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Sexploits, their i
HE dreamed he was on that street corner again watching Hope and Vic in the bloody scene in the mirror. He heard the chanting voices. “Hecate, Goddess of Darkness. Hecate, Goddess of the Moon. Hecate, Goddess of Blood.”
THE bright part of the dull party was spotting Jess. Rusty lit a joint. Marijuana helped his headache lose its shape. After a while it would be just a dull, bearable throb.
“Hi,” he said, aiming a kiss at her cheek. She moved her face around quickly so that their lips touched. He pulled back and up, she followed, and her spiky black hair whisked his chin.
“What am I, poison or something?” she asked.
“Well, you know.”
“When we first met, you came on pretty strong.”
He didn’t know why, but Jess was one line he didn’t want to cross. Or maybe it was Hope he didn’t want to cross. “That was before Hope and I…”
“Before Hope and you what?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know. It doesn’t stop her. Why should it stop you? She used to think you could get AIDS out of thin air; now she goes after everything that moves.”
He clenched his right fist and relaxed it. What was the use? Jess was right. Except it hurt too much to hear it out loud. “Ease off, will you? I thought we were friends.”
“Okay, friend,” she said without cheer.
He grabbed two cold brews from the tub of ice on the table and quickly took a swig of his.
Challenging him, Jess chugged her beer straight down.
He matched her, ending with a noisy burp.
“Charming,” she said.
He patted his jeans for his cigarettes.
“In your shirt pocket,” Jess said, pointing with the knife she was using to cut cheese.
“Careful with that thing.” He pulled out the pack of Luckies and another prerolled joint. “You’re liable to hurt someone.”
“Not me, Rusty, I’m not the one around here who hurts people.”
He lit up and took a deep drag. He did like Jess. A lot. He moved closer to her. “Don’t get so serious. Life’s too short for that sort of crap.” When he kissed her, she kissed him back.
Hard. Demanding.
And he was afraid.
It was a struggle to admit it to himself, but it was true.
He was afraid of Hope.
“I don’t get it,” Jess said later in Hope’s apartment, which had become command central. “She was changing all along, and I didn’t realize it. Ugly duckling becomes super swan. That pimply faced, flat-chested, fat-assed thing now has skin like silk. She has spectacular tits, and the rest of her is great, too. How did it happen? Is she taking hormones or something?”
He dragged deep and handed Jess the joint. “Give yourself a break. Leave it alone. You’re only driving yourself crazy.”
“Damn bitch.” She took a deep toke, let the smoke drift lazily out of her nostrils. “You know where she is now?”
“Don’t say it.”
“She’s shacked up with Vic this very minute.”
Hurt flooded Rusty’s eyes.
“What the hell are you acting so injured about?” she demanded, grabbing him, kissing him.
LIGHTNING flashed at the window, and the crack of thunder was right on top of it. The room seemed to vibrate from the force. Again. The sky flashed and snapped. Moaning with pleasure, he looked up. The ceiling was bordered with a continuing spiral circle.
How did they mold the plaster? No one did that kind of work anymore, that was for sure. The spiral ring began to move. His mind drifted, leaving Jess behind.
“No, don’t go away,” Jess cried.
THE room went black. In a glare of lightning, two figures, naked and hideous. During the next flash he watched as they took on new forms. The female now had three heads, and the male had become a snarling black wolf.
Rusty could barely breathe. He stared at the three heads. The middle face, eyes closed, was Hope.
Something grabbed at his legs. Jess. He dropped down beside her, held her tight. The wolf circled, snapping and growling. The three-headed horror came closer and closer.
Flying crones screeched and dove at Rusty and Jess, their whips flailing. “Hecate, Goddess of Darkness. Hecate, Goddess of the Moon. Hecate, Goddess of Blood.”
“WHAT was that crazy dope you gave me to smoke?” Jess asked.
He shrugged. “Just pot.”
They were sitting in the kitchen.
“Hi, kiddies,” Hope said, charging in. “Nice of you to wait up.” She sailed into the bedroom.
Rusty cast a worried glance at Jess and chased after Hope.
“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” Hope asked, shedding clothing, dropping it on the floor.
“Nothing happened. I swear.”
“I believe you, baby,” she said, planting a juicy kiss on his mouth. He pulled away. “But I won’t believe you if you won’t let me touch you.”
“Sorry, I’m kind of wired.”
“Well, you better get your crap together. We have an important day coming up. Come on to bed. I’ve got the perfect medicine for what’s wrong with you.”
Sex was the last thing Rusty wanted. He considered begging off, saying he wasn’t feeling well, but he knew how she’d react and how miserable she could make him. He said nothing.
“Come on. Don’t keep me waiting.”
“Uh… Jess.”
“Hey, Jess,” Hope shouted. “Better grab some z’s on the couch. We’ve got a big day ahead of us. It’s the day Vic Lancaster becomes a superstar.” She fast-flapped the fingers of both hands, over and over, beckoning impatiently for Rusty.
RUSTY was in a wood with Hope and the black wolf and the three-headed silver dog. He and Hope were having sex. Just as they had been before falling asleep.
Seconds before orgasm, the animals pushed in between them, destroying their coupling.
The three-headed silver dog went after Hope. The black dog attacked Rusty.
Rusty’s scream merged with Hope’s.
HE snapped awake with all-too-lucid memories. He would not, could not, look at Hope.
Hope was smiling. Singing a happy song, she stepped into the shower and shrieked her delight at the ice-cold water.
Rusty glared in her direction and made himself instant coffee. He turned on the TV. Half-asleep, slurping coffee, he flicked from news cha
“A man was killed during last night’s storm when he was struck by lightning in his own living room.”
“Charles Hamilton, forty-three…”
“… bolt of lightning came through the open skylight of his sixth-floor apartment…”
“The room was soaked by the rain.”
“In fact,” a man identified as Emmett Nichols, the building superintendent, was saying, “I was under the impression the skylight was painted shut. I don’t remember Mr. Hamilton ever having it open in the ten years he lived here.”
“Wait a minute,” Hope said, coming out of the bathroom, pulling a brush through her tangled hair. “What the hell are they saying about Charlie Hamilton?”
“Who?” Rusty rubbed his bleary eyes, as Jess wandered into the living room.
“What happened to Charlie?” Jess asked. Charles Hamilton was Vic’s second banana.
The newscaster answered all their questions.
“The police said Hamilton appeared to have been killed instantly. His clothes were scorched shreds, and his body burned and bruised by the charge of electricity that surged through him.”
Jess screamed, “Ohmygod!”
The newswoman kept talking. “One officer is quoted as saying, ‘This is weird. There were blood stains in a circle around the corpse. It was as if the electricity boiled the blood out of his body.’ ”
IGNORING Vic’s protests, Hope appointed herself Charlie’s replacement.