The Xactilias Project

by RJ Lawrence

  "Yes," Claire said, as she stripped her arm away. "Thank you."

  "Did you enjoy the show? Burlesque is the premier attraction here, I'm afraid. Other than gambling, that is."

  "It was fine," she said. "Very entertaining."

  He started to say something, but before he could, one of the soldiers appeared and whispered into his hear. Dominic nodded and turned toward Claire.

  "I'm afraid I must leave you for a short time," he said. "Lopez will escort you back to the hotel, where we'll be attending a party. I'll meet you there in a couple of hours."

  He smiled and walked away. Lopez held out his arm and the two left the building. Outside, a handful of young men moved busily between the exiting patrons, each one handing out fliers, which advertised another more lascivious venue. Claire took one of the fliers and saw it featured a blurry, photocopied image of a fat woman blindfolded and bound. She looked at Lopez, who snatched the paper away and crumpled it. One of the young men stepped forward, but withdrew when Lopez opened his jacket to show his gun.

  "Let's go," said Lopez, as the limousine pulled forward, his voice low and mealy, as if he whispered through a metallic fan.

  He opened the door and Claire stooped down to see the sneezy soldier waiting within. She adjusted her dress and slid inside. Someone shouted something to Lopez, who turned and withdrew his pistol. The crowd eyed him lazily, few showing any signs of interest, much less concern. After a few moments more, Lopez sat down within the vehicle and closed the door.

  "Everything alright?" Claire asked.

  Lopez gave an affirmative nod, as he slipped the gun back into its holster. The limo pulled out into the street and moved through the city streets, which had thinned out considerably since their arrival. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to the hotel.

  The moment she stepped out the limousine, a gray-haired doorman approached and asked her name.

  "Claire Foley," she said.

  Lopez exited the limo and reached into his jacket pocket, removing two one hundred dollar bills that looked as bright and new as the day there were made.

  "Escort her to the party," he said.

  The old man nodded and saw her inside, where he passed her over to an elevator attendant. This was a tall, square looking man with thick eyebrows which had begun to meander. Without saying a word, he escorted her to the elevator and waited for the shimmering gold doors to slide apart.

  "The party is on the roof," he said through his brambly beard.

  "Do I have time to visit my room" She asked, but he didn't answer.

  They rode together, neither talking, the elevator soaring upward without the slightest hint, save for the gentle swimming in her stomach once it reached the top.

  The second the elevator doors opened, anxiety flooded her chest. The rooftop was filled with wealthy, well-dressed men, escorted by exquisite-looking women who looked as if they'd been grown in a lab. Tall, buxom and beautiful, they all wore colorful party masks with fluffy feathers jutting up from one side. As she stepped out the elevator, a man approached and looked her over.

  "I think this one," he said, and he presented a gold mask accented with a pretty little red feather.

  Without speaking, she took the mask and put it on, feeling both ridiculous and relieved all in one moment. She left the man and approached the bar.

  "Champaign or something stronger?" The young bartender said, as if sensing her unease.

  "A martini," she said.

  While she waited, she scanned her surroundings. Men huddled together and shook hands, while their dates stood quietly, their flawless little faces looking vapid and bored.

  "Ever been to one of these things?" The bartender asked, as he served her drink.

  "No."

  "There's an orgy at the end."

  She smiled at him, but he just turned and walked away.

  "Ah, there you are," Dominic said, as he approached through the crowd. He wore a fresh tailored suit and as he approached, his cologne stung her eyes.

  "I hope you haven't been waiting long," he said, as he took her hand.

  "Just a few minutes."

  "Please,” he said, “let me introduce you to a handful of acquaintances. Some of these people are worth much in the way of amusement, I assure you."

  They approached an old, fat man with a deep purple scar on the side of his neck and a sparse layer of thin gray hair strung horizontally across his freckled head. Claire felt her lip curling spontaneously at the sight of this creature, but the beautiful young girl clutching his arm seemed oblivious to any defects.

  "Jean Paul," Dominic said loudly, as the old man grinned in delight. "Let me introduce you to my good friend Claire."

  "Enchanted," Jean Paul said with a slight accent that was difficult to place. "What a lovely girl you are. Dominic is fortunate to have such a beauty for company this evening."

  Claire accepted his outstretched hand and he placed a moist kiss on top.

  "Jean Paul is an investor, but that's not what makes him interesting," Dominic said. "He is also a particularly accomplished explorer, who's been to places most people have never seen."

  Claire raised her eyebrows in a forced demonstration of interest.

  "This is true," Jean Paul said. "I enjoy traveling very much and have met many astonishing people on my journeys."

  Dominic looked at Claire and smiled.

  "You see, Jean Paul has no interest in things that lure many travelers: history, architecture, culture and whatnot."

  Claire nodded.

  "What does attract you?" She asked.

  "Why the cuisines, my dear," he said with a grin. "Or more specifically, the rich oddities which some cultures ingest for sustenance and ritual alike."

  Claire pinched her eyebrows together.

  "You see, Jean Paul has a unique appetite for things you and I might find repugnant," Dominic said. "Please, Jean Paul, share."

  "Yes, Dominic is correct. I have eaten things you might consider odd; however, to the people who eat them on a regular basis, they are like your hamburgers and French fries." He took a sip of his drink and peered at her thoughtfully. "For example, in Europe, as you may know, they enjoy blood pudding, which is comprised largely of coagulated blood drawn from pigs, cattle, sheep or what have you: earthy, meaty like iron. In Asia, they have bat paste, where a live bat is forced into a vat of boiling milk until it becomes malleable enough to be mashed into an edible pulp. Elsewhere, balut, hasma, jellied moose nose, countless dishes consisting of fried or boiled rats, hornets, spiders, roaches and other arthropods."

  Claire put a hand to her stomach.

  "Ah, a common reaction, my dear," Jean Paul said. "However, had you tasted some of this, you would assuredly change your opinion. Some are quite tasty once you get past the textures. In fact, I've adopted many to my usual menu. Casu marzu, for instance, which is made when the rind of a whole Pecorino cheese is removed to give flies an opportunity to inject their larvae. As the maggots feed, the acid from their digestive tracts works to break down the fat in the cheese, leaving a particularly unique flavor. Currently, this cheese is banned by the European Union due to ridiculous health concerns, so it must be procured on the black market; however, it is a treat worth pursuing, I can assure you."

  Claire looked at Dominic who smiled with sincere amusement.

  "Tell her what else you've added to your personal menu, Jean Paul."

  A wry little grin shot across the old man's face.

  "It's alright?" He asked Dominic, who nodded and put his hand out.

  "Please."

  Claire furrowed her brows as Jean Paul cleared his throat.

  "Well, you see my dear, throughout my life, one of my largest curiosities has centered on the consumption of human beings, themselves, by other human beings. So I made a point to explore regions of the world where this was said to still occur. More often than not, these turned out to be falsehoods; however, occasionally, I found success."

  He squinted and licked his li
ps.

  "The way it was prepared by natives left it stringy and tough and somewhat sour; but since then, I've found if you soak the meat in milk prior to consumption, the flavor is much better."

  Claire moved a little closer to Dominic.

  "You eat people?"

  Jean Paul smiled.

  "No one you know, my dear." The old man chuckled and put his arm around his date's slender waist. "Money brings privileges."

  An awkward silence fell upon the circle before Dominic finally spoke.

  "Well, we should mingle elsewhere," he said. "Jean Paul, as always, thank you for entertaining us.”

  Jean Paul nodded and held out his hand.

  "It was a pleasure."

  Claire placed a reluctant hand atop the old man's wrinkled fingers, and he pushed another warm, moist kiss against her knuckles.

  "Nice to meet you," she said, and then they were off to meet other guests, who all seemed perfectly comfortable describing their own unique lifestyles and habits.

  By the end of the night, Claire's mind was reeling.

  "Have you not been entertained?" Dominic asked with a little smirk.

  "It's certainly been something."

  As if from thin air, Lopez approached and whispered something into Dominic's ear. He frowned and set his drink on a table.

  "I'm sorry to say I must leave you again," he said, and then the two walked away.

  Claire watched them weave through the crowd which had thinned considerably in the last hour; and then they both disappeared behind a big black door. She swallowed the last of her martini and returned to the bar.

  "Where has everyone gone?" She asked the bartender.

  "To the after-party in the suite below," he said. "The elevator attendant will take you there at your request."

  She looked around at the sparse crowd and saw Jean Paul grinning at her from across the room.

  "Maybe I'll have a look."

  She ordered another drink and headed toward the elevator. The attendant asked her floor, and when she told him, his eyebrows lifted. Seconds later, the doors opened. He gave a gracious nod and she stepped out into a beautifully decorated hallway that stretched out beneath dim lighting. Quickly, a very large security guard rushed forward and asked her intentions.

  "I was told there was an after-party on this floor?"

  "Yes," he said politely. "Just down the hallway and through those doors."

  She nodded and proceeded the rest of the way, but as she approached the doors, something stopped her. It was noise, strange, muffled noise, the origin of which her mind could not resolve. She looked over her shoulder toward the security guard, but he only smiled and nodded.

  Without responding, she turned back toward the doors and took hold the knobs. With a sudden jerk, she pulled them open to reveal a mob of nude men and women engaged in an astounding array of fleshly acts. She froze in the doorway and watched as women engaged in oral obligations, while men took them from behind. Only inches away from them, men wrestled together, their bodies entangled in a twitching diversity of lurid homosexual acts. In one far corner, three men had their way with a woman who appeared to be drugged. A few feet from them, a very young girl lay unconscious, her makeup smeared, arms covered with human bite marks.

  The center of the room was like one mass of skin, mouths, genitals and writhing legs. Men and women switched partners indiscriminately without regard for age or gender, each moving from body to body without making eye contact with its host. And all the while, some just sat in chairs watching it all, cigarettes dangling from their fingers, serious looks on their faces.

  At last, Claire drew the eyes of some of the men and a few stood, their naked bodies glossy with sweat, faces hungry, like animals at the sight of unspoiled meat.

  Without thinking, she fled down the hallway and slipped past the security guard who was busy reading a newspaper. He opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word dropped from his lips, she had successfully summoned the elevator and made her escape.

  An hour later, she sat at the rooftop bar sipping a martini, while the bartender talked about this and that. She was beginning to think Dominic would not return at all, but just as she contemplated an escape, a man arrived with a message.

  "Mr. Betancur wanted to me to apologize for leaving you unattended for so long and would like you to join him for a drink in his apartment suite three floors down."

  Having delivered his message, the man turned abruptly and walked away.

  Claire finished her drink and said goodbye to the bartender.

  "Goodbye to you," he said with a smile that brought a unique appeal to his ordinary face.

  "Can you tell me which apartment suite is Mr. Betancur's?" She asked.

  "Three floors down," he said, as he wiped the bar.

  "Yes, but which one?"

  "No," he said. "He occupies the whole floor."

  When she met the elevator attendant this time, he greeted her with a familiar smile.

  "You, again?"

  "Me, again."

  "Mr. Betancur's floor?" He asked.

  She nodded and he pressed the floor and crossed his hands.

  When the doors opened, Lopez stood before her.

  "This way," he said.

  They crossed through a hallway, the walls pale, elegant paintings placed here and there. When they reached the end of the hall, they stood before a large steel door. Lopez approached a keypad to the right of it and tapped in a series of numerical codes, the buttons glowing green with every tap. When he finished, a soft click went off and the door popped open. Lopez took a large step back and turned his palm upward.

  "Please," he said.

  Claire nodded respectfully and entered, closing the door behind her.

  Inside, it was all white leather and tasteful extravagance, a tiny fire burning within a massive fireplace, a candle in every direction.

  "Have a seat," Dominic said from behind a little wet bar situated in the far corner.

  She put her head down and crossed the room, his eyes tracing her every step, studying her as she smoothed the backside of her dress to sit. He finished whatever it was he'd been doing and approached her, a single glass of scotch in his hand. He looked as if he'd just come from the party, the belt gone from his black slacks, the tie from his white shirt, two or three buttons undone to reveal the upper portion of his chest. He sat beside her and leaned back, his knees spread open as if he'd known her long enough to expect anything and everything without asking.

  "Would you like a drink?" He asked, as he sipped his scotch.

  "Yes, thank you.”

  He lowered his eyebrows and swallowed, a shallow hiss escaping from his damp lips.

  "Help yourself."

  She smiled as if he were joking, but his demeanor remained unchanged. She lifted to her feet and made her way over to the bar. He watched her the way, noting the ticks of her high heels against the white tile.

  She surveyed the liquors: everything you could imagine and some she'd never seen before. Without thinking much about it, she made a martini and splashed a pair of olives inside. She returned with her drink in hand, while he took in all her subtle movements through lazy eyes. In her absence, he had moved to the center of the couch, and his face flashed a cunning little smirk that made him look somewhat malevolent. She sat beside him and sipped her drink.

  "You are very beautiful, do you know that?" He said, his words afflicted by drunkenness. "I find you very attractive."

  He rested his arm over the couch behind her and leaned in closer, his fingers lightly touching the ends of her long hair.

  "I've been thinking of this moment all night," he said, as he moved in for a kiss.

  She lowered her head and turned away.

  He moved back and dropped his eyebrows.

  "Is there a problem?" He asked, as he withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

  She shook her head.

  "It's nothing to do with you, Dominic, but I have no interest
in a romantic relationship with anyone at the moment. As I said before, my only interest is to fulfill my duties and return to my life."

  He held a very beautiful lighter up to his cigarette and lit it over a pulsing blue flame.

  "Who said anything about romance?" He said, as he exhaled a cloud of white smoke.

  She eyed him carefully.

  "I'm only looking for a bit of fun for the evening, nothing more."

  She looked at her drink.

  "Even still."

  His face hardened and he stood up. She watched him cross to the other side of the room and take a seat in a chair.

  "Let me tell you a story," he said. He paused to suck from his cigarette, his eyes lowered to the floor, eyebrows squinted as if he were deep in thought. He exhaled and scratched the dark whiskers which had grown noticeable this late in the evening. "Once, there was this girl, a dancer here in the city."

  He drew from his cigarette once more, a bright orange kernel flaring and then fading. He took it away from his mouth and continued, while flittering streams of white smoke escaped his lips.

  "She was a beautiful girl. Long blond hair, endless legs, a mouth that seemed to be always wet, always pink and wet."

  He raised his cigarette and took another deep, long pull, his eyes studying her face, its beauty marred by fear despite her best efforts. He smiled as he inhaled, thin wisps of smoke escaping upward along the sides of his sucking cheeks. Finally, he took the cigarette from his lips and turned away.

  "When she first came here, she was a clueless cunt, nothing more," he continued. "I took her in because these types arouse my interest." He turned his hand over toward her as if to make an example, his eyes drifting upward, as if he struggled to remember. He put the glass of scotch to his lips and took two large swallows. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and placed the glass on the table beside him.

  "She was like my pet for a while." He looked toward her, his eyes dark in the low, amber light, shadows hovering over them, making him seem inhuman, demonic.

  "These types," he said, gesturing toward her again with a flip of the hand. "They are willing for anything, even if they think otherwise. Their lives before: gray to them, oppressive. When they come to me, they are like rutting animals, asses up in the air, their scent so obvious. I have them however I want them, and they go willingly, begging for me to degrade and humiliate them, loving it."