by Wilson, Tia
“I don’t know how you can do them. The thought of being completely powerless and out of it gives me the damn shakes,” Sara said.
“Money pure and simple. If I can power through two more of these nights I’ll have enough to cover me for college until I finish and I’ll never have to trick again,” Lana said.
“Do you want me to leave you alone for awhile?” Sara asked.
Lana nodded and Sara stood up and pulled on her favourite sweater. They had a routine after a job and Lana always needed some time on her own when she checked her secretly taped sessions. She couldn't bear anyone else seeing her being so vulnerable while older and always white men worked out their dark fantasies on her. Sometimes it wasn't even the sex that was the most disturbing it was what the men said to her unconscious and unhearing body. They would call her every racial slur they secretly held in their hearts, their words coming with machine gun ferocity and this disgusted her even more than them roughly turning her over to fuck her The words are what echoed in her mind and not the image of these pasty over weight men sweating and grunting into her slack body. Sara gave Lana's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she left the room and headed for the cafeteria.
The first image on the video was an extreme closeup of Lana as she manoeuvred the camera into the gap between the wall and ceiling tile. The image stabilised and most of the room was in frame. The tiny camera captured nearly all of the two single beds and the corner of the desk. Lana sped through the video. At double speed she moved about the room, removed something from her bag and then left the cameras viewpoint as she went into the bathroom to take the pills that would knock her out for the duration of the session with her client. The men who requested this particular service always wanted the woman asleep before they arrived, they had no intention of interfacing with an awake and sentient woman. She returned from the bathroom and sat on the bed as the drug started to work on her. In the video she quickly undressed and got into bed. This client had requested she be naked when he arrive. Some liked her to be full clothed. She would awake with torn and soiled garments on these occasions. She had burnt the dress she wore to that particular job. Lana felt her throat tighten watching herself lose consciousness, it made her feel uncomfortable seeing herself lose agency. She slowed the video to playback at regular speed when the light in the room changed as the door was opened.
A big burly man walked in wearing a suit that was too tight across his back and shoulders. He looked around the room, left the frame to presumably check the bathroom and then entered the frame and double checked that the curtains were securely shut. The man glanced down at her and paused. He approached her and gently raised her head and placed a pillow under it. The big man left and returned a minute later with a young white guy who was probably in his mid twenties. He was good looking and wore a tight shirt that showed off his sculpted biceps. He never once glanced in the direction of Lana's unconscious body.
The burly man left and came back with a glass of water and handed something to the younger man who took it and washed it down with the water. The broad shouldered man left and the young man began to strip naked. He placed his clothes in a neat pile on a bedside table and got into the bed. He lay down and was staring straight up at the ceiling his eyelids already flickering as the drug took hold. Lana could feel a tightening in her gut and a cold sheen of acrid sweat ran down her back. This was not what she had signed up for, the whole job was meant to be her and a single client. The sight of the other guy slowly drifting off into a drug induced sleep made her feel uneasy. She hit stop on the video and sat back for a moment. She had started filming her tricks after the second or third encounter, not really why she had done it. Was it some sort of protection for herself? Lana knew that if anyone ever found out she was recording her sessions she would probably be killed and disposed of without a seconds notice, And yet she continued to do it, saving and storing every encounter she had and forcing herself to rewatch them.
She hit play again. A few minutes passed and then another man entered and stood with his back to the camera. He wore an expensive looking suit and his grey hair was neatly slicked back. The man looked back and forth from bed to bed appraising what was before him. Lana could feel a tight ball of dread in her stomach. The man turned slightly and she got her first full look at him. He was probably in his late forties and was handsome in a conventional way. He looked like the kind of father figure you would see in a stock image in a catalogue for mens clothes. You would pass him on the street and think nothing special of him unless you saw the current look on his face. It displayed no emotion as he looked back and forth from his two prizes. Not a flicker of excitement was betrayed on his face. The corner of his mouth curled slightly and Lana's stomach did a queasy elevator flop. She could see the change moving across him like a dark cloud. It was complete and utter disgust at what was before him. The man looked at them like they were something you would scrape off your shoe. His mouth turned down in a grimace as he loosened his tie. He began to pace back and forth between each bed.
“You will take it, you will take it,” he repeated in a low voice as he walked back and forth between the beds.
As he paced he took something out of his shirt jacket and unfurled it. It was a thick piece of black leather which he allowed to trail on the ground as he continued to move back and forth. Lana could make out faintly some sort of ornate design on the strip of leather printed with a faded red ink. The man stood at the foot of the young mans bed and threw the strip of leather onto prone mans chest. It lay in a black coil across the young mans rising and falling chest. It looked like the shiny loop of a snake waiting for a moment to strike at the pale skin of his neck.
The grey haired man began to strip slowly and folded each item of clothing neatly as he went.
“They will see who I am. I will strike from the depths of their slumber, my wings spread wide and casting a shadow on those people below me. I am manifest before this stinking alter, this is my one true self,” the man said as he finished stripping.
Lana felt sick to her stomach as the video unfolded before her eyes. She felt like she was swimming against the tide and each of her frenzied strokes were getting her no closer to the shore as the incessant pull of the ocean pulled her further and further into darkening waters.
The grey haired man stood with his back to the camera. A tattoo of a raven covered the flesh between his shoulder blades. The raven was as black as pitch and each feather was inked in obscene detail. The raven was perched atop a gleaming white skull. The contrast between the black raven and the white skull made everything look all the more lurid. The skull was devoid of flesh. Where two dark holes for the eye sockets should of been two dazzling blue eyes peered out instead. The ravens head bent down towards the left eye ready to pluck it from its socket.
“We will go there together, hand in hand and forever spiralling away from this decaying and fetid world. I am a dark blessing in disguise. The bringer of light unto the darkness of your wasted and feral life. I am your one true saviour,” the man said as he stood at the foot of Lana's bed.
The man removed something from a jacket pocket in his neat pile of clothes and walked out of the frame. Lana's heart beat painfully in her chest and yet she could not drag herself away from the video unfolding before her.
The man re-entered the frame and stood before the mirror admiring himself. Lana's stomach flopped greasily. The grey haired man had a pair of womens pantyhose pulled tight over his face. His features where flattened and mutilated as if he was an ogre from your worst nightmare. He smiled bearing his teeth and clacked them together loudly. A monster about to enjoy his meal Lana thought to herself.
He pulled the sheets roughly off her unconscious and unmoving body. He bent down towards her, lifted her arm and buried his face in her armpit sniffing deeply. He spread her legs and breathed in great loud inhalations. The man mounted Lana and began to roughly fuck her. His hands were on her neck tightening and relaxing with each thrust of his hips. A deep anim
alistic grunt escaped his lips as he had his way. The sounds brought up images of the abattoir in Lana's mind. She covered her ears as these alien sounds wormed into her brain. She could not stop looking as the horror unfolded before her.
As his thrusts increased in speed and ferocity so did his grip on her neck. Lana's head was thrown back at an awkward angle and her eyelids flickered with each squeeze of his powerful hands. The mans body spasmed and shuddered as he finished and then withdrew from Lana. Her head lay twisted at a painful angle and her legs were spread wide. The man threw a blanket over her exposed body and said, “Thrash. You are nothing but the dirt below my wings. I soar above you and observe the squalid and small life you live. You are granted a continuation of this only because I grant it to you. Know this, you are trash and the filth of this world and someday you will see me coming from the shadows and it will be your last day sucking down air.”
Lana realised she had been tensing her whole body as rigid as tempered steel and slightly relaxed her muscles which throbbed from the effort. Please let this horror show end soon she pleaded to herself. The sound of running water could be heard and the man hummed a tuneless refrain as he cleaned himself off. He returned and stood at the foot of the young guys bed. The greying man held his arms aloft and flexed his fingers and said, “I have come down from on high, let the mud and filth of your pathetic existence splash on me and for that you must pay a price. You don't even deserve the moniker of thrash. You are sub human, a pox that hangs like a lamprey off the underbelly of real society.”
The man pulled the sheets off the young guy and flung them into the corner of the room. He mounted the bed and straddled the unconscious guy. The grey haired mans face twisted and contorted under the sheer stocking covering his face. He resembled a grotesque goblin wrenched from some dark european fairy tale. He clacked his teeth together noisily. The sound made Lana's skin crawl as if a thousand stands of spider web had been dragged across it. He clacked his teeth again and Lana could see the muscles in his jaws tense. The man uncoiled the leather strap and slid it under the unconscious mans neck. He grasped an end in each hand, wrapping it around his fists. His breathing was coming in sharp and rapid wheezes. The leather made a loud crack as he pulled it tight around the drugged mans neck.
“I will never be like you. Never,” he said as he increased the pressure around his victims neck.
Lana could see the veins on the grey haired mans neck stand out from the strain.
The drugged mans eyes suddenly opened and his hand shot out scratching at his assailants face. The stocking split and opened like a bloodless wound across his face. The attacker let out a guttural bark and shouted “Do not look upon me.”
The drugged man tried to raise himself off the bed but the obscene nightmarish ghoul sitting on his chest pinned him down. The victims flailing arms seemed to lose purpose and focus and now slapped weakly at his attackers shoulders. One of his hands brushed gently at the exposed skin through the rip in the stocking and then they both feel down by his side. His body twisted and moved weakly once or twice more and then stilled. The grey haired man stayed sitting on his chest with the leather strap wrapped tightly around the young guys neck for another minute or so.
Lana paused the video, she could feel tears sting the corners of her eyes. She had been digging her finger nails into the palms of her hand and as she slowly opened her fist small crescent shaped cuts began to blossom blood. She blotted her palm on her leg feeling tiny stings of pain. Her mind reeled at what she had just witnessed. She half expected the man to straddle her unconscious body and choke the life out of her. She had to do something. She had to show this video to someone, this deranged messed up monster could not be allowed to roam free. She knew if this video ever became public her life and her families would probably be ruined. She could edit out her parts she thought and send it anonymously. With a grim sense of determination she hit the play button and let the video continue.
The man went and got a towel and wiped the sheen of sweet off his body as he stood before the mirror. He was still wearing the torn stocking and it only magnified how horrific he looked. Blood was running down his exposed cheek from three scratch marks. He threw the soiled towel on the floor and exited the frame. He returned wearing a fresh towel around his waist, a blood stain was visible where he had wiped his hands on it. The stocking was now removed. He never looked in the directions of the two bodies. The man plucked a phone out of his pile of clothes and called someone.
“Brad. Its happened again. Get up here ASAP.”
He hung up and switched on the tv and sat with his backs to the bodies. He put his hands behind his head and whistled a jaunty tune as he waited. He was relaxed and happy, a man who had got what he wanted. Lana bolted from her chair and just about made it to the tiny en suite bathroom. She vomited up greasy bile as her stomach twisted painfully into knots. Her head throbbed with a buzz saw ache and her teeth hummed dully in their sockets. Lana got up and cleaned herself off and returned to the video.
The grey haired man waited calmly whistling his happy tune and channel surfing until there was a knock on the door. The giant of a man returned to the room and appraised the situation. Lana had enough and slammed her laptop shut. She lay back on her bed and curled into a protective ball. She felt drained and exhausted. She couldst move, all energy felt absent from her body. She couldn't shake the image of the killers twisted face as he throttled the life out of the guy. His one crazed eye bulging from the rip in the stocking covering his face. She got up and opened her laptop and hit the button to upload the file to her secure online storage account. It would take a few minutes to upload so she went to find Sara in the cafe.
Chapter 3
Brad Johnson rolled the bag into the hole he had dug. It landed at the bottom with a meaty thud. Brad stood looking down at the crumpled hold all and spit a dusty wad of spittle into the hole. He needed a drink. His arms ached from the digging. A bruising shot of whiskey would make everything better. He knew it wouldn't end with a single shot. He would wake up three days later feeling like he had been turned inside out and his knuckles bloodied and swollen. He couldn't let himself slide. Maybe he was a changed man and he could handle his drink this time. Was he older and wiser? Brad didn't want to take the risk.
He shovelled the dirt into the hole and returned to his car. The sky was starting to brighten off in the distance. Shadows moved across the spindly trees as deep beneath the soil they took their nutrients from the many dark deeds buried in this forest.
“Its done,” Brad said into his old and battered cell phone, it was the type the kids now called dumb phones.
“Ok. Pick me up tomorrow at nine,” Clay said and hung up.
Not for the first time Brad imagined putting his revolver under Clays chin and pulling the trigger, watching the spray of viscera arc into the air as Clay fell lifeless to the floor. Not yet he told himself. He took out a beaten up notebook, it was the kind farmers used to track crop growth and he ran his finger down a list of names. Tonights work would tick another name off his list. When he was at his lowest he had ran up a string of debts. He was known by every shifty bookie in the area and his debts had spiralled out of control. He was given one last chance. Work for Clay and pay off your debts. The alternative was to see a series of pictures of his daughter and ex wife tortured and killed, and then to meet the same fate himself. It wasn't much of a choice. He had taken the job, the ageing fixer doing things he had never dreamed he was capable of before. A man will do anything when faced with the void, principles dissolved like ice in the Sahara the moment Brad ran up those debts, he knew it and the people he worked for also knew it.
Back in his spartan apartment he sat and stared at the only picture in his place. It was of his daughter when she was around six. She grinned broadly at the camera, hugging a huge fluffy rabbit. He had won it for her at the travelling fairs shooting gallery. It was the last good day he had with her before the drink and his lifestyle became all consuming. He turned
the picture face down, he couldn't bareSara her looking at him. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He was too wired from the nights activities. Brad got up and showered and prepared for another day of work with the mighty Clay Robertson.
Chapter 4
Sara had tears in her eyes when the video ended. Her hands shook so she put them in her lap to hide it.
“Fuck, what do we do?” she asked.
Lana let out a long slow breath feeling a slight release of tension that had been building in her body all morning.
“I think we need to bring it to the cops,” Lana said, “Maybe drop it off anonymously.”