by P. G. Forte
Soon it would be over, and then... and then she could just lie here and wait until he wanted to do it again, couldn’t she? And then again and again…
This was her life now, and it could go on like this for years—or it could end with her next heartbeat. It was all up to Gregg. It was funny to think that a week ago, her biggest worry was staying in school to spite her stupid aunt. That and getting Seth to notice her.
Maybe she should pretend it was Seth on top of her now? That would make it more bearable, wouldn’t it? No, not Seth. She didn’t want to pretend that. Just... someone else. Some random guy she’d chosen to sleep with instead of going home. That should be easy to do. There had been plenty of them, and some hadn’t been a whole lot better than this.
Gregg grunted softly to himself, so lost in what he was doing – did he even know she was here? Did he care? Maybe he didn’t. That sounded like a guy thing to do. And, apparently, she was easy to overlook. Maybe he didn’t even want to hurt her. Maybe it was all a mistake. An accident.
If she could just get him to notice her here – squashed under his weight, the damn cuff pulling at her wrist with every movement – maybe things didn’t have to be so bad.
She ran her free hand up Gregg’s arm and over his shoulder, until she was cupping the back of his head. If she could just pretend hard enough...
* * *
Cara’s fingers grazed back and forth over the nape of his neck. It felt surprisingly good, Gregg thought, almost shivering in response. He pulled back enough to see her face. “What are you doing?”
Cara shrugged. “Nothing.”
She was awake and not fighting, not crying, not begging him to stop. What game is this? He rocked into her again, still watching her face for some kind of reaction. She winced slightly and he smiled. Ah-hah!
“Something bothering you, pet? he asked with mock concern, thrusting again, harder this time.
She nodded. “My wrist hurts.”
Her wrist? He stopped moving and stared at her. Not the answer he was expecting. She couldn’t possibly think he was going to let her go? But, on the other hand, even though she couldn’t possibly get very far, maybe he should let her try and run, just for the fun of catching her.
Without a word he leaned across her, pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and took out the key. He watched her eyes grow wide as he fitted the key to the cuff and set her free.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, tears starting in her eyes as she curled her hand against her chest.
He shoved into her a couple more times, but she seemed to have forgotten his existence. She just rubbed her arm and blinked back tears and finally he stopped again.
“Would you like me to kiss the boo-boo and make it all better?” he asked and was surprised once again when she met his gaze and mutely raised her arm. “What if I want to bite it, so I can drink your blood?”
She stared at him for a moment longer, then slowly pulled her wrist back toward her chest. He smiled. Just as I thought. Before he had the chance to grab it, to take what he wanted, she lifted her other arm, and offered him that wrist, instead.
Growling, Gregg seized both arms and pinned them to the bed. Cara’s squeak of surprise was almost lost as he covered her mouth with his in a kiss that was all heat and domination. Her behavior had him startled, confused; he didn’t know whether he was angry or amused by it. He felt the shock that ran through her, and then... she was kissing him back; sucking his tongue deeper into her mouth, biting his lips, arching toward him as he lifted himself away from her, to catch his breath. He pushed her back into the bedding and kissed her again, pounding into her, harder, faster. This time, it was she who wrenched her mouth away, gasping for air as her body stiffened suddenly and began to shudder in a long, seemingly endless spasm. He was shaken by her climax and dazzled by his own, which came in such a hot, explosive wave it left him dizzy.
He collapsed on top of her, and he wasn’t completely certain he didn’t black out for a moment. For the next several minutes the room was quiet, except for the sound of their breathing.
“Are you going to kill me now that you got what you wanted?” she asked in a voice that held just the faintest of tremors.
He lifted his head and smiled at her, amused by her naiveté. “Who says that’s all I wanted?” he asked, as he reached once more for the bedside drawer.
It had amused him to keep the key here – just beyond her reach. It amused him even more to watch her eyes go wide again in fright as, this time, he pulled out the knife which he’d also kept there; waiting for just this moment to put it to use.
She began to tremble as he took hold of her arm and deliberately slit the bandage open, taking care not to nick her flesh. Her wrist was nearly healed now, but he avoided the newly formed scars and made his slice in virgin skin. She gasped again as he licked the blade clean before dropping it back into the drawer.
“This is what I really want,” he told her as he lowered his mouth to her wrist, sighing in bliss. Silence descended on the room.
“I’m cold,” she whispered a short while later.
“You’ll get used to it,” he replied, frowning in annoyance at the interruption. But, in truth, he also missed the fever that had burned within her skin the last few days. So he stopped and pulled the blankets up around them before settling back to his meal.
* * *
Trust was a very strange thing, Cara mused, watching as Gregg stared into the bag he’d just opened. It had begun with the simple act of unlocking the cuff from around her wrist. It grew stronger when he responded to her plea for the blanket. And the next morning, when she awoke alone, still unrestrained, with her wrist newly bandaged and the knife still gleaming in the open drawer; she knew at once that she would not be running anywhere.
Over the next few days, the trust they shared expanded rapidly, as he allowed her to leave first the bedroom, and then the house itself. Until, finally, he agreed to drive her into town, to collect her car and her clothes and her school books.
Now, trust had brought them here.
Gregg’s eyes grew wide as he removed the chalice from its tissue paper nest and placed it on the nightstand. He shot her a startled glance and then reached into the bag again.
“It’s called an athame,” she said as he lifted the knife from the bag.
“I know that,” he replied, in a voice that sounded startled and bemused. He met her gaze again, and she felt almost scalded by the heat that blazed in his eyes.
She gestured toward the cup. “They came as a set.”
He nodded, and then raised the knife. “So, what am I supposed to use this for?” he asked, in that silky soft voice again.
She shrugged and looked away, breathing deep in hopes of quelling the faint queasiness she felt. “You know.”
He took hold of her arm and pulled her close. “C’mere then,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Let’s see if it works.”
* * *
It was late that night before Liam finally hooked up with Lauren. He’d signed up for all the lists Nick had given him, and was surfing through archives, gathering information, when she came on line to rave about some meeting she’d attended; how she’d finally found a spiritual leader who was truly enlightened.
Reverend Gregg is amazing, Lauren gushed. He’s transcended ordinary reality. You can feel it in his presence. Everyone says the same thing.
It sounds like you’ve found your true spiritual family, Liam typed. He looked at the words for a moment, wondering if he was being too obvious, and then he hit the send key.
Apparently, he’d hit the right chord.
Yes. That’s exactly right. That’s just what he calls us, too, Lauren marveled. He says we’re all his family now. And, I know he’s right, because every time I go there, I feel like I’m home.
“Well, gee, who’d have guessed,” Liam muttered, smirking to himself, as he tried to recall more of the vocabulary of his childhood. I’ve heard a little about the plac
e, he wrote back. Don’t people live there? How come you don’t?
Not just anyone can, Lauren told him. You have to be chosen. You have to have the right energy, I think. And I have conflicts, anyway. Reverend Gregg probably senses that. I have a daughter who stays with me for part of the week. And an ex-husband who’s not sympathetic, so I don’t see that happening for me. At least, not right now.
“Yeah, no shit.” Just thinking about Greco’s response to that idea put a smile on Liam’s face. The old guy would blow a friggin’ rod for sure.
He won’t matter, once we’ve ascended, someone named Zophiel broke in to write. None of the outsiders will matter, not even your daughter. Maybe not even you.
Uh-oh. Liam felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as he stared at his screen. Ascended? What’s that?
We don’t really know for certain, Lauren answered. It’s a chance to move on to the next level of consciousness. A great leap forward. And, apparently, it’s coming soon. I hope I don’t get left behind. But I’m worried. I don’t see how I can move on without my daughter.
Well, you’d have to choose which ‘family’ you want to belong to, then, wouldn’t you? the unknown correspondent taunted. If the choice is even yours to make. What makes you think it is?
Reverend Gregg says we create our own reality, Lauren wrote back. And it’s my reality that I do have a choice.
“Good for you,” Liam cheered. It was all crap, anyway, of course, but there was nothing he hated more than people who gave away their own power. Who turned their will over to another person – any other person.
Beware, Zophiel warned sententiously. The gates are closing. Soon, the time for making choices will be over.
I’ve heard that, Lauren wrote back. Bu, I don’t know if I believe it. Besides, even if it’s true, what can I do about it?
Liam frowned. Gates, ascension, family, it was all too horrifyingly familiar; he found himself wishing he’d left a few lights on. As it was, his room was lit only by the light from the street lamp outside his window and the glow of the computer screen. He took a sip of coffee and considered switching to something stronger. But, then he decided against it; from here on in, he’d have to stay sharp, focused.
What’s all this about gates? he broke back into the conversation to ask. As far as he knew, the gates had always been closed. TLV operated less like a church than a very exclusive private club. And, practically from the first, you had to know someone to get in.
It was Zophiel who answered. The church population is reaching critical mass. It may be necessary soon to close all meetings to outsiders, for the members protection. To allow no one in – except the family.
“Fuck.” Liam slammed his fists down on the arms of his chair, leaned back and glared at the screen. He couldn’t be too late, could he? He had to find a way in as soon he could – tonight, if possible.
How soon? he asked. And why close the meetings, anyway? Doesn’t the truth belong to everyone? Shouldn’t you be trying to reach as many people as possible?
Most people can’t handle the truth, Zophiel wrote back. Read your history. All the great masters gathered small groups around them; the trusted few to whom they taught all their secrets. What they taught the masses was a watered down version of their real message.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one, too.” Liam had seen at first hand what some of those so-called secret teachings amounted to, and he wasn’t impressed. Who was this Zophiel guy, anyway? Obviously, another insider. Someone who didn’t seem to think much of Lauren. Possibly someone who could interfere with his acceptance into the group.
If that was the case, Liam wouldn’t want to step on his toes. On the other hand, wasn’t his goal tonight to get Lauren on his side?
No, he had to stay focused on his goal. And, his goal was to get inside the church, by whatever means necessary.
You’re both so lucky, he wrote. I’ve been searching for most of my life for this kind of place. For someone who could show me the way. Now it sounds like I might have finally found what I’m looking for, and you’re saying it’s too late for me to get in? He pressed send, and waited; hoping one of them would pick up the ball.
I’m sure it’s not too late, Lauren replied. Not if you’re really serious. The gates are still open. That’s just a rumor, anyway, about the meetings being closed. There’s been no announcement made, or anything. It’s just speculation.
You’re wrong. It’s not just a rumor, Zophiel corrected her. The gates will close once the family is complete.
What do you know? Lauren responded, angrily. You’re not living at the church either, are you? You couldn’t be. You wouldn’t be on line right now, if you were. Why do you always make it sound like you’ve got more information than anyone else?
I know what I know, Zophiel replied. Once the circle is complete, the gates will be sealed. No one else will be allowed in.
But they’re not closed yet? Liam wrote, not willing to waste any more time watching the other two bicker. So can I still get in—or not?
Yes, Lauren replied. They’re definitely still open.
They’re open, Zophiel answered. But not everyone is allowed to enter. Why should you?
Now we’re getting down to it, Liam thought. Obviously, this Zophiel character had appointed himself gate keeper. Well, fine, he could play the game, too. It shouldn’t be a question of allowing or denying me entrance . If this is my true path, the way should open for me, shouldn’t it?
Yes, Lauren wrote. Exactly.
Zophiel was more hesitant. Perhaps. But not every lost sheep is fated to be found, you know. And sometimes what we think is real is only an illusion. It could be your path lies elsewhere.
I guess I won’t know unless I try, Liam suggested.
That might not be possible, Zophiel wrote back. As I said, the family is almost complete.
Almost complete is not the same as complete, Liam reminded him. Who’s to say I’m not one of the missing pieces?
Who’s to say you are? Zophiel countered.
Liam smiled. The shepherd knows his sheep, and his sheep know him, he quickly typed, feeling more like Kaikea of Dagoba than he had in over ten years.
Who are you to discourage seekers? Lauren demanded of Zophiel. Are you pretending to speak for Reverend Gregg, now?
I am but a minion, Zophiel replied. As are you. But if you’re willing to vouch for this supposed prodigal, then do so. Bring him to a meeting. Let’s see what happens.
Liam held his breath, but Lauren didn’t keep him waiting long. Okay, I will.
“Yes!” Liam heaved a sigh of relief. His response was brief and to the point. When?
* * *
Cara cradled her wounded wrist against her chest as she lay awake in bed, listening to the sound of Gregg typing away at his computer at the desk on the far side of the room. She turned and twisted, but no position was comfortable tonight, and even with the sheets pulled up around her she felt cold. Her pretty purple nightgown lay in a crumpled heap somewhere on the floor, but she was too tired to search for it. It was probably ruined, anyway.
Not that it mattered. She’d buy herself a new one next week when she went back to steal some more sex toys. Or maybe she’d buy more than one. What difference did it make if Gregg didn’t particularly notice what she wore? She wasn’t buying them for him. Wearing them made her feel pretty, even if only for a few minutes.
Gregg chuckled softly—amused by something someone on line had written, no doubt. But, even knowing the laugh was not directed at her, she couldn’t help but shiver at the evil sound. She sighed. She tried to find peace by curling into a ball and closing her eyes, but it was no use.
Her wrist was sore and throbbing, and it did no good to remember that she’d brought this on herself. When she bought the knife, she knew just what she was buying. She was buying pain and a roiling in her gut. And a chill that no amount of blankets could erase. But what other gesture could she make to convey her gratitude?
He�
��d set her free. He’d released her from the handcuffs last November, he’d opened the gate for her today. He’d given her keys and a remote and he’d trusted her to come back.
So, she’d given him a knife, and trusted him not to kill her with it. To take only what he needed. It wasn’t his fault if what he needed was almost more than she could bear to lose, was it?
If she was a stronger person, maybe it wouldn’t feel like such a loss. If she was strong enough, maybe she could give everything away, and never feel a thing. But strength like that would have to wait for another day.
Chapter Seven
I rejoiced because they said to me:
“We will go up to the house of the Lord.”
May peace be within your walls,
Prosperity in your buildings.
Gradual of the Mass
For the Fourth Sunday in Lent
Siobhan stirred and stretched and opened her eyes, to find Ryan already awake and watching her with a pensive expression on his handsome face.
“Hey,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.
“Good morning,” she replied, cupping his face, smiling into his eyes as he pulled back. “Everything okay?”
He nodded, but hesitantly.
“Ryan?”
He sighed. “I was just thinking. There’s just…so much I’m leaving undone.”
“I know,” she agreed, sighing a little herself, as she thought about it. “Me, too.” It was a bad time for a honeymoon. If she’d been thinking at all, when she’d chosen the date for their wedding, she’d probably have picked sometime in the summer. At least for her own schedule’s sake. It was impossible to plan when Ryan might be busy. And, she’d never have guessed at some of the recent criminal activity the little town had seen.
Mutilated animals had begun to turn up in the parklands in recent months. No one seemed to know who, or what was responsible for killing them; although both she and Chay Johnson, who’d been called in as experts, were of the opinion that the culprit was human, rather than animal.