by Rune Skelley
Then there was Kyle. For over two weeks she was his prisoner and unwilling wife, and he fucked her even more than Fin had.
Birth control pills gave her migraines, but she used a diaphragm. She used it even when she made her boyfriends use condoms. This nigh-obsession deserted her just when she was getting her brains fucked out by both Fin and Kyle. Could she lay the blame on the Webster paranormal nexus twin obsession? That was more appealing than taking responsibility herself.
Three minutes.
Rook took the test out of the box.
“Fuck.”
CHAPTER NINE
BUCKMINSTER UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
The remaining structure of the Shaw Ministries Cathedral was demolished in late November, signaling the shift of investigative energies from the search for physical evidence to the analysis of intelligence data. To date, Reverend Declan Spitz and his followers have not been located, and are believed to be in hiding somewhere in Africa. While early reports suggested as many as 3,000 people were missing, that number was revised downward throughout the investigation. The final official tally is 415.
2000 in Review from Webster Daily Press
Both front wheels of the green metal book cart squeaked, a shrill duet that wore on Rook’s nerves and eroded her tenuous grip on sanity. The students studying at their carrels glared as she passed.
Am I even on the right floor?
Last night she did not sleep at all. She laid awake beside Fin, trying to comprehend the fact of her pregnancy.
The mere idea was repugnant. She couldn’t be a mother, couldn’t be responsible for the care and feeding of another human. The boarding house was a laughably unsuitable home for adults, let alone a child.
Assuming Fin didn’t kick her out, of course. He certainly didn’t want to be a father.
Even if they stayed together and could find an affordable apartment, what the fuck did she know about babies? Fuck all, that’s what.
Rook picked up the first book on her cart and wedged it onto a shelf without even looking at the call number.
Brook and Bramble taunted her with the certainty that the baby was Kyle’s. Their schadenfreude laughter was as shrill as the squeaky wheels.
After dumping a stack of books on an empty carrel, Rook randomly shelved three more.
Abortion was the only answer. The question was how to accomplish it without Fin finding out. So far it seemed impossible.
Rook already knew where to get one and how much it cost. Her sister had started at Buckminster the previous summer and made a nuisance of herself, hanging out at Talisman until Rook told her to get lost. By August stupid little Junebug needed an abortion.
The nearest clinic was in Campbell, a two-hour drive. Rook borrowed Marcus’s van. During the preliminary exam, she noticed a colorful beetle tattooed in the area exposed by her sister’s Brazil wax.
Bug confirmed her suspicions. “Yeah, Marcus gave me a discount. Since I’m your sister.”
Even with the sting of betrayal, Rook drove Junebug to the actual procedure. It seemed the sisterly thing to do. And how did the little bitch pay her back? By blabbing to Mom about Rook’s marriage.
No, Rook would not be asking her sister for help. Bug would most certainly tattle again, to Mom and maybe even to Fin. And Fin could never know.
Rook had never loved Marcus, and even so it hurt to think of him fucking her sister. Imagining the same circumstances with Fin, whom she loved desperately, brought tears and an ache in her chest.
How had Fin ever forgiven her for what she did with Kyle?
The thought that she might lose him because of an accident of biology gutted her. Brook and Bramble cackled with malicious glee.
As if the Bug isn’t bad enough, I had to invent sisters who are even worse.
Rook’s bleary eyes focused on the call number of the book she held, then on the directional sign in front of her. Since she was close to the correct section, she made an effort to shelve this one properly.
It took all her concentration, but Rook put the next ten books away in approximately the right spots. She doubted she’d get the medal she deserved for her heroic effort.
The wheels sang their strident song as Rook trudged down the aisle.
Getting to the clinic was the first hurdle. She and Fin had no car, and she couldn’t skateboard down the highway. Bishop might be willing to lend the Shark, but she would be in no shape to drive herself home afterwards.
There was a bus, but Rook couldn’t afford a ticket.
Which brought up the second hurdle. If she didn’t have $50 for the bus, she certainly didn’t have $500 for the procedure.
The library keys on her stretchy spiral wristband clicked against the cart.
Well, technically she did. Brad gave them that much at Thanksgiving and it taunted her from their safe deposit box. All she needed was the key. A ridiculous little piece of metal was all that stood between her and her fondest desire.
The key was not on Fin’s keyring. She tore the room apart and didn’t find it. For all she knew, he swallowed it. The only way to get into the box without the key involved drilling, and cost $100.
If she had anything like a reasonable excuse, she could just ask for the key. But Fin could never know.
Fin’s trust fund was fat enough to pay for any number of abortions. If only she’d followed through on gaining access instead of letting it drop once he got a job.
Stupid, stupid, stupid sang Bramble.
Slut, slut, slut sang Brook.
Rook shook her head in an attempt to silence the voices, and pushed her noisy cart around the corner to the service elevator. Down on the lowest level there wouldn’t be as many judgmental students shooting her dirty looks. Rook’s key opened the cage and she entered the tiny metal box, pulling her cart in with her as it shrieked in protest.
The quiet hum of the descending elevator lulled Rook. The wall she leaned on vibrated.
Rook’s eyes snapped open. She had fallen asleep standing in the elevator. She opened the gate and got out, pulling her cart behind her.
It was deserted down here, and dark. Rook turned the dial on the nearest timer before closing the elevator. The fluorescent tube sputtered to sickly life. It would stay on for about ten minutes before turning itself back off.
The only sound was the bumblebee buzz of the timer. Rook moved down the rows of prehistoric doctoral theses in their olive drab bindings until she found a work desk. She sat in the old wooden chair and propped her feet up.
With a gentle click the lights went out.
Some time later a familiar voice spoke out of the darkness, “You have a lot of books to put away.”
Rook sighed.
“I’ll take care of it. You’ll owe me.” The squeaky cart rolled away and Rook heard the rattle of the service elevator gate.
That was nice of him.
After resting for a little longer in the dark, Rook went to the stairs. At the top she ran into Lara who had one of the big wooden carts, both levels packed with books.
“There you are.” She shoved the cart at Rook. “You do these and I’ll take care of the periodicals.”
Rook pushed the books onto the elevator. She went back down to the bottom and started to try to find her way in the dark.
“You’re exhausted. Let me help. You’ll owe me.”
Rook sat in the wooden chair and waited. When the voice didn’t come back, she went upstairs. This time Lara met her with a cart the size of a bookmobile.
Rook loaded the monstrous cart onto the elevator and went back to the basement. Staring at the overwhelming number of books, she started to cry.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I got it. But you owe me.”
Rook sat. A little later she felt a hand on her shoulder, on her tower-of-birds tattoo.
“Time to pay up.”
The lights crackled on, dim and greenish. Kyle stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Rook’s belly was enormous. Something inside writhed, and she felt
a stabbing pain.
“A deal’s a deal.” Kyle put pressure on her shoulder, lowering her to the floor.
“No!”
“You knew what you were getting into.” He pinned her shoulders to the green-speckled linoleum.
Hot fluid gushed out of Rook’s vagina, acidic and bloody, and she screamed again.
“This is gonna be great!” Kyle smothered her next scream with a kiss.
Hands grabbed Rook’s legs and pried them apart. They pushed her skirt out of the way, leaving her naked from the waist down. Kyle moved, and Rook saw the hands belonged to Brook and Bramble.
“Breathe!” they sang.
A terrible pain tore through Rook as whatever was inside her started to claw its way out.
“I always wanted a son,” said Kyle, grinning as he pinned her to the floor. “You’re doing great, honey!”
Rook wailed.
A snake with black scales and chartreuse eyes began to slither out of her womb, mouth wide, fangs dripping venom. It was immense, its girth painful.
Brook and Bramble laughed, spreading Rook’s legs wider.
The snake stretched its head up, hissing.
A talon erupted through Rook’s abdomen with a gout of blood, and tore a ragged gash toward her pubic bone.
Through the gory opening, Rook caught a glimpse of an eye, golden and unblinking, its pupil a stark black minus sign.
“Push!” cried Brook and Bramble.
Rook screamed again, waking herself.
Her heart raced. She was sheathed in sweat. It was dark. Rook ran a hand over her stomach, lurched to her feet, and turned on a light.
She was in the basement of the library with her squeaky book cart.
*** *** ***
The spiders were initially pleased to see Kyle appear spontaneously in Rook’s dream, as it indicated she was dwelling on him as they intended. However, the horrifying images and sensations seemed like something of a setback.
On the other hand, her pregnancy was valuable intelligence. Kyle claimed credit, and the situation distressed Rook.
Based on what the spiders observed, it was equally likely Fin impregnated Rook. Guilt distorted the facts in her mind until she could only conceive of the worst outcome.
Either way, the spiders now knew about a whole new set of buttons to push in Rook’s dreams.
*** *** ***
Melissa was astride her uncle on top of his ‘magic’ table, sweaty with the effort of their coupling despite the icy breeze creeping in around the ancient windows. His thumb was in her mouth, massaging her tongue, his stump nudging incessantly at her vulva. She was propped on one hand, her arm quivering with the effort, but she couldn’t switch because her other hand’s thumb was trying not to be swallowed by Severin.
In the two weeks following the ‘stump incident,’ Melissa had taken a few steps to assert her rights. The first was bringing Kyle to the House. He lay inert on his hospital bed in the smallest of the third-floor bedrooms, directly beneath her.
Next, she took over the management of her mystical education. She set the lesson schedule and dictated the mechanical details. Her uncle voiced no objection, probably because now they fucked more than ever.
Beneath her, Severin clamped his teeth into her thumb. That meant he wanted her to slow down. She did, grinding her pelvis more with each thrust, and noting the subtle shift in the vibrations coming from the table.
Melissa kept careful notes, in her head, looking for clues about her gift. Severin became more decisive and alert after each encounter. From this, she traced his technique of draining power from her, eventually identifying the actual sensation. It happened while she came, making it a challenge to focus on and learn to control. She often got wrapped up in the moment, making her despise herself.
Once she caught one thread, Melissa made further observations about the upwelling of energy that accompanied her orgasms.
She could feel it building now.
Intense physical pleasure was tied to the source of her patterns. She learned to guide and shape these waves of force to deprive her uncle of them. When she drank from her own well, Severin’s spells of post-coital alertness became shorter. Once a day, about a quarter of their trysts, Melissa indulged his thumb-sucking fetish. Those sessions gave him the most significant mental lift.
She opened her eyes and looked down into the fierce blue of his.
Her other important discovery was that sex on the table produced a bigger wave. So, even though it frightened her, she chose the table as the venue for most of her experiments. The reason was only partly pragmatic. Her orgasm grew in proportion to the strange energy. She could feel how the waves emanating from her loins resonated with the unreality on the other side of the table. It felt dangerous, which added to her excitement, which added to her self-loathing.
All of that progress happened in the first few days. Since then, Melissa varied the lesson plan in an assortment of creative ways. Her theory, based on the ‘stump incident,’ was that the more degrading the sex, the more intense the surge of power. But no matter what kind of depraved gratification she gave Severin, her understanding of her dark gift did not increase.
The only thing off-limits was the stump. She remained adamant about that, and Severin’s gambits to try to evade her defenses were feeble and predictable. Now she wondered, glumly, if that appendage might be the key to making further progress in her education.
Sweat trickled down her torso. She was so, so close to coming.
Melissa rocked her hips and clamped down. Severin’s thumb squirmed in her mouth. His stump ground against her. He grunted, sucking furiously on her thumb. The raging torrent of pleasure swept her over the falls and she was tumbling, all attempt at rational thought obliterated on the rocks below.
Her heart pounded. She was freezing. Severin had taken control, pulling her into a deep kiss that robbed her of all the vital energy she’d accumulated.
He rolled them so that he was on top, broke the kiss, and dismounted. Whistling, he carried Melissa to the hammock, dressed, and went downstairs without saying a word.
For several minutes Melissa lay still, staring at her thumb. It was white and wrinkled like a drowned body.
Melissa took a sip from the open bottle she kept nearby, and slunk from the hammock over to the table. If she ever wanted to be free of Severin, she had to understand these mystical forces. Another pull on the bottle, then she set it aside on the worn floorboards.
She hugged herself and stared at the sheet, crisp and brilliant white. How was that possible in such a dusty environment, with all the activity that took place on it? Severin never took it away to clean it. Melissa felt her gorge rising and staggered back to the hammock to lay down.
As it swung back and forth, she lamented not simply collapsing on the floor.
After a few minutes of berating herself for cowardice, she made her way back to the table. She cracked her knuckles. She plucked a corner of the sheet with her right hand, remembering Severin’s insistence that it was the proper way. Biting her lip and whimpering, she sent her left hand under and felt around on the table.
A tingling permeated her fingers, like the table was electrified. Melissa resisted the urge to yank her hand clear. The tingle dipped and swirled across her nerve endings, trying to tell her something. In that, it was almost familiar. Instead of meaning impinging on her mind, this time she couldn’t make out the message. It was like a tactile version of one of those trick pictures, where you’re supposed to see the old lady and the young one in the same image.
Melissa made a policy of avoiding those kinds of pictures. Now she felt that if she’d practiced with them, she would be better prepared for this.
She pulled back her hand and let the sheet drop, frustrated.
Before returning to the hammock to drink herself to sleep, she smoothed the sheet so her attempt would stay a secret from Severin.
*** *** ***
Fin’s strong arms held Rook in a tight embrace. He was
fully clothed, she was naked. In the back of her skull, his vibration hummed gently. She inhaled the warmth of him, the savory tobacco and top-shelf rum smell of him, wanting to stay like that forever. He kissed the top of her head. “I’m gonna be late.”
Reluctantly Rook released him, then tilted her face up for a real kiss. “I love you, Fin.”
“I love you, Rook.” He kissed her again and shrugged into his trench coat. “See you tonight.”
Once he’d gone, Rook showered and began a search of their room for clean clothes.
In the two weeks since she discovered she was pregnant, her nightmares had grown worse, both the Kyle sex ones and the monster-baby ones. Her dream journal told her it had been 85 days since she’d slept through the night. No wonder she was exhausted.
“Rook,” Vesuvius said, “are you okay?”
Rook blinked and shook her head. She had been standing in one place, staring at the wall. If she didn’t get moving and find something to wear she would be late for work.
“Yeah, Suvi. Never better.”
The lamp said something else, but Rook was too tired to pay attention. If she didn’t go to work she wouldn’t get paid and she would never be able to afford an abortion. The longer it went, the greater the chance Fin would find out, and she was certain he would leave her if he knew she was pregnant by Kyle. He was the only good thing in her life and it made her physically ill to think of being without him.
That’s what Brook wanted: to break Fin and Rook up so she could find a ‘suitable’ husband. Bramble didn’t care who Rook was with as long as she didn’t have a baby.
Semi-fresh panties would have to do. Rook slipped them on.
Even though she tried to act normal around Fin, she knew he worried about her and it made her feel guilty.
The first stockings she came across were black fishnets, and she wrestled her way into them, then stepped into her saddle shoes.
Feeling guilty about worrying Fin made it that much harder to act like nothing was wrong.
Her bras were all AWOL, so she just pulled on a snug thermal shirt.
