The Chosen

by Edward Lee

  Where are you? he wondered, strangely close to tears. Did he love her? What was going on? You fat, silly fool. You’ve fallen in love with a whore. That’s what Kyle implied she’d been in her past life. Scarred by the dementias of others, probably insensible by the way the world worked. Doesn’t care, doesn’t know how to.

  The Maibock tasted great. Lee leaned against the big Hobart dishwasher, savoring each sip. He finished one bottle, and opened another…

  Next, he felt walking through a dream, yet he knew it couldn’t be a dream. I’m awake, he assured himself. But it beats the shit out of me where I am. Strange warrens led him to stranger ones, he felt immersed in rock and moist air. The walls now seemed carved, like a catacomb. Smoky torches lit the way.

  Then he knew he must be wrong; he knew he must be dreaming. Rock-arched entryways showed him flagrant horrors. The warrens were lined with ill-lit rooms, and in each room some new, hideous atrocity unfolded. Things he could never have imagined. Women fettered to beds by leather straps so tight their hands and feet glowed blue. Gorged nipples pierced by needles, tips of clitori snipped with shears and lapped of their blood by greedy tongues. In another room, a misshapen man penetrated a woman with a penis that looked large as a summer squash; the woman vomited, somehow, in ecstasy. In a third room a woman fellated a man who didn’t even look human. A gray corrugated face grinned down; the eyes looked blood-red. Weirdly jointed hands grabbed shanks of dirty hair, guiding the woman’s mouth over the worm-veined shaft…

  An in yet another grottolike room, a bald man molested a squirming woman chained to a bed. Beyond a sheen of smoke, other men watched intently. The woman seemed fat, anguished; she squirmed against metal shackles while the bald man snipped off a nipple-end with scissors. He squeezed the breasts hard, blood jetting from the insult into some gaping mouth which yawned in the smoky dark.

  Lee winced, disbelieving these mad bits of vision. Did I drop acid and not remember? he asked himself. This was the sickest nightmare he’d ever had. Then something jarred him, as solidly as a hammer to the bridge of his nose:

  The bald man, muscles shining in sweat, paused as he drew a thin needle through the fat woman’s other nipple.

  “Hey, fat boy, ever wondered why this ugly piece of cooze never talks?”

  Lee squinted hard. The bald man’s features eventually jelled—the brazen grin, the fucked-up glint in his eyes.

  The bald man was Kyle.

  And the woman he was so nonchalantly torturing was—

  Holy shit no! Lee’s thoughts screamed.

  The silent housemaid. His lover.

  “We cut all their vocal cords so they don’t get noisy. Sometimes the guys don’t like to hear a ruckus.”

  “Stop that!” Lee screamed as the fat woman lurched at yet another needle piercing. Some thing that only vaguely resembled a man crawled forward to tongue the reddened sex.

  Kyle chuckled, his bald head aswarm with tails of candlelight. “And we sew the dolts’ pussies shut every now and then for kicks. The fellas get off on watching shit like that.”

  Then Kyle, quite calmly, went back to his needle torture.

  Yeah, this is a dream, Lee thought. So I can do anything I want, can’t I?

  Of course he could.

  He rushed forward, and cracked the Maibock bottle over Kyle’s shining, bald head. The glass shattered; Kyle howled and rolled off the pillowed bed. “How do you like that, dick?” Lee asked. “And don’t call me fatboy anymore—I’m getting a little tired of it.”

  Lee, then, jammed the broken bottleneck into the base of Kyle’s spine. Ground it in deep.

  Kyle collapsed, convulsing.

  God, that was fun, Lee thought. It really was. Next, he contemplated a way to free the housemaid from her shackles. It shouldn’t be too difficult; this was only a dream. “Take it easy,” he assured the housemaid, who flinched naked against her restraints. But as he turned to find something to break them with, he—

  BAM-BAM!

  —fell to the dirt floor as if swiped at the knees by a scythe. At first, his shock left him shakily numb, then the pain exploded with his scream when he saw the two ragged, gristled knobs that had previously been his knees.

  “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, fatboy.” Kyle stood above him, a huge smoking revolver in his hand. “It’s too bad. I was beginning to like you.”

  Lee shuddered as blood oozed from his burst knees. Above, he noticed queer, shadowed figures converging on the bed. They seemed in glee as they inserted long needles into the housemaid’s flesh: her nipples, her navel, her clitoris. She jerked dumbly. Then more needles slipped into her nostrils, her ears, her eyes…

  Kyle grinned. “She was getting pretty beat so we decided to check her out. But unfortunately, fatboy, you’ve seen too much. We gotta check you out too.”

  Kyle set the pistol down and picked up something in its place.

  God Almighty, Lee’s thoughts groaned.

  The gutting knife slid serenely across Lee’s beer belly, parting fat in a neat divide. Lee felt electrocuted. A deeper slice, next, opened the abdominal vault, the lightning bolt of pain bloating Lee’s face like an angel food cake in a hot oven.

  And from the sooty darkness, several more misshapen, hallucinatory figures approached. Twisted faces hovered in wait. Strips of sight showed Lee rows of glossy teeth, propped-open bulging eyes, and tongues skimming inflamed lips.

  “Sushi, fatboy. You’re it.”

  Lee’s only consolation was the thought which repeated in the fashion of a carousel: It’s only a dream only a dream only a dream only a dream—

  —as he had the rare and unique experience of watching as the choicest of his organs were extracted from his gut and eaten raw.

  — | — | —

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Vera’s head felt as though something were pounding inside of it to get out. The more she slept, the less rested she felt. When she opened her eyes, recollection of her dreams closed them again, and the pounding continued.

  The door.

  Someone was pounding at her bedroom door…

  Christ, I feel like shit, she thought. She felt slimy with sweat in her nakedness, pulling on her robe as she swung out of bed. Twice she nearly stumbled. When she opened her door, Dan B.’s concerned face peered through the gap.

  “Look, Vera, I’m sorry to wake you up, but it’s getting late, and—”

  “Well, what time is it?”

  Dan B. tried hard not restrain his frown. “It’s, like, close to four.”

  He must mean four in the morning, but then the sunlight in the rive of her curtains showed her sunlight. Four in the afternoon? She couldn’t believe it; nevertheless, when she looked at her clock she knew it was true. “I guess I’ve got the flu,” she lied as an excuse. “Haven’t been feeling too good this week. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “I need to talk to you now.” Dan B. and his bulk shouldered into the room. He appeared nervous, on edge. Vera felt tempted to object until he blurted out: “Feldspar closed The Inn. When I asked him why, he walked away.”

  Vera winced to gather her thoughts. “He closed The Inn?”

  “That’s right. And he wouldn’t tell me for how long.”

  Vera’s adrenalin rushed. “We’ve got reservations for tonight! He can’t close The Inn!”

  “Well, he did. You better find out what’s going on.”

  Oh, don’tt worry, I will! she thought. “I talked to him last night, for God’s sake. He didn’t say anything about closing.”

  “Look, Vera, I’m just the chef, I don’t know anything about what’s going on. All I know is there’re a lot of fucked up things happening, and I can’t figure out any of them. For one, Donna’s acting really weird lately.”

  Vera didn’t know how to react to this. In the dream she’d had the other night, she’d seen Donna, but then she still didn’t feel secure that it was a dream…

  “And Lee’s gone,” Dan B. said.

&nb
sp; She squinted forward. “What do you mean he’s gone.”

  Dan B. held up his hands. “He’s gone. He left. He didn’t show up for prep so I checked his room. All his stuff’s out. The room’s empty. I can’t find him anywhere.”

  Lee’s gone, the thought finally hit her. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she said. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  Dan B. backed out of the room; he looked suspicious. Vera showered quickly, tripped over the pile of books she’d bought the other day, and dressed. She about stormed downstairs, turned into the front office, and cursed when she found Feldspar’s office door locked. Then she stormed into Kyle’s office. The door was unlocked, but there was no sign of Kyle.

  “Goddamn it!” She went to his desk, dialed Room Service, and cursed once more when no one answered. Someone should be there! she thought. There were room guests who’d be ordering dinner! At once the sheer frustration flattened her.

  Then she noted Kyle’s top desk drawer slightly open.

  Some impulse—she didn’t know what—impelled her to open it further. And when she did so, she noticed the strangest thing.

  The gun.

  The gun she’d seen in Feldspar’s desk some time ago now sat plainly in Kyle’s drawer. She knew it was the same one; it looked large and clunky, unusual, like an antique.

  “Hey, Vera, if you want to go through my drawers, that’s okay by me.”

  Vera looked up, outraged. Kyle entered the office with a loping, arrogant stride, grinning at the fact he’d caught her invading his managerial privacy, which she easily ignored given comment regarding his “drawers.”

  “Why do you have a gun?” she demanded.

  Kyle shrugged, along with his pectorals. “In case we get robbed. Hotels do get robbed every so often.”

  Fine! What could she say? That she’d seen the same gun in Feldspar’s desk? Then some weird mental fog cleared in her head. The dream, she thought. Despite the usual demented sex, hadn’t she dreamed of hearing gunshots?

  She’d sound ridiculous voicing it. So she voiced the next outrage. “Dan B. told me Lee’s gone.”

  Kyle nodded, arms crossed. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah?” Vera nearly spat.

  “If you were anything close to a decent personnel manager, you’d know what’s going on with your personnel.”

  She wished she could kick him, or slap him, or—something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Lee got fired. Drinking on duty. Shit, Vera, I gave the guy as many breaks as I could but never got it in his head. Last night the guy was blotto cleaning up. I had to fire him. He packed his bags this morning, got a cab to the bus station in Waynesville. ”

  Bullshit! she felt inclined to say, but then she had to admit that Lee had been known to drink a few beers while working the dishwasher. She’d never known him, however, to be drunk. “Lee was my employee. How come I wasn’t consulted about the decision to fire him?”

  Kyle, again, shrugged. “You were asleep. I guess you gals need your beauty sleep.” Then he offered the faintest chuckle. “You knew the guy was tipping the bottle on duty, don’t tell me you didn’t. If you cared more about your employees than your sleeptime, then this might never have happened.”

  What could she say to that? Vera felt a pang of guilt, but her anger still fumed. Lee was a lot of things, but impulsive wasn’t one of them. Would he really leave without even telling me? She just couldn’t accept that. “And what’s this crap about The Inn being closed?”

  “The Inn’s closed,” Kyle responded in his usual smart-ass manner. “What am I? An information desk? The Inn’s closed for the rest of the week.”

  “Why?”

  “Plumbing problem. One of the domestic waterlines broke, I think.”

  “What do you mean, you think?” Vera seethed. “When did this happen?”

  “Last night, while you were beddy-bye. A main froze up and broke, so the out-water line backed up.”

  This sounded as fishy as the business about Lee leaving. “If the main ruptured, how come my shower worked this morning?’’

  “We have more than one main, Vera. Listen, I’ve got work to do, and no time to take a ration of shit from you. You got anymore questions, go ask Mr. Feldspar.” And with that, Kyle walked out.

  He is such a prick! Vera thought. Yeah, right, go ask Feldspar. I would, you schmuck, if you could friggin’ find him! Vera left the office herself, then slipped into the lobby ladies’ room. She was not surprised to find that all the faucets worked when she turned them on. Then she scurried to the restaurant kitchen—all the water worked there too. Broken water main, my ass. This was outrageous! And when she went to check the water in the room-service kitchen, she—

  Shit!

  —cursed heartily aloud.

  The door to room service, as always, was locked.

  You can’t just close The Inn, the irate thoughts followed her up the stairs. The kitchen water is fine—I’ve got reservations!

  She had no choice. Feldspar was clearly a private person, not one to appreciate being bothered in his room. But as a manager, Vera felt it her right to know what was going on, and she deserved a better explanation than Kyle’s cock and bull. She marched briskly down the second-floor hall, passed her own suite, to the suite at the very end. Centered on the door shined a tiny brass plaque which read: feldspar, do not disturb.

  Well, sorry, boss, but I’m going to disturb you. Vera stood a moment to compose herself, then firmly rapped on the ornate door.

  The door not only was unlocked, it was ajar.

  It swung open.

  “Mr. Feldspar, I’m sorry to disturb you,” she apologized, “but—”

  Vera stared, vexed.

  She knew in a glance that Feldspar was not in the suite. In fact, there was nothing in the suite. No drapes, no carpet, no wallpaper.

  No furniture. No bed.

  Just four bare walls and a bare floor.

  And a lot of cobwebs.

  ««—»»

  “Things are going well. It’s a wonder, is it not?”

  The Factotum’s voice loomed, his satisfaction akin to the most gentle halo in the turbid, hot dark. “My servants, soon we’ll be one as was my promise. Have faith. We must have faith.”

  Zyra and Lemi nodded. The sweat of their labors slickened their young sheens of skin. So beautiful, the Factotum mused. So young and full of voracity…

  “Nor must we allow our servants to get out of hand,” he added then, and led them away in his frock to the next vault. Horrors prevailed, such wondrous deeds. A nude woman, chained to the floor, squealed in bliss as both orifices were penetrated simultaneously. They’d been feeding her; her mouth bulged with remnants of Lemi’s delights. “We must never forget what happened last time,” the Factotum finished on a portentous note which hung in the air.

  Yes, things had definitely gotten out of hand that time. Desire was often hard to reign; they’d been too free with the liberties they’d overlooked. Some hierarchs had been slighted, even abused in the zeal of certain less-comprehending electees. Such things will happen, he supposed. Now, though, he hoped to earn back his fortune. He grew so weary of this pale and flavorless place. Back to my richest heaven, he thought. Soon, I pray.

  All of eternity is a trial…

  In the next grotto, several electees fed ravenously, while a third cawed, serving mammoth genitals to a blonde’s oral cavity. Yes, even infinity must have its graces.

  He turned his smile to his underlings. “Tonight, we will begin our preparations. The indoctrination…”

  ««—»»

  Talk about the boondocks, Paul dumbly thought.

  The blue Pinto’s heater had all but crapped out; Paul drove with gloves on, and his heaviest winter jacket. To make matters worse, the roads were icing up. He’d bought a map of north county back at the quik-stop before he’d left town, hoping to use it in conjunction with McGowen’s address for Vera’s new place of employment, The Inn at Wroxton Hall. Not, he
thought. The map proved all but useless; most secondary roads were either too small to read, or had been left off altogether. A minuscule perimeter of red dots outlined Wroxton Estates, but that was it.

  Happy hunting, Paul.

  State Route 154 unwound for what seemed forever, winding past outskirts of forest and infinite cornfields scratched barren save for the cut stems of last fall’s harvest. Paul had never seen such drab countryside. Even the sky seemed drab as mourning, leading him up toward the northern ridge of the county. Just northwest of Waynesville, he remembered from the map. He’d never heard of Waynesville, and he hadn’t noticed a single roadside indicating he was anywhere near it. This is the pits! I’m never gonna get there, and I don’t even know where I’m going!

  Just as he began to fear he’d passed Waynesville, he found himself idling through some little corncob of a town. One main drag, a bar, a general store, a discount clothing shop, and a bank that looked smaller than most broom closets. No road signs had announced the little town’s title which, by now, Paul was not surprised by.

  But at the next four-way stop (evidently stoplights were not deemed necessary here), Paul thought: finally! The last store in this one-hundred-yard berg sported a clipped sign reading: waynesville farm supply. At least I know I’m there. Paul felt grateful.

  There came no confusion in getting back onto Route 154; the town offered no exits. Paul accelerated, the Pinto’s big 2.0 engine shuddering. The state route wound around a vast forest belt that looked like myraid skeletal extremities. If he’d been driving faster he’d have missed it, the puny wooden sign barely visible in the encroaching winter dusk:

  THE INN

  I’m here, he realized, nearly not believing it after the grueling journey.

  Paul turned up the narrow, newly paved access, and wondered just what he was going to do once he got to The Inn.

  — | — | —

  CHAPTER THIRTY