Image of the Beast

Sybil said, "Oh, good!" and reached for the cigarettes. Then shewithdrew her hand and said, wearily, "I haven't smoked for six months, and mylungs feelmuch better. I won't start up again."

She had said this before and sounded as if she meant it. But this time her voice had a thread of steel in it. Something had happened to changeher.

"All right," he said. "You left for your mother's funeral in SanFrancisco. I called your sister, and she said you'd phoned her and told her youcouldn't get a plane out and your car wouldn't start. You told her you werecoming upwith a friend, but you hung up without saying who the friend was. Andthat was the last I heard of you. Now, over a year later, you show up in myhouse."

She took a deep breath and said, "I don't expect you to believethis, Herald."

"I'll believe anything. With good reason."

"I couldn't get hold of you, and, anyway, after that horriblequarrel, Ididn't think you'd want to ever see me again. I had to get to SanFrancisco, butI didn't know how. Then I thought of a friend of mine, and I walkedover to his apartment. He only lived a block from me."

"He?" "Bob Guilder. You don't know him" "A lover?" he said, feeling a pinprick of jealousy. Thank God

that emotion was dying out, in regard to her, anyway.

"Yes," she said. "Earlier. We parted but not because we couldn'tstand one another. We just didn't strike fire off each other, sexually. But weremained fairly good friends. Anyway, I got there just as he was packing to leave for Carmel. He couldn't stand the smog anymore, and even though thegovernor didn'twant people leaving, he said he was going anyway. He was glad todrive me all the way into San Francisco, since he had some things to do there."

They had driven out Ventura Boulevard because the San DiegoFreeway wasjammed, according to the radio. At a standstill. Ventura Boulevardwas not much better, but ten miles an hour was an improvement over no miles.

Just off the Tarzana ramp, the car overheated. Guilder managed toget itinto Tarzana, but there was only one service station operating. Theproprietorsof the others were either staying home or were also attempting to getout of the deadly smog.

"You won't believe this," she said, "but I stole a motorcycle. Itwas sitting by the curb, its key in the ignition. There was no one insight, although the owner may have been only thirty feet away, the smog wasthat thick. I've ridden Hondas before, did you know that? Another friend of mineused to take me out on one for fun, and he taught me how to ride it."

And other things, thought Childe without pain. The thought wasautomatic, but he was glad that it did not mean much now.

There had been no use in her trying to reach 'Frisco on theHonda. The traffic was so thick and slow-moving that she did not see any chanceof gettingto her destination until the funeral was over, if then. She decidedto return to her apartment. Eyes burning, sinuses on fire, lungs hurting, she rodethe Honda home. That took two hours. The cars were filling both sides of thestreet, allgoing in the same direction, but there was enough room, if she tookthe sidewalk now and then to travel.

She got to her apartment, and five minutes afterwards, someoneknocked on her door. She thought it must be another tenant. Without a key, itwas difficult to get into the building.

But she did not recognize the two men, and before she could shutthe door, they were on her. She felt a needle enter her arm, and she becameunconscious. When she awoke, she was in a suite of three rooms, not including thebathroom. All were large and luxuriously furnished, and throughout hercaptivity she wasgiven the best of food and liquor, cigarettes and marijuana, andanything shedesired, except clothes. She had one beautiful robe and two flimsynegligeeswhich were cleaned each week.

When she first awoke, she was alone. She prowled around and foundthat there were no windows and the two doors were locked. There was a big color

TV set and a radio, both of which worked. The telephone was not co

She described them in detail. One of them could be one of the Paos; thewoman had to be Vivie

Sybil became hysterical, and they injected her once more. Whenshe woke upagain, she controlled herself. She was told that she would not beharmed and that, eventually, she would be released. When she asked them whatthey wantedher for, she got no answers. Over the year's time, she concluded thather captors were pla

Childe, thinking of the sexual abuse he had suffered during hisshort imprisonment in the Igescu house, could not conceive that she was notmolested in any way. He asked her if she had been raped.

"Oh, many times!" she said, almost matter-of-factly.

"Did they hurt you?" She did not seem to be affected by hisquestion or anypainful memories.

"A little bit, at first," she said.

"How do you feel now? I mean, were the experiencespsychologicallytraumatic?"

He was begi

"Come here, sit down by me," she said. She held out a slim andpale hand. Hecame to her and put his arm around her and kissed her. He expectedher to burst into tears again, but she only sighed. After a while, she said, "I'vealwaysbeen very frank with you, right?"

"Yes. But I don't know that a compulsion to honesty was the mainfactor," hesaid. "That may have been your rationalization, but I thought thatyourfrankness was more to hurt me than anything else."

"You might be right," she said. She sipped on some coffee andthen said, "I'll tell you what happened to me, but it won't be to hurt you. Idon't think so, anyway."

CHAPTER 31

Sybil exercised, smoked more than was good for her, watched TV and listened to radio, read the magazines and books supplied whenever she askedfor them, andgenerally tried to keep from going crazy. The uncertainty of herposition wasthe largest element pushing her towards insanity. However, it was notas bad as being in solitary. The man who answered the phone would talk to her, and she gotvisitors at least five times a day. The woman who brought the mealswould sit with her and talk when asked to do so, and a man called Plugger and awoman, called Panchita came quite often. Occasionally, the fantasticallybeautiful Vivie

"They talked to me about many things, but they also asked manyquestionsabout you," Sybil said. "Mostly what I knew about your childhood, although theyalso wanted to know about your personal habits, what you read, yourdreams--imagine that, your dreams!--and other things I might justhappen to knowbecause I was your wife."

Sybil had seen nothing damaging to Herald in this. Besides, herdrive to honesty almost forced her to give them complete answers. Or that washer rationalization.

After a while, she began to suffer from sexual deprivation. Hernipplesswelled whenever they touched cloth. Her cunt itched. She foundherself sittingwith her foot under her and rocking back and forth on the heel orrubbing upagainst the bed post or the back of a chair. She even kept a bananafrom her meal and masturbated with it.

"If it's any consolation to you," she said, "I fantasized thatyou were mylover. Mostly, that is."

He did not ask her who the others were. Actually, he did not careanymore. And that was strange, because he was feeling a genuine warmth andaffection for her, perhaps even a love. He was happy to see her again and to bewith her. Sybil may have changed but she had not changed completely. She stillhad to tell him everything.