by Ray Garton
"Your next book my hardworking ass," Bent said, laughing. "If I come across something, this one's gonna make my career."
Coll hefted Borgnine off his lap and stood to get more coffee. As he went into the kitchen, he said with a smile, "Just be careful what you wish for. You might get it ...”
PART SIX
Sex, Drugs, and Therapy
1
Lacey's period started with a series of cramps that made her double up on her bed in the blackness, cramps that made her feel like her insides were being pulled out from between her legs. It had never been this bad before.
When she finally began to bleed, it was worse than usual. It poured from her in a viscous, clotty stream. But she had nothing ... no tampons or maxi-pads, no Midol ... nothing. Because They didn't care.
When the nurse-woman came in to bring Lacey her meals, Lacey told her she was having a very bad period and begged her for something, for anything, even if it was only an aspirin.
The woman ignored her.
Then the first man came in.
The pope.
In the blood red glow of the small lamp in the corner, the man dressed as the pope, complete with the tall, fish-shaped hat, spoke in that foreign language again — something that sounded less like a language than it sounded like someone speaking backward — and moved his right hand through the air slowly in the shape of the cross ... but inverted of course. Then he opened his robe and revealed his naked, bony, hairy body and his erection as he moved toward the bed.
"No n-no n-nuh-noooo, pluh-pluh-pleeee-please," Lacey began to sob. "I-I-I'm on my puh-period. Really. I'm b-bluh-bleeding really bad and I'm — "
"Do you want to defy the will of our lord Satan?" the pope asked as he crawled toward her on the bed. "Do you want to anger our lord Satan?"
Lacey remembered the fake baby she'd been forced to sacrifice and the real baby she'd been promised she'd have to sacrifice if she did not cooperate, and her eyes widened as the pope hovered over her, his erection pressing against her belly.
"No no no!" she whimpered quickly. "No, I don't want to anger a-anybody, it's just that ...”
"You're bleeding," he said.
She nodded.
He grinned and crawled backward, placed his face between her legs and did things there with his mouth ... things that made her feel sick ... but not as sick as she felt when he crawled back up and made her kiss him, openmouthed, with her viscous blood all over his face. He entered her and began as he continued to kiss her, spreading her menstrual blood all over her face and neck and in her hair.
Sometime later, the pope was followed by the clown, and he was followed by Santa Claus, and he was followed by Jesus Christ.
As each of them pounded into her, Lacey's cramps became worse, and when the last of them left, she rolled over on her bed, leaned her head over the side, and retched until she vomited her dinner. She was too weak to grope her way through the dark to the bathroom and clean herself up. Instead, she just lay on the bed, curled up into a ball because she was still cramping and bleeding. In spite of her pain and discomfort, she tried to sleep. Her eyes closed on their own, the lids heavy, and her breathing became slow and soft ...
That was when the screeching, screaming heavy metal music pounded over her as if it were gushing from every wall of the room. She jerked up onto her hands and knees, crying out in shock. She could feel the music in her bones and to the pain caused by her period was added the beginning of a headache that started behind her eyes and moved slowly to the back of her skull like the dirty claws and sharp fangs of a fat, biting rat. She pressed her head into the pillow, then covered her head with it. But she could not shelter herself from the deafening, pounding beat, the glass shattering guitars, and the shrieking voice that screamed the lyrics:
I'll drink your blood and you suck my come,
and together we'll gain power;
Roll naked in maggots and dance with the flies
and be ready for Satan's hour;
Give in to desire and, give up the cross,
'cause Jesus lies and deceives;
Bow to the devil and slice flesh with the blade,
'cause Satan's the lord who relieves!
Jesus lies!
Jesus dies!
Jesus lies!
Jesus dies!
Lacey's legs curled up until her knees were pressing against her breasts. She pulled the pillow down hard over her head, eyes open wide, bulging, as if she were staring at something horrifying although she saw only darkness. And still the music reached her, attacked her, engulfed her. She didn't know it at the time, but as she lay there curled in that ball, Lacey wet herself. And although it was completely buried by the throbbing music that seemed to vibrate the very blackness around her, her voice was crawling up from her chest like the tiniest of worms and coming out of her mouth as a long, breathy, babylike whimper that went on and on and on ...
2
She was awakened by the nurse-woman, whom she expected to give her breakfast. But instead of giving her a tray of food, the nurse turned on the light and tossed something onto the bed: a tampon.
"Clean yourself up," the woman said. "Now."
Lacey grabbed the tampon and, clutching it as if it were a jewel, went to the closetlike bathroom. There was light everywhere. It hurt her eyes, but it was wonderful, warm, and her body seemed to draw strength from it.
How much time has passed? How long have I slept? she wondered. But there was no way to tell. All she knew was that she was sticky all over, as if someone had covered her with honey.
When she was done in the bathroom, her skin still tingling from the wonderful, soothing sensation of the soapy water — even though it was cold — that had cleaned all the old blood and urine off her, Lacey followed the nurse-woman down the corridor to the elevator again. Once inside, she could sense movement, but couldn't tell if they were going up or down.
Oh, please, god, not again, she thought, imagining that she was being led to that enormous room with the upside-down cross and the golden man with the enormous erection and all those people in black robes ...
But when the elevator doors opened, it was on a corridor exactly like the one from which they'd just come. Lacey followed the nurse to a door. The nurse knocked twice, then opened the door and motioned for Lacey to enter. She did. The nurse-woman closed the door hard as she left and Lacey found herself in a room that was empty except for a desk behind which sat an attractive, smiling woman with long, shiny, full black hair, and a fat, black, velvet-upholstered chair that faced the desk. The walls were black, but the room was well lighted from overhead and the plush carpet was red. The woman wore large glasses with deep red tortoiseshell frames.
There was something oddly familiar about the woman ... or so it seemed. But then, Lacey had been confused for so long that she wasn't sure what was familiar and what was foreign anymore.
The woman stood and gave Lacey a bright white smile.
"Hello, Lacey. I'm Dr. Jacqueline Melton and this is my office. Not much of an office, is it?" She chuckled. "Look, you can call me Jacquie, okay?"
Lacey nodded.
"Well, come on over and sit down," she said, gesturing at the overstuffed chair with a graceful, long-fingered hand. She wore a very baggy, soft-looking gray sweater and an equally baggy black skirt.
Lacey hesitated. This woman was smiling. It was the first smile Lacey had seen in ... how long? It was a friendly smile, not the vicious, slobbering grin of one of her costumed rapists. That smile caught Lacey off guard, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. It was such an oddity, that smile, after all this time, that it even frightened her a little. Her entire face pulled together slowly into a wrinkly frown.
"Oh, don't be afraid, Lacey," Jacquie said. "Really. I'm your friend." She stepped out from behind the desk and approached Lacey very slowly, still smiling, one pretty hand held out with the palm up. "Really. I'll show you. You just come over here and sit down in this nice, big chair and we'll have a quie
t little talk. Okay? You're safe." She led Lacey to the chair, seated her, then stroked her hair gently as she hunkered down beside her. "You're a very pretty girl, do you know that? But you would be even prettier if you smiled. You have nothing to be afraid of here, Lacey. Everything is okay. Everything is just fine now. All you're going to do is sit right there in that chair and talk with me. Nothing more. I promise."
Lacey wanted to trust her, needed to trust her. That hand felt so good on her hair ... such a kind hand ... such a pretty hand. Nothing had been pretty in so long.
"Okay," Lacey whispered raspily. She hadn't talked all that much lately, and her voice sounded clogged, like an instrument that hadn't been played in a long time.
"Good. Good." Jacquie went back to her chair and leaned forward, elbows on the desktop, long fingers locking together beneath her angular chin. "So, tell me, Lacey. What's going through your mind right now? I mean, right this moment? What are you thinking?"
When Lacey finally realized that Jacquie was waiting for an answer — that she actually was trying to start a conversation — she flinched a little, squirmed in her chair, scratched her head, and glanced up and down from the floor to Jacquie's face, to the floor and back again. Then she said, in a whisper that was almost a whimper, "I'm afraid. I'm ... I-I'm always afraid."
"Yes, that's what I thought. But you know what, Lacey?" She grinned. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. That's why I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here to talk with you about how you feel about your surroundings. About how you're ... adapting."
For a moment Lacey's heart soared. She thought that meant that Dr. Jacqueline Melton had come to help her, to take her out of this place. Lacey's lips twitched reluctantly into a smile and she began to lean forward toward the desk.
Then Jacquie smiled, too; it was a warm, kind smile. "You do know, of course, that you're here to stay. And it's my job to make sure that — "
Lacey gasped quietly and fell back in the chair as if all the strength had been sucked from her body in a heartbeat.
"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart," Jacquie said reassuringly. "I'm here. Do you see me? I'm here ... for you. And for you alone. I'm the one you come to when you want to talk about something you don't understand. You see? You're going to be fine, just fine. Because I am your friend. And you know what? You're going to make other friends, too. Plenty of them. I promise. There are plenty of others here just like you."
Lacey stared at her with eyes wide in horror.
"You have nothing to be afraid of, Lacey. But if there's something you are afraid of, you should tell me about it now." She pulled her hands away from her chin and leaned forward, frowning with concern. "Are you afraid of something, Lacey?"
Lacey continued to stare, giving no response.
"Well? Is there something that frightens you? Because you really have nothing to be afraid of. Really! Please, sweetheart, tell me. I'm your friend."
It took a long time, but Lacey finally spoke. "Why?" she asked in a whisper. Then, louder: "Why am I here?"
"Because you're perfect, my dear, you're perfect! I mean, look at you! Look at your body! You are absolutely beautiful!”
"But ... b-but why am I here? Why have I-I had to go through the thuh-things I huh-had to go through? Why are these people dun-doing these things to me?"
"Oh, that. Yes. Well. Those things can be a little startling. But that's what I'm here for. I'm here to help you adjust."
"Ad ... adjust? To whuh-what?"
"To your new life here. To all kinds of things." She smiled and folded her hands on her desk.
"My ... new life?"
Jacquie's smile disappeared and she frowned. "Well, I'm assuming you wouldn't want to go back to your old life, would you?"
"My old life? How ... how do you know about that?"
Jacquie stretched her arm over the desk. "Here, give me your hand, sweetheart."
A little hesitantly, Lacey put her hand into the cool, smooth hand of Dr. Jacqueline Melton.
Putting her other hand on top of Lacey's, the doctor said, warmly and yet with a faint hint of firmness and authority, "We know everything about you, Lacey. We know about the things your father did to you, and about your mother's blindness to it, her deafness to it, how she lost herself in the worship of Jesus Christ and put his pictures up all over the house. How did that make you feel, Lacey? That your mother could ignore what your father was doing and, instead, spend all of her time worshiping a man who doesn't even exist? A man who, if he existed at all, might not have even looked like those pictures? How do we know he wasn't bald? Or ugly? How do we know he didn't have warts or a broken nose? Or was toothless? Did you ever think of that?"
Lacey was frowning very deeply, confused. "How do you know all this? Did Carolee tell you?"
"Well, let's just say that your friend Carolee saw someone in need of our help and arranged for you to get it. And you do need our help. That's why we're here, even though it doesn't seem like it yet. Not to you, anyway, because you've been terribly confused. And you might say that we are going to unconfuse you. For instance, those pictures of Jesus Christ around your house? They're a lie. All of Christianity is a lie, because it is made up of people like your mother. Hypocrites who turn their backs on the pain of others when it should be avenged. People who do nothing about wrongdoing when the solution is as close as a telephone, or a knife or a gun, or even a simple scream. She did nothing to help you, so all that you went through in that house was not your fault, but hers, and the fault of her empty, hypocritical faith. And most of all, her lying, deceiving god, Jesus Christ, the patron saint of hypocrisy." Suddenly she, smiled and her voice became normal again. "Do you understand any of this, Lacey, or am I going too fast? Perhaps I'm just rattling on. If so, I'm sorry."
Then, Jacquie waited, smiling ...
... as Lacey thought back to that house that seemed a million miles away, and even longer in years, and to her mother and all those pictures of Jesus around the house, of the way her mother was always reading the bible and praising Jesus and praying over dinner, so solemnly, so importantly. She thought of the way her mother was always telling her, "Always remember and never forget that Jesus loves you," and "Jesus is love, the source of all love," and of how she, Lacey, always thought in return, But what about you, why don't you love me? Who's the source of love for me? Who will help me?
Everything Jacquie had just said made so much sense. In fact, it was the only thing here that had made sense so far. How could she deny that it made sense? Everything Jacquie had said had tapped into the very thoughts Lacey had been thinking during her stay in that awful, quiet, stuffy house so full of denial and blindness. It was as if Jacquie knew what Lacey had been feeling all that time.
"Yes," Lacey whispered. "I understand. It ... well, yes, it does, um, make sense."
"Of course it does." She let go of Lacey's hand and leaned back, her smile melting a bit. "So, you understand that your mother is going to treat your little sister the same way she treated you. And so is your father, more importantly. And all the while, your mother will continue to pray and worship her little pictures of the bearded man with the halo and all the smiling children at his feet, telling no one and doing nothing to help your sister. You realize that, don't you?"
Suddenly Lacey's eyes were stinging with tears and she closed them, nodding as the tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Go ahead and cry. That's what I'm here for, Lacey. Is there anything you want to say? What are you thinking? What's going through your mind right now?"
After a moment, Lacey sniffled and whispered wetly through her tears, "I always hated her. I felt bad for it, but I did. Ever since my dad started ... doing what he did ... and Mom didn't do anything, even though I knew she knew about it, I hated her. I thought I was a horrible person for that, for hating my own mother. I mean, you're not supposed to hate, right? Especially your own mother. But ... now, I'm not so sure."
"Listen to me very carefully, Lacey," Jacquie said quietly, folding her arms on
the desk as she leaned toward the girl. Her face still looked kind and her voice held warmth, but she was serious, very serious. "In spite of anything you've been taught or told, there is nothing wrong with hatred. You have every reason to hate your mother. Even if you had hurt her — or even killed her — you would have had good reason. You would have been in the right. Hatred is a natural human emotion that people like your mother — people who worship the Christ-liar — think should be stamped out, gotten rid of, exorcized from the body like some demon ... even though it is a very natural part of each and every one of us, a means of survival. Do you understand, Lacey?"
She nodded and rasped, "Yes," as she wiped her eyes,
"Good. There are a lot of things that you don't understand, however. And that is what we are here for. We are going to teach you."
"Teach me what?"
She grinned. "About the true god. About the god of mankind. The only god who truly understands us, is on our side, and will reward us for following our natural instincts."
"Natural ... instincts?"
"Yes. Like hatred. You should not feel bad about hating your mother for what she did. That is a natural instinct, natural to all of us. Christianity hinders it, binds it up. But not the god we worship here. This god encourages us to follow our natural instincts, whatever they may be."
"God? What god?"
"Lucifer. The angel of light. And you know what light represents, don't you? Light represents goodness and, most importantly, truth. And that is what we offer."
"But ... who is we! Who are all of these people?"
"Well, Lacey, why don't we save that for our next session. Tomorrow. For now, our time is up." She opened one of the desk's drawers and removed a plastic, amber-colored bottle of pills. "I want you to take one of these every four hours. The nurse will make sure you don't forget."