The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission

by T. M. Frazier

  Of course he fucking did.

  “Fuck!” I swear, cocking back my arm I punch the nearest tree. Chunks of bark fall to the ground, smaller pieces lodge in my knuckles. Waiting has again ended in disappointment. I lost my window.

  And it’s all my fault.

  Gabby continues. “I don’t have a lot of time, but EJ wanted to tell you she was leaving. She didn’t want to risk being caught with you, so I told her I would come tell you for her. I made up an excuse to Raydo that I had to pee really bad so I could get away.”

  “And he bought it?”

  She smiles slyly. “Not until I told him I was having lady troubles and threatened to describe it to him in vivid detail.”

  Gabby and Tricks were best friends, but I know now that they also share the same aptitude for deceit.

  Gabby looks around again, and I wonder if it’s out of habit, like she’s been forced to look over her shoulder her entire her life, much like Tricks.

  Something occurs to me. I cross my arms over my chest. “Wait, how did you know where she was?”

  Gabby fishes her phone out of her pocket. “I can only call two people with this: Marco and EJ. But when she didn’t answer, I used this.” She spins it around so I can see the screen, showing me a blinking dot positioned just on the other side of the amphitheater. ‘EJ’ flashes right above it. “The tracking app was EJ’s idea. A good one, too.”

  My irritation with her fades, knowing that Tricks and Gabby have had each other’s backs all these years. Gabby’s safety was the main reasons Tricks went back to Los Muertos in the first place. I didn’t like the decision, not then and not now. But I can understand it, and I respect it. Plus, Tricks’s loyalty to her friend makes me proud. Loyalty is everything. Without it you’re nothing.

  “Oh, and she wanted me to give you this.” Gabby hands me a crumpled napkin. I silently read a hastily scribbled quote.

  The pain of parting is nothing compared to the joy of meeting again.”

  -Charles Dickens

  I tuck the napkin into my pocket. “Keep an eye on her.” It’s both an order and a warning. “If she’s not safe, or you feel like something is about to go down, or for any reason at all, come find me.” I take Gabby’s phone and add the number of my burner to her tracking app. “You may not be able to call or text me, but now, you can find me.” I save it under Emma Jean.

  Gabby takes her phone back and raises her eyebrow in question at the name.

  I explain, “Since you already have an EJ and Grim, the reaper of Bedlam, seemed a little obvious.”

  She tucks the phone back into her pocket. “The two of us aren’t allowed out anywhere alone together. Not anymore. But I’ll try and pass along any messages if I can.” She looks down the dark path. “I’ve got to go. He’ll be wondering what’s taking me so long.”

  “Gabriella!” a masculine voice calls from down the path. “Where the fuck did you go, chica?” Followed by a string of Spanish swears.

  “Shit,” She doesn’t waste time with goodbyes, jogging back down the path into the night. I hear her voice in the distance. “I’m right fucking here, you moron. Lady things take time, you know. I could tell you more about it if you want to know…” Her voice trails off.

  The music and laughter grow louder as I make my way back up to the house, but so does the feeling of unease twisting in my gut. Tonight may be Belly’s memorial service, but right now, what hurts the most is knowing Tricks is on her way back to into hell. If anything happens to her there isn’t anyone who will be able to save Marco from my wrath.

  I enter the house and pause to glance at the frame hanging high up on a rafter. It was one of Marci’s crochet projects. But the style of how they’re written doesn’t make the words any less menacing.

  Or real.

  I’ll bathe in the blood of my enemies.

  And when my time is up and I arrive in hell, even the demons will bow down.

  Because the devil has come home.

  Two

  I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve slept. Or how long since I was tied to the ceiling above the bed. My arms over my head. Forced to sit in an upright position on the cum and blood-stained mattress.

  The door opens, and what’s left of my pulse springs to life, preparing for whatever Marco has in store for me this time.

  I smell oranges. My thoughts immediately go to the person I stole orange body spray from the dollar store for every holiday. “Gabby, is that you?” I rasp, scanning the darkness.

  “EJ, oh my God, it’s me.” Gabby wraps her arms around me. I hiss at the sting of pain the contact brings. Both to my body and my heart. “What have they done to you?” she asks, releasing her hold but keeping her cheek pressed up against mine. Her tears roll down my face as if they’re my own.

  “Nothing you didn’t already know,” I say bitterly.

  She gasps and takes my cheeks in her hands, pressing her forehead against mine. “What? No! EJ. I swear I didn’t know any of this. I knew Marco was keeping you somewhere, but he wouldn’t tell me where. No one would. I’ve looked and looked for you, but he has eyes on me all the time now. I’m a prisoner here, just as much as you.”

  Just as much as me?

  “I doubt that,” I mutter.

  Gabby’s hair feels soft and freshly combed. Her nails are sharp, and I can feel the glossy smoothness of the painted enamel as she softly runs the back of her hand across my face. She smells of oranges and soap. Showered. Fresh.

  Alive.

  I smell like urine, vomit, and death.

  “What has he done to you?” she sobs, falling at my feet. She runs her hands up my body to feel for my wounds. “I’m so sorry, EJ. I never meant for any of this to happen. You don’t deserve this. I can’t believe Marco could do this to you.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “You’re right. I can believe it. Marco’s a fucking psychopath. But I should’ve prevented this from happening before it ever began. I should’ve run away with you the second he brought us here, no matter what he’d threatened. As far away as we could get. But I was just a kid. I was scared. I still am. I should’ve tried harder. So much harder” she sobs. “And look what he’s done to you. This is all my fault.”

  I listen for the subtle traces of lies in her voice. I don’t hear anything but sincerity. I’ve lost my touch, or maybe Marco has beat it out of me.

  She clears her throat. Her voice is full of determination. “I didn’t get you out then, but I’m getting you out now.”

  I shake my head. “Gabby, just go. Just get the hell out of here and stop pretending like you really care. Your brand of torture may be different from Marco’s...but it hurts more.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Gabby whisper-yells. “I’m trying to help you.”

  “No one can help me now.” The second I speak the words I know it’s a lie because there is someone out there who can help me.

  Grim.

  “You’re not thinking straight,” Gabby says. “But you will be, once I get you out of here. She feels for the knot in the rope tethering me to the ceiling and gives it a few unsuccessful tugs. “Come on,” she grates.

  There is a sound from the other side of the door.

  Approaching footsteps.

  “Shit,” Gabby hisses as she struggles with the knot.

  “Go,” I tell her again.

  Panic fills her voice. “No! I can’t leave you like this!”

  “Yes, you can. And you will.”

  When she doesn’t make a move to leave I pretend as if she’s still my best friend. As if she hasn’t broken my heart and betrayed me. If anything I’m playing into her hands, but I need to talk to my best friend, even if it’s for the very last time. “Gabby,” I say, softening my tone. “If you get caught how are you going to rescue me?”

  Gabby continues to run her hands along the rope, frantically searching for another way to release me. Even if she’s actually trying and this isn’t all for show, unless she h
as a hacksaw, it won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick. The rope is thick and so tight it digs deep into the thin flesh of my wrists. I can no longer feel my hands.

  The footsteps grow louder, but Gabby keeps trying.

  “Go, Gabby. Please,” I say with all the strength I can muster, wishing she could see the pleading look on my face. It’s natural for me to want to protect her, even now.

  Gabby hesitates one last time before finally lifting her hands from the rope. “I’ll be back, EJ. I mean it when I said I’m getting you out of here,” she promises.

  The part of me pretending she’s still my best friend believes her. The part of me who knows the truth is numb.

  With a quick kiss to my cheek, she darts off to the other side of the room. The familiar sound of a window sliding open announces her exit. The window closes again. The rattle of the glass jostling inside the pane reminds me of Grim and the time I’d snuck into his room. I’m temporarily comforted with thoughts of being back there. In his room. In his bed.

  In his heart.

  The door opens, and bright light floods the room. A shadowy silhouette of Marco stands in the doorway.

  “You ready for me again, baby?” he asks on a wicked chuckle. He steps into the room. Darkness into darkness.

  My stomach rebels, rolling as if purging its contents will also purge Marco from the room. But there’s nothing in my stomach.

  And only terror in my heart.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” His voice is closer now. Too close.

  Marco’s hands roughly grip my body, pulling me painfully forward, toward him, and his maniacal laugh.

  I picture Grim and try to escape to him, if only in my mind, but my brain has other plans. When I’m far enough away from my horrible reality, it’s not Grim I see.

  It’s Gabby.

  Three

  NINE YEARS OLD

  I slide my shoebox of magic tricks from its special hiding space underneath the tattered couch. I search the contents, singing mindlessly under my breath.

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Hush now, don't you cry

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  “Why are you always singing that song? What is it anyway?” Gabby asks.

  I hand her a long piece of white rope.“Not sure. But it’s always in my head. Don’t know if I made it up, or if I heard it somewhere.” I stand before her. “You ready?”

  “You sure about this?” Gabby stars down at the rope in her hands.

  I hold out my arms, wrists together. “Very sure. It’s going to be amazing. I’ve been practicing. It’ll be my best one yet. You’ll see.”

  “Okay, you asked for it.” Gabby ties knot after knot in the rope, binding my arms together. She bites her tongue in concentration. It takes her a good few minutes before she takes a step back and looks approvingly over her over her work. “There’s no way you’re getting out of that.”

  I smirk. Not three minutes later, I’m free of the rope. I hold it up and dangle my victory over Gabby’s head.

  “How the hell did you do that?” She snatches the rope from my hands. She runs her fingers from end to end, inspecting it for something she might have missed.

  “You’re not going to find anything,” I assure her. “It’s just regular rope.”

  “It can’t be. I mean, seriously, EJ, tell me how you did that!” Her mouth is agape. Her eyes still on the rope.

  I wink. “A true magician never reveals her secrets.”

  Gabby’s shoulders fall. She flashes me one of her famous fake pouts. If she sticks her bottom lip out any farther, she’ll be dragging it on the ground. “She does to her assistant,” she whines.

  Damn, she’s right.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you, but there’s a strict pact between magicians and assistants. You’re sworn to the highest level of secrecy.”

  Gabby claps her hands and bounces on her feet. “I won’t tell a soul!”

  “It’s all about watching the knots,” I explain. “If you see the way someone ties something, it’s easier to untie it. AND,” I say, wagging my thumb. “Thumb placement. A thumb in the right place between knots can give you just enough space to undo the entire thing.” I tuck my thumb against my palm and place the rope around my hand, winding it over and over again. “See?” I flip my hand back over and release my thumb, showing her the space I’ve created on what originally looked like a tight hold. “That’s all it takes.”

  Gabby scratches her head. “How did I not see that the first time?”

  “It’s all about distraction, making you look away from what I’m really doing. Remember how I wiggled my fingers when you were tying the rope?”

  Gabby applauds wildly. “That’s genius, EJ! Bravo!”

  I bend into a deep dramatic bow. “Why thank you. You make a lovely assistant.”

  Gabby helps me wind up the rope then I tuck it back into the shoe box. “Another useless skill on lock,” I say, echoing Aunt Ruby’s comments from yesterday when she’d walked in on me practicing my rope trick.

  Gabby waves her hand in the air and roll her eyes. “Don’t pay attention to what that old bag has to say. This could totally come in handy one day.”

  We both look from the rope to each other, and at the same time we say, “Naaahhh!” Convulsing into a fit of laughter, we roll around on the carpet, clutching our stomachs, wiping tears from our eyes.

  “What a waste of time,” a voice says.

  Gabby and I look up to find Mona glaring down at us. “Magic is not a waste of time,” I argue, standing off the floor. I hold out my hand and help Gabby do the same.

  Mona rolls her eyes. “You think you’re going to be a famous magician someday?”

  “She might,” Gabby says.

  Mona glares at us both. There’s more in her eyes than disdain. There’s sadness, too. We’ve always tried to include her in our activities and adventures, but after a while, we gave up. Her glass-is-never-full attitude never meshed with the way Gabby and I can find joy in the smallest things, during the darkest of times. I feel sorry for her, but not enough to let her walk all over me.

  “Magic makes me happy,” I say. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Well, at least it’s a practical trick. You never know when you’re going to need to get out of a bind with a magic rope,” she says sarcastically, picking the rope up off the floor.

  “It’s not a magic rope,” Gabby tells her. “It’s a regular one. She’s a magician and an escape artist. A talented one, too.” She sticks out her tongue.

  Mona begins to walk away with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “I can show you if you want,” I call out to her.

  Gabby jabs me in the ribs with a sharp elbow.

  Mona turns around, looking from the rope back up to me like she’s considering the idea. She huffs and straightens her shoulders. “What’s the point?” she mutters from halfway down the hall.

  “Talk about a fun-sucker,” Gabby says once Mona is out of earshot. “Why did you even offer to show her?”

  I look away. “I don’t know. Guess I feel bad for her. Just because she’s given up on her own happiness doesn’t mean we should give up on trying to cheer her up.”

  Gabby makes a pppffft sound. “Well, I’m giving up on her happiness. At least, for today.”

  A quote comes to mind. I recite it out loud. “Happiness is not out there. It’s in you. - Anonymous.”

  “True that.” Gabby grabs the rope from the box and holds it up, bouncing on her heels. “Now, show me again!”

  I do.

  In a world where we experience little joy, we find it on our own. Today, we find it in magic. The quote is right. Happiness isn’t out there. It’s in us.

  If only Mona can find it within herself.

  Four

  THE PRESENT

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

&nbs
p; Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Hush now, don't you cry

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  The melody plays like a distant echo as the memory of the past fades away. I’m brought back into the dark reality of the present with a rough strangled gasp that burns my dry throat.

  Thankfully, I don’t sense Marco in the room, but the proof that he was here remains in the form of new pains on both the inside and outside of my body, along with the freshly dried reminder of his presence coating my inner thighs.

  With consciousness comes something else—a new awareness, a realization so big and powerful it feels as if it’s present in the room, hovering over me, glaring a new and obvious reality into my freshly opened eyes. The picture it paints is clear, but also promotes the asking of a thousand other questions and answers only a few.

  I know now why Gabby seemed so sincere when she attempted to free me.

  Why when Gabby was talking to Marco about my life and death, so flippantly and full of hate, she sounded like herself, yet not like herself.

  The lights click on. I blink rapidly to focus through the blur of brightness. My vision clears, and what I see before me confirms everything. The big and powerful realization is standing in the room with me in the form of a girl not much older than me wearing a loose-fitting black tunic over a tight pair of ripped jeans. Same long shining dark hair as Gabby, same big black eyes. But it’s her large lips that turn down at the sides into a natural frown, along with the beauty mark underneath her right eye that cements her identity. That, and the look of utter disgust and hatred painted on her otherwise perfect features.

  Why? I may have some answers now, but I have even more questions.

  “Hello, EJ,” she greets with a knowing and sinister smile on her big glossy lips.

  Our gazes lock, and I return her arrogant smile. I refuse to so much as grimace when the scabs around my lips crack apart with a sharp sting. Blood dribbles down my chin.