“MISTER JEREMY?”
The voice, tinny and Spanish-accented, floated through the intercom by the library door. Jeremy slouched in his chair at the computer, mouth open.
The voice belonged to Mrs. Sanchez, the chef, and while she might be from Colombia, she could cook a dish from anywhere. “Meester Jay-ray-mee?” she sang. “Deeener.”
Jeremy stared at the screen, but as it had been in his bedroom, he felt as if he were waking from some sort of fugue state. He blinked and closed his mouth. Jeremy looked around at the shelves of leather-bound books, the rolling ladder. A green glass banker’s lamp glowed on the table at which he sat. Out the window, the sun threw its last breath over the horizon and cooked the edges of the sky. Jeremy blinked again and focused on the computer screen. It burned with a single digitized photo. It took almost a minute for him to process what he was seeing.
A naked woman lay sprawled on a old couch. Her wrists and ankles were bound with heavy rope. She might have been Asian, but it was hard to tell for sure because her head was encased in a clear plastic bag, the opening taped shut at her neck. Her lips were clamped around a vacuum hose, also made air-tight with electrical tape where it punctured the bag. The tube looked a little like a black rat snake, shiny and wet, that Jeremy had once seen sunning itself on the lawn. It ran between the woman’s breasts and terminated in a red shop vac. A man with a big belly stood over her. The frozen arc of his piss was unmistakable as it struck the bag over her face.
Jeremy jerked up straight in the chair. His right hand flew to his mouth. His other hand wanted to join it there, but was impeded. Jeremy looked down. His left hand was pushed deep into his pants, massaging a painful erection. “Ohmigod,” Jeremy whispered and yanked his hand out of his pants.
“Mister Jeremy, you there?”
The position of his right hand at his mouth was fortunate, as it stifled a little screech of surprise. Jeremy glanced at the clock in the corner of the computer screen. It was already five after seven. He’d lost another forty-five minutes. In a state of semi-shock Jeremy called over his shoulder, “I’ll be right there,” trying to sound as normal as possible. Just lost track of time surfing the net is all, be with ya’ in a sec. Don’t worry about me. Just looking at my usual nerdy stuff.
He looked back at the screen and shivered while zipping up his pants. Jeremy clicked the mouse arrow over the “back” button on the internet browser and another still-frame popped up. This one was of two women, naked, and both very pregnant. One woman lay on her back, hands busy at her crotch, mouth gaping, expectant. The other squatted over her, belly round and straining, legs spread wide. The camera shutter had clicked at just the right moment to catch a long turd hanging like a diseased tail. Jeremy made a sick “Urk!” and almost vomited all over the key board.
He got himself under control and thought fast. If someone caught him, they’d tell his father. If his father found out he was looking at something like this... He didn’t even want to think about it. Careful to keep his eyes from focusing on the images on the screen, Jeremy minimized the display window to a simple bar. He then moved the mouse arrow over to a drop-down menu and selected “History.” He deleted everything as far back as he could, then ran a cookie cleaner program and shut down.
Jeremy checked his watch and jumped to his feet. He’d be in enough trouble just being this late to dinner. He ran out of the library, and by the time he’d rounded his first corner, his mind had again gone clear of the strange episode. He couldn’t remember anything after his talk with Mason. Just as before, his mind seemed to clean itself after the incident, and after a few moments he felt great. Jeremy walked into the dining room whistling Mary Had a Little Lamb.
As luck would have it, that’s just what was on the menu.
Sins of the Fathers Page 11