Hunting Season (9 page)

It fits perfectly.  The simple, minimalist construction, rich dark color, does indeed tie the room together.  My dining room is complete.

I can't help but wonder, though, what Lilith will think.  I already know she liked what she saw in the catalogue.  Beholding it in person, however, is completely different.  Part of me can't approve totally of the table until I hear Lilith's opinion.  I need to know she agrees with its presence.

Why am I feeling this way?  Why am I so dependent on Lilith's thoughts?

My mind drifts back to the feeling I had when I looked down in her eyes.  Again I wonder if it's possible to love a maid.

I look at my calendar.  Lilith will be here tomorrow.  I can wait a day to hear her opinion.

*  *  *  *  *

"It is a beautiful table, Mr. Clark."

Lilith stands next to it, the fingertips of her right hand gently stroking the tabletop.  Her words melt me.  God, we would be perfect together.

"Your home is complete now."

"Yes."  I move a step closer to her.  "It's perfect, isn't it?"

Lilith nods and the corner of her lips curl upwards.  "So neat.  So organized."  She reaches out and touches my skin.  "So clean and pure, like you."

Her touch is like an electric shock but I do not withdraw my arm.  Instead I allow this Goddess, who is a maid by circumstance only, keep her hand on my skin.

"Thank you, Lilith."

She looks deep in my eyes and I have to force myself not to turn away.  We are the same.

After a few moments of intense silence, Lilith says, "Would you like me to clean, Mr. Clark?"

I nod, on the verge of weeping.  "I would like that very much."

Lilith turns to start working.  I reach out and grab her arm, firm but not hard.  Her head pivots and those eyes lock on me.  I stutter at first then manage to spit the words out.

"Lilith, I have something I want to say."

"Yes, Mr. Clark."

My courage fades.  I am a coward under the weight of her eyes and smile.  This maid, the woman who I employ yet is superior to me in every facet of life other than financial, creates feelings of intense self-doubt which crush all my confidence.

"Nothing, Lilith.  It's nothing important.  Don't let me keep you from your work."

*  *  *  *  *

Three days have passed since Lilith last visited me.  In that time, I've tried to build the nerve to both fire her and show my love for her.  I no longer want to employ Lilith.  I want to spend every waking moment sharing my life with her.  I want to bask in her glory.

I close my briefcase, say goodnight to my secretary, and head out of the firm.  Another late night of preparation for the trial.  Unfortunately, due to my obsession with Lilith, I've put together a weak defense so far.  And I really don't care.  I just want Lilith.

Outside, several low-life's from a neighboring downtown club spill out onto the street, laughing and groping each other.  I hand my card to the valet and try to ignore the drunks.

Then I hear her voice.  Lilith's angelic voice.

My head jerks to the left and Lilith's gentle frame fills my vision.  Lilith's arms are wrapped around a large male.  Her lips are pressed against his.  His hands grip each of her buttocks.

I don't feel rage.  I don't entertain thoughts of attacking the man to defend her unblemished honor.  He's much larger than me and I don't know how to fight.  Besides part of me is aroused by what I see.  I wish I could switch places with the stranger, to grip Lilith's buttocks and feel her lips.

"Here you go, Mr. Clark."

My attention turns to the valet.  My BMW is idling, waiting for me to drive home.

I tip the valet and get in; quick to make sure Lilith doesn't catch me watching her.

*  *  *  *  *

The doorbell rings.  Lilith is here.

My stomach churns but my nerve remains strong.  I will not let her slip through my fingers.  This is destiny.

I open the door.

Lilith is there.  She looks as beautiful as ever.  Her gaze has the effect of a fine opiate, calming my nerves.

She waits at the threshold until I invite her in.  Never rude.  Never assuming.

Her shoes removed and set side-by-side on the travertine, Lilith walks into the kitchen to commence her work.

"Lilith, would you mind starting in he master bathroom first?"

Her smile never slackens.  "Of course not, Mr. Clark."

Lilith does as requested and walks into the master bathroom.  She leans over the tub and commences.  I stand in the doorway, staring at her bent-over body and remembering the stranger grabbing her the other night.

This memory steadies my hands holding the bottle of chloroform and the clean white rag.  I've thought about that man with Lilith since I saw them.  Each time, I've replaced him with myself.  And I've found myself incredible turned on.  Yet every time, I've failed to complete the fantasy.  The knowledge that Lilith is unclean, that Lilith requires purification, keeps me from finishing.

I want to finish the fantasy.  I want to live it.  But I have to purify Lilith.

"Lilith."  My voice trembles a little but I do not back away from my duty.

Lilith rises from the tub, turns, and looks me in the eyes.

So beautiful.  I hesitate for a moment under their weight.

Then I remind myself it would be a sin to let Lilith continue her life unclean with a stranger.  No, she will enjoy a life with me in our perfect apartment.  We will enjoy sunsets from our balcony.  We will eat at the magnificent table that ties the dining room together.  We will make love often, taking pleasure in our pure bodies.

"Yes, Mr. Clark?"

"I need to purify you."

I don't allow her time to question further.  The rag of chloroform presses over her nose.  I ease her unconscious body into my arms.

*  *  *  *  *

Nothing works.

I've tried to clean Lilith for two days now.  Two days and still I see impurity.

I started with regular soap and water.  It failed.  The stranger still crept into my memory, taking the place I should possess.

Instead of a washcloth, I tried a bristled brush.  The progress I gained with this led me to believe I'd found the right tool.  But again, the stranger smiled at my mind's eye.

Maybe Lilith didn't want to be clean.  Maybe this was her way of telling me she wanted the stranger instead of me.

I looked at the dining room table, the superior table Lilith picked out, and I realized I was thinking crazy.  Lilith would never prefer such a low-life over me.  She's just tainted and needed deeper cleaning.

After the first day, I realized tougher stuff was required.  I quit the bristled brush and used steel wool.  When that didn't work, I introduced various cleaners.  But still I could not chase that man out of my head.  I could not wash the stench of his hands off of my Lilith.

I keep Lilith in the tub.  Every time she wakes up screaming, I give her more chloroform.  I don't like to see her in such a state, and have tried explaining my good intentions, but my words always fail to drown out her cries.

I understand her distress.  It must be hard to be so dirty.

Now I contemplate what I should use next.

*  *  *  *  *

So much cleaning.

I underestimated how much acid would work for Lilith.  I thought just a little would do the trick.  But it didn't.  So I used more.  Did it work?

Maybe it did.

I look down in the tub at Lilith and can't tell if she's clean or not.  I have trouble remembering what she looked like the day I first met her.  I remember liking her smile and loving her eyes but don't recall an image of either.

The memory of the stranger is a blur as well.  There was a man, I know, but can't put a face or body to him.

MORNINGSTAR CLEANERS called, asking if I'd seen Lilith.  I told them I'd fired her and haven't seen her since.  She's too good for them.

I haven't needed the chloroform for a while.  Lilith has accepted what needed to be done.

Is she clean?  I wish I knew if I could stop.

I reach down to touch her.  Hopefully the feel of her skin will tell me if my work is done.

So dirty.  Not her but my hand.

Both of my hands.

Filthy.

If Lilith is clean, I can't touch her with these disgusting hands.  All my work would go to waste.

*  *  *  *  *

The apartment needs a good cleaning but I can't do it.  My hands are too filthy.

Washing with soap failed.  The steel wool felt like it would prove successful but didn't.  Even the acid did little to chip into the crust of grime.

My phone rings incessantly but I can't answer it.  Since the acid bath, I haven't been able to flex my fingers, what's left of them.

Lilith hasn't woken up yet.  She's still in the tub.  I'd move her but the stench of the bathroom is unbearable.  It could use the attention of a good maid right now.

The dining room table still looks wonderful.  Not dirty at all.  I sit at it, my hands in my lap, marveling at how completely it ties the room together.

Someone beats on the front door.  I'm concerned they might break the stained-glass.

"This is the police, open up," a voice on the other side says.  "We have a search warrant."

"I can't," I say.  "My hands are too filthy."

The door busts inward.  Thankfully, the stained-glass doesn't shatter.

Several police officers walk in.  I see them sniffing the air.  Their faces crinkle up in disgust.

One of them goes to place his dirty boot on my milk-white carpet.

I jump to my feet, waving my mangled and melted hands at him.

"Mind your shoes!"

FOUR TORMENTS AND A JUDGMENT

The demon Yarsloth sat in the back of the church, invisible to the flock of worshippers around him and bored out of his mind.  A mid-level demon, Yarsloth held a title demanding of important work.  The last century alone he had spent implementing a family curse over five generations.  But here Yarsloth sat, yanked from his precious curse work and assigned a menial task barley fit for a lower caste imp.

The congregation around the demon broke into song.  Yarsloth lowered his head and tried to block out the unsatanly noise as he flipped through the file on his assignment.  As he read, Yarsloth's motivation dwindled.

Hell had assigned Yarsloth to perform four torments followed by a judgment.  Only one torment was allowed per week, however, and it had to occur on Sunday during worship.  Which meant Yarsloth faced a month of Sundays sitting in this blessed church.

Clown work, Yarsloth thought.

Sure he would get to create mayhem but it paled in comparison to a century of destroying a family generation by generation.  Yarsloth would have to endure four weeks of evangelical revivalism.  No demon should ever endure that.

The demon shook his head.  He hated this type of work.  Why not judge the target and get it over with?  No, Hell had to drag it out and give the sinner a chance to truly repent.  Only if he failed to ask for mercy (or falsely repented) could judgment be passed and Hell would gain the damned soul.  But to reach that point, Yarsloth had to perform the overdramatic torments first.

Yarsloth read the case file further and sighed.  In addition to the clown work, he had a boring target on his hands.  The case file said reverend John Simms didn't practice what he preached, instead worshiping at the altars of kiddy porn and child molestation.  No necrophilia.  No cannibalism.            Nothing Simms had done warranted the attention of a mid-level demon.

Might as well be guilty of tax evasion, Yarsloth thought.

Reverend Simms finished his sermon.  Yarsloth admitted what he had heard actually sounded pretty good.  Full of hellfire and brimstone.  Always good topics.

Simms now walked amongst the congregation, asking for individual testimony.  Yarsloth took this as his cue.  Showtime.

Yarsloth focused on one of the flock.  He chose an overweight woman with a large hat near the front.

When Simms approached her he said, "Sister, do you put your faith in Jesus today?"

The woman nodded.  "Yes!  Praise Jesus!"

"Do you believe Christ's blood was shed to redeem us?"

Yarsloth reached into her with his mind.

She went to say "yes" but Yarsloth filled her mouth with blood.  As she spoke, she sprayed the red fluid all over Simms.

"God in Heaven!" Simms yelled.

The reverend wiped the blood off his face as he took a shocked step backwards.  The surrounding flock hissed in surprise.  Others in the back stood to gain a glimpse of the sudden commotion.

Yarsloth lifted the woman to her feet.  He jerked her forward, advancing her toward Simms.  The woman walked with a goosestep, marching like an SS Storm trooper.

"Sister, you must pray with-"

Yarsloth shot more blood from her mouth.  It flowed like water from a hose.

The flock screamed.  Some stood mesmerized, staring at the possessed woman.  Others rushed for the doors, knocking many of those staring to the ground.

Simms stood firm.  He didn't run away but instead stepped forward and embraced the woman.  He placed a calm hand on her forehead.

Warmth singed Yarsloth's forehead.

Yarsloth vomited more blood on him and exited the body.  He could check-off the first torment as complete.

The woman's body went limp.  Yarsloth watched Simms lower her carefully to the floor.

"Sister," he said over her.  "Pray with me."

"What happened?"  She started crying when she saw the blood.

"You've been touched by a demon.  Now pray with me."

Yarsloth watched this and scratched his head.  When Simms had placed his hand on the woman's forehead, Yarsloth had not felt the icy touch of evil through her.  Warmth and strength emanated from Simms.

*  *  *  *  *

A week later, reverend Simms preached even more hellfire and brimstone.  The righteousness in Simms's voice displeased Yarsloth greatly.