THREE TIMES A LADY (2 page)

Pulling his wet underpants back up around his thin waist with a loud elastic
snap
, Nicholas slipped his legs into a pair of dark blue shorts so that prying eyes couldn’t see his shame.  Much like upsetting his mother, it was never a good idea to embarrass her, either.  There were consequences to that, too. 
Harsh
consequences.  Always had been and always would be.

Shame properly camouflaged, Nicholas hustled down the long hallway past all the framed pictures hanging on the wall and locked their heavy wooden front door behind him before double-timing it down the cracked walkway to their car.  Climbing up into the back seat as quietly as he could, he pulled shut the door softly, being very careful to avoid making any sort of unnecessary noise.  Annabeth Preston wasn’t the kind of woman who wasted her words.  When she said that children existed to be seen and not heard she really
meant
it.  It wasn’t just a silly
cliché
to her.  Hell, she’d
proved
that much the day she’d split Timmy’s skull clean in two for committing the unforgivable sin of succeeding so wildly in an area in which she’d failed so miserably. 

Nicholas winced at the excruciating memory of his little brother’s horrific death as his mother hummed softly to herself beneath her breath and backed their car carefully out of the driveway.  Immediately after his little brother’s head had slammed down into the sink, Timmy’s big brown eyes had filled up completely with blood, making him look a lot more like some sort of deranged werewolf in a low-budget horror flick than a five-year-old actor who’d always seemed just as home in front of the television cameras as he’d been while playing with his older brother in their beloved sandbox out in the backyard.

Nicholas shifted uncomfortably in his seat from the icky feeling of his soiled underwear as his mother manoeuvred the car’s gear stick in a groan of missed gears for a moment or two before she finally managed to find the right one and pulled away from the house, cursing her hateful jealousy beneath his
own
breath.  Because despite her many years of rigorous theatrical training at the prestigious Actors Academy in New York City, Annabeth Preston’s stage career had ended quite differently than had poor little Timmy’s.  Had ended with a pathetic whimper rather than with the ear-shattering bang to which she’d subjected Nicholas’s unfortunate little brother.  In the end, there had been no shouts of
encore!
for Annabeth Preston; no throwing of red roses at her feet; no breathless reviews in all the city’s biggest newspapers extolling her unparalleled thespian talents.  Instead, the last time
she
’d been on stage had been when she’d portrayed ‘Maid Marian’ in an off-off-Broadway production of
Robin Hood
that hadn’t even completed its scheduled three-week run due to the laughably poor attendance.  Ten years later – when Nicholas would find himself sitting alone in a darkened movie theater and watching Faye Dunaway chill people’s blood with her deliciously evil turn as Joan Crawford in a big-screen showing of
Mommie Dearest
– he’d catch himself thinking that the famously bitchy subject of the iconic film hadn’t been all
that
bad of a mother.  Not really.  Not anything with which Nicholas and Timmy wouldn’t have been able to put up, at least.  After all, wire hangers were
nothing
to people like Annabeth Preston.  Child’s play, really.  To Nicholas and Timmy, they probably would’ve felt like feather pillows swung good-naturedly at each other’s heads, just a little lighthearted playtime before bed for two highly spirited boys who had their entire lives stretched out in front of them in a shimmering path that was paved with gold and led directly to superstardom.

Dreams, however – much like little brothers – had to die sometimes.

The oppressive atmosphere inside the car made it almost impossible for Nicholas to even
breathe
properly as Annabeth Preston weaved her way deftly through the busy city streets with all the windows rolled up, pausing occasionally only to honk her horn angrily at another driver whenever they had the temerity to get in her way.  Nicholas shook his head at their stupidity.  Fools
.
  Didn’t they know that getting in Annabeth Preston’s way was
always
a bad idea? 

Apparently not.  But that particular lesson was coming for them.  Soon.  And in spades.

Just like it had come for Timmy.  Just like it would come for Nicholas. 

Maybe even today.

Twenty minutes seemed to crawl into eternity before Nicholas’s mother finally pulled their boat-like car into the small parking lot on the west side of the butcher’s shop on Bishop Elder Avenue.  Not counting Nicholas himself (which his mother seldom did), the butcher’s shop marked the only thing Nicholas’s father had left behind following Timmy’s horrific death.  And – as his mother was so fond of reminding him – just one of the two commodities possessed any real-world value, leaving it up to Nicholas to figure out the rest of it from there.  Wasn’t a very difficult equation to solve, to say the least.  Something one might lean during a second-year maths course.

Still not speaking to him, Nicholas’s mother put the car into park mode before exiting the vehicle and walking briskly around the side of the car.  Flinging open the back door, she grabbed him roughly by the underside of his bony arm and extracted him from the car.  Then she marched him directly up to the entrance of the butcher’s shop, digging in her sharp red fingernails once more and nearly tearing Nicholas’s right shoulder out of its socket in the process.  Nicholas’s shoulder sang with high-pitched pain as his mother produced a small silver key from the left-hand side of her lacy black bra with her free hand before unlocking the front door and dragging him inside. 

An intense scowl darkened Annabeth Preston’s pretty face as she led him solemnly into the back to where the walk-in freezer was located, each one of her steps punctuated by the staccato report of her high-heeled shoes clacking loudly against the freshly polished tiled floor.  His mother had ordered the tiled floors installed a few years prior for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was to simplify the task of cleaning up any spilled blood.  And why not?  There was always
a lot
of spilled blood inside the butcher’s shop, wasn’t there?  And not just from the cows and pigs, either.  Especially when Nicholas and his mother were alone together inside.

His mother finally released his arm to open the freezer door.  Nicholas rubbed at it gently as she placed her hands on her shapely hips and stepped to one side.  Though he strained with all his might, but he wasn’t quite able to keep his gaze from drifting to the plunging neckline of her red Armani dress.  A silver Tiffany heart necklace sat cushioned between her ample breasts.  The lacy black bra from which she’d produced the key to the butcher’s shop a moment earlier supported perfect white globes.  A small brown mole winked out at him from the left side of her chest. 

Nicholas blinked rapidly in an effort to stop himself from staring but it didn’t work.  Not even close.  Even at eight years old, even
he
could see that his mother was a truly stunning woman. 
A real piece of ass
, as he’d heard the grease monkeys whisper to one another at the gas station over on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Elm whenever they filled up her tank for her. 
A real fine piece of machinery they wouldn’t mind checking under the hood.
  To be fair, though, Annabeth Preston’s inviting cleavage could have caused even the most pious of the priests over at St Christopher’s to forget their vows for a moment and steal a quick peek, which they did more often than was comfortable for Nicholas each and every Sunday morning while he and his mother sat in their preferred pew up front.

‘Eyes up here,’ his mother said.

Nicholas lifted his stare to meet hers. 

His mother gestured inside the cold space with one delicate hand, rattling the matching silver Tiffany charm bracelet adorning her right wrist.  Inside the freezer, huge chunks of bloody red meat hung from sharp steel hooks stationed all around the room.  ‘Now, get in,’ she instructed.

Nicholas did as he was told without question.  Nobody
ever
questioned Annabeth Preston.  Not if they wanted to keep breathing, at least.  Heart in his throat, Nicholas took his position in the ‘correction’ spot with which he’d grown so familiar over the years in the centre of the room.  The shiny metal floor beneath his feet had been worn dull from the sheer number of times he’d stood there in the past.  Three feet away, a matching black circular patch on the floor marked the spot were Timmy had used to stand beside him.  Unfortunately for them, they’d always been the kind of boys who’d required
a lot
of correction.

‘Now strip,’ his mother ordered.

Nicholas’s cheeks flushed hot.  Still, he knew better than to protest, so he obediently removed his shoes and socks, then his shorts and shirt.  The frigid metal floor beneath his bare feet froze him in place as he hesitated and looked up at his mother.

‘The underwear, too,’ she prompted.

Again, Nicholas did as he was told.  What choice did he have in the matter?  What choice had he
ever
had?  Embarrassment coursed hot through his veins as he slipped out of his Fruit of the Looms – which were still wet and warm from his earlier accident – balancing on one foot and then the other in order to accomplish the tricky task.  Icy blasts of air immediately gave birth to painful goose bumps that rocketed up and down his spindly arms and legs.  The soles of his feet went numb; painfully at first, and then as though they’d never been attached to his body at all.  Holding his underwear in one tiny hand, he looked up at his mother once more.

‘Now place them over your head,’ she ordered.  ‘Wear them like a mask.  Put the crotch over your mouth and nose.  Breathe in your own waste.  Taste your own sin.’

Again, Nicholas did as he was told.  The sharp smell of his own urine filled his nostrils.  The acidic taste of his own piss burned his tongue.

And then something very strange happened – something that Nicholas wouldn’t understand for many years to come.  For the first time in his life, he felt his tiny member begin to grow slowly between his legs.  Only a little at first, and then a bit more insistently, until it had become completely erect.

Nicholas could almost
hear
the smile in his mother’s voice as she stepped inside the freezer after him.  ‘Well done, son,’ she said approvingly.  ‘Very well done, indeed.’  Her throaty voice dripped like warm honey all over his naked body, making it feel progressively stickier with each one of her seductive words.  ‘That’s
exactly
what I wanted to see.  You’ve been a very good boy here today and now you deserve your reward for it.  Tell me, son, are you ready for me?  Are you ready to receive your mother’s love?’

Anticipation ripped like a bullet wound through Nicholas’s gut, taking away his breath and setting every last one of his senses on
fire
with excitement. 
This was it.
  Now the fun and games could really begin.  He only wished that Timmy could have been around to see this.  His little brother had always loved these moments almost as much Nicholas did.  ‘Yes, Mother,’ Nicholas whispered, the pressure between his legs almost unbearable now and only growing stronger with each passing second.  So much blood pumping down there that he thought the skin might split along the seam.  ‘I’ve
always
been ready for you.’

The sounds of his mother’s high heels echoed against the freezer floor; joined a moment later by the sound of a wooden match striking to life.  Even with the soiled underwear covering his eyes, Nicholas could see
exactly
what she was doing now.  What she
always
did when the two of them were alone together inside the butcher’s shop.

When the smoke from the match reached its intended destination three seconds later, the fire sprinklers overhead turned on in an icy shower of water that drenched Nicholas’s entire body from head to toe.  Moaning softly, he lifted up his face to the ceiling and stretched out his arms like Jesus Christ hanging on the cross, luxuriating in the exquisite pain.

Then his mother simply left the freezer, closing the heavy steel door behind her and sliding the metal locking pin into place.  From outside the freezer door, she called out to him.  ‘What do you say, son?’ she asked.

Shivering uncontrollably, Nicholas felt his testicles shrivel up and crawl deep inside his stomach for warmth – the kind of warmth he could never seem to find on the
outside
of his body, no matter how hard he looked.

‘Thank you, Mother,’ he said.

And the really sick part about the whole thing – the part that not even Nicholas himself would ever be able to understand – was that he’d actually
meant
it.

CLEANING UP AFTER THE STORM

‘If this is “normal”, we have a serious problem in this country.  The federal government ought to be embarrassed about what is happening.  If local government tried to run things this way, we’d be run out of town.’