Lucifer's Children

by Brett Williams

  Now, though, he found himself jobless and half-buzzed, clinging to the idea that some sort of miracle might present itself.

  If the goddamn Kansas City Chiefs could pull off this win and make it into the playoffs as a wild card team, that would be a start.

  As the Denver medical staff carted their star linebacker off the field, the doorbell startled Simon. Word had gotten out about how he, while inspecting the abrasions to little Suzy’s inner thigh, caused by a swing-set chain, had lifted her skirt and touched her in a way that her mother didn’t like. Since then, and his strong-armed decision to leave the school district, his phone had been ringing off the hook. He’d since turned off the ringer. That’s when visits to his house had started. Although they had died down after several days, he expected to find another pesky reporter standing on his doorstep.

  “Go away,” Simon said. “No comment.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  Goddammit. Simon rose out of his recliner and went to the front door. There, he repeated, much more sternly, “No comment.”

  The doorbell rang yet again, this time accompanied by a determined voice. “I know you’re in there, Mr. Simon Rice. Open the door.”

  “Go away I said.” The voice sounded feminine, and out of curiosity Simon peered out the peephole. She didn’t look like any reporter he’d ever seen. In fact, she looked like a high-school kid.

  “Yeah, I heard you, pops. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had a chance to talk to you.”

  He opened the door for a better look, pushed open the storm door before speaking.

  “Who the hell are you?” Simon asked. The girl wore skintight denim, a baby blue T-shirt which read I swallow, and long red hair pulled into a single ponytail on the side of her head. He watched her blow a bubble before answering.

  “The name is Kat.”

  Simon scanned the block in both directions.

  “Is this some sort of set-up? A joke? What do you want and who are you with?”

  “Right now I’d like a beer. Got any more?”

  “I don’t have time for this.” He let loose the storm door.

  Before it could snap shut, Kat caught the handle. “You should make time for me. You’re jobless, right? Gonna be hurting for money soon. Good luck finding another teaching job.”

  “Get lost,” Simon barked.

  “I don’t think so.” Kat shoved her way past him into the living room and kept moving.

  “What the hell?” He wanted to grab her shoulders and forcibly remove her from his home. A home with a mortgage he didn’t know how he was going to pay. But the last thing he needed was another confrontation with a minor. “That’s it, I’m calling the cops.”

  Kat screamed rape at the top of her lungs.

  “Stop!”

  Kat flashed a smile over her shoulder. “Have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

  A dozen ways to handle this situation flashed through Simon’s mind, none very appealing.

  Kat traipsed back into the room, slurping from a can.

  “You drink cheap shit, pops. Have a seat already.”

  Oh, this had better be good, he thought as he chugged from his own can and sat down. The tattooed teenager stretched out on his sofa.

  “Okay,” Simon said, “talk.”

  “So, you like to diddle little girls, do you?”

  “Why you …” Simon shot up out of his chair.

  “Now hang tight, pops, I’m not here to bust your balls. I mean, it would be fun, sure, but, well, believe it or not, I’m here to potentially offer you a job.”

  “A job? You? Of course, you want me to help run your lemonade stand.”

  Her green eyes glided down to his crotch. “More like a Popsicle stand, pops. Or better yet, a candy shop. With lots of Blow-Pops.” Kat licked her lips before taking another hit of beer. “Tell me, how young do you like your candy?”

  “Why, I never. I … I resigned my position without prejudice.”

  “Which allows you to continue teaching, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But no school will ever hire you again.”

  “It’s not very likely, no.”

  A smile spread across Kat’s face. “Tell me, pops, are you a religious man?”

  “I’m an atheist.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “Because. The school system that is interested in hiring you is, let’s say, a religious school.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I just said I’m atheist.”

  “Which means that you aren’t a god-damned Bible thumper. We aren’t interested in anyone like that.”

  Simon upended his beer can to drain its contents, belched, and said, “What is this, Candid fucking Camera?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Is this conversation being recorded? Again, is this some sort of joke?”

  “No, it’s not. This is a chance of a lifetime: a job when you need one and can’t get one, and students who know how to respect authority, if you know what I mean.” Kat winked an eye.

  “You’re definitely recording this conversation. No doubt about that.”

  “You really think little ol’ me would wear a wire? Well, you’re mistaken. Guess I’ll just have to show you I’m not.”

  The redhead spun around and, in one swift move, removed her shirt from over her head. Various diabolical tattoos marred her otherwise creamy flesh. An inverted pentagram on a shoulder blade was prominently displayed. Kat directed his eyes to pink nipples by plucking them to stiffness between fingertips.

  “You like?” she asked. “Or am I too old?”

  Simon blinked. Twice.

  Kat started to unfasten her jeans. “Care to check for wires a little lower?”

  “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Oh, it’s happening, pops. So, do you think you’d be interested in a teaching position?”

  “You’ve certainly captured my attention. Which school?”

  “Monarch Preparatory School for Girls. Have you heard of it?”

  Had he. The reputation of the private school, while shrouded in mystery, alluded to a prestigious all-girl school plagued with promiscuous students and rampant teen pregnancy. An all-girl school. Promiscuous students.

  “Yes, I have. Tell me—Kat, is it?—are all the girls there like you?”

  “No. Some are blond, others brunette, and most are younger. Much, much younger, with smaller titties.”

  Simon Rice could feel a stirring at his crotch. “Tell me, is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “The statement on your T-shirt.”

  “See for yourself …”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Amanda stood before the bathroom mirror brushing her hair. She expected Brad any minute and she wasn’t ready for their date yet. When Mr. Plum had scheduled an early Saturday shift for her, she had been thrilled. But now that a mad rush (and lazy co-workers) had delayed her from leaving on time, she wasn’t too happy. Still, she figured she could get home and change in plenty of time for her date. She had figured wrong, though, and now it was too late to call Brad.

  Amanda rushed into her bedroom to put on her shoes. She was lacing them when she heard the doorbell chime.

  Dang. She tried to hurry.

  As she turned the corner and started down the stairs to the foyer, Amanda nearly crashed headlong into Amy. The pigtailed tramp had Amanda’s boyfriend by the hand, leading him up the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Amanda asked her.

  “You were busy, so I told Brad I’d show him my room while he waited.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Amanda slipped past Amy and separated their hands. “Sorry for the delay, Brad. We can go now.”

  Amy pouted. “Bradley, won’t you please come see my room before you leave?”

  Brad glanced at Amanda.

  “No way. We don’t want to miss the movie.”

  “We have time,” Brad
said. “With all the trailers they show.”

  “Please, Brad, I want to go. Now.”

  “No, don’t,” Amy said, grasping his other arm.

  “Hands off, Amy. Show some respect. You shouldn’t be answering the door dressed like that, anyway, let alone taking boys to your bedroom.”

  “But he wants to come. He’ll like it there.”

  “Let go of him now, or so help me … I’ll hurt you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “What’s going on?” Brad asked.

  Amanda slapped Amy’s wrist.

  “Ow. That hurt.” Amy tried to shake off the sting.

  Before Amy could start more trouble, Amanda rushed Brad out the door.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Amy promised as Amanda slammed the door shut.

  “What was that about?” Brad said.

  “Nothing. Sibling rivalry, you could say.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.” Amanda was shaking nervously. “Hold me,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Never mind, I’ll be okay. Let’s go.”

  Brad, arm wrapped around Amanda, walked her to his car. She got in and, facing away from him, tried to dam the tears now flowing down her face. Her hands were trembling and she hoped Brad didn’t notice.

  “Amanda, are you okay?”

  “Yes. Just drive. Please?”

  The engine started and the car backed out of the driveway. A block away, a hand landed on Amanda’s knee. Reflexively, she pulled away and immediately regretted it. The act caused her to sob openly.

  “Sorry,” Amanda said. “It’s okay.” She guided his hand back to her knee.

  “Amanda, you’re confusing me.”

  “Don’t be confused. I’m yours.” Her hand, resting atop his, guided it higher. A gentle squeeze of his hand seemed to staunch the flow of tears and instead redirected the moisture lower, to her nether regions.

  “You wanna skip the movie?” Brad asked, uncertainty in his voice.

  “No. No, I don’t. Sorry, I don’t mean to tease you.” Amanda trapped Brad’s hand lightly against her thigh to prevent it from going higher.

  “I like it.”

  “You do? I’m no tease, though, am I? I mean, I please you, don’t I? I will later.”

  “No worries,” Brad said, hand moving higher anyway.

  Amanda allowed his hand to reach her inner thigh, where it lingered. She scissored her thighs together, trapping his hand and building heat between her legs. She slid closer to him and kissed his face before pressing a tear-wet cheek against it and saying, “I’m a mess, but I’m your mess.”

  “Come on, Amanda, you’re not a mess.”

  “I feel like I’m coming apart at the seam.”

  “You feel fine to me,” he said, wriggling his fingers between her legs. One seemed to want to probe, a very threatening yet pleasurable feeling.

  “My entire family is insane,” she explained. “I hate living there. Absolutely hate it. The girls at school don’t like me, either, and I don’t know what’s gotten into Pammy. She won’t have anything to do with me and I don’t know what I did to deserve the cold shoulder. Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind.”

  “Shh … Don’t worry about those things.”

  “Sorry.” Her thighs opened wider for his squirming, rubbing fingers. “Oh …”

  They drove the rest of the way to the theater without words. Instead, she allowed his touch to soothe her inner turmoil, and reciprocated with her own wandering hand at his crotch. When they finally parked in a semi-darkened corner behind the theater, the couple met with a passionate kiss.

  Warm hands slipped beneath her sweater. The way they roved her meager curves, along the ribcage expanding with each shallow breath, drove her wild. Her writhing body became delightfully pinned askew under his weight: buttocks barely on the split bench, passenger door biting into her back, a thigh pressed hard against her wide-open legs. She ground against it which sent rippling waves of pleasure coursing through her body.

  When those strong hands reached her padded bra, Amanda wanted it off, gone, her body naked and pressed against his.

  Brad gave a breast a tentative squeeze before reaching around to fumble with the clasp.

  “Let me,” Amanda whispered. “There.”

  Suffocating padding pulled free, slid up and away and a warm hand soon cupped a breast while the other hand began to lift her sweater. Outside the car, a million miles away, autumn night offered crisp air. But within the confines of Brad’s old police cruiser, with a nipple between his wet lips and a hand kneading her other breast, the universe couldn’t get much hotter. The rigid outline of his penis pressed between the swollen lips of her sex. The movement of their bodies created sweet friction that her body tried to lubricate. While not the natural order of things, the way their bodies worked together, the sensual effect compounded all the same.

  “Brad. I … I love you …”

  The stimulation building between her legs sent rippling vibrations down her thighs and past her knees. Another, equally salacious tingle traveled along her belly, down past her navel, to the waist of her jeans.

  Amanda bit her lip as her breath caught in her throat. His hand slipped into her jeans, diving beneath cotton panties. Amanda longed to feel his gentle touch. Oh, my. What wonders his fingertips would do to exposed flesh.

  Ecstasy turned to outright horror as fingers combed through cottony down to slick folds, and then—No-no-no!—began to probe into her yielding flesh …

  Her body went rigid, thighs clamped together, and with a shriek she said, “Stop, god damn it, stop.”

  Amanda’s own words shocked her nearly as much as they alarmed Brad. She stopped short of slapping his face just as his hand retreated from her pants.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot,” he said.

  Forgot what? They had never done such things before, never even discussed them. But the thought flitted away as Amanda said, “Don’t you dare penetrate me.”

  “Okay, okay.” Brad pulled away, settling back behind the steering wheel.

  “I’m sorry, Brad. Please forgive me.”

  “I know,” Brad said, but Amanda pressed a finger to his lips.

  “It’s okay. Really. I didn’t mean to … What I’m trying to say is, it felt wonderful. Too wonderful. Please understand.”

  “I do.” A hint of rejection rode his words.

  “I can’t lose control—I just can’t. But I love you, and while I’m not ready to … to go all the way, that will never stop me from pleasing you.” Her hand went to his crotch. “Take it out. I want to make you feel good. I can make you feel so good, you won’t need more.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  The fly of his jeans zipped down.

  “And I like the sound of that.”

  Brad slid to the center of the seat as Amanda went down on her knees. Then she went down on him, eager to please to the absolute best of her ability. Judging by his lack of stamina, she assumed her expertise had proved sufficient. She savored the taste of his load in her mouth, and if she couldn’t have him inside her any deeper than the back of her throat, she would swallow down, which she did.

  “Damn,” Brad said, “we’re going to miss the movie.”

  “An action flick, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been waiting weeks to see this movie. Shit.”

  Amanda laughed as she fastened her bra strap. “Remember all those movie trailers you mentioned?”

  “Oh yeah …”

  “We’ll have enough time to buy popcorn and soda before the action starts, don’t you think?”

  “Sure.”

  “That way you’ll have enough energy for action after the movie.”

  “Nice.”

  Yes. Very nice.

  CEREMONY OF MURDER

  “… Lucifer commands that, in programming of the child’s psyche, she must kill. May the child retain her memories, to be passed down to her brood,
for generations to come. Commence with the Ceremony of Murder.”

  “Murder the infant!”

  “Go on, kill it. Show it your superiority.”

  “Attack it like a fucking feline.”

  “Murder it and feed, child.”

  “For Lucifer.”

  “Kill.”

  “Feed.”

  “Murder.”

  “… Excellent. Now issue the key and unlock her mind …”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Hot grease sizzled and popped as Amanda ladled more pancake batter onto a griddle.

  “Hurry your ass,” Amy said. “I’m hungry.”

  Amanda wanted to tell the little brat to chill, but today was her twelfth birthday, a very important day, according to Mr. and Mrs. Henning. And they didn’t want any god-damned trouble—Mr. Henning’s words. Keeping her mouth shut proved tough, though, considering how Amy used Amanda as a way to show off for her friends.

  Each girl had eaten two flapjacks already but several girls wanted more. Amanda said, “Bring me your plate.”

  “Get it yourself.”

  “If you want a pancake that isn’t burned, you’ll do as I say.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Amanda had a griddle and two skillets going. She imagined if she could keep up with a dozen little girls, she could manage things in the kitchen at Sugar Plum Grill. She looked forward to getting her chance in a few days, because she would rather slave away there, any day.

  At least Mrs. Henning had ordered pizza for the slumber party last night. Amanda had only needed to keep candy and chip bowls filled, cans of soft drinks, juice, and bottles of water chilling in a cooler of ice. Each girl had brought a sleeping bag and changes of clothes in suitcases and backpacks. All the girls had the same slutty fashion sense as their ungracious host.

  “I want sausage links with my pancakes,” Amy said. “I specifically asked for sausage links. You can wrap them up and it looks just like a tasty penis.” The girls giggled at the comment. “Hey, Aman-duh, why aren’t there any sausage links? You’re supposed to get what you want for your birthday. It’s the most important day of the year.”