His gaze held her for a second, and immediately the same feelings she had felt on the stairs rushed back on her. She could feel her blood pounding in her lips and against her eardrums and did not know for a moment if she would move forward or back. No one would know, she told herself. It would be her dirty little secret. Elise was fine, wherever she was. That she would have to share this gorgeous man with these others did not matter. She could still find Elise and leave. After.
A woman’s cry of ecstasy from next door brought her back to her senses, Marie’s eyes darting away from the man and back toward the stairs where she had started. They seemed very far away, and she was overcome with the dreadful sense that she would never make it back to them. Panicking again, she turned away from the open door and the naked man beyond it. She did not bother to pull it shut or say anything in response to his invitation, but instead practically ran from the door, barely noticing when it closed behind her.
The next door was unlocked as well, and Marie was relieved to find it unoccupied. She stood just inside the doorway for several seconds and waited for her heart to stop racing and her breathing to return to normal. “What the hell is going on?” she whispered and turned away from the empty room.
She found Elise in the second room from the end of the hallway after trying two more locked doors and entering several other empty rooms. Marie had expected this room to be empty as well, hearing nothing when she had put her ear to the door. But when she pushed the button on the wall, the overhead lights came on, and she recognized the naked woman on the bed as her friend. She lay on her back, her long red hair in a tangle around her shoulders. One leg was off the bed, Elise’s foot touching the floor, and her arms were spread out wide on either side of her. Her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling.
“Elise!” Marie cried. “Elise!” She rushed to the side of the bed and leaned over Elise to look into her eyes, hoping to see some sign of life. After a few seconds, she dropped her head down to press her ear to Elise’s chest. There was a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relieved, she sat up and looked again into Elise’s eyes, and when her friend blinked, she felt tears welling up in her own. “Elise,” she said again. “Elise, can you hear me? What did he…what did he do to you?” There was no reply. “Honey, can you sit up?” She reached for her friend’s hands, pulling them to her and then standing up. Elise allowed herself to be sat up, and she stayed that way when Marie gently let go. Marie bent over, her face close to Elise’s. “Can you hear me?” she asked again and now saw the faintest nod in response. “Thank God,” Marie whispered, choking back tears.
Had there been a telephone in the room, Marie would have used it to call for an ambulance, as one possibility after another raced through her mind. The most obvious was that the James Cagney look-alike had somehow drugged Elise, slipping her a pill or giving her a shot to make her completely pliant. She remembered stories she had heard about white slavery, sinister plots she’d read in the pulps. It didn’t make sense, though. Why would someone so clearly connected to Hollywood’s rich and powerful be using this party to traffic in women? It was equally absurd to think that the man had needed drugs to make Elise willing; her friend had made her interests very clear quite early on. The thought also occurred to Marie that Elise had suffered a stroke or a seizure, but Elise appeared more intoxicated than anything else.
Hopeful that Elise would be all right if she got some fresh air, Marie began dressing her. She ignored how awkward it made her feel to slip Elise’s panties on over her ankles and scoot them up over her knees. Having her underwear only partly on made Elise look somehow less dignified than when she had been completely nude, and Marie hurried with Elise’s brassiere. It felt awkward to put one on somebody else, and she had to stop to make sure she was getting it right. Soon the slip and dress had gone over her head. Getting the arms into the sleeves was a bit difficult, but manageable. She slipped Elise’s shoes onto her feet and then stood her up to zip the dress. She would take Elise to the hospital, she thought. They would know what to do for her there, and she would call the police once the doctors could tell her just what Elise’s lover had done.
Marie took a deep breath. “You ready to go?” she asked even though she knew Elise would not respond. The words were barely out of her mouth, though, when she heard the bedroom door open behind her. Startled, Marie turned her head to see a man walking into the room. If she had been experiencing feelings of shock since discovering Elise, those feelings multiplied by a thousand when she saw that this was the same man she had startled this afternoon at St. Lucy’s, the sandy-haired man who had been weeping in the pews. He wore a tuxedo now, the sleeves of his jacket hiding the big bandage on his arm, but Marie had no doubt that it was him.
“You!” was all she could say.
Dumbfounded, the man looked at her blankly for a moment before recognition dawned. Still, he said nothing, but just stood in the doorway, his gaze shifting from Marie’s face to Elise’s for just a second before he looked to the floor. Marie saw shame on his face, and in that instant she knew that this was one of Piedmont’s men and that he had known he would find Elise in this room. He had not counted on finding Marie with her.
“What’s wrong with her?” Marie hissed. “What did you do?”
The man hesitated for just a moment and then quickly said, “It wasn’t me. I... I don’t know.”
It didn’t take a genius to see that he was lying. Marie shook her head, disgusted. “I should get the cops in here. Arrest the whole lot of you…perverts!”
The man said nothing but just stood still, looking stunned. Marie wasn’t sure she would actually call the police, since their involvement would mean embarrassment for Elise, whom Marie still hoped would be revived by fresh air. But she had hoped to scare the man into telling her what he knew. Now she saw that he was on the verge of crying again. Guilt, perhaps? she wondered.
“You’ve got nothing to say?” Marie challenged. “Nothing?” If she hadn’t needed to steady Elise, she would have crossed the room and slapped his face.
“It’s not my fault,” he mumbled, looking up at Marie with tears in his eyes.
“You son of a bitch!” Marie barked at him, her upper lip curling in her rage.
She would have continued berating the man, but then she heard Elise whisper, “Marie?”
She whipped her head around to see that Elise looked at her now, her gaze less blank than it had been. She, too, looked on the verge of tears, almost overwhelmed in her confusion and disorientation.
“Elise!” Marie answered, both surprised and relieved.
“I want to go home,” Elise whispered.
Marie nodded. She took Elise’s hands in hers and turned toward the door again. The sandy-haired man still stood there, dumbfounded. He blocked their way, but without offering any kind of threat. Marie felt no fear in leading Elise toward the door and pushing past him. He smelled of liquor, and Marie supposed he had needed to build his courage before ascending to the bedroom.
In the doorway, she stopped, her face inches away from his. “I don’t know what he did to her,” she said, her adrenaline rising again, “and I don’t know what you were going to do once you got in here—”
“Nothing!” he protested weakly.
Marie ignored him. “If she doesn’t come out of this…If she’s sick…If she’s hooked on something now…” She shook her head in determination and narrowed her eyes. “Then I’m coming back here. I’ll bring the police, and we’ll make you pay. Every lousy goddamned one of you!” She turned away and led Elise into the hallway. Her friend did not speak, but followed passively with Marie pulling her along by the hands. She did not glance back, but knew the man in the bedroom watched them as they walked to the stairs. When she had reached the top of the landing earlier, her heart had been pounding with a mixture of fear, confusion and desire. Now it pounded even harder, but with rage, and it was all she could do to keep angry tears from spilling onto her cheeks as she led Elise down the stairs and out into
the cool night air.
Chapter Three
Ezgeroth awoke early after the party. The sun had only just come up, and the house was quiet, all the other revelers still sleeping off the night’s debauch. He had caroused as much as anyone else, more even, but his body did not crave sleep the way others did. Instead, it had the strange, empty feeling the humans called hunger.
Quickly, he rolled over, the body’s legs tangled in the sheets. The woman in the bed beside him did not stir. Lucky for her, he thought. Like a petulant child, he was likely to snap at anyone who got in his way. He admired her body only for a moment, not wanting to think about how much he had enjoyed it last night. Sex now would only keep him from satisfying his body’s other appetites, and if she woke up, he knew how cloyingly she would latch onto him, begging him not to go if only for a few minutes. The thought alone made his anger rise, and he imagined himself sprouting claws and raking them across her flesh.
Another thought followed quickly—Julian would be mad. Unless it could absolutely not be helped, he had insisted that they not kill anyone, especially not here in the house. The image of Julian angry cowed Ezgeroth immediately, and he forced himself from the bed before his urges could overtake him.
Naked, he took a deep breath in the hallway outside the room and walked toward the stairs, taking in the scents of liquor, sweat, tobacco smoke, and sex as he went. His hearing was far more acute than any human’s, and he could hear sleepers in the rooms around him as he passed by. He smiled to think of all the debauchery that had happened the night before. How many new souls in peril? he wondered. How many regrets? How many broken promises and hazy recollections? It was all too wonderful to consider, and he smiled widely as he went down the stairs.
The rest of the house seemed as quiet as the upstairs. A few lights had been left burning, but Ezgeroth didn’t need them to see, his pupils wide and round like a cat’s as he took in the spent liquor bottles and spilled food on the floor. A few people slept on divans and overstuffed chairs, oblivious to him.
The lights were off in the kitchen, and he left them that way. Opening the refrigerator, he found stacks of food left over from the night before. Some members of the wait staff must have made an attempt to preserve it before the party had degenerated completely. Ezgeroth reached inside indiscriminately, pulling out chicken legs and pieces of ham, small sandwiches and meatballs in sauce. The more he ate, the more he wanted, his appetite fueled by the food he was tasting; he suddenly wanted to gorge himself, wash it all down with whatever wine he could find, and then race back upstairs to the woman in his bed.
He was so focused on his gluttonous orgy that he did not notice the approaching footsteps until the lights in the kitchen suddenly switched on, and he jumped and spun around. He saw the woman in the same instant that she let out a little scream, doubtless shocked to find a naked man in the kitchen, a drumstick in his hand and unidentifiable food smeared around his mouth. She was one of Julian’s housekeepers, dressed in a black maid’s uniform with a white hat and apron. He had probably seen her around the house before, but had not noticed her; or rather, he had forced himself not to notice her, as Julian had forbidden them from molesting the staff. But now she was here, alone, in a house filled with such deep sleepers that none were likely to interrupt. He was instantly hard.
She had averted her eyes the moment she saw him, and now turned quickly to go. “Wait,” Ezgeroth said quietly. “Don’t go. Not yet.” She was young and pretty, slight of build and short with brown skin, curly black hair, and big brown eyes. As commanded, she stopped herself from turning away and looked back at him—a bit shyly at first, looking only at his face, but then letting her eyes drift lower again to the rest of his body.
“That’s it,” Ezgeroth said, dropping the chicken leg and wiping his mouth with his forearm. He smiled at her, letting the little mustache he wore do some of the work. He held out a hand. “Come here,” he said gently. When she hesitated, he added, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
He watched as she glanced behind her to make sure no one else was around, then she closed the kitchen door and walked to him, a hungry look in her eyes. “And you thought it was going to be an awful morning, didn’t you?” he said as she reached for the hand he still offered. “Cleaning up after Mr. Piedmont’s friends, eh? Why not start the day right?”
She had not said a word to him but only let a little gasp escape as he pulled her to him and kissed her, pressing his hips tightly against her. He ran his hands down to squeeze her buttocks and then dropped to his knees in front of her.
“Oh,” she whimpered, a bit fearfully as he started to lift the hem of her dress.
The last bit of resistance, he thought. “Shhhh,” he whispered and began to kiss his way up her thighs. Then he pulled her underwear down around her knees and kept kissing his way upward, lifting the skirt as he went. When he breathed her in and used his tongue on her, he felt her shudder. “That’s it,” he said again. He had her now, he knew; she was his. Julian could yell, the maid could go home to her family or her boyfriend, and none of it would matter. She was his.
He stood up quickly, fighting back the strong urge to slap her. Then he spun her around, bent her over the countertop, and entered her. He was rough with her, but she seemed not to care, turning her head to look back at him and biting her lip in delirium. She ran her nails along the countertop, and he knew she would be scratching his back if he were on top of her. Soon, she was making little involuntary moans and cries, arching her back and pushing herself against him as he thrust.
Whenever she turned her head to look at him, he tried to watch her face, waiting for the look of puzzlement the women always got when they began to sense that it was more than his sex organ inside them, that he was joining with them on a spiritual level, his true, ethereal self coupling with her spirit. He bent forward and bit her shoulder as he continued, feeling himself moving deeper into her consciousness; the fear he sensed there only spurred him on. Building up to a crescendo, he felt her beginning to go slack, her cries growing softer and softer. Finally, he ejaculated, and withdrew slowly, aware of part of her coming with him, as though her very being had joined his inseparably.
The woman was breathing heavily, and once he took his hands off her hips she began to slide to the floor. Normally, he would have let her go, but Julian’s admonishment still rang in his head. It would not do to leave her slumped here for someone else to find, so he caught her under the armpits and lifted her, amazed at how light and insubstantial she felt. The kitchen had a little breakfast nook; Ezgeroth turned toward it and set her down on one of the seats. He arranged her legs and arms so that she would stay sitting up. Her eyes were vacant and blinked slowly every few seconds. She would be herself again before long, but inexplicably changed, he knew.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered to her. “All mine. No one else needs to know.”
He found her panties on the floor and wiped his groin with them. He stuffed them into the pocket of her apron, almost giggling at the thought of her finding them later. She might think it was a dream, he knew, but a part of her would tell her it was not. He looked forward to finding her again when Julian was not around. It would make a nice little game for him.
Without another glance at her, he left the kitchen and went to find one of Julian’s lackeys. He needed someone to go up to the room he had slept in and remove the woman from his bed. After his encounter with the maid, the thought of going back to the other woman was repulsive. Part of him knew the feeling was fleeting, though. She would serve his needs another day.
Chapter Four
The alarm clock on Elise’s night stand began ringing at 6:30 Sunday morning and went on for almost a full minute before she woke up, the clock’s spring nearly spent and the hammer making only a feeble thud against the bell before she reached a hand out to silence it. “Oh my God,” she mumbled, half her mouth pressed against her pillow.
She rolled over and found the will to reach for the window shade be
hind her headboard. If she didn’t yank on it to let the morning light in, she knew sleep would take her again. She could not remember ever sleeping as deeply as she had the last two nights, and forcing herself into wakefulness was more of a struggle than she could remember.
The shade flew up with a crack. It killed the shadows in the room, and ruined Elise’s blissfully relaxed mood. She was tempted to call Marie and tell her she had changed her mind about going to Mass this morning. She stretched and thought about how nice it would be to simply pull the covers up and drift back into a sweet, dreamless sleep.
At that thought, though, she sat up quickly as a little gasp escaped her. Her heart raced as she tried to figure out why she suddenly felt so alarmed. Glancing around the room, she saw that everything looked familiar and safe, but she could not help feeling that the room was not hers, that she no longer belonged in it, and that someone—no, something—else possessed it now.
Elise whipped her pillow out from behind herself and hugged it to her chest. Unable to remember exactly what she had dreamed about, the fragments that came to her made her tremble. They made no sense, but the longer she sat there holding back tears, the more the images flashed through her memory. The color red dominated—red walls, red lips, red skin, red sheets. She knew that she had felt overwhelming panic in the dream but could not remember its source or if she herself had even been in the dream. She could also recall sounds—grunts, laughter, screams—and the feeling of being touched, but not in any way she had ever been touched. It was not a physical sense of someone’s hand on her skin. Rather, she had felt invaded, touched from the inside by something that had no hands, no real body.
The Devil You Know Page 4