by Liz Everly
She put her nipple in his mouth and between thrusts said, "I liked it when you tied me up."
"We've already done that."
"Well we could do it again." He thrust her down. She thought she was going to go mad, the feeling was so aching and pleasurable and the two were mixing in her brain.
"Or maybe I could get some special lingerie."
Turner agreed lingerie was nice.
"Why don't you spread me out on this chair?"
He picked her up again and deposited her on the chair, spreading her legs wide.
"Like this?"
"Yes, and then, your tongue," she said, eyes half closed. His body looming over her made her thoughts incoherent. Her fingers slid between her legs, showing him. "Like you did before."
He straddled the chair and his face was between her legs. She knew that she shouldn't scream out, there were other people in the shop, but she had to bite her fist as her hips scooched up and urged him along.
"Please, please, please," she said.
"What do you want, Jenny," he crooned, lifting his face up, his chin awash in gleaming juices.
"You know."
"No. You have to tell me. And we don't have much time."
In the end he tied her hands together with her twisted underpants and put her face down across the hump of the chair and fucked her hard that way. She felt a kind of controlled brutality to his movements and wondered if there was a way to explain that she loved this about him as much as she loved the rest of him. I love you squared, she thought, and then the pinwheel rockets went off in her head, and she was utterly limp, her breath harsh, the thump of his heart pounding against her back.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
"We're just leaving," Turner called.
A low male voice said, "No worries."
"Hey, it's gone," Turner said, lifting off her. He took another snapshot with the phone. There was a pinkish scar left behind that had raised ridges here and there but it looked clean and healthy with just the little black bar at the top that Scully had inked.
But by the time they left the blue neon was turned off and the parking lot was wet, rainy, and dark. Jenny found herself with her feet up above her head in the back seat, pressing into the roof. They couldn't get enough of each other. The car rocked and it rained harder. It was so wet outside, and so deliciously wet inside. She was smirking, because she reeked of sex. They made it to his doorway back at his house and then he was pushing her up against the frame, wrapping her legs around his waist. The nice thing was that out in the woods she could grunt and growl and shout out his name. She might be shy, but when it came to sex she didn't want to be quiet.
"You sure you're still Jenny?
"Yeah."
"There's a price to pay for all this."
"What?"
"You already gave me your pussy."
She nodded, ready to fall asleep as he held her in his arms. That deep resin smell of the forest mingled with the rain and a strong nip in the air, but she didn't feel the cold.
"And I've had your ass, which is magnificent," he said.
"Hmmmm," she agreed, swaying in his arms.
"The price is that I've fallen for you."
"That's not such a bad thing."
"Maybe for you. I feel like I'm going to curl up and die. I hurt when I'm around you Jenny, I love you so much."
She was silent. Suddenly her chest hurt too, if only out of sympathy.
"Even without the thing cursing me?"
"I want you to give me your heart. I lied before. I want all of it. And you've got mine."
"I know that. You don't even have to say it."
"I do have to say it."
Smiling into his eyes, there was a kind of strangled feeling in her throat, but that was okay.
“I love you,” she said again, and he ignored the tremble in her voice that almost broke the words apart. She’d have to practice. “I love you.”
Divine
By
Elizabeth Shore
"Bolt cutters."
Faith Luna held her hand out like a surgeon as her videographer, Cam Rosario, slapped the requested item into her open palm. She closed her fingers around the rubber-gripped handles and glanced around, triple checking that they'd not been spotted. Weed-choked grass stirred in the light breeze. A rusty soda can rolled and clinked along a cracked cement pathway behind them. Apart from that, silence.
"Everyone ready to go?"
"Whenever you are."
She lifted the heavy-duty cutters to the lock, releasing a deep breath to steady her nerves. It wasn't every day that she broke into abandoned psychiatric hospitals, and Faith was well aware that this could land her in jail. Not that it would stop her. She'd get her film made no matter what it took, but it'd be a hell of a lot easier without needing to post bail.
The jaws of the bolt cutter clamped down on the lock as she jammed the handles together, but the damned thing stayed intact. Despite a chill in the late afternoon air, trickles of sweat rolled between her breasts.
"Crap," she muttered, gritting her teeth. "You dirty, no-good, son-of-a —"
Pop! The lock snapped. They were in.
Faith handed the bolt cutters over to the film crew's runner, Kelly Stahl, and then she hauled the thick chain off the fence. Shoving the gate open, she grabbed her bag of gear and led the way, her film crew right behind her.
Racing as quickly as possible while carrying pounds of camera and lighting equipment, they covered the area between the fence and the abandoned hospital in seconds. Faith rounded a corner to one of the side doors. A source she'd interviewed for the film had told her about this specific entrance, saying that once you got through the chain link fence on the hospital's perimeter it was easy enough to get inside the building. The hospital had been abandoned for nearly twenty years and intrepid trespassers had broken several locks long ago. Some of them had been replaced, but not all.
She cast another look around. Still no cops. Approaching the side entrance, she grasped the rusty door handle and turned. It groaned in protest, hinges squealing, as Faith bumped a hip against it and shoved once, twice. Reluctantly, the door swung open.
Her crew was assembled behind her, already setting up for outdoor shots. They had to be as quick as possible, knowing the area was regularly patrolled. Their late afternoon arrival was purposefully orchestrated to give them enough light for filming but not so much that they'd be easily spotted. Still, time was tight. Faith cocked her head toward Dana Stewart, her lighting assistant.
"Ready?"
"Yep. We've got everything."
Alongside the building, Tyler and Cam had their camera hooked up to the battery packs and were ready to start shooting.
"Hey guys, gather 'round. We need a quick huddle before we get started." Faith crooked an arm to call them toward her, like a shepherd gathering her flock. They stepped forward into a semi-circle around her as she faced them on the steps before the door.
"I know we've gone over this but bear with me. I just have to be sure." She took a look at her faithful crew, all but one of them with her since her first project ten years ago. They'd worked in some hell-hole conditions with bare-bones equipment and zero money. More than one dinner had consisted of packets of ramen noodles. At times even less than that. But they stuck with her because they were as passionate about the causes Faith documented as she was.
She pulled a folded blueprint of the hospital's interior from her back pocket. Faded with age, there were parts of the map that were impossible to make out, but it was better than nothing. Harlem Valley Psychiatric Hospital was spread out over 800 acres and included 80 buildings. They risked getting lost without some kind of map.
"Okay, so we're here," Faith said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the crinkled paper. "Cam, you and the crew take as much exterior as you can get but focus on the main building first. If there's time, then spread out."
"Got it," Cam assured her.
Faith gl
anced over at the youngest member of her crew, twenty-three year old Kelly Stahl, a recent grad from the New York Academy of Film and Television. As junior member, he was their runner, acting as pack mule and hauling loads of equipment on location and making sure supplies were in good working order. With bodybuilder biceps he lifted pounds of equipment like they were made of feathers, and with misplaced lust Faith sometimes couldn't help but covertly watch Kelly when he loaded up their van. At ten years her junior she felt like a cougar on the prowl so she made it a point to keep her peeping discreet.
Now, however, as she looked over the scattered piles of gear, she couldn't help but frown.
"I thought there were two more battery packs." She directed the question at Kelly but it was Cam who responded.
"They're both dead."
"Dead?!" Shit. This she didn't need. "What happened?"
Cam shrugged. "They're old, Faith. Packs only last so long." He was quick to reassure her. "Don't worry, we've got enough for this shoot. We'll recharge later and be good to go for tomorrow, too."
She gave the crew a smile, despite the coil of anxiety unraveling in her gut. Where in the hell was she going to come up with money to replace those packs? Damn, what she wouldn't give for just one percent of a Hollywood big movie budget. They'd struggled for so long on nothing, fixing busted equipment with duct tape and crossed fingers, praying things would hold out just long enough for them to finally catch a break.
"Okay, let's get to it. Dana and I will shoot as much interior as we can while the light holds. You guys do the same out here." She glanced at the thick clouds forming in the sky. "I'm hoping the storms they forecast will hold off for at least a couple of hours, but do your best. And don't forget the most important thing."
"Don't worry about the cops." Tyler Kannon cast a grin at her. "We can't tell them what we don't know, right?"
The chances of them getting arrested for trespassing were higher than she'd like, but Faith knew her crew was as committed to taking their chances as she was. If Cam, Tyler, Travis, and Kelly were spotted by the cops and arrested, it was agreed beforehand they'd go without protest and not reveal that Faith and Dana were inside.
It would've been a lot easier if they'd just been given permission to film, but the city had repeatedly rejected their requests. Faith was determined to expose abuses in the mental health industry, and capturing its ugly history was integral to the film. Her eyes traveled over the stark red brick administration building and a cold finger of fear tracked down her spine. Her grandmother had died in a place just like this, locked up in an asylum hell-hole for "psychotic episodes," which nowadays would have been diagnosed as severe bipolar disorder. But without proper treatment Nana had suffered, and an orderly found her one dreary winter morning, hanging from an exposed pipe in her room, bed sheet tied around her neck.
She pushed away the swell of sorrow that always bubbled up from thoughts of Nana. Faith had been only fifteen when the suicide happened, and over the years she'd cried buckets of bitter tears from the pain of her loss. She used that pain now, as an adult, to spur her on toward making this film and honoring the memory of the grandmother who'd left this world far too early.
"Ready, Dana?"
"Whenever you are."
"All right, let's go." She turned once more to Cam. "We'll text you when we're wrapping up and all of us meet back here at this door. Then Kelly will bring the van around and we'll load up." She hoisted a duffel bag filled with equipment onto her shoulder. "See you in a few."
"Later." Travis waved a hand and then turned away to help the other guys with the exterior shots. Faith and Dana walked through the metal door and stepped inside.
Maybe in its own way it had once been an attractive building, but the abandoned hospital was now little more than a shell of its former self. Chunks of old plaster, scattered papers, and frayed wires littered the floor. A spiderweb of cracks stretched across the ceiling. Peeling paint hung like dead layers of sunburned skin. Insects scattered as they walked: spiders, cockroaches, silverfish, racing toward corners of the room to hide in waiting until it was safe to come out and crawl. A shudder of revulsion slithered down Faith's spine.
Despite it still being daytime the interior of the building was dim. Its small barred windows didn't allow for much light, even on the sunniest days, and of course the electricity had been shut off years ago. Dana flicked on the flashlight, revealing a concrete archway through which they could see the expansive admittance area, stark and severe like the hospital itself.
"Let's start here," Faith said, stepping around the stiff carcass of a long-dead rat as she carefully lowered her pack to the filthy floor. Her nostrils flared from the thick, musty odor permeating the room; the haunting smell of abandonment and death. Despite her stalwart nature, she shivered.
She guessed her trepidation was reflected on her face, because Dana grimaced as she looked around. "I've been in plenty of abandoned buildings, but this place is creeping me out."
"It's not that bad." Faith forced a lightness in her voice she didn't feel. Countless patients had suffered and ultimately died in the hands of those who'd worked here, using cruel treatment methods like electroconvulsive therapy and prefrontal lobotomies. The cobwebs and dark shadows seemed like remnants of those long ago tortured souls.
Dana set up portable lights around the main reception area as Faith assembled her camera. Minutes later she began recording footage, going wide at first before narrowing in for detail. She captured the dozens of cracked and broken windows, abandoned sticks of furniture, filth and litter scattered across the floor. Plant tendrils pushed through the crumbling walls, like gnarled fingers of nature creeping in to reclaim its territory. And everywhere — rats. They skulked in the corners, beady eyes glinting in the light, whiskers twitching. Their long claws scratched against the floor as they raced around and screeched.
"Crap, I didn't expect so many damn rodents," Dana grumbled. "Gross."
"I know." Faith looked around. "We can only hope it's not like this everywhere."
"I'm not optimistic. This place has been abandoned for so long. It's not like anyone's around laying traps."
"Just try to ignore them," Faith urged. "The sooner we get our footage the sooner we can get outta here."
They fell silent and kept walking, scouting for sights to film. Aside from the quiet squeaks from the rats and the light scuff of their shoes against the squalid concrete floor, an eerie silence pervaded the room. Anything louder than their breathing seemed obnoxious. Faith tried ignoring her jumpy nerves, but she couldn't quiet the machine-gun thumps of her heart. She wiped her shaking hands against her jeans and set her jaw, focusing every ounce of energy on the job at hand.
Dana walked ahead of Faith and entered an adjacent room. Seconds later, she peered around the corner and crooked her finger in a "come here" motion.
"Check it out." She kept her voice low, as if they were in a library. Speaking any louder than that seemed wrong, like laughing at a funeral. Faith made her way over to where her lighting assistant pointed.
"Looks like they used to keep medicine in this room," Dana said. "I see a lot of small shelves where pill bottles might have been stored."
"Perfect." Faith glanced around. "I definitely want footage in here."
She passed Dana and walked through a set of double doors covered with peeling and crackled green paint. Aiming her camera toward the storage shelves, she could see as she approached that each compartment on the shelves had been precisely labeled, indicating the drug stored there. She zoomed in on the names: prolixin, serentil, thorazine, vistaril. The names were familiar to her, having learned about them through research prior to filming. Powerful drugs used to treat psychosis, sometimes with dangerous side effects.
Once finished in that room they made their way down various hallways, capturing footage of abandoned patient rooms, dining areas, and large spaces where equipment had been stored. They saw gurneys still folded and neatly stored although covered with th
ick layers of dust. There was an odd proliferation of broken fans scattered about, their long frayed cords reminding Faith of rat tails.
They decided to head down toward the old boiler room. It appeared from the map that a tunnel down there connecting the main building to some of the others would allow them easy access to move about. Suddenly, in mid-step, Dana froze.
"Did you hear that?" Her wide eyes reflected fear.
Faith stood still, ears craning for sound. She shook her head.
"I didn't hear a thing. I think you're imag — " Then she heard it. The noise was low, soft, at first indistinct, but then…
"It sounds like a…like a moan."
"Yeah," Dana whispered. "That's what I thought, too."
Faith's heartbeat tripled in speed, quick staccato beats like a snare drum in her chest.
"Well, what the hell," she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Are there kids in here?"
Another moan floated through the air, louder this time. Dana clutched her arm.
"That doesn't sound like kids to me."
It didn't to Faith, either, and despite her shaking hands she was trying to put on a brave face for Dana. Her mind raced for a logical explanation, bound and determined not to succumb to temptation and admit what the noise really sounded like, which was an other-worldly — No. She wasn't going there.
"I'm sure it's nothing," she said, striving for confidence. "But just in case, I'll see if I can record it." She flicked the camera back on and pointed the lens in the direction of where they thought the sound was coming. Before long they heard it again, this time from behind them.
"What the fuck!" Dana spun around, her head whipping back and forth trying to spot whoever was making the noise. Just then, accompanying the moans were deep, lust-filled sighs. Faith's nerves eased, replaced by a thread of anger. Whoever was making the noises was hampering her project. They had a very short window of time in which to film and she wasn't about to let some sex-starved teens screw things up.
"This isn't funny!" she called out. "Whoever you are, you better show yourselves. We've got a camera and we're filming. You're not supposed to be in here and you're about to get busted."