Flesh Gothic by Edward Lee (38 page)

"Put some ass behind that shovel and help me out here." Clements frowned, throwing more dirt back into the pit.
"We ain't calling cops or nothing like that. They would defeat our own purpose. I'm getting Debbie Rodenbaugh out
of that house. You get a bunch of cops up here, then Vivi-
ca'll call off whatever it is she and Hildreth are planning.
That would defeat my purpose and yours." Clements poked
Westmore in the chest. "You and me have a deal. I told you
I'd help you dig up that grave, and you told me you'll let me
in that house. Stick to the deal."

Westmore saw his point, or at least he hoped so. In a few
minutes they'd both re-covered the pit and also Hildreth's
grave.

They tossed the shovels into the woods. Connie looked
nauseated when they were walking out, and Clements himself looked wrenched, his tough-guy veneer showing a few
cracks.

"He's right," Connie said, indicating Westmore. "Those
things didn't look hu-"

"They're dead human bodies," Clements insisted. "Between this heat and all the rain we had a few weeks agothey get that way. I've seen 'em. They're not fuckin' monsters
that Hildreth brought here from some satanic sacrifice. The
two of you are letting his whole Lucifer-worshiping guru
shit bend your fuckin' brains."

Westmore was too wracked by sight and stench to say
anything. Of course, Clements was right, but he was still appalled by the look of the bodies.

They traversed the property, back to the service road.
"Are you all right?" Clements asked testily. "You look like
you're gonna pike."

"I feel like it."

"Don't worry. All this shit's gonna be over tomorrow
night."

Westmore popped a brow. "What happens then?"

"That's when you let me in that house, and I put an end
to this. I'm getting Debbie out of there, and I'm finding
Hildreth and blowing him away. You don't want to get your
hands dirty, fine. Just let me in that house like you agreed."

Westmore sighed. "All right. What time?"

"Two a.m. on the nose."

"Okay."

Clements and the girl got into the car. "Tonight'll be the
last night you spend in that house." He grinned in the
moonlight. "Don't get yourself killed, huh? I don't want
the next body I dig up to be you," he said and drove off.

It's going to be a long one, Adrianne thought, wandering the
house the next day at noon. At first she'd thought of
strolling the grounds-it was gorgeous out-but a few minutes outside offered no release from the mansion's heaviness,
that feeling of something in the air, something around her
pressing down, watching. Outside was just as bad even in the
midst of the grass, sun, and sky. Inside or out she couldn't
get away from it. It's just me, she hoped, and came back in.

Portraits and brooding marble busts stared at her in the
main hall. When she got to the atrium, she could hear some
of the others talking from the kitchen, proceeding in some
semblance of normal social interaction. Adrianne wanted
no part of it. She liked the others but didn't want to be
around them, couldn't. Other people were a distraction, es pecially before a jaunt. She had to focus. She had to stay in
her zone.

She wandered further up into the communications room,
where Nyvysk spent most of his time. Playbacks on certain
screens did not enthrall, frighten, or even interest her. Infrared figures and ion signatures of figures in rooms that
were physically empty. She jotted a quick note down for
Nyvysk, so at least someone would know what she was up
to today:

I'LL BE OBE-ING TODAY, PROBABLY ON THE
ROOF. NOT SURE WHEN I'LL BE DONE -ADRIANNE

She taped it to a monitor, then left.

When she passed the office, she could hear Westmore in
there typing, but she passed the room by without saying
hello. She didn't want to talk to anybody right now, at least
no one alive or on this plane of existence.

The only entity she wanted to talk to was Jaemessyn, the
temple's seeming gatekeeper.

For she knew it was only through the Fallen Angel that
she might gain access to Belarius.

This is perfect, she thought awhile later. She'd been wanting to cone up here, just hadn't exactly found it until now
After taking further flights of stairs upward, she stepped out
onto a roof parapet. There was a sundeck, a lounge chair,
and umbrella. Yes. This'll do fine .. .

Adrian= lay down on the lounge chair, let herself relax.
The umbrella shadowed her. What I am afraid oJ? she wondered after several minutes.

Nothing over there could hurt her here.

She swallowed one Lobrogaine tablet, closed her eyes, and
began to say her preliminary prayers.

Westmore felt hungover the moment he got out of bed.
Wait a minute, he thought. I don't drink. The awful feeling
had to be the bodies he'd seen last night. And the stench,
which probably was a little toxic, as Clements had warned.
But at least he agreed with the older man now: waiting another day to report the bodies would work better. More time
to find out what's really going on in this place. Westmore, by
now, was cringing to know. Don't blow any whistles yet.

Words kept nagging at him while he dabbled at his work,
the voice of Faye Mullins ...

They're gonna turn that house into a great big mouth that's
gonna eat you.

He cleared his mind. He plugged in one of the DVD's
he'd found in the hidden library, stared dully at it. It seemed
the same old thing, the same old smut. Men having sex with
women for the sake of having sex, to verify the function of
ejaculation externally. But more words itched at him:

It's gonna suck you all doom and swallow you.

He blinked and was suddenly staring with more intent. In
the next vignette, he recognized the male "star" who was furiously copulating with a blonde who looked drugged out.

It was Mack.

There was an initial shock, but- Why should I be shocked?
Mack had admitted that he'd been more directly involved
with this business in the past. Pornography in L.A. All right.
So what? just because the guy's done porn for Hildreth doesn't
mean he buried bodies in the woods. Stay real. The scene
switched, to the foyer downstairs. This time it was sex on the
red-carpeted stairs, but when the svelte woman Mack was
with turned around, Westmore almost fell out of his chair.

It was Vivica Hildreth.

Westmore needed to adjust to the impact. Seeing her like
this-naked, obscenely posed, a patented sex-object--made
him feel keenly aroused yet absolutely outraged at the same
time. She was indeed a beautiful woman, as enticing nude as
he'd imagined when he'd seen her clothed, close to perfect
even in her cosmetic-surgery-embellished middle age. Reason returned very quickly, though. Westmore snapped up
the cell-phone and dialed her number.

When her voice-mail came on, he said very stoically,
"Mrs. Hildreth, this is Richard Westmore. Right now I'm
watching a porn disc with you on it. You're participating in
an interesting little sex-scene on the stairs in the foyerwith Mack. I want to know why you lied. I want to know
why you told me you've never been in the mansion before.
I can't possibly do a job for you unless you're going to be
honest with me. I want you to call me back and explain because right now I don't know what to think. I feel like a
dupe that's being manipulated with money."

Steaming, he hung up, lit a cigarette, and ground his
teeth. What a sucker I am. But why would she he about
never being in the mansion? He tried to calculate a purpose
in the he but could think of none. When his phone rang, he
almost dropped it by picking it up too fast. That was quick,
he thought. Let's see what the queen bee has to say ...

"Hello?"

"You sound really happy to hear from me. I swear it
wasn't me who killed your dog."

Westmore frowned. It wasn't Vivica, it was Tom. "Sorry,
Tom. I'm a little jacked out of shape here. Thought you
were someone else."

"Well maybe this info will un-jack you. I don't know."

"You find anything else out about Hildreth?"

"Nope, just more of the same stuff I told you the other
day. Fuckin' guy pays his taxes and has some serious luck in
the stock market. As for Vivica Hildreth, she's got no record,
nothing in the way of a questionable history. Social climber
from Sarasota, Florida. Hooked up with Hildreth in the mideighties. She's fifty-two. All she is is a pinkie-in-the-air gold
digger. Looks like she found the right guy to dig on. Arm"

"And what about Debbie Rodenbaugh?" Westmore
rushed.

"Hold your horses, I was just about to tell you. Deborah
Rodenbaugh is a freshman right now at Oxford University,
majoring in Art History."

"Who told you that?"

"The registration department, two an professors who
have her as a student, the director of the Bodleian Library
where she has a part-time job, and her."

"What do you mean `and her?"'

"I just talked to her on the phone, and by the way, the
long-distance call to Oxfordshire, England, goes on your
bill. Thirty-five fuckin' bucks, can you believe that?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine. But you said you talked to her?"

"Yep. It was about seven p.m. there with the time-change
but I got her at her dorm, someplace called Lady Margaret
u,n"

Westmore felt riveted. "What did she say? What did she
say about-"

"Hildreth? She said he was an odd man, but was always
very nice to her. Took an interest in her because she was an
art enthusiast, like him. She worked for him for a year and a
half, office assistant type of thing. She seemed genuinely
mournful about his death when her aunt and uncle in Jacksonville told her about it, said she couldn't believe it. In her
opinion he wasn't capable of an act like that, and he never seemed crazy. She'll be spending the summer here when the
spring semester's over, said to feel free to call her anytime."

Westmore listened, silent.

"You get all that, buddy?" Tom asked. "The girl sounded
for real."

"Yeah, yeah," Westmore said. He blinked. "It's a relief."

"In a little while I'm gonna take a crack at that other info
you wanted me to do a search on, the numbers you found in
the safe. I'll call you back in a few hours."

"That's great, Tom. I really appreciate this."

"No problem. You can buy me fuckin' dinner when I'm
all done."

"You got it."

Westmore felt relieved and decompressed. Maybe I should
call Clements? he considered. He had the ex-cop's cell number. No, better idea. There was still the mystery of Hildreth's
missing body. Debbie Rodenbaugh was safe but maybe
Clements was right about the rest. Something's still very wrong
around here. He had till two a.m. tonight to glean more information. Clements thinks that Hildreth's somewhere in this
house too. Maybe I can find him myself first ...

Westmore left, setting out to do just that. He had all day
to search the mansion's every nook, cranny, wall, and room.

He made two critical mistakes when he left the office.
One, he left his cell phone on the desk and, two, he didn't
consider for even a moment that everything Tom had just
told him might be a lie.

Three Adiposians stared up facelessly at the vessel that was
now Adrianne. She stared back at the grotesque things, safe in her bodiless distance. Behind them, the Chirice Flaesc
shined in sweat, its skin moving slightly, the veins running
across its walls pulsing with vitality.

I'm here, Adrianne thought. What now?

"You've come to test me," a voice resonated. Again, the
Fallen Angel's voice sounded like light, which was impossible; hence, this impossible domain. Jaemmysin appeared below, next to his mindless attendants-he'd stepped out from
the temple's pillars of tense muscle, the penises for fingers
Imp from a recent rape of a minor species of demon. Yet as
terrifying as the figure was-the angled, beautiful face, and
monstrous arms and legs grafted to his angelic body-Adrianne was not afraid. In her out-of-body state, she was a sparrow on a high branch, looking down at the pack of wolves.

I've come to hold you to your promise, she proclaimed. You're
monstrous to look at. But a liar, too?

The Angel smiled, a rim of bright light within his black
halo. I never lie. I never even lied to God, when I knew Him.

Adrianne's eyeless gaze gestured the temple's closed
doors. I want to meet-

Jaemmysin interrupted, pointing a phallic forger upward.
"Don't say his name."

I want to meet the Sexus Cyning.

"Open the doors for our polite guest," Jaemmysin commanded the Adiposians. "I grant her permission to enter
and to come face to face with our Lord."

The lard-colored things trod back, slapped their hands
onto tendons that served as handles, and pulled. The temple's doors opened with a sound akin to grinding stone,
even though they were composed of hot, living skin and
muscle ...

The Adiposians stepped back, and even if mindless, faceless, and soulless entities could not be capable of fear, they seemed terrified. They bowed and disappeared into wet orifices in the wall.

Jaemmysin lowered himself to his knees.

The most monstrous thing Adrianne could ever contemplate awaited, a mammoth penis pointing up from stout legs
of gray skin and corded muscle. Adrianne's first impulse was
to shoot away, to flee forever and leave the horrid place to
its secrets.

"The bold traveler," the strangely tiny voice floated upward. It reminded her of sticks being rubbed together
briskly, an etching sound that somehow translated itself into
words she could understand. "I am Belarius."

Adrianne couldn't respond. The vision of Lucifer's first
servant seemed to vibrate; she was grateful she couldn't focus on details. The face was like a nightmare not quite remembered upon waking up in a sticky sweat. All she could
detect was a face that seemed bezeled like a chisel-end, and
large eyes that were empty holes in space.