “Admit it,” Lucretia said, reaching out and gripping her arm tightly, “you were in there, weren’t you?”

  “I … it was a mistake. I th-thought the r-room was empty.” She looked up at Lucretia’s midnight eyes, and asked softly. “How … how did you know?”

  “Someone saw you,” Lucretia hissed through clenched teeth. “And lucky for me she did. The stupid cow thought she was seeing a ghost. You’re the reason this inn pays off so well. Did you know that? They see you and can’t believe their eyes. I couldn’t have planned it better. The legend, the tarnished, but deliciously evil reputation of the inn, and you. My li
ttle ghost.”

  Julita fought Lucretia’s bruising grasp, and in the midst of the struggle a bill floated down in front of Lucretia’s eyes. She looked at the bill, then up at Julita. “He gave you money?” Her face screwed up. “For what?” She looked down and saw Julita’s breasts bouncing. “Where is your binding?”

  “I don’t … I don’t know,” Julita sobbed, trying to pull her arm out of Lucretia’s tight grasp.

  “Did he remove your binding?” Lucretia yelled. “Who removed your binding?”

  “No … I don’t know … it just came off,” Julita whimpered while struggling.

  “Did you let him touch you?”

  She twisted Julita’s arm, and Julita let out a yelp of pain. Lucretia’s lips thinned, and her voice became low and threatening. “Answer me, you little tramp! Did he touch you? Remove your mask?”

  “Owww, you’re hurting me!” Julita yelled, struggling to free her arm.

  Lucretia grabbed the mask and tore it from her face. “Answer me, you little whore. What did he say when he saw your face? Did he see the scars, the ugly, purple scars?”

  “No … I ran … I came back h-here.”

  “You’d better hope you’re telling me the truth, because I’ll find out if you’re not. Never let any man touch you, do you hear me? They’re pigs, Julita, dirty, rotten evil pigs that have only one thing on their minds.”

  With a jerk, Lucretia cruelly pulled Julita’s arm forward and pressed the point of the wicked needle against her skin.

  Julita flinched at the prick of the needle, then squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to look as the point of the needle became deeply buried in her flesh.

  “Now listen to me, you little whore,” Lucretia hissed as the drug from the needle flowed into Julita’s arm. “If anyone wants to remove your mask, you kill them! Do you understand? Stab! Scratch! Bite! Anything to keep your mask from coming off. Is that clear?”

  “Yessss,” Julita said breathlessly, then closed her eyes and whispered disjointedly, “Kill … b-bi-bite. Scr--”

  “Yes,” Lucretia answered softly, watching Julita as her lids began to get heavy. She jerked the needle out, knowing Julita was under her power once again and rasped in her ear. “You must never show your face,” she whispered. “If you do those that see you would be repulsed and run away terrorized! I am the only one who can see you,” she said, lifting her hand and stroking her cheeks and her hair.

  While Julita’s lids continued to droop, Lucretia reached over to the dresser and picked up a brush. As she pulled the brush through Julita's hair, Lucretia crooned to her until she once again brought it to a shining red-gold beauty, then put it up in dog ears and carefully tied it with two pink ribbons. “I don’t want you taking your hair down,” Lucretia said to the pink and golden docile child she saw before her.

  “But I’m … I’m too old....” Julita said, looking up at Lucretia through the drug-induced slits in her eyes.

  “No!” she snarled. “You’re not too old … you’ll never be too old.”

  While Julita slowly succumbed to the power of the drug, Lucretia removed her dress and what was left of her binding and put on her baby dolls. It had taken a lot of yelling, a lot of beatings, and just the right amounts of drugs and medication to get Julita to this point, but now that she was here, it was worth it.

  “Time to sleep now,” Lucretia whispered, then reached out and gently coaxed Julita from her bed and pulled her into her lap. She still marveled at Julita’s soft skin, and a curious kind of love swirled in her chest for the little ragamuffin she’d created. She couldn’t stand the thought of her growing up. She wanted to keep her small, young.

  Like she was that night.

  She could still see that dark room and Julita in her crib. She could still feel how badly she’d wanted to stroke her, take care of her, play with her, but her papa wouldn’t let her. “Well,” she whispered, an evil smile playing on her lips, “look at me now, Papa.” She gently fingered the pink ribbons in Julita’s hair, the short baby doll pajamas, and cute little dog ears. “She’s mine now, Papa. For fifteen years she’s been mine. I’ve taken care of her, played with her, and you haven’t been able to say one word about it.” Her voice became a low hiss. “You paid for keeping her from me, Papa, just like I said you would. But you didn’t believe me. Now you both depend on me. Yes, Papa, you depend on me. Ugly, hideous, Lucretia.”

  Curling up in a fetal position in her sister’s lap, Julita closed her eyes and put her thumb in her mouth.

  “Poor thing,” Lucretia crooned, “she’s played until she’s exhausted.”

  After rocking her a little while longer, she at last managed to get her in her bed, then lovingly covered her. She laid her mask carefully beside her head so she would find it when she woke up, then reached over for the music box, turned it over, and twisted the key. The tinkling music began to play, and Lucretia was reminded of her father’s love for the beautiful blond pinup of the first world war, Betty Grable. When he bought the box, he’d had the gentle lullaby changed to a more appropriate tune. Lucretia listened as the tiny musical tinkle filled the room, and the strange words filled her head.

  Pretty baby, pretty baby. Won’t you come and let me rock you in your cradle of love, and we’ll cuddle all the while. I will be your loving sister, brother, dad and mother too. Pretty baby of mine, all mine. Pretty baby of mine.

  Before she left, Lucretia gently pulled the covers up over Julita, and surrounded the sensuous child/woman in soft, plush, colorful toys that she knew should only belong to an infant … not a girl of eighteen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Blood dripped from the sky. The friggin’ sky actually bled! Shadoe thought as his dark silhouette stood on the beach bathed in a red glow from the crimson ball that shot bloody arrows into the sky. He sensed an eerie hush, and chills ran rampant along his arms. No seagulls, no chirping birds heading south, and no planes with their low, faraway drone. For only a few moments every morning, this portion of the coast was bathed in the most spectacular sight he’d ever seen. What caused it? he wondered.The legend about the warrior bleeding into the ocean was for mindless fools. But he did agree that this magnificent, surreal beauty had to be seen to be believed. What looked like blood instead of water washed upon the shore. He crouched down and ran his fingers through the sand. The grains were fine. If you didn’t know it was sand, you’d think it was red sugar. He immersed one hand in the water that washed up, and when he withdrew it, the water left there was actually red. Whether from the sunrise, or not, it looked as if blood covered his hand. Just then, as if to punctuate his fear, he heard a high scream. His head jerked around, and he saw an incredible stand of giant bones, some lying down, some standing, some leaning against the wall of the precipice. He knew then what the sound had been … the wind whistling through the chanter marks, lifting, then dying in a morbid tune of death. The sound continued, ending only when the sun began rising higher in the sky, causing the scarlet color to slowly pale and give way to a normal sunrise.

  The sunrise over, Shadoe finally returned to his own thoughts. For two days he had watched for the little ragamuffin. It seemed to him that she was noticeably missing. He’d walked through the halls, around the grounds, and even considered going into parts of the inn he knew he wasn’t allowed. But she was nowhere to be found. If he didn’t see her soon … darting in and out while going from one place to another, his concern would turn to worry. He could only imagine what that witch might do to her.

  As he stood looking out at the crashing waves, he felt restless and didn’t want to go in just yet. Glancing down at his watch, he knew there was still time before breakfast, so he looked over at the thick grove of trees, wondering if he would find her in there. He hesitated to go too far since the woods were unfamiliar territory to him, but it was the only place he hadn’t looked.

  With his camera slung over his neck, he started out, climbing the sandy slope until he spotted a narrow path that looked as if it led somewhere. He fo
llowed it, hoping at the very least it would lead to a beautiful area worthy of a snapshot, but the dense, overhanging branches and wild shrubbery were anything but photogenic. Thick vines snaked up the trees, then hung threateningly from the branches. He considered turning back, but didn’t want to give up that easily, so he kept going, stumbling over rocks and exposed tree roots until he came to a clearing. Pulling back a thick cover of branches, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a dilapidated old church complete with a sagging steeple, broken front steps, shattered windows, rotting planks, and peeling paint. He walked forward very slowly, carefully dodging low-hanging tree limbs in his path. The unpainted wood was ashen, and the early morning mist gave the structure a spectral quality. He could hear the chilling call of birds that roosted in the treetops and the lonely, forlorn sound of a band of cicadas that hid in the lush vegetation.

  Without thinking, he brought his camera up and began snapping pictures at different angles. All at once through the camera lens he spotted something moving, a shadow, looking down at him from a high window. He brought the camera down quickly, but by then it had disappeared, if it had been there at all.

  “Why didn’t I snap it?” he growled at himself. “Why in hell didn’t I snap it?”

  He walked a little closer, hearing the crackle of dry leaves and twigs beneath his feet. When he came to the crude rail that gave weak support to anyone climbing the steps, he ran his hand along it lightly and felt a sharp pain. When he jerked his hand away quickly, he saw a tiny paint shard sticking out of his finger. Dislodging it, he brushed it away, then unthinkingly put the finger in his mouth, sucking the blood.

  The mist seemed to thicken. It coiled around the roots of the trees and the base of the church, making it seem as if it were floating. He watched the mist move toward him slowly as if it were alive. Winding around his feet, it slithered up the legs of his trousers like a wet, slimy snake. He looked around, smelling death in the mist. Death, decay, and....