Coven (23 page)

“
Coming right up,” Tom
said.

The massive hewer’s blade blurred down. The
sister smiled. Tom’s new gift of strength made Besser’s job on
Sladder look like child’s play: Czanek was shorn completely in
half, from head to crotch. Between his feet, the blade struck the
floor with such force that the entire building tremored.

Czanek’s body parted and fell in two cleanly
cut pieces.

—

CHAPTER 18

Lydia remembered feeling afraid. She felt
naive, puerile, inexperienced. She was an adult, a sexually mature
woman, yet she felt like a child. The very next thing she knew, she
was in the shower with him. That was the only word: afraid. But it
wasn’t Wade she was afraid of, nor sex, nor closeness. It was
herself.

The cool water rained down on her face. Wade
stood behind her, sudsing her into a suit of slick lather. He did
so very slowly. Lydia’s excitement began to unravel the instant his
hands touched her skin. She’d forgotten what that felt like, to
simply be touched…

Neither had said a word
since they’d come into the shower. Lydia liked it that way—no talk,
just the detailed hiss of the water and the sensation of his hands
sudsing her body, beguiling her. This was a shocking luxury—being
washed in the dreamy torrent, being so slowly and
attentively
felt.
The contrast of warm lather and cool water made her nipples
stand right up, right away. She was happy to feel, against her
rump, that something of his was standing up too. Now his hands
smoothed suds over her breasts. The slow, radiating pleasure was
almost infuriating. He pressed her breasts together, offered them
to the water. The suds sluiced off and left her flesh squeaky in
his hands.

She felt the trail of suds course down her
legs. More and more, Lydia felt thinly wired, like a rosined
bowstring fit to snap. Wade’s hands slid up her hips; then the bar
of soap glided brazenly into the cleft of her rump. The shock
brought her up on her tiptoes.

Wade seemed to know that she could bear no
more of this. He hugged her as he turned off the water, then he
took her straight out. The room opened to them in cool darkness.
They kissed belly to belly, dripping. The beads of water
on her skin turned warm with her heat. Her open mouth sucked over
his; their tongues frolicked. In the window she could see the moon,
which seemed to watch like a distant face, or part of her past
self.

Wade’s hands coaxed her buttocks apart and
squeezed. His member (which she thought of unhesitantly as his
cock) stood erect between their pressing bellies. Its hot underside
throbbed. She longed to see its details, to witness its mysterious
proof.

Next he straddled her on the bed. His
strategy was agonizing: He kissed and licked every square inch of
her body, from her lips to the tips of her toes—he dressed her in
kisses. He traced her tan lines with his tongue. He sucked her
nipples till they filled with a delicious ache. His mouth drew a
wet line to her belly button, which he kissed, licked, and sucked
with undue fascination.

Lydia felt stretched on an inquisitor’s rack
when he began to kiss around the entirety of her sex; the sensation
churned upward. Was she losing her mind from this? And what of him?
She strained to grasp his cock, but it remained out of reach. For
now she could only vow a dutiful reciprocation. Yes, she would tend
to his cock as voraciously as he now tended to her. She would suck
it till he came in her mouth, and that would only be the
beginning.

These thoughts confounded
her.
Dirty girl,
she thought. She wrapped her legs around his back. Yes, she
would show him, once his cock was in reach.
I don’t love this guy, do I?
she
dared to ask herself, but she could only think through chinks in
the teasing frenzy. Then the wave began to rise.
Oh, no. Oh—

Flexing spasms gathered and
burst. A finger slipped in. She began to come at once when his
mouth found the exposed nub of her clitoris. (She often thought
that
clitoris
had
to be the most ridiculous name devisable for the seat of feminine
sexual pleasure.) The tongue licked up, bearing down. Moaning
wasn’t Lydia’s style, yet she moaned just the same, writhing
against the synchronicity of his tongue and mouth, which coaxed
pulses of orgasms from her. Each beautiful release reminded her how
long it had been since anything like this had happened to her. All
she could do was lie there and come, give in to him. Yes, it had
been a very long time indeed.

««—»»

The Supremate hummed, as if to set a score
to its intricate web of thoughts. Soulless behind the shocking
countenance, it knew everything. It watched and listened. And
hummed.

—
WHO AM I?
The Supremate thought.

In a manner, it
did
know everything, and
enjoyed the luxury of being in many places at once. Some would
define God by these criteria.
—AM I
GOD?
it wondered.
—I AM OMNISCIENT. I AM OMNIPRESENT. I AM WORSHIPED. MAYBE I’M
GOD.

Deep in the labyrinth, the daughters were at
work, happy in mindlessness. They were pawns, but the Supremate
loved them.

—
I LOVE.

More God. Wasn’t love, too, a necessary
criteria?

—
WORK HARD. MY PRECIOUS
DAUGHTERS. FOR I LOVE YOU.

—
We know!
came their reply.
—We
love you too!

But the Supremate idled.
Surely there must be more to God than this. There
had
to be.
—GOD?
it
thought.

Their holy—yes,
holy
—burdens here would
soon be ended. Then they would move on to new fertile gardens, new
pastures from which to reap. But how many more times? And how much
longer?

The Supremate didn’t know.

—
I’M NOT GOD,
it realized.
—I’M JUST…
ME.

The Supremate’s head roared with ancient
laughter. It laughed and laughed. And hummed.

««—»»

Stella Erbling arched forward, painting her
toenails. She was painting them black. Her sister, Liddy, lounged
back on the couch with her feet up, bored as she scrutinized the TV
guide.

“
What’s on cable?” Stella
asked, painting daintily.

“
Just horror movies on
cable,” Liddy replied, bored.

“
What ones?”

Liddy was a year older but a year behind.
Their father had arranged for them to room together, believing that
a familial proximity might encourage academic motivation. This, in
truth, effected the opposite. Stella was proud that her 1.2
grade point average was one tenth of a percent higher than
Liddy’s.

“
Let’s see,” Liddy said,
scanning the TV cable guide. “
I Eat Your
Skin, Bloodsucking Freaks, Three on a Meat Hook,
and
Citizen
Kane.”

Stella laughed.
“Citizen Kane
isn’t a
horror movie, you mushhead. It’s porno.”

“
Oh,” Liddy peeped. Stella
knew
everything,
damn her.

Stella capped the polish bottle. “Forget TV.
I got a better idea.”

Liddy’s face shined in glee,
“Do Horse?”

“
Do Horse,” Stella
authorized. “Call that human pile-driver right now. We’ll raise his
Kane, all right.”

The sheer delight of this conspiracy merged
into their laughter. Liddy’s denim mini slipped up and showed her
pantyless bottom as she bent for the phone. They couldn’t wait for
Do Horse to come calling. So what if he had less charisma than
a package of lunch meat? He was like the flag at the White
House—always up.

And they would do well to have their fun
quickly, for sometimes the night brings many callers, not all of
whom are welcome.

««—»»

Such callers, in this case, would be Tom, in
a clean T shirt, and one of the middle sisters. Several hours
had passed since David “Do Horse” Willet had arrived at the
Erblings’ for what would be his last so called roll in the
hay. Tom and the sister took the fire stairs up, to avoid notice by
the lobby guard. Up, up they went, for another small straw of
destiny.

Lois Hartley had acclimated
well and was now brewing nicely in the gestation catalyzer. The
Supremate was pleased. Vaguely Tom wondered what manner of
grossness would emerge from Lois’ radiophaseshifttriionized womb.
Too vividly he remembered the stillborn sack of flesh that the
stasisfield defected Penelope had birthed.
Ugh,
he thought.
No cigars from that daddy.

The cloaked sister stood behind him,
grinning stupidly. They advanced with discretion, and passed room
202, Sarah’s room. Tom wondered if Jervis was still ravaged by the
destruction of the romance. He also wondered if he’d ever see his
Kirin guzzling friend again, before the promised
all expense paid trip to eternity. Despite what Tom had
become, he missed his friends.

Next came room 206, Penelope’s room, or at
least it had been until her address was changed to underground. The
poor airhead was probably still blubbering away down there.

Next came room 208, the Erblings’.

—
Remember,
said the sister.
—Don’t
make a mess this time.

Tom twisted the doorknob
and pushed. Metal crunched as the bolt ground out. The door opened
to a brightly lit room: three astonished faces jerked up from a
rather elaborate
ménage à trois.
Suddenly naked bodies blurred, dashing madly.
Stella yelled, “Who—”

“—
the
fuck
are they!” Liddy finished,
gleaming breasts abob. But the dude, David “Do Horse” Willet,
stepped forward, confident in spite of total nakedness, and totally
unafraid.

“
Who the fuck are you?”
Do Horse asked.

“
Ted Kennedy,” Tom said.
“Wanna buy a Delta 88 cheap?”

Do Horse, who was at
no loss for muscle, rammed his big, knuckly fist at Tom’s
face.
The guy must be a Democrat,
Tom surmised. He held up a palm, into which
Do Horse’s fist collided. Tom’s palm didn’t budge. The bones
in Do Horse’s hand shattered.

—
Get them!
the sister ordered.
—They’re getting away!

The Erblings, screaming, flew by on either
side. Tom snatched each by the hair, and that was the end of the
great escape. By fistfuls of scalp he held the two girls off their
feet, as a fisherman might hold up two trout. The sister’s grinning
face beamed within the recess of the black hood. Her sunglassed
eyes drank up the sight of the girls’ nude bodies as they lurched
screaming beneath Tom’s fists. Next the sister was touching them,
feeling their breasts, cupping their pubes as if in awe.

Hurry up,
Tom thought like a groan.

The sister’s fanged mouth stretched wide.
The pink needled tether shot out too quickly to be seen and rammed
its stinger into one throat, then the other. The Erblings fell
limp.

Tom dropped them on the carpet. Meanwhile,
Do Horse had sprung back up, bringing a Mitsubishi VCR down on
Tom’s head with a heavy metallic bang.

Tom turned. “Don’t waste your time,
pal.”

Do Horse grabbed a large wall mirror
and broke that, too, over Tom’s head. Tom winced slightly as the
mirror burst. Do Horse stared, incredulous that Tom was still
standing.

“
Here’s an old one,” Tom
offered. “You know what a Chernobyl hooker’s specialty is? Glow
jobs.”

“
That’s
terrible,”
Do Horse couldn’t
help but comment.

“
Yeah, I know.”

Tom grabbed Do Horse’s throat and
crushed it.

He calmly dragged the slowly strangling
young man into the bathroom and dropped him in the tub. The body
slapped like raw meat hitting slate. Tom ripped open the boy’s rib
cage and abdominal wall, exposing the warm delicacies within.

“
Soup’s on,” he
said.

—
Oh, good!
The sister scurried in, knelt, and began to
eat.

Tom rolled the two paralyzed girls up in the
oval carpet, then carried them out to the car. The sister was still
eating when he returned to the dorm room.

—
It’s so good!
she exclaimed. Tom saw with some distaste that the
body part for which David Willet was nicknamed had already been
eaten. The sister was now clunkily prying apart the boy’s skull and
scooping out big squiggles of brains.

—
Want some?
she asked, offering a handful.

“
No thanks,” Tom said. “I’m
trying to cut down.” He cleaned up the broken mirror, faintly
unnerved at the glimpses of his own graying face in the pieces. He
set the VCR back, made the bed, and packed the strewn clothing into
the hamper. Then he checked the fridge for beer but grimly
discovered only cans of Bud.
Forget
it,
he thought.

At last the sister emerged,
her little mouth smudged red.
—I’m done,
Tom. I’ll wait in the car while you clean up the rest.

Tom glanced at the offal in the tub. “Thanks
a lot,” he said.

««—»»

And just as the night has its share of
callers, so, too, does it have its share of watchers. One such
watcher was Jervis Phillips.