All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  * * * * *

  “So…is this it?” I asked, looking across the table at my wife. “The ‘nothing’?”

  “The what?” Felicity returned her own query, only briefly glancing up from the box she was unpacking.

  “This,” I said, pulling a dark purple bag from a cardboard box and hefting it up in front of her. “When I saw you on Saturday you tried to tell me something about an overnight bag, but we got interrupted. So, I just kind of assumed it was something the police had in their possession.

  “Then today when we were talking to Ben, something about evidence taken from the house had you a bit on edge, and when I asked you about it…”

  “I said, it was nothing.” She finished the sentence for me.

  True to what Ben had told us, the recovery of our seized property was far easier than I had expected it to be. In fact, the drive downtown and back took longer than the actual paperwork. The only requirement over and above that which he had detailed for us was that I also needed to show my handgun permit in order to get my confiscated revolver returned to me. Fortunately, I had anticipated such and had it in my wallet.

  While there, Felicity had quickly inventoried the items against the voucher and everything appeared to be intact. Everything that was on the official list, anyway, because at the time of seizure, I had angrily signed the piece of paper they presented with little more than a quick glance. All I had wanted right at that moment was to get them out of my house, so I wasn’t using the best judgment. The truth was, they could have walked out with things they didn’t bother to list, but there wasn’t much I could do about that at this point. I was going to have to take them at their word.

  We had only just returned home and unloaded the trio of boxes from the back of my wife’s Jeep. Immediately emptying them of their contents and putting things back where they belonged seemed like the best thing to do, rather than have them sit around as a reminder of the legally sanctioned violation of our lives. So, that task became the undertaking of the moment.

  The overnight bag just happened to be at the top of the pile in the first box I opened.

  “Umm…yes,” she spoke again after a long pause then repeated while still staring at the bag, “Yes, that’s it. I’d actually almost forgotten about it until this morning…actually, you weren’t supposed to get that box…I must have mixed them up.”

  “Okay,” I said with a shrug then placed the weighty carryall on the seat of the dining room chair between us. “Then I’ll forget about it too.”

  I was lying. I wasn’t going to forget about it. There was really no way that I could. The urgency in her voice when she had first mentioned the overnight bag back at the Justice Center still hadn’t left me. Then, there was the “nothing” comment on top of it. Obviously something about it concerned her greatly. Even more so, what my impression of it, or something inside it, would be. Therefore, although my mind had placed the snippet of conversation in a holding pattern for the past few days, it was still there. Seeing the bag now had simply returned it to the forefront.

  My curiosity, however, was going to need to remain unquenched. Whatever the mysterious purple bag held was apparently deeply personal for Felicity, otherwise I would have known of it before now. Violating its sanctity would make me no different than those who had already crossed that boundary, and pressing her to talk about it would only demonstrate distrust on my part.

  I delved back into the box before me and began extracting the stack of books lined in the bottom. I was going to need to sort them out and return a few to the library sometime this week. I was on my third handful of the tomes when Felicity spoke.

  “You want to know what’s in it, don’t you.” She wasn’t asking a question, she was making an observation.

  I looked up at her and shrugged again. “No. It’s not important.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “It’s just…I mean…It’s…”

  “Honey, don’t worry about it.”

  “I can’t not,” she appealed. “I don’t want you to distrust me.”

  “Why would I distrust you?”

  “For keeping something from you.” She motioned toward the bag and added, “For keeping this from you.”

  I stopped what I was doing and slowly let out a thoughtful breath. I couldn’t be sure if she was opening the door and inviting me in or if it was only cracked enough to pull the safety chain taut, affording her the ability to slam it in my face if I misspoke.

  I took in a fresh breath and smiled. “Not long ago, a dear and very wise friend told me that we all keep secrets, even from those we love. And, that sometimes we do so for that very reason. Out of love.”

  She cast a glance toward the bag and fidgeted nervously for a moment then looked back to my face. “Helen.”

  “Yes. Helen.”

  “What else did she tell you?”

  “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

  She remained silent in the wake of my answer, so I continued. “Felicity, Gods know I’ve kept things from you over the past few years. Things about cases I’ve helped work, things about visions I’ve had. Believe me, there are still some things locked away in my head that I haven’t told anyone, especially you, all purely out of love and my desire to keep you safe. So, you see, it’s a two-way street.”

  “But, that’s different,” she objected.

  I shook my head. “Not really. Obviously whatever is in that bag is something you think may hurt me or change the way I feel about you. Correct?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then it’s no different, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Are you certain?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yes.”

  “I just want to be sure,” she said. “I need to know that you trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “Even with this between us?” She nodded toward the bag.

  “Let me ask you this. Do you want to show me what’s in there?”

  Again she cast a furtive glance at the duffle, dwelled there for a moment, and then looked back to me. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Okay, then, you don’t have to. I trust you. And, I trust that if you ever decide you want me to know this particular secret, you’ll share it.”

  “How can you be so sure, when I’m not?”

  “Easy. You sat in our kitchen around two weeks ago and announced that you had a fairly rich history with the bondage sub-culture. That was something new to me.”

  “Yes, but that just sort of came out. I think it might have been the circumstances, the investigation and such because I even surprised myself by saying it. I wasn’t really thinking.”

  “I’m sure it probably was the situation, and actually you really were thinking, sweetheart. You knew you could shed some light on a minor mystery and you did. Admitting how you knew the things you did was merely a natural progression from there.”

  “At the time it seemed okay,” she replied. “But, after the fact, I was afraid I’d made a very bad mistake in telling you.”

  “Honey, I may not have known about the history, but I can’t say I was surprised. You’ve got the personality. I even told you that.”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “Aye, I know I do.”

  “And, there you have the answer to your question. The reason I can be sure is because I am fully aware that if and when it comes time for me to know, you’ll tell me.”

  The trepidation faded from her face, and she finally managed a tentative smile. “Have I told you today that I love you, Rowan Linden Gant?”

  “A couple of times, but I can stand hearing it again.”

  Wednesday, November 23

  11:04 P.M.

  Baton Rouge, Louisiana

  CHAPTER 24:

  The hunger was coming upon her again.

  Only a little more than two weeks had passed since Saint Louis, and here it was creeping into her again. This was too soon.

  It was like a drug. An addicti
on she just couldn’t shake, and there were no steps to help her cope. Homicidal Sadists Anonymous simply didn’t exist, not in any phone book she had seen.

  She was coming.

  And, She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She never did no matter how much she begged.

  “Where had it all gone wrong?” she wondered. “When had it taken this turn down a dark and dead-end path?”

  She couldn’t remember. Or, maybe it wasn’t that she couldn’t. Perhaps it was that she didn’t want to. The pleasure was her reward, and the reward was sweet.

  There was a time she knew she should have heeded the warnings. Seen the signs. Run when she had the chance. But that was all in the past. Now she belonged to Her, and there was no escape, even if she wanted it.

  And, sometimes she did, though she wasn’t sure why.

  She rolled over in the bed and lifted her arm to her face, inspecting it in the dim light. Softly, she caressed the scar where she had once sliced into her own wrist in a bid for escape. She wondered if perhaps she should try again before She arrived. That was the only thing that had saved her then. She had made her call 9-1-1, and the paramedics had arrived just in time.

  No, if she tried to kill herself, She would just save her again. Besides, this feeling of dread always came just before She arrived, and it always passed.

  No. She would simply wait it out. The bad feelings would be gone soon, and the pleasure would come in their place.

  It’s not that she didn’t enjoy the things she did whenever She was with her. She always enjoyed herself. She always had. Even before She came along, sex had never been satisfying unless she was in complete control, and even then it was mediocre. Often, even disappointing.

  But, dark thoughts sometimes become dark actions, and with those actions come discovery. Her revelation had come so many years ago it seemed like forever. And, yet it seemed like yesterday.

  She bent her knees and kicked then grasped the sheet in her hand and whipped it back in the darkness. Just thinking about it made an unreachable itch begin down below. She was already getting hot, and the cool air in the room felt refreshing against her warm skin. Staring at the ceiling, she wondered about the boy and what he was doing now. She couldn’t even remember his name.

  Mike…

  Joe…

  Kevin…

  It didn’t matter. There had been so many since him, and she couldn’t remember their names either. But, they say you never forget your first, and she hadn’t.

  Even if she couldn’t remember his name, she could remember the details…

  She was a college freshman, and he was an upperclassman. While he certainly wasn’t innocent, she was as far removed from virtuous as anyone could be, even if no one was the wiser. He’d been begging her for a date for more than a month, and it amused her. So much so, that it had set her mind to work.

  When she finally agreed, it was on her terms, as always. She strung him along for two weeks, promising everything and giving nothing, just as she would do with any other boy. But, for this one, she had bigger plans. When she was certain he was primed and ready, she gave in, or so she led him to believe.

  The room had been dank and dingy. The décor was so far out of date as to not even have a recognizable style. She was certain that it had been cheap, but for her purposes she didn’t care. Besides, she was the one who picked out the fleabag motel in the first place.

  It was private, sitting along a secluded stretch of blacktop just outside of town. It was a place where no one asked questions about what went on behind the red, chipped paint of the scuffed doors. It was perfect.

  Had it been up to him, they would have just made it in his room at the fraternity house, but she had needed the privacy for her plans. She had insisted that he get the room, and by that point she was sure his family jewels were probably navy blue, so it wasn’t hard to get him to shell out the cash.

  Just like it wasn’t hard to get him to strip naked almost as soon as they arrived.

  Just like it wasn’t hard to get him to go for something a little “different” when she pulled the cotton clothesline out of her purse.

  Once he had let her tie him to the bed, it was all over. She’d had to reassure him several times when he complained of it being too tight, asking if she was certain she knew what she was doing, but by that point, for him, it was too late. She’d made certain that he couldn’t move, and the cotton panties in his mouth with the duct tape over his lips made certain no one would hear. Getting those into his mouth had been the hardest part, and she was sure he was going to scream before she could get it done. But, somehow, she had managed to do it, and then she wound the duct tape around his head to secure it.

  The struggle itself had aroused her, just as had the anticipation.

  Then, she had sat astride him on the bed for several minutes, not quite sure where to start. She had fantasized about this for as long as he had pursued her, working out the details of how to get him to this point. But, now that she was here, she didn’t know how to begin.

  After several moments, she simply slapped him hard across the face. The tickle that had been welling in her belly now became an itch, and she liked it. She slapped him again, harder this time, and felt him squirm beneath her as he struggled against the bonds. The itch grew stronger.

  She remembered feeling herself smile.

  She perpetuated the feeling with various mild cruelties. More slapping. Scratching him with her painted nails. Pulling his hair. But, her first true orgasm had come at the exact instant she twisted a burning cigarette against his bare chest. As he writhed and squealed against the gag, she felt the itch explode. The intensity of the feeling had taken her by surprise, making her fall back across the bed, gasping for breath. The ripple had then driven through her, and it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. When it had finally died away, the only thing she could think about was having that feeling once again.

  She remembered climbing back on top of him and looking down at his frightened eyes as she lit another cigarette…

  She had untied him before she left. He was unconscious, passed out from the pain, she assumed.

  She was spent.

  He’d had enough money in his wallet to cover the cab fare back to campus, and she had gladly taken it. That was also when she had taken her first souvenir. His class ring. She wasn’t sure why she had taken it back then, but it all became obvious years later when she met Her.

  In fact, the ring was still on her altar.

  Of course, that was then, and it had been wonderful. But after that night, as good as it was, she could never recapture the intensity of the feelings she had experienced.

  That was until She came into her life…

  Now, even the fond memory of the night paled by comparison to the depth of pleasure She had shown her. Not only was it better, it was better than she could have imagined. At times, the mere anticipation of the pleasure was almost as good as the reward itself.

  Of course, She took it farther than she was ever willing to go before. Then, it was play. Now, it was so much more…

  For them both…

  As the memory began to fade, she rolled and sat up on the edge of the bed in one fluid motion. Reaching out, she twisted the switch on the bedside lamp, bringing luminance into the room. Sliding her thumbs along her jaw line, she gathered her long red hair and tossed it over her shoulders to cascade down her bare ivory back.

  The tickle was now a burning itch.

  She was here.

  It was time.

  Thursday, November 24

  2:13 A.M.

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 25:

  I can hear the footsteps coming.

  They thump hard against the wooden stairs below, but I know that is not where they will stay. They are already getting closer.

  Each footfall comes louder…

  Faster…

  As if driven by sheer excitement, they move upward, coming for someone. I pray that
this time it will not be me.

  I can hear the wails of the others. They, too, know she is coming. Nearby, someone is sobbing. I think it is a woman but I can’t be sure. It has been so long now that they have all begun to sound alike.

  They are genderless…

  Pitiful moans…

  Terrified screams…

  Barely even human…

  They have become nothing less than a cacophony of anguished noise…

  But, no matter how loud it becomes, even it cannot drown out the cruel sound of her feet against the stairs.

  I listen in the darkness.

  The footsteps are near now, just outside the door.

  I wait.

  I listen.

  And, I wait.

  But, the telltale creak of the hinges never comes.

  Then I hear her feet shuffle, and the hard noise begins again.

  The cruelty is there, but the excitement is gone. It is, instead replaced by annoyance.

  This time they fade, growing more distant with each step.

  Until, finally, they are no more than a fresh memory of an endless nightmare.

  I rolled over in the bed and opened my eyes but found myself staring at nothing. I pondered this for a moment in my groggy state as I listened to my heart thumping. It was beating faster than it should for someone at rest, or so it seemed. But, it was quickly slowing, and with the afterimages of the nightmare still lingering in my head, I thought maybe that was a good sign.

  This was the first time the terror had invaded my sleep since the night before Felicity’s arrest. My ongoing headache had actually lessened to a dull throb over the past few days, and with the advent of several decent nights sleep in a row, I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong. That perhaps by some miracle of the Gods, this was going to all fade away for a change and leave us alone.