I shuddered uncontrollably as an icy arctic blast pummeled my crouched body. My hands grasped my shoulders like a mother who hugs her child, and searing pain burned me like I was ripping flesh off of my own bones.
I looked at myself. Huddled on deathly-wet rock, my bare feet and legs shimmered dull blue and I realized that I was naked. The shivering became gripping claws of ice. But there was more pain in my brain than clawing hands could ever inflict.
I pulled my legs to my chest in a sitting fetal position. Clammy wet rock felt like ice against my buttocks and feet. They were tangible sensations though, and reminded me that if nothing else, I was still alive. A tear poured out of the corner of one eye, trickled down my face and froze before it reached my lips.
‘What a miserable existence,’ I thought.
But sudden warmth grew and spread, erupting from between my legs. Shocked, I released my arms and my knees fell away from my chest. I spread my legs apart with my hands, fearful of what I was about to see.
It was at the apex of my thighs. My pulsating erection glistened in the darkness. It was so black in the dimness, but still it gleamed brilliant white.
What am I looking at?
Even though I wanted to, I couldn’t look away. The tip oozed ejaculate and I watched helplessly while it pulsed out. It consumed the thick, throbbing shaft as if the ejaculate was a warm, sticky waterfall. Its heat trickled down the inside of my thighs, my perineum, and my anus. Like a sheathe, it coated the insides of my legs before it poured onto cold stone. Hissing and bubbling, it evaporated. Its heat disseminated itself onto everything it touched and my horror grew as I watched it spreading. Then the searing pain began.
It started with the tip of my penis, inside my urethra: a warm, welcome heat. But agony set in while cum poured out of the tip and flowed like acid that assaulted my manhood.
My scream broke the spell in this lonely, barren place. Unbearable agony. I jerked about and fanned my groin. But the fire that raged there wouldn’t extinguish. I grabbed the shaft and tried to wipe away the acid, but it became an obscene gesture resembling masturbation. A twisted kind of anti-masturbation, because I wasn’t trying to get it out. I was trying to put it back.
It didn’t help. As I jerked faster, more fluid erupted in violent, sporadic globs. Large droplets sizzled and formed clouds of steam. I grabbed my erection with both hands while jism poured over them and seeped between my fingers. Molten-hot lava on my skin. I screamed again and suddenly unclenched my fingers, as if my midsection repelled my hand with invisible force.
The ejaculate turned to blood then. Blacker than the forces of hell. It oozed in rapid pulsations like a heart pumps blood. My wretched voice broke the silence with a mournful howl. It penetrated the darkness like a sharp knife through a funeral shroud.
“Elizabeth!”
I raised my hands to my face. Warm, moist stickiness burned it and stung my eyes. I drew them away and looked at them. Glistening blood pumped from the pores of my palms.
Rage clawed at me and in a burst of adrenaline and resolve, I forced myself to my feet. Screaming at nothing I flailed my arms and fists at the darkness. But my challenge went unanswered.
The hallway grew and expanded. For the first time I noticed torches that lit the way, but their blue glow flickered out when I turned my head to look at them. Their shadows made me dizzy and weak, so I gazed down at my hand. The blood was fading away, but what was left glistened with a cum-stained impression.
I don’t understand.
Sticky wetness. My thumb ran circles around two fingers; the sensation entranced me, but I shook it off and my head darted up when I saw the creature.
Somewhere in the distance. It moved slowly, a short lump of a being and more shadow than light. It lumbered jerkily, as if walking on broken legs. Its appearance was so obscene in the dim light that I had to look away. I reeled backward and my skin rubbed up against deathly cold wall. When I gasped, the creature stopped what it was doing.
Its foul head had been hanging limply to the floor. Like it was hanging from sinewy threads, or maybe feeding on something. But when it heard me, its boulder of a head darted up, and a grunt rife with gravel bounced off the walls.
I froze. It cocked its head from one side to the other, as if listening. Or sniffing.
It knows I’m here.
There was nothing but wall behind me, so the only way out of this passage was straight ahead. The beast blocked the way. My hands gripped the wall as if trying to break it apart in a final, futile hope of escape.
I have no choice. I must go forward. Unaware of how I managed to muster the strength, I found the will to move forward. One foot…next foot… Each step shot through my toes and heels with icy wet stone. It should have been indiscernible, but the sound of flesh on rock ‘slap, slap, slapped,’ and reverberated maddeningly through the hallway and through my mind.
The creature stopped sniffing and lunged forward. Snarling howls announced its onslaught as a dim image of the hulking creature moved at a speed that belied its mass.
I reeled backward and landed on my ass, hard. Sharp jolts of agony shot up my back from the full naked weight of my buttocks colliding with indelible granite. But I barely noticed the pain as terror dominated me. The creature closed fast. It snarled and wailed as if it contained the hatred and evil of Hell itself.
Lurching forward on all fours, it was obscene and unnatural. Its hindquarters thrust up and down like it was copulating, and I thought I was going to puke. I crawled backward, but my movement was slow motion to the creature’s fast forward.
The beast was on me. It tore at my flesh with razor-sharp claws. Jagged, protruding teeth ripped chunks of skin and muscle tissue away from my bones. While blood gushed out of every new wound that the creature inflicted upon my dying body, I noticed its face. Obscene and evil, and phrased in a twisted snarl.
I stared into the face of my ravager with sick realization. As I recognized it, pain chilled into numbness while I died under its rage and hatred.
It was me.
Chapter 17
A shock and raging pain that were too much to bear ran down the back of my head.
At first I thought that I was dead. But the pain was a pretty good indicator that I wasn’t. I slowly opened my eyes and instantly regretted it. I could barely see anything. Just a dull blur. Excruciating waves of pain invaded my eyes and I winced and attempted to focus them. I sensed movement, but it was like the stereo version of an out-of-focus camera. I could feel my eye muscles straining as I squinted, and I closed them tightly and waited for the pain to pass.
Finally, I opened them and looked at the ceiling. The cold hard material which had been supporting my body was not a granite funeral slab, as I initially thought. It was the linoleum dorm room floor. The same place I was when I lost consciousness…
Moments? Minutes? Hours? I didn’t know how long I’d been out. Gingerly, I propped myself up with my elbows, and then the palms of my hands.
I carefully pulled myself into an upright position and the base of my head scraped the edge of the box spring. A searing jolt of agony shot though my skull, causing an involuntary yelp. Wincing, I reached back to touch it. My fingers groped sticky warmth and with dread, I pulled my hand back and squinted at it. It didn’t entirely register as I looked upon the thick, reddish-black blood that drenched it. I was going into shock, and I just examined my hand. As if I were up close and personal with the Mona Lisa for the first time and carefully examining the brush strokes.
There was no indication of what I had witnessed. From a sitting position, I looked around and scoured the floors for pools of blood. Nothing.
Just Jack sitting on his bed with an open pizza box. I mustered enough strength to force myself to my feet. Although my knees were quivering and unstable, I held onto the corner of a desk while I looked for signs of carnage. I looked at the chair and then at his bed. Nothing.
Did I imagine it? He had obviously showered. Even wet and unruly, he looked g
ood. He wore taupe cotton dockers and a light blue dress shirt. The shirt was only partially tucked into his pants and he was still barefoot.
He grinned through munches of pizza and swigs of Pepsi. He barely acknowledged me, and I realized that the whole episode with the blood and his fugue state was just a fantasy.
Thank God. As I nursed the back of my head, I couldn’t imagine what the Hell I’d been thinking. Even though I wasn’t happy about having to go to the hospital, I breathed a sigh of relief and sat on the edge of the bed. It was just a dream.
He stopped munching just long enough to look at me and smile.
“Feel better now?” He winked with a maddeningly irritating twinkle in his eyes. My jaw dropped. The asshole knows I hit my head. He knows I passed out. And he didn’t do a damned thing to help me.
“What?” I must have looked stupid, because I was trying to process his words as I asked him the question. I couldn’t believe this son-of-a-bitch. He just let me lie there, bleeding on the floor.
“You prick!” I shouted and regretted it instantly, as searing pain shot up the back of my neck and into the base of my skull. “You let me lie there! Unconscious and bleeding on the floor. You motherfucker!” He chuckled his insanely irritating laugh.
“Relax, cat.” I hated it when he called me that. Cat. Cats are docile. His patronizing demeanor reminded me of how cavalier he had been when he told me they had sex for the first time. Laughing about it. All the while he knew that he raped her.
Why are we friends?
“Hey. I would’ve called an ambulance if I thought you were dying. I just figured you were sleeping it off.” He stopped and peered at me for a moment, pointing to his own shoulder. Indicating that I had something on mine.
“Your neck’s bleeding.” He said it like he was telling me that I had a piece of food on my chin. As I examined the blood on my neck, I thought about asking him to have a look at my head, but my pride wouldn’t let me. I was still pissed off at the asshole, and I wasn’t about to make nice with him. I resented him while he munched on pizza.
He devoured the whole thing, except for one slice, and noisily gulped down two cans of Pepsi. He was entirely focused on the food. But as he carefully put the last piece of crust into his mouth and chewed, followed by a last swig from the pop, he gestured toward the lone slice in the box and spoke through a mouthful of crust.
“Onw mast beece.” One last piece. Great. I was hungry. But not hungry enough to accept his back-handed generosity. He chewed vigorously and swallowed. “I don’t think I can eat it.” I didn’t say a word.
My head darted to the door when the knock came.
My heart jumped in rhythm. I looked at the door and then Jack. His face suddenly took on a new demeanor. He still smiled, but it was a small, wry smile at one corner of his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a deep, deliberate breath.
He opened his eyelids, as if for the first time. And while his head was angled downward, his eyeballs tracked upward, almost as far as they could go in their sockets. The crooked smile grew, and as his eyes left the door to look over at me, he winked and tapped his left forefinger on his temple, twice.
“That would be for me.” His voice was low and steady, his words slow and calculated. As he looked into my eyes, I knew the truth.
Ohmigod. Was all I could think as the knock became a rap, louder and more persistent.
Ohmigod.
Jack coolly got out of his chair, wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, and walked to the door. Still smiling, he stopped briefly in front of the mirror, tucked his shirt in, and carefully primped his hair. It was as if he thought there was going to be a gorgeous woman waiting for him on the other side of that door. But I knew. And he knew, too.
When he opened the door I realized that my fantasy was not fantasy at all, but terrible, horrible, gruesome reality.
Two Detroit Police Officers stood in the hallway, looking very official and deadly serious. Jack smiled at them.
“Officers.” It was all he said before he turned his back to them and walked to his chair and sat back down.
They looked at each other for a moment. It was a knowing look. One was very tall, perhaps 6’5”, and sported a muscular build. The other was a little shorter, but stocky like a tree-stump. They were clean shaven with black uniforms, nightsticks, handcuffs and guns. They had cop’s faces.
My eyes were locked on the guns holstered at their sides. My heart pumped gigantic waves of blood into my temples and the ache became substantially worse.
“Which one of you is Jack?” The short, stocky one spoke in a deliberately serious voice. At first he peered right at Jack, but then his head turned to me. Without needing to repeat the question, I knew he demanded an answer from me. Not being able to survive the accusatory glower, my eyes faded downward.
There was a brief silence, for Jack didn’t say anything. But the silence was suddenly broken by the radio attached to the cop’s chest as it squawked something barely intelligible. I jumped at the sound while he raised his hand to the mike. Angling his mouth toward it, he said something inaudible. Jack continued to stare and smile, and the Officer spoke up again, this time with a firm insistence that said, ‘don’t fuck with me!’
“WHICH ONE OF YOU IS JACK?” Still smiling, Jack responded with a sardonic tone.
“That would be me.”
The stocky Officer quickly walked toward Jack while the tall one moved one step into the room. He blocked the doorway and remained there, clearly negating any chance of escape. His hand was firmly placed on the butt of his gun, a gesture which I remember thinking was terrifying and insulting at the same time. As if Jack’s going to do anything, I thought in anger.
Would he?
“Stand up.” Firm and insistent, he towered over Jack’s casual, sitting frame. Jack shrugged his shoulders and slowly got up. The cop’s staccato way of talking scared the piss out of me, but Jack looked like he thought this was all a gag. A practical joke by the Phi Kappa guys.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back, palms toward me, thumbs facing inward.” Jack grinned and complied as the Officer pulled his handcuffs out and shackled Jack’s wrists together.
“Do you have any weapons?” The Officer gripped his shoulder now, and Jack shook his head, slowly and in two deliberate shakes. Jack’s silent stoicism caused the cop to lose all patience and he grabbed Jack’s shoulder.
”DO YOU HAVE ANY WEAPONS, ASSHOLE?” I jumped at the sheer anger from the man with the gun, but Jack remained calm and shook his head once more. This time accompanied by a reply.
“Do nail clippers count?” The cop snarled and patted Jack down. Then he swung him around and shoved him in the back, toward the door.
“You are under arrest for Assault and Battery with Intent to do Bodily Harm. You have the right to remain silent; you have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the court. Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?” Jack smirked in indignation, at the Officer’s suggestion that he might not be able to afford an attorney.
“I understand that you don’t realize I can afford a team of the best lawyers money can buy.” He stated the words simply and looked at me, winking. The stocky cop shoved him hard and Jack stumbled into the tall cop, who didn’t even flinch as he grabbed Jack with ham-like hands.
“Okay, wise ass, I’m really going to enjoy having quality time with you back at the house, unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘I do.’” The stocky Officer took two threatening steps toward Jack.
My entire body was clenched like an angry fist. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Now it did seem like a dream; this spectacle, Jack’s demeanor, his calm, defiant face. I noticed that he was wearing the Icarus Amulet, which glinted through the topmost open buttons of his shirt.
Jack calmly replied to the question. And I swear, if you didn’t know what was happening, you would have thought
that he was getting married.
“I do.” He spoke the words cheerfully and then looked at me. His black eyes pierced right through me. My eyes on the other hand, were wide with horror as he cocked his mouth and nodded to me. As if to silently tell me that everything would be fine.
“Call my father’s office. They’ll know what to do.” He said it matter-of-factly as the Officer handed him to the tall Officer, who grasped Jack’s right bicep and yanked him out of the room. Looking like a man who had no moral doubt about his own innocence, Jack allowed himself to be led out of the room.
It’s some kind of Dissociative Disorder.
The stocky cop nodded at his partner, watched as Jack was led away, then turned and looked at me.
“Are you Malcolm?” I nodded dumbly, and realized that my sweating palms, while propping me up, gripped the bedcovers with brilliant white knuckles.
“I need to ask you some questions.”
Chapter 18
The Officer noticed the blood on my neck and asked me if I needed to go to the hospital. But I told him I was fine, so he asked me questions for the better part of an hour. He asked me things like: how long had I known Jack; had I ever known him to be violent; and had I ever known him to take drugs of any kind. I had no choice but to tell him about the incident with Fred Philips – they’d find out anyway.
He asked me if I knew the two women in question – the ones who’d allegedly been assaulted by Jack. Not surprised that this was about them, I told him the story as it transpired.
I was extremely uncomfortable when it came to talking about my own sins. But the cop preambled our discussion by instructing me to tell him everything that happened. And I was about to lie to him about something else. So I had to do anything I could to keep myself from getting any deeper into this pit. Any deeper than I had to be.
He asked me if Jack told me what had happened, and whether I had noticed anything out of the ordinary about his behavior when I got home. I answered in as much detail as I could, explaining my interpretation of the previous night’s events. I told him how, when I arrived home I observed Jack in an almost catatonic demeanor.
The House that Jack Built Page 11
