A Bedtime Story

by L. C. Moon

  “No more, Laura,” he half growled in her ears. “No more bullshit. I’ll mind fuck you until you get it.”

  Laura gasped, knowing the threat to be true, fear and desire, almost impossible to dissociate. She felt her muscles clamp around his hardness, felt the buildup rising deep inside of her. She had surrendered her body long ago. That wouldn’t be enough to appease the beast’s hunger. He wanted more, he wanted her total submission. He could mind fuck her into insanity, into becoming an obedient rag doll he could exercise his complete control over, she realized with a pang.

  She could resist in vain, hold on to her reeling pride, to her wavering individuality. She could stand on her own and fight a losing battle. She didn’t have the strength left; more so, she didn’t have the desire to. How tempting the sweet surrender to her Monster seemed. He would fight all her fights, would vanquish any and all threats. He would keep her safe. He would keep her happy. Her pride could have pushed her to fight nonetheless, screaming that the price was too high. But Laura knew, in the end, he would have her, just as he wanted her, submissive, forsaking her pride for the sweet oblivion of his touch, for the intoxicating comfort of belonging to her Monster.

  Her voice raspy, her lids half closed, she allowed herself the truth she long felt, and even longer, resisted. “I’m yours. Do as you want with me.”

  Day-149

  It was nearing dawn when Kayne led Laura back to the car. The storm had ceded to clear blue skies, birds could be overheard in the distance. They hadn’t said anything else to each other. On the ride home, he left his hand on her thigh. Every now and then, he turned and offered her a knowing smile below tired eyes. This was as close to a normal couple as they would ever get, Laura thought. When they reached the house, he dragged her to his bedroom, removed her wet clothes, and prepared a bath for the both of them. Obediently she followed him and sat in between his legs as silently instructed. She let him bathe her body and brush her hair. She felt at peace, felt the release of being utterly under his care and control. After he dried her, he took her hand and led her to bed. He caged her body with his legs and wrapped his arms around her. She felt his kiss on her temple before she drifted off. In this moment, she didn’t understand why it couldn’t always be that way. In her last waking thought, she murmured a thank you, to whatever had her lying in his arms again, feeling his chest against her back, building a home within his arms.

  She dreamt of a warm summer day, picnicking out in the fields. She was dressed elegantly as they did in the fifties, in a black dress, complete with the long matching gloves and veiled hat. She was sitting on a blanket, looking up at the clear blue sky with her legs folded together on her side, resting her weight on her left arm. She felt light, very light.

  She turned her head back to the blanket and noticed a black crow had just landed. It was standing still, just watching her, its clear blue eyes strangely human. It sent shivers down her spine.

  Laura woke up with a start, sweaty and feeling uneasy. It was well into the afternoon and the setting sun drew its pinkish hue behind. She let her fingers trail along the empty space by her side, yearning for the body still indented in the folds.

  ***

  Louis had been going mad as the silent hours passed by. He called Genevieve’s cellphone nonstop, filled her voice mail with unanswered messages. He reached out to all their acquaintances, hoping to find her, though apprehensive that she might have found refuge elsewhere. He refused to believe she would turn her back on him. For all her fickleness, he was the one constant in her life. Not out of love, but out of mere selfishness, he knew she would never abandon such a faithful companion.

  No one had heard a word. He lowered himself further and began calling all her part-time lovers. If she lay in their bed, they remained silent about it, some even laughed in his face before hanging up on him. In only two days, Genevieve Roy seemed to have vanished into thin air. For the second day in a row, he went to the nearest bar and got as drunk as his wallet allowed.

  He replayed the discussion he had with the master of the house. He had demanded to see him and did not lower his gaze when formulating accusatory questions. Kayne Malkin had remained calm, even showed some concern, was patient and tolerant facing the inflamed young man. Louis hadn’t fallen for it. He knew something bad had happened to Genevieve. He could feel it in the eerie calm and peacefulness her absence left. He was convinced the Malkins were behind it.

  It was in this bar that he ran into Carlyle, the beat-up thug who recommended the job to Genevieve. He was tall and beastly looking. Genevieve hadn’t picked him for his looks, Louis suspected. It was the air of danger that followed him everywhere, his connections with the Mafia that had lured her to him.

  With a height of five foot seven and all of one hundred and fifty pounds, Louis marched with the determination and courage found at the bottom of a whiskey bottle to confront the gold-toothed sneer of the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound mass awaiting him.

  “Have you seen her?” he spat at him as he still walked closer.

  “Gen? That your girl, isn’t it?” Carlyle responded with a malevolent calm.

  “Just answer me.”

  “Nah, man… . Haven’t seen her face in a month… saw her back though… last week in the backseat of my car…” He broke off snickering. A few thug attired look-alikes snickered along, their eyes looking to one another for cues.

  Louis reddened. Further words were exchanged. He was not even sure who threw the first punch. He only remembered being pulled away and dragged out of the club. He remembered the blonde policewoman being rude and aggressive. The policeman with her was a tad more civil as he pushed him into the backseat of the cruiser.

  Louis hated the police. He had been part of too many peaceful protests ending in indiscriminate pepper spraying and mass arrests to see them as anything else but government lapdogs. He suspected a good 70 percent of them were incompetent, arrogant, and on a power trip. They seemed more like glorified bouncers than officers sworn to serve and protect. The other 29 percent were corrupt; those he actually preferred, the Mafia dogs tended to leave you alone. He didn’t like to generalize, so he allowed for a

  percent margin to be composed of decent cops.

  He had learned an invaluable lesson from his years of protesting and public pot smoking: dodge the female cops and the short male ones. They were always the worst. They reminded him of little Chihuahuas barking away excitedly, asserting their authority. He cackled alone in the backseat at the thought.

  Louis was still drunk when the officers interrogated him. He was barely coherent. He managed to shout out his indignation. The Malkins! It was them! They did it! The Malkins!

  He was ushered out with eye rolling and more force than necessary. After, he was placed in the holding cell and forced to share it for the night with a homeless man. The man’s teeth were completely rotted, but he managed to present reassurance through his kind smile. He insisted on offering him the same suspicious-looking banana every now and then. Louis graciously declined the offer and considered his strange bedmate. He didn’t seem much older than himself. His mind went back to Genevieve. They could have ended up the same way. He wondered where she was. He knew it was all linked to the Malkins somehow. He hadn’t expected the cops to take his plea seriously. If the Malkins were behind it, there would be nowhere to turn to for help. If the Malkins had hurt her, they would pay, he would make them pay. With sweet thoughts of revenge, sweeter thoughts even of Genevieve’s miraculous return and their passionate reunion, Louis fell asleep with a pleasant smile on his face.

  Day-150

  Kayne was with Dimitri. He had spent the night at their mansion revising shipment strategies. Dimitri was a man of vision. When he had inherited the leadership, the Quebec branch was disorganized, with big tempers, bigger egos, and little result. With Kayne’s father by his side, they expanded, united separate fractions, and diversified. Kayne remembered only one occasion of raised voices between the two. Lev Malkin preferred the cautio
us money in his pocket, while Dimitri only saw the money to be grabbed. True to his nature, Dimitri was still unsatisfied, they were losing out on big operations, and he wanted in.

  It was almost supper time when he headed home and his cellphone rang. Upon seeing Maxwell’s name blink on the screen, he ground his teeth.

  “Maxwell,” he called out, his voice already impatient.

  “Kayne.”

  Maxwell’s grave voice, the lack of insincere joviality surprised Kayne.

  “Louis Lavallé. He’s one of yours, isn’t he?”

  Kayne exhaled. “What about him?”

  “He’s a problem.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Really? Are you also aware that he spent the night in holdup? That Riley got hold of the report? That your name was in it? Something about a missing girl?”

  Maxwell had his attention now. Maxwell and Kayne’s mutual dislike for each other was almost instant. He reminded Kayne of something reptilian. Maxwell had shown up at his promotion, even at his wedding with his wife and young boy. He had shaken his hand with a venomous smile. He knew he would relish any opportunity to make him look bad, especially since his promotion. Once again, Thomas Riley had proved to be a worthy investment. He had been bought and his loyalty secured for a long time. He reported to Maxwell, however; it was his man, his contact. Riley was a man of values, forged in an unyielding character guarding a kind heart. He had never looked down on anyone from his towering height and massive build. He entered the police force as women joined the convent long ago, with the humility of the faithful. He believed he could make a difference. With unconditional devotion he served to make the world a better place, for his better half. For the way she held her growing belly every morning as she sent him off with loving kisses and hot coffee. Late at night, after all his coworkers left, he stayed behind, looked at the framed pictures in his cubicle, and knew he was fighting the good fight.

  Fifteen years later, the only difference he had made was to ruin his marriage and alienate his beloved daughter. To this day he constantly reached out to his ex-wife, badgering her with angry calls placed during lonely nights, pleading with her in apologetic ones stemming from shameful mornings.

  His daughter wouldn’t show him her mother’s forgiveness. She already resented him as a child. As a teenager from a broken home, she resented the entire world and blamed him for it all. She held him responsible for her mother’s heartbreak. She hated him for all the nights he wasn’t there for them, all the nights he spent saving others. Upon the divorce, she took her mother’s name, avoided his calls, and missed all their appointments.

  In the past five years, he’d gotten one call from her. His elation was short-lived. She was in the bad kind of trouble, with the worst kind of people. He had run to her side, fixed the problem, and paid off her debt with money he didn’t have. For the first time, he’d seen gratitude, even love in her eyes. She didn’t see a corrupt cop, a failed missionary; she only saw the father she always needed and never had. He traded his soul for it but never regretted it. Ever since, he’d been Maxwell’s man.

  Kayne considered the new revelation, the implication it carried. He recognized Maxwell’s honeyed tone he despised so much, could only presume the pleasure this incident triggered in him, to have one up on him. He remembered seeing Louis pacing around the house like a lost puppy dog; he’d barely paid him any attention. His mind was on the sleeping body that unconsciously resisted when he carefully removed his embrace. His mind was on Dimitri who had summoned him.

  “Yes. Thank you, Maxwell. He’ll be taken care of.” It was all the gratitude and information Kayne would impart.

  “Kayne, I will be at the cabin with Carlo. Some other business… You already have enough on your mind with the shipments and all. Not to mention your beautiful bride…”

  Kayne’s hands tightened around the wheel. How he hated hearing her mentioned from his mouth, he could picture his toothy smile. “Just get him here. I’ll take care of him for you. Tell him we have his girl. He’ll believe you. He so desperately wants to,” Maxwell added with gleeful cynicism.

  In another circumstance, he might have considered it. He knew Maxwell too well to ever accept any resemblance of favor. He knew him too well to expect him to handle a duty and not prolong his twisted pleasures indefinitely.

  The boy needed to be dealt with. He understood his life was moot the moment the word police was uttered. Once upon a time, he might not have cared for innocent blood to be shed, and yet he felt his gut twist. He sympathized with the boy. Not long ago, he himself stood against Dimitri for Laura, for her safety, then to have her, and finally, to keep her.

  Kayne found himself in the villain’s shoes once again. He could not spare the boy’s life. He would at least ensure him a quick death.

  “I’ll bring the boy. I’ll handle him myself. You can take care of the cleanup,” he commanded dismissively, asserting his authority while reminding Maxwell of the established hierarchy. He would not let him come off as the savior, merely an errand boy.

  It was Kayne’s turn to showcase his malevolent smile. He could imagine Maxwell’s face turning burgundy, his pursed lips on a strained face as he muttered, “Very well,” before hanging up.

  ***

  Louis returned to the Malkin residence and avoided Mrs. Malkin’s inquisitive stares. He kept mostly to himself, his head low, his movements agitated.

  Laura saw him checking his phone constantly, realizing with a guilty conscience the futility of it. He would not get the call he was pacing around for. His presence became intolerable to her, his anxiousness, a constant thorn in her side. She hoped to linger around until Kayne came home, but her shame vanquished her desires. With bitterness, she acknowledged her own cowardice as she flew the scene of her crime.

  ***

  Louis fidgeted nervously on the couch in the reception hall. Obediently he awaited Mr. Malkin, as instructed by Lucas. It seemed to him like hours had passed until the door finally swayed open. Kayne, followed by Lucas, walked in, their mood somber. “Louis. Thank you for waiting.” Kayne approached him.

  Louis jumped to his feet and nodded his head as he offered a clammy hand to shake Kayne’s.

  “It’s about Genevieve.” Kayne paused.

  “Yes.” Louis’s face was apprehensive. It was evident from Kayne’s grave tone that this story would not have a happy ending. Louis’s mouth twitched unconsciously.

  “I know where she is.”

  “Where?” Louis almost screamed, his voice rough with emotion, his energy aggressive.

  Kayne nodded his head, somewhat compassionate. “I’ll take you to her.” He didn’t want to see the relief in the boy’s eyes, the calm returning to his body. The words carefully chosen only alluded to the boy’s death sentence. It was his one ethical code. Through this one trait he had built a reputation, had bought himself some resemblance of morality. Covered in blood, surrounded by dirty money, he had held on to this one truth. He was not a liar.

  “Is she okay?” Louis asked without conviction, the pain in his eyes reflecting his awareness of the grim answer awaiting.

  “No.”

  Louis’s eyes moistened. He defensively lowered his head and blinked his eyes dry. When he looked back up, his eyes were hateful, filled with unspoken accusation.

  “Let’s go,” Kayne commanded, his eyes boring into the hostile face. He maintained eye contact until Louis folded and brought his eyes to the floor. His head bowed, he followed Kayne silently to meet his fate.

  ***

  The trap was set. Maxwell would be awaiting him at the cabin with Carlo. Kayne would proceed with the interrogation alone, retrace all the different paths the boys’ inflammatory words could have taken. He would be shot in the temple using an unmarked firearm and his body placed in a manner to suggest suicide. The case would be overseen and ultimately signed off by Riley.

  The drive was long and eerily silent under a moonless sky. At last, Kayne turned into a gravel road an
d drove deeper and deeper into the wilderness, until pulling up to a cozy-looking wooden chalet. “We’re here,” he declared with finality.

  Louis looked around suspiciously but voiced no concern at the unusual meeting point. He nodded and rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans before reaching for the door handle.

  Once out of the car, Kayne took the lead. It would have been wiser to follow behind, and for this reason alone, he turned his back to him, suggesting a climate of trust.

  They walked straight into the kitchen area from the back door. Maxwell was already there, his slimy features twisted in what he thought was a smile.

  Kayne walked up to him and reached out his hand. They nodded to each other knowingly. Kayne flashed him his darkest stare. Maxwell returned it with wolfish hunger.

  “And this is Mr. Lavallé, I presume?” Maxwell bent his body sideways to look behind Kayne at the fidgeting boy who only nodded in response.

  Kayne leaned into Maxwell and in a hushed tone inquired, “Everything is ready?”

  Maxwell’s eyes burned with malevolent jubilee. His voice louder than expected, every syllable pronounced distinctly, he responded, “Oh yes. Everything is ready for you.”

  It was in that moment, Kayne’s eyes grew round with bewilderment. By the time he heard a gun cock behind him, he already understood, too little, way, way too late.

  Louis Lavallé, the invisible man. No one ever saw him, no one but Genevieve. She breathed life into him. There was nothing before her; there would be nothing after her. He’d known it from the moment she disappeared. He could sense she was no more from the emptiness he felt in his chest. The Monster and his Babylonian Whore were behind it. He knew this as well, without proof or hint. He knew it as a woman recognized her rival when all others saw charming innocence, or as a mother could hate one of her child’s friends after one look.