Ravenous (15 page)

“But I just got dressed.”

“You're turning down
sex
?”

“You've worn me out, Emily. My knees are still shaking. My penis is an exposed nerve.” He finished shaving, then bent down and washed off the remaining bits of cream. He turned off the faucet, then took a towel from its rack and scrubbed his face dry. He turned around to face her. “I'm pooped, Emily.”

That wasn't very far from the truth. He wasn't entirely sure he'd be any good for Vanessa—Emily had been relentless.

Emily had said goodbye to him with cloying reluctance.

He did not understand her horniness—it made no sense. Everything he'd read and heard about rape victims indicated that they were more likely to have trouble
having
sex after being violated. He'd heard nothing about increased libido after a rape—
right
after a rape. Besides that, Emily acted differently. Even back when they'd been having sex regularly, even before that when they couldn't keep their hands off each other, she'd never been as vocal or as enthusiastic—as
animalistic—
in bed as she had been last night and today. She'd been a beast in bed, and the rest of the time she'd been positively
manic
. It was almost as if the rape had
released
something in her. But that didn't make sense ... did it?

Hugh was tempted to talk to that counselor himself, just to ask her about it.

He saw movement in his rearview mirror and turned to it. Vanessa had just pulled up behind him. Hugh got out, put on his brightest Realtor smile, went back to her car, and opened the door for her.

“Am I late?” she said as she got out. She aimed her key ring at the black Chrysler 300 and locked it with a beep.

“A little, but that's okay,” Hugh said.

They did not touch as they crossed the street and went up the front path to the door of the empty house that was up for sale.

“The owners of this house are in Barbados. They live in Seattle, but they had this place because they frequently made trips down here—for business, I think. Now they no longer need to make those trips, so they're selling the place. They haven't moved their stuff out yet.” He unlocked the lockbox on the doorknob, then unlocked the doorknob, and pushed the door in. He stepped back and gestured for her to enter.

Once inside, Hugh kicked the door closed, locked it, and pulled Vanessa to him, wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. They kissed as they began to undress each other there in the small tiled foyer. Once they'd found a rhythm, they began to head down the hall as they kissed and undressed. Hugh freed Vanessa's breasts, put a hand on one, squeezed it, stroked it, then lifted it up as he bent down to put his mouth on it. He sucked the milk-chocolate nipple between his teeth and moved his tongue over it as they waltzed down the hall, sometimes bumping the walls.

He hadn't been sure it would happen after all the sex he'd had with Emily, but sure enough, his penis was so hard it ached, and he moaned. Emily had behaved like an animal for awhile, now it was his turn. She no longer brought the animal out in him, even when she was in such high form as she'd been lately. But Vanessa did—she made his bones tremble with lust.

By the time they got to the master bedroom at the end of the hall, Hugh was in his undershorts and socks, while Vanessa wore nothing. Her curves were all bare, skin like alabaster traced here and there with thin, faint lines of the vaguest blue, some of which branched out into more lines. Her breasts curved gently, and Hugh could not get enough of them. He buried his face between them as they went to the bed.

He pushed her over backward onto the bed and Vanessa laughed. He straddled her closed legs, bent over and propped himself up on his elbow-locked arms. He lowered himself further and kissed her, sucking her tongue into his mouth. He kissed his way down her body, spending some more time with her breasts. Her skin was so smooth and soft against his recently-shaved cheeks, like the wings of a butterfly. She smelled of sweet spices and he inhaled her deeply. He got onto his knees beside the bed and stopped at the triangle of hair between her legs, hair that had been growing back ever since she'd shaved it. He opened her legs with his hands and pressed his tongue to her—she was already wet, as always.

They moved all over the bed as they took turns pleasuring each other, changed positions, moaned and cried out each other's names. Hugh lost all track of time.

Finally, he was inside her. They moved together, slick with sweat, working together, building a rhythm, a tempo, that pounded slowly and relentlessly. Words gave way to grunts and hissing breaths and the wet slurp of sex organs engaging. Hugh stared down at Vanessa. His mind flash pictures of her round hips, her spread legs, and his penis pinning her beneath him.

When Hugh came, it felt like he physically exploded inside her—his shaft torn up down the middle and tattered on the end as he blew up inside her. At this moment, Hugh unknowingly sealed her fate. Without realizing it, with one fateful ejaculation, he doomed Vanessa to a horrible nightmare existence that he could not even dream about and would not believe in if he did.

And Vanessa laughed happily, embracing him as he came inside her.

 

 

 

21

 

The Pine County Rapist

 

 

It was going to be one of those nights. Andrea could tell by the way Jimmy came home from work. He was agitated, silent, and he paced around the house. It was dark by the time he got home. Dinner was ready for him on the table – meat loaf. The only ones who made any sound at the table were the girls. Jimmy might as well be sitting there alone for all he noticed Andrea or the children.

He sat there, back stiff, eating his food, looking everywhere else but at her – no word for his wife, no smiles for his daughters. Like he was in the room alone.

Jimmy stood five feet, eight inches tall, black hair short and naturally curly. Andrea had thought he was so handsome the first time she'd seen him at a Fourth of July picnic. At the dance that night, he'd asked her to dance. After that, she'd followed him everywhere. She remembered running her fingers through those tight curls for the first time—so soft, like stroking a cloud. She also remembered passing her hands over his firm muscles for the first time. She hadn't feared that strength back then.

When he was done eating, Jimmy got up from the table, went out to the living room, and turned on the TV. He surfed the channels, then he put the remote down and paced the living room for awhile. Then he went out to the garage and tinkered around for a little while. He could not settle on anything, seemed unable to be still, just to sit. That's the way he always was on nights like this—silent, restless, as if a heated argument were going on inside his head.

They used to come every two or three months, these unsettled nights, but now they happened more often. Andrea had tried to suggest that they get him some help once, but he'd angrily changed the subject. She hadn't pursued it.

So Andrea silently endured these long, slow nights of no talking, not even any yelling. She almost would've preferred that he be angry at her and shout at her and even hit her—
almost
. That was the only good thing about these dark nights—he did not hurt her. He was too involved in himself, so far inside himself he couldn't see what was in front of him.

What's he thinking about?
Andrea wondered.
Or
whom
is he thinking about? Maybe it's another woman. Or maybe something is really wrong—something that could affect all of us. Are we broke? Is he sick? In trouble with the law?

The same things went through her head each time it happened.

Finally, after an hour of pacing nervously and wandering the house, he put on his jacket, picked up the keys and his wallet from the table by the front door, and left. No goodbye, not a word. Andrea had no idea where he went on nights when he fell under the spell of that heavy, dark mood—or whatever it was. She realized that he was gone at night a lot lately. She'd asked him once where he was going, and the beating she'd gotten for it convinced her never to ask it again.

Andrea heard his Ford pickup start up, then he backed out and drove away. She knew that when he came back, he would drink. After the second or third whiskey, he'd tell her he wanted to go to bed—that meant he wanted her to come with him, whether she wanted to or not. They would have sex. Or, rather,
Jimmy
would have sex. Always the same missionary position. He would take her angrily, aggressively. He'd call her names through clenched teeth, and when he came, he'd spit in her face.

She thought of Jason – such a tender, considerate lover yesterday, then again today, so eager for her to come first. It had been a long time since she'd come at all, so it took a bit of adjusting that first time with him. He'd spoken to her so softly while they moved together, said such sweet things.

Andrea couldn't wait to see him again.

 

* * * *

 

He went to her apartment complex and parked on the street out front. Willow Park Apartments was a pricey, well-lighted place with a small security force that drove around in white cars. He couldn't just drive in and park someplace. He'd have to sneak in, hide, and wait for her. He'd done it before, gotten in there with no problem, just to watch her. Her apartment was up on the top level of the right side of the two-level U-shaped complex. He'd found her bedroom window, peered through the break between the curtains with the aid of a small, powerful pair of binoculars. He'd watched her from the top of a hillock just behind the building, seen her undress twice. It had been his greatest hope to catch her masturbating sometime, but he never did. Besides, what did it matter? If you've seen one cooze beat off, you've seen ‘em all. They were all alike. Sniveling bitches who'd sell you out in a second flat if the price were right.

He'd found the ideal place for their little rendezvous some time ago. There was a cream-painted cinderblock structure in one corner of the complex—the laundry room. Eight washers and eight dryers. Top of the line appliances, too, not cheap clunkers. A row of plastic molded baby-blue chairs ran along one wall. A rack of magazines stood next to the detergent vending machine. A large restroom was in the back, and the door locked with a deadbolt. It would be perfect for them. No interruptions. And there was a small window above the toilet in case he needed to make a quick exit. A handful of quarters would ensure enough machine-noise to drown out any screams. As long as he could keep her quieter than half a dozen washers and dryers, he foresaw no other problems.

He fidgeted at the wheel of his pickup.

He reached over and opened the glove compartment, took from it a long hunting knife in a leather sheath. He snapped the sheath to his belt, reached into the compartment and removed a rubber mask. It was a cheap Halloween mask, but it was hideous—a screaming face covered in what looked like the results of the flesh-eating virus running amok. He closed the glove compartment, stuffed the mask under his jacket, and tucked part of it under the waist of his jeans. It dangled at his left side.

He stayed away from the well-lighted gate and kept an eye open for the white security cars. A six-foot wall surrounded Willow Park Apartments, but he knew where there was a large rock imbedded in the ground in front of the wall, a perfect step up to hop over. He was good at it by now. He slipped over unseen, and headed straight for the parking lot on the southern side of the complex—there was another parking lot on the other side, as well. Cars were parked in rows of carports. In front of each car was a storage room, about the size of your average walk-in closet—it was there for the tenant to use or not use, as their needs dictated.

Her car was not in its space. There was always the chance she was gone for the night. But he decided to bet that she would return soon. She did not use her storage room, so it had no padlock like most of the others. He stepped inside, closed the door, then opened it an inch or so. The storage room was black inside, but the parking lot was well-lit, and its light came through the small opening and cut through the darkness.

If one were to get close enough to the door's opening, one would see that dark inch-wide strip of darkness, until one reached the eye in the middle, the staring eye that peered out of the storage room.

 

* * * *

 

Today had been an employee's birthday at the Flaming Disc, a woman who'd been there since the store opened. She'd been presented with a cake at lunch, and after work, Vanessa had treated them to a party at a bar called Aurora. She also presented the loyal employee with a new laptop computer. They were good people, her employees, and she liked all of them.

After the party, Vanessa drove home through the rain. She pulled into Willow Park Apartments, drove to the left and into the parking lot, where she slipped into her slot. She killed her engine, grabbed her purse, and got out.

She hunched her shoulders against a chill as she walked around the front of her car.

An arm wrapped around her neck and something cold and sharp pressed against her right cheek.

“Make a sound and I'll cut you,” a man said calmly and quietly behind her.

“You'll never be pretty again. Nod if you understand.”

Vanessa was terrified of moving her head because of the sharp point sticking her cheek lightly. She managed a small, single nod against the man's hand.

“Okay, I'm gonna take my hand away, and you're not gonna make a sound, or you're dead.” He slowly peeled his hand from her mouth. “Now, we're gonna walk to the laundry room, you and me.” He grasped her shoulder and turned her around, getting in her face.

Vanessa gasped and cried out. He was so hideous—his face was eaten away and his mouth hung open and—

No. No, it was just a rubber mask, she saw with relief.