Unmasked

by R. Saint Claire

  “Hello Jenna.”

  She turned with a gasp to see Karla wearing a white Turkish towel on her head and nothing else, her creamy flesh illuminated by the soft light from the open bathroom door and the golden flames from the fireplace that licked her toned legs and round hips.

  Jenna’s mouth fell open and the travel book dropped to the floor. Karla’s breasts, whether from some miracle of nature or the skill of a talented surgeon, hadn’t drooped a millimeter since her high school days. Jenna had seen plenty of enhanced bosoms before—half the women she knew had them, but these looked completely natural, the way she remembered them appearing from the times she spied on Karla during her trysts with Dave or caught her coming out of the shower when they were young.

  Karla, amused by Jenna’s gawking and making no attempt to cover her nakedness, moved towards her slowly, sensuously. “I should be angry with you for interrupting my private space, but now that you’re here, why don’t you join me?” Karla said, reaching out her hand.

  Jenna, slightly dizzy, took a step backward. “ I think I better…”

  Karla moved in very close till Jenna could feel the heat of Karla’s flesh, separated only by the thin chiffon of Jenna’s robe. “It will do you a world of good, believe me.”

  Karla’s eyes moved up and down Jenna’s slender frame. “You want to join me, don’t you?” Her breath was warm and sweet on Jenna’s face, the scent of her amber perfume intoxicating.

  “Yes,” Jenna answered instinctively, feeling the sensation of tiny pinpricks running over her flesh.

  Karla cooed softly. “That’s my baby sister.” She slowly moved her hands up Jenna’s body, casually brushing the tips of her breasts, and slid the chiffon robe and gown set from Jenna’s shoulders, letting it float softly to the floor.

  Jenna felt her body responding, and it frightened her. She didn’t dare move, scarcely breathed. This wasn’t her sister who stood before her, but a stranger: a beautiful, seductive creature who alone could release her hidden desires.

  “You’re beautiful, Jenna. You really are,” Karla whispered into her neck, then taking her by the hand she led her to the steam room inside the large, modernized bathroom suite. Jenna could see nothing inside the room but thick whiteness, but she felt Karla's hand guide her to a tiled ledge where she obediently sat.

  She felt her body relaxed in the humid warmth; but her mind was spinning, as if body and mind were on two opposite missions. Her mind’s mission was weak and confused, her body’s unwavering, governed only by desire.

  Karla tossed a towel at her. Jenna draped it over herself.

  Karla giggled at her gesture of modesty, and picked up an ice cube from a bowl next to her, sliding it down her throat and across her breasts, turning it to warm liquid. “Now isn’t this better?”

  “Yes,” Jenna said.

  A voice that was Karla’s, but seemed to come from another world—an exotic and fantastical one—whispered, “Relax, Jenna.”

  Jenna obeyed, resting the back of her head on the damp tile wall and breathed deeply the warm steamy air, redolent with Karla’s amber scent and soothing eucalyptus oil.

  She closed her eyes and let her thoughts travel from the steam bath, out the front door of Wolf House, down the winding rural road leading to her camp back, and all the way back to her cramped Brooklyn apartment; she saw her neglected plants, drying and dying in the window. She wondered how her tomcat, Donny, was doing. She remembered, with sudden relief, that she had asked her neighbor to check on him. Did Donny miss her? What about her friends? Did she have any real friends? Did anyone even notice she was gone? The familiar self-pity that was her pain and her refuge caught in her throat.

  Her mind swung to what had happened earlier that day: the horrible scene at the lake, seeing Mitch’s body. She knew it was true; and she needed Karla to listen.

  Jenna opened her eyes to find Karla staring at her from across the mist. The steam had removed her heavy make-up, uncovering fresh and youthful skin; black mascara ran down her plump cheeks in tiny rivulets accentuating the intensity of her sapphire eyes that now bore into Jenna’s with uncharacteristic openness.

  Jenna felt a stirring in her own skin, a desire to be touched, but by my own sister?

  “I better go.” Jenna reached for the towel.

  “I told you to relax, bitch!” Karla said with a laugh, playfully pulling the towel from Jenna's hands and flinging it into the white mist where it disappeared.

  Jenna’s thoughts ricocheted in all directions—Is she really coming on? Or just fucking with me? Waiting to see if I’ll do it just to mock me for it later, call me a freak maybe?

  All of these possibilities were well within the realm of behavior of the irreverent Karla she knew. But this Karla seemed so altered, it wasn’t only the preternatural appearance of youth, but something else: a vulnerability beneath the bitchy exterior.

  Not knowing if was her own desire getting in the way of her reasoning ability, Jenna decided to redirect the conversation back to her initial purpose. “Karla, I need to talk to you about what I saw today.”

  “Oh, that.” Karla laughed, picking up an ice cube and rubbing it along her inner thigh where it melted to warm liquid between her fingers.

  “I saw Mitch’s body. I know I did. I was this close to him.” Jenna gestured through the steam with her hand close to her face.

  Karla shrugged and picked up another ice cube, casually circling it around one nipple then the other. “So, where did he go?”

  “Where do you think? Back in the lake just like…”

  “Just like?”

  “Our parents,” Jenna whispered the thing that was never spoken. “Remember Karla? Their bodies were never found.”

  Karla blew softly on her hardened nipples. “Really? ”

  “Yes, really. They dragged the lake, but never found them. Don’t you remember?”

  “Of course…I meant…I don’t care about that now. I live for today.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, why put us through the agony of therapy?”

  Karla shot Jenna a hard look, chilling the sweltering atmosphere. “Because I thought it would help, Okay?” She threw what was left of the ice cube against the wall where it shattered into tiny shards. “Obviously, I was wrong. In fact, the entire thing is a disaster.” Karla sighed, sliding her bare ass off the tile bench to sit next to Jenna, their thighs now touching.

  Her voice softened. “Let’s try to endure it at least for a little while. Just to see if it works, okay?”

  “If what works?”

  Karla pressed her finger to Jenna’s lip. “Shhhh. You’re really stressed out, and you need to relax.” Jenna felt a hot surge of energy pass from Karla’s body to hers.

  “You know what I like to do when I need to relax?" Karla asked, the pitch of her voice rising girlishly. “Wanna see?”

  Jenna nodded as if in a trance.

  “Say please,” Karla said coyly, running her palm up Jenna's thigh, pausing at the top, then moving down to the soft inner region.

  “Please,” Jenna said, with a moan.

  “Okay. If you insist, I’ll show you what I like to do to relax.”

  Karla scooted across the bench, and disappeared into the steam. When she reemerged seconds later Jorgé’s brown arms were embracing her hungrily from behind, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his hands cupping her breasts then squeezing hard, forcing an ecstatic gasp from Karla’s parted lips. “This is what I like to do to relax,” Karla said, her giggle melting into a moan as his hand moved to her crotch.

  The beads of moisture on his cocoa-hued skin highlighted his muscular body. His hair hung in black coils past his shoulders. His strong arms bore several tattoos, some Jenna recognized as occult symbols: an eye inside a triangle, a mandala, and various runes. His chest, devoid of hair, boasted two perfectly formed pectoral mounds leading to a tight six-packed abdomen and an enormous, partially erect, uncircumcised cock.

  “I better go,” Jenna said,
attempting to stand. Karla's hand shot out and grabbed her.

  “No, please stay.” Karla’s voice was soft in contrast to the hard grip on Jenna’s wrist. “You can have him all to yourself, and I’ll watch.”

  Jenna couldn’t move. “I can’t do that.”

  She locked eyes with Jorgé over Karla’s shoulder. His sensual mouth topped with a thin black mustache mouthed silently to her the words blasting inside her head. Yes, you can.

  “But you need it, Jenna,” Karla cooed. “I can tell. It’s been a long time since you’ve been with someone, and Jorgé is skilled.” Jorge's fingers probed deeper between Karla’s soft thighs. “Very skilled,” she said, letting out a long sigh, her throat arched back, as his hands ran up and down her body, one hand fingering her as she spread her legs wide on the tiled seat, the other pinching her nipple and then the other. All the while his dark eyes focused on Jenna, who felt a current of electricity running through her body with each caress, her heart beat beneath her hungry breasts, jealous for wanting his touch. Karla noticed and smiled wickedly. She turned to face Jorgé and found his mouth with hers.

  They bit and sucked at each other voraciously, his tongue curling around hers, as Jenna watched, transfixed. Here’s your chance to escape, she thought. Only she couldn’t move.

  Karla pulled away from his kiss, but still ensnared in his muscular arms asked him, “What do you think of our Jenna?”

  “She could use a good work-out, but not bad,” Jorgé said, his tongue licking the sweat off his thick lips.

  “You bet she could. What do you think of this work-out, Jenna?” Karla climbed on top of him, sliding herself down on his now fully erect cock, and letting out a long cry as their bodies joined together, a slithering two-headed cobra, entwined in mutual pleasure, her white skin blending into his darkness to form one feral animal.

  Part of her wanted to join them, to experience the pleasure she had denied herself for so long. But suddenly a sense of decency overcame her. She picked up a towel and covered her nakedness.

  “I'm leaving,” she said, feeling her way to the door through the steam.

  Karla rolled off her lover and blocked Jenna’s egress with a shapely leg against the tiled wall. “I’ll give you another million dollars if you make love to Jorgé, or George as I like to call him.” Then with a girlish giggle added, “As long as I can watch.”

  Before Jenna could register a conscious thought, she let the towel drop to the floor and slid between them.

  12

  A shrill and prolonged scream echoed down the east wing corridor and woke Warren with a violent jolt. He sat up quickly on the sofa where he’d passed out hours before, knocking the empty crystal decanter to the floor. It rolled across the rug and stopped below the chandelier where it threw rays of beveled light across the vaulted ceiling.

  Blinking the crust from his eyes, he felt his brain pitch from side to side like thick soup in a wobbly bowl. He put his hands on either side of his head to stop it, nearly calling for Peter to fetch him an Alka Seltzer till he remembered where he was.

  He assumed the scream he’d heard had come from his dream, a private phantasm until he heard it again, this time a quiet moan that seemed to seep through the floorboards below his feet.

  He stood slowly, gathering his balance for a moment, then wove an unsteady path through the foyer towards the bedrooms.

  “Jenna!” He opened the door to her room and turned on the light. The bed was neatly turned down, an open romance novel on the nightstand.

  Maybe they’ve all left…left me with…Chrissie! He banged open Chrissie’s door with a thud and found her propped up in bed, her face white as the bed sheet she clutched to her throat.

  Without waiting for an invite, Warren lumbered in and sat down hard on the edge of her bed.

  “What in the world...?” Chrissie squeaked. She wasn’t used to men barging into her bedroom at all hours of the night.

  Warren put his finger to her lips. “Listen to me. Jenna is missing. We've got to find her.”

  Chrissie, still half-asleep and smelling the alcohol on his breath, stared at him blankly.

  “First we need to…” Warren stood and began rummaging through the dresser drawers, throwing the silk lingerie Karla had given her every which way.

  “What in the world are you doing?” Chrissie swung her legs out of the bed and stepped into her slippers.

  “Looking for a flashlight. Most of the lights are off in the east wing. That’s where I heard the scream.”

  “A scream?”

  “Yes. A woman’s scream, and something else.” He turned to her with knitted brows. “Something like…a moan…as if…someone’s in a lot of pain.”

  “Oh no!” She was scared now.

  He turned his attention back to the drawer and after a little more digging found was he was seeking. “Fantastic!” He said, pulling a flashlight from the bottom drawer.

  “Was it Jenna? Or Anne?”

  “Don't know. But we need to check it out.”

  Chrissie stood in the center of the room, shivering. “Shouldn’t we tell Karla or Dr. Weiss?”

  “Not…not yet. Here. Wear this.” He tossed her the gown’s matching robe, a triple-layered pink confection with short puffy sleeves and satin bows. “Looks like we’re in for another stormy night.”

  * * *

  A bolt of lightning illuminated the Gothic peaked window that faced the front lawn, causing them both to jump. The lights went out and stayed out, and by the time they reached the lounge, the flashlight in Warren’s hand was dimming. He rattled it in frustration.

  Chrissie nearly toppled over the crystal decanter Warren had knocked to the floor earlier; he kicked it into a dark corner of the hall, where it shattered.

  “Fucking bogus cunt…”

  “Warren!”

  “Karla. Not you, dear.”

  Halfway down the east wing corridor, Warren stopped before of a drab colored door.

  “Here's that office I saw the other night. Listen, if there is a phone in there I say we call the police. There will be publicity, and we might lose our million dollars, but…I just want to get this mess worked out and get out of here. Are you with me?”

  “I’m with you,” Chrissie said, shivering in her light gown.

  He squeezed her shoulder in a rare display of brotherly affection, and said, “We are getting out of here tonight! Fuck Karla and her millions.”

  Chrissie relaxed under the warmth of his touch, and managed a wan smile. “Just as long as everyone’s okay.”

  “Well, except for Mitch…” Warren stopped himself. It was a family dynamic to leave Chrissie in the dark, preserve her innocence. But had it hobbled her growth? After all, Chrissie was a woman of thirty-two and yet she looked and acted like a kid, with no boyfriend (or girlfriend) to speak of, although for all he knew she could be living a secret, fabulous life that was none of anyone’s damn business. For Chrissie’s sake, he hoped so.

  “You don’t really think Jenna saw him in the lake do you?”

  Warren fingered the hairpiece, still wrapped in the bloodstained handkerchief, through his jacket pocket. “I…I hope not.”

  He turned his attention back to the immediate concern: finding a phone. He tried the door again, knowing it would be locked.

  Pointing the flashlight to the open transom window at the top of the door he said, “I’m not the dancer I once was, and I’m still slightly drunk, but I might be able to...here.” He set the flashlight on the floor and removed his rumpled tuxedo jacket. “Give me a boost will you?”

  Chrissie intertwined her fingers together and hoisted him to the top of the door ledge with surprising strength. He went through the transom window headfirst, nearly getting stuck at his mid-section, but managed to wiggle through, landing with a thud and a groan on the other side.

  “Warren!” Chrissie screamed.

  “I’m alright.” He untangled his body from the floor. After some groping in the dark, he found a light swi
tch. The fluorescent ceiling lights buzzed and flickered on, washing the dusty room with a sickly green hue. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall and nearly gagged at how disheveled and bloated he looked.

  He pushed his damp hair from his forehead, and looked around the room. Spotting a rotary phone on the desk, he snatched up the receiver hopefully, sighing at the sound of dead silence on the other end.

  “Warren…can you open the door?” Chrissie’s muffled voice came from the other side.

  “Christ, I'm sorry. Hold on.”

  He moved to the door and tried the handle. “Shit. It’s locked from both sides. I’m going to look for the key.”

  “Okay, but hurry, please,” Chrissie said, her shivering hands clasping the dimming flashlight.

  He searched through the drawers, finding nothing but old camp stationery, receipt books, and a dusty ledger. A loud roar of thunder zapped off the fluorescent lights with a sputtering whiz.

  “Warren!”

  “Chrissie, are you alright?”

  “Yes, but it's dark out here.”

  “Hold on. I’m coming back through.” He felt around for a chair. “Throw some light up here, willya?”

  “I'm trying.” Chrissie gave the side of the flashlight a whack with her palm.

  Warren clanged into a metal trashcan.

  “Are you okay?” Chrissie shouted, her voice becoming a squeak.

  “Yes, yes,” Warren said, his shin aching.

  What a shit-show, he thought moving carefully now; his hands found a knob. He pulled it and another door opened, bathing the office in an intense blue light.

  “Hey, Chrissie! There's another room in here.”

  “W-what?”

  Warren peered in and saw a staircase leading to a lower basement level. At the bottom, blue light spilled through the small glass window of another door. He felt his old explorer’s instincts engage. “I’m going to see what’s down here.”