by Bryan Smith
Cindy’s anger surged back to the surface, burning through her tears and setting her hand in motion before she knew what she was doing. Her palm smacked hard across Zack’s jaw, snapping his head to the side and leaving him dazed long enough for her to continue the assault. She picked up the magazine he’d discarded, rolled it up tight, and battered him about the head with it until he at last managed to snatch it away from her and seize her by the wrists.
“What’s wrong with you!?” he screamed.
Cindy struggled in his grip. She ached to strike him again. Slapping him had felt good, but it hadn’t been enough. Swatting him around with the magazine had felt even better, but even that had fallen short of completely satisfying. The terror and confusion in his bugged-out eyes sent a pleas ur able shudder through her. This new urge to do violence was intoxicating.
No…that wasn’t quite the real truth of it.
Hell, she thought, it turned me on.
Her nipples had stiffened. And she was wet down there.
She recognized this reaction as wrong and probably crazy, but she didn’t care.
She loved it.
She thrashed against Zack and eventually managed to wrest one hand free. Her thumb and middle finger went to his eyes and began to press. Zack yelped and leaped away from her. He picked up one of his athletic trophies and brandished it like a club. “You stay away from me, you crazy bitch!”
Cindy got off the bed, clasped her hands behind her back, and began to move toward him, rolling her hips and arching her back so that her breasts jutted. “Come on, Zacky baby. You’re not afraid of little ol’ me?” She laughed. “Are you?”
Zack’s expression was grim. “Don’t take another step. I’ll bash your brains in, I swear to God.”
Cindy shook her head in mock disappointment. “Look at you. A big, strong boy like you waving that trophy thingy at me. Don’t you bench-press two or three times my weight, Zack? What could I do to you?”
Zack took a step backward. His back met the wall. “You’re a fucking psycho. What an actress you are, Cindy. I can’t believe I never saw how completely fucking nuts you are.” His voice grew hoarse with emotion. “I loved you. Please…don’t make me hurt you. Please stay back.”
Cindy eyed the trophy. She smiled. “I don’t think you could do it. You’re too much of a good guy to really hit a girl with that thing. Oh, you’d want to, if I really came at you, but you wouldn’t. You’d hesitate.” Her smile broadened. “Yes, you’d hesitate, and I’d be digging your eyes out before you could do anything.”
Zack was shaking now. His grip on the trophy was slipping. He looked defeated, like a beaten, broken thing. Big, bad Zack. King stud.
King pussy, more like.
Cindy giggled at the thought.
Zack scooted sideways down the wall, getting into position to bolt toward the door. But his gaze never wavered from Cindy. “Stay away from me.”
Cindy licked her lips. “You really are pitiful. But you don’t need to run, baby. I’m leaving. I’m gonna go find a more challenging foe. Myra Lewis. And I’m really gonna do it, Zack. I’m gonna kill the cunt.”
Zack’s horrified expression almost made her laugh again. She shrugged. “C’est la vie, baby. I’m leaving now.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet again. Soon.”
Then she left his room and descended the stairs to the first floor. Zack’s mother, a pleasant-looking woman with short, permed hair, greeted her with a smile in the foyer. “Leaving so soon, dear?”
Cindy’s own smile was just as pleasant.
So Lizzie Bishop was likely shocked when her favorite son’s golden goddess of a girlfriend slugged her hard in the stomach. The blow expelled the air from her lungs and made her double over. Cindy pounded a fist against the crown of the woman’s skull, sending her to her knees. She lingered over the woman a moment, contemplating ways to inflict further damage.
Then the logical part of her mind reasserted itself for a moment. The fragile thing that had masqueraded as her conscience was gone forever, utterly destroyed. But her self-preservation instinct remained intact. She shouldn’t have assaulted Zack’s mother. Not because there was anything wrong with what she’d done (Cindy was quickly reassessing all her previously held notions of right and wrong), but because the woman might call the police to report the attack.
Cindy heard footsteps behind her.
Then a horrified screech.
“Oh my God! What have you done?”
Zack brushed by her and knelt next to his stricken mother. The woman was sobbing. She was curled up in a ball on the floor, hugging herself and shaking.
“Mom? Mom, are you okay?”
Cindy cast her gaze about the foyer. She spied something that might be useful, then glanced down at mother and son.
Zack glared up at her. “You crazy bitch! You were wrong, Cindy. I will fight back. You’ve gone too far.”
He started to rise.
Cindy drove the toe of a high-heeled shoe into his stomach, sending him back to the floor. Then she swept past Zack and his mother, grabbed the pruning shears Lizzie Bishop had set aside upon returning from her garden, and pounced on Zack. She buried the blades in his throat and felt a more intense ripple of the same pleasure she’d experienced in Zack’s room moments ago.
She punched the blades into his body again and again, dozens of times.
On and on, ripping his body to shreds long after he had died.
Then she turned her attention to Lizzie Bishop, who hadn’t moved.
The woman was smiling through her tears.
“My sacrifice.” She palmed some tears away and kept smiling. “I’m so happy.”
Cindy gaped at the woman. What she had done felt right. It was insane, she recognized that, but it felt right. Nothing had ever felt so right. Her entire life as she’d known it—along with all her extravagant plans for the future—was over. Something new, something breathtakingly, unexpectedly better had come along.
It was incredible, a startling revelation, an epiphany. Nothing should surprise her now.
But this—well, frankly the woman’s attitude was shocking.
Cindy had just butchered her son before her eyes.
And she was…happy?
It didn’t make sense.
“What the hell’s the matter with you, you fucking old hag?”
Lizzie Bishop’s smile still radiated unabashed joy. “I should’ve known all along. You’re special. You’re one of her chosen ones.”
Cindy shook her head. “Chosen ones? Who are you talking about?”
Lizzie seemed surprised. “Why, Lamia, of course.”
“I don’t know who the fuck that is.”
“You will, dear.”
“You know something? Don’t call me ‘dear,’ okay? I’ve always hated that.”
Cindy disengaged herself from Zack’s ruined body. She straddled Lizzie and flexed the blades. She leered at the woman. “Are you ready for this?”
She wanted to see terror steal into the woman’s eyes, but there was no fear there. Lizzie was still smiling. “I’ve never been so ready. Not for anything.”
Cindy frowned. “Stop that shit. You’re freaking me out.”
She went to work with the blades one more time.
Then she stood up and surveyed the carnage. The formerly immaculate foyer was awash in crimson. The lifeless bodies at her feet possessed a grisly beauty. She felt a strange kind of pride. She had snuffed them. The work of her own hands had splashed all this blood around.
She felt powerful again.
More than that—she’d never felt so good in her life.
And she shivered with delight at the knowledge that there was still one more thing that could make her feel even better—Myra Lewis dead at her feet.
The cunt’s face reappeared in her mind.
Cindy grinned.
“Here I come, bitch, ready or not.”
She opened the front door and stepped outside.<
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Then froze.
Myra Lewis was sitting on a white wicker chair on the porch, one leg curled beneath her as she nonchalantly smoked a clove cigarette. She looked at Cindy and smiled. “Hello, darling.” She glanced at the bloody shears and expelled a cloud of pungent smoke. “I see you’ve been busy.”
Cindy snarled and raised the shears high over her head. A delirious sensation of purest ecstasy swirled inside her. Her fondest wish was about to come true. And the stupid bitch was just sitting there, waiting for it. As if she didn’t have a care in the world.
I’ll fix that, Cindy thought. And pounced.
Or, rather, she tried to pounce.
She couldn’t move. Something had reached inside her and paralyzed her. She saw the flicker of amusement in Myra’s eyes and knew at once the bitch had done it. The sense of power she’d so reveled in moments ago was gone. Terror now welled inside her. She wanted to cry. Because whatever else Myra Lewis might be, one thing was clear—she wasn’t human.
Myra flicked the cigarette away. She unfolded the leg tucked beneath her and scooted to the edge of the chair. “You don’t need to be afraid, Cindy.” Her voice was low and earnest. And a strange thing happened—Cindy believed her. “I had a hunch about you. I thought I could provoke some interesting things.” She smiled and shot a glance at the open door behind Cindy. “Turns out I was right. I want you to join me, Cindy. I want you to help me kill them all. Will you do that?”
Cindy felt some of the paralysis slip away. Her legs remained frozen, but her upper body was under her own control again. The shears slipped from her hands and landed with a clatter on the porch.
“Yes.” She sniffled. “I think I want that more than anything.”
Myra smiled again. “Good. A change is coming, Cindy. A storm. Soon Rockville will be a ghost town. You’re going to kill a lot of people for me.”
Hot tears spilled down Cindy’s cheeks. “Thank you. Oh, thank you…”
“But now I need you to do something else for me first.” Myra’s eyes gleamed, and there was a new intensity in her voice. “A symbol of your subservience and devotion to me.”
Cindy’s legs prickled with a pins-and-needles sensation. Her body was fully under her control again. “What do you want me to do?”
A corner of Myra’s mouth twitched. “I want you to come to me on your hands and knees. And then I want you to kiss my feet.”
Only moments earlier the prospect of such a thing would have made Cindy sick. But now there was only pleasure and the desire to prove herself worthy to Myra. Before she could even consciously decide to obey, she felt her bare knees touch the cold concrete surface of the porch. Then she leaned forward and placed the palms of her hands on the concrete.
“Come to me,” Myra said.
“Yes, Lamia.”
Cindy almost frowned.
Why had she addressed Myra as Lamia?
You know why, a voice somewhere deep inside whispered. Deep down, you’ve always known.
But that was something to think about later. Maybe.
Cindy pushed the thought away and did as she was ordered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jordan burped.
She put a hand over her stomach and groaned. “I don’t think I can eat any more Todd.”
Bridget put down the length of fried intestine she’d been nibbling on. “Yeah, I’ve kinda had my fill of him, too.”
Angela belched.
All three of the women seated around Todd’s kitchen table laughed. Jordan glanced down at the beach ball-shaped monster that had nuzzled against her ankles throughout the meal. It looked up at her with its leering pumpkinlike eyes. She dropped a Todd morsel and the creature snatched it out of the air with its tongue.
Bridget grinned. “I think you’ve made a friend.”
“I think you’re right,” Jordan said.
Bridget reached across the table to stroke the back of Jordan’s hand. “It’s nice to see you getting into the spirit of things. The idea of cannibalism makes most people kind of, well…uptight.”
Angela giggled.
“Now that you’ve explained about Lamia, I feel a lot better about things,” Jordan said. “I can see why you thought I wouldn’t fit in with you guys, but you were wrong.”
“Hmm. Do you really think so?” Bridget bent one of Jordan’s fingers backward, just enough to hurt. “I still don’t think you’re fit for anything other than slave duty.” She smiled. “Tell me, why do you think I’m wrong?”
Bridget pushed Jordan’s finger backward some more. Jordan gritted her teeth, but she didn’t cry out. Nor did she attempt to yank her hand away. She’d already learned the price of resisting Bridget’s various tortures. Her hair was still a bit damp from the multiple toilet-bowl dunkings, and her back was raw from the belt-lashing she’d endured prior to that. Oh, they had been very cruel. But Jordan wouldn’t have expected anything less from such sadists. Yet, she had survived this much. It couldn’t get much worse. Or so she hoped.
Her smile wavered a bit, but she managed to reinforce it. “The way I see it, Lamia is all about female empowerment. She’s the ultimate feminist. Knowing what you know about me, you should see how perfectly her objectives mesh with my ideals.”
Angela snickered. “You don’t understand anything at all.”
Jordan tried to sound hurt. “Oh?”
Bridget nodded. “She’s right, Jordan. Yes, women assume the leadership roles within Lamia’s ring of power. Lamia sees that as the natural order of things. But the really important thing for all of us is the glorification of Lamia. She’s a deity, you know. A goddess. A divine being. All-powerful. And in the end, even the women of Rockville must fall at her feet and praise her.”
Jordan frowned. “Look, I believe you. Given what I’ve seen, that’s a no-brainer.”
Angela brayed more of that idiot laughter Jordan so hated. “Like Todd. He’s a real no-brainer now. We ate ’em up, yum yum.” She made a lip-smacking sound. “Mmm, brains…”
Jordan rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored the interruption. “Okay, Lamia’s a goddess. Granted. We’ve established that. What I don’t understand, though, is the need for this…what did you call it?”
Bridget said, “The Harvest of Souls.”
“Yeah, that.”
Something subtle but significant changed in Bridget’s expression. And when she spoke next her tone was more serious than before. “It’s simple. Lamia derives energy, power, from souls. Yes, by the way, the soul is a real thing. Every human, every dog, every cat, every insect, every microorganism possesses one. Obviously, the soul-energy in, say, your average locust is negligible. But Lamia doesn’t bother absorbing the souls of the lower creatures. It would be a waste of her time. She has other uses for animals. Human beings, however, are loaded with soul-energy. Lamia can subsist on a handful of souls for years at a time. However, every hundred years or so a harvest must occur. What it does for her is hard to explain in human terms. You could compare it to recharging a car’s battery, I guess. But for Lamia one recharge will take her through another century.”
During this speech, Bridget had relinquished her grip on Jordan’s finger. Jordan folded her hands in her lap. “I guess I can buy that.” She glanced again at the beach ball creature. “I guess at this point I can buy anything.” She met Bridget’s gaze again. “But I don’t understand why a truly divine being would need a recharging.”
Angela made a disgusted sound and sneered. “Why are we bothering explaining this shit to this bitch? We should just kill her skinny ass.” The sneer became a smile. “I’m still hungry. I bet her eyeballs would be tasty fried up in a skillet.”
Bridget smiled “There’s more interesting things to do with Jordan than kill her.” She picked at the remaining morsels on her plate for another moment before setting her fork down again. She looked at Jordan. “I don’t think any of us ever truly understand divine beings, not even chosen ones like me.”
“Chosen ones?”
“Those personally selected by Lamia to carry out the Harvest.”
Jordan felt a chill go through her. “You mean…”
Bridget nodded. There was a very intent look in her eyes. A deeply disturbing eagerness. “Yes. Chosen ones do the actual killing. There’s a very complicated energy-transference process. Well, you’ll see how it works at the Harvest.”
“And that happens when?”
“Very soon. At Rockville High School.”
“Why there?”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s true that Lamia derives substantial energy from any human soul she takes, but the souls of the very young contain the most raw energy. A teenager’s soul is the equivalent of spiritual crack or Ecstasy.” She shrugged. “I don’t know which analogy is more accurate, but that’s my basic understanding of it.”
“So why can’t I join the club? Why are you a chosen one?”
Bridget sighed. “You can’t join the club because you’re not from here. Lamia chose this place as the site of the next Harvest long ago. And since then all women born in Rockville have been by birth members of her inner circle, whether they know it or not.” She giggled. “And in fact, they very often don’t know it, not awakening to their true nature until late in adolescence. I was an early bloomer. I began to sense my connection with the goddess even before I entered puberty. Anyway, that’s why no amount of pleading on your part can get you into the club. It doesn’t matter that you’re trying to get on our good side to find a way out of this. Even if I believed you were a true convert, it wouldn’t matter. Lamia wouldn’t have you.”
Jordan’s brow furrowed. “Doesn’t this goddess ever bend her own rules? If I could somehow prove myself to her, maybe she’d make an exception for me.”
Bridget shrugged. “Doubt it. But who knows, stranger things have happened. Anyway, you’ll get a chance to ask her yourself. You’ll be meeting her soon.”
Jordan didn’t say anything. The revelation was unexpected and shocking. Before, the goddess had existed to her only as a concept, an intellectual puzzle to figure out. She hadn’t considered, even for a moment, the possibility of an actual encounter with the flesh-and-blood manifestation of this supposed deity. Thinking about it made her heart race and her breath grow shallow. If she couldn’t make these two bimbos believe she was sincere, she didn’t stand a chance of convincing Lamia.