A Life Without Fear

by Leo King

  On the way out, something caught his attention. He saw a person playing with a flogger, the kind used for BDSM play. He was wearing a black hooded coat that covered all but his mouth. The person was frowning at Richie and smacking the flogger against his hand. Richie blinked, shook his head, and looked again, but the person was already gone, the flogger back in place.

  Holy shit… he thought, remembering the night at the Riverwalk. The Nite Priory is watching me. Why are they frowning? What do they want?

  When they got outside, he saw a few more people in black hooded coats watching from an alleyway. The coats looked a bit different, and the people wore pull-over masks that looked like Halloween costumes—he noticed a skull and a clown. One of them was sitting on a motorcycle.

  The hell is going on here? Richie was starting to get more than a little anxious.

  Sam took him to her car, loaded up the bags, and told him where to drive. With the Riverwalk a crime scene and the French Quarter under curfew, there was only one real option—The Shops at Canal Place, an indoor mall.

  It took her only a few minutes to get him into a men’s clothing store and pull several sets of clothes off the rack—pairs of colored slacks, button-down shirts, several jackets, and a few sets of shoes. She also pulled a couple pairs of sunglasses from a display.

  As she dragged him by the hand toward the back of the store, he said, “Really, Sam? You don’t need to come with me. Just tell me what to try on and—”

  “Just shut it and follow,” she interrupted, pulling him to where the dressing rooms were. None of the employees were there, and after making sure they were alone, she pushed him into the dressing room that was farthest back.

  Wow, she’s gotten bossy something fierce.

  Putting the clothes on the hook, Sam looked him over and said, “Hey, sweetie, can I see your belt for a second?”

  The way she said that made Richie arch an eyebrow. “Why, are you going to spank me with it?” He started to remove his belt, albeit a bit cautiously.

  She waved her hands dismissively, saying in a sweet voice, “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just going to tie your hands up over your head.”

  He had just removed his belt when her words registered. “Wait, what now?!” Before the reality of what was happening hit him, she had taken his belt and was wrapping it around his hands.

  He instantly felt his anxiety spike. “Sam! What the hell’s gotten into you? This isn’t some gam—” His protest was stopped as she covered his mouth with her hand.

  “Shut up,” she said, glaring, her bangs coming loose and going to either side of her face. “Just shut up before someone hears you.”

  Richie closed his mouth and stared at her. This was the second time today that she seemed like a totally different person. Feeling incapable of moving, he stayed silent as she looped the belt around the cross bar above the stall. His hands were now secured above his head. He felt uncomfortably vulnerable.

  Leaning in, Sam whispered, “Now listen here, Richie. Tonight is going to be my first night out in years. You may not realize it, but you’re doing everything you can to ruin it for me. So, one way or another, you’re going to be accommodating of me tonight.”

  He nodded. Something in her eyes looked dangerously unhinged. Is she really starting to lose her shit?

  Leaning up, she nipped his nose and said, “So, let’s play dress up Richie Fastellos, OK?”

  He nodded again.

  Over the next several minutes, she held up the articles of clothing to him as if playing with a paper doll. It took her a while to settle on a set—a pair of white slacks, a dark red button-down shirt, a white jacket, a pair of white shoes, and a pair of red-lensed sunglasses.

  “There,” Sam said, looking over the clothing. “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

  Richie sighed. His arms were getting tired, and he was no longer having fun. His anxiety was swelling, and he wanted to just sit down for a few minutes. He really didn’t want to be around her right now. He wanted to be alone.

  Maybe she’s the one who needs to be on medication instead of me?

  “Looks great,” he said at last. “Now please untie me.”

  She looked him over as if appraising a cut of expensive meat. Giving him a sultry grin, she leaned in, her hand resting on his crotch. “Not yet, I think…”

  He looked around, his pulse starting to rise as she lowered herself to her knees, unfastening his pants. “What? Seriously? Here in the dressing room of a store? You’ve got to be kid—”

  His protest was cut short by the blissful sensation of her lips upon him. Oh, God, I’m dating a crazy chick, was the last thing he thought before succumbing to his carnal desires.

  The sun had already set when Sam and Richie left the store. She paid for his new clothing, which he was now wearing, his own clothing dirtied on the dressing room floor. Both were quiet as they got into the elevator, avoiding each other’s eyes.

  What’s going on with her? He watched her lean against the other side of the elevator. One part of him was hurt at the way she had just used him. The other part was concerned for her.

  However, as the elevator continued down, he realized she was looking back at him. She was squeezing her charm once more. Her face looked tired and anxious. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I think I’m really messed up.”

  Richie felt his heart melt again, any suspicion of her gone. If she was leading him on, he was falling for it. “Come here,” he said, just as softly, opening his arms.

  Sam slid into his embrace. She sighed heavily. “Richie, hun, what’s going on with me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I really don’t know.”

  As he held her, he wondered if he had problems, too. Despite the depths of his feelings for her, every time they made love, he ended up feeling like he was committing a vile sin. And as soon as they finished, he felt disgusted with himself.

  He didn’t know what to make of it. He just wanted to be near her. It was almost an obsession.

  They exited the elevator into the parking garage. With the exception of Sam’s car, it was completely empty.

  She didn’t say anything as she unlocked the trunk. Richie bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know if she was going to break up with him or not. Pushing others away seemed to be how she dealt with stress.

  I’ll try talking to her when we get back to her townhome. I’m sure it’ll be OK.

  He had just tossed his bags into the trunk when the sound of several motors echoed through the parking garage. From the street level below, six motorcycles roared up, skidding on the concrete as if they were drift racing.

  Each motorcycle was colored black and accented with dark purple. On the sides of the motorcycles were designs of skeletons and skulls. Each rider was wearing a black hooded coat, their faces covered in various pullover cloth masks—a skull, a snake, a clown, a hockey mask, a shark, and a devil. All of them were making hollering sounds as they peeled out, spun around, and surrounded Sam and Richie.

  Richie stared at the riders, his eyes wide. What the hell?!

  Sam looked around, confused. “Richie? What’s going on?”

  He had seen these coats before. They had been outside Gargoyles, watching from the alley. And up close, he could see that they were different from the coats of the Nite Priory. Different design and different material.

  He believed he knew who they were.

  “These are the guys who are framing the Nite Priory,” he called out. This has to be them, the ones the Lady in Red wants me to find.

  The six riders stopped hollering, got off their bikes, and closed in on the two of them. Each one was brandishing a length of chain, a pipe, a bat, or some other similar weapon.

  Sam hurried to Richie’s side, grabbing his hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t think these guys are messing around.”

  Richie glared at them, his eyes narrowing. A part of him felt utterly insulted. A fucking biker gang? The group causi
ng this shit is a fucking biker gang? After all he had witnessed, including his ordeal at the Riverwalk, to find out that it was a lousy gang behind everything was like being slapped in the face.

  “Zat them, Nick?” asked Clown Mask.

  Richie recognized the voice. The guy from Sam’s townhome! The one who attacked me!

  Devil Mask pointed at Sam.

  “Little Sam Castille and her faggot boyfriend,” said Skull Mask. “Can we fuck them up, boss?”

  Sam tightened her grip on Richie’s hand. “Let’s make a break for it, Richie.”

  Again Devil Mask pointed at them, menacingly swinging his lead pipe around.

  “Maybe we can fuck the bitch,” said Snake Mask. “She looks pretty hot. I’ll bet she’s tight as hell, too.”

  Richie felt himself bristle and Sam tense up.

  Devil Mask spoke in a low guttural growl. “Just hurt ‘em!”

  “You heard the boss,” said Hockey Mask. “Let’s show this psychotic bitch what happens to people who torture and murder in our city.”

  As the riders closed in on them, Richie bolted, taking her with him and heading up to the top of the parking garage. The riders gave chase, three on foot, the other three getting back on their bikes.

  “If we can make it to the top of the garage,” Richie said, still running, “there should be an entrance back into the mall. We can get security or someone to help us.”

  “Right,” replied Sam, barely keeping up with him.

  The sound of the motorcycles roaring through the garage was deafening. It made Richie’s ears hurt. He fought to keep down his nearly choking anxiety as he tugged her along. He had to keep it together for her sake.

  As they neared the top of the garage, one of the bikers, Hockey Mask, rode past them and skidded to a stop, blocking their path. He smashed his chain to the ground as if it were a whip.

  Richie stopped abruptly, with Sam bumping into him from behind. She gasped and fell to her knees. He was about to help her up when a powerful impact knocked him to the ground. Pain exploded in his back as Devil Mask rode by, having nailed him with his pipe.

  Snake Mask drove past and grabbed Sam by her hair. She cried out, desperately holding on as he dragged her to the top of the ramp, joined by Hockey Mask and Devil Mask. While Devil Mask watched from his bike, the other two grabbed her arms.

  The other three riders were almost upon Richie. He tried to get up, only to have Clown Mask kick him in the gut so hard his vision momentarily went out. Then Skull Mask and Shark Mask were raining down fists and boots, beating him until he curled up into the fetal position, covering his head.

  Devil Mask whistled loudly.

  Richie groaned as Clown Mask pulled him up to his knees. Skull Mask stood in front of him, dancing from side to side and slapping him mockingly in the face. Meanwhile, Shark Mask stretched leisurely and then headed up the ramp to where Sam was being held.

  Making chopping motions to his own crotch, Skull Mask continued to mock him. “Fucking faggot! You can’t handle our stuff. We’re gonna smack your bitch dooooown.” Richie had no idea what this guy meant. He seemed like a mental degenerate.

  Skull Mask then kicked Richie in the stomach so hard he doubled over.

  The two riders restrained him, one kneeling on his back and the other holding up his head, forcing him to watch. He felt like he was going to throw up. His stomach churned with anxiety. He hadn’t felt this helpless since Marcello’s men had nearly killed him.

  Devil Mask just stood by, his arms resting on the pipe over his shoulders, surveying the scene. He was obviously the leader.

  “Let’s see how wet this bitch is, guys,” said Shark Mask as he stuck his hand down the front of Sam’s pants. “Holy shit, she’s soaked down her—”

  She spat in his face. “Get your hands off me, you freak!” She kicked at him, missing as he recoiled.

  He wiped away the spit and cried out, “Stupid bitch!” Rearing back, he punched her in the face. Blood flew from her lips and nose. Her head rolled limply to the side.

  Richie wailed. “Noooo! What the hell! She’s a woman, you coward!” He tried to stand, only to be pinned back down.

  “Shut up,” said Skull Mask as he held Richie’s head steady. “Watch us fuck your bitch. Watch us fuck your nasty bitch. Oooooh! We’re gonna ruin her!”

  Again, Shark Mask punched Sam, this time on the other side of her head. It lolled once more, her hair coming loose from its ponytail. Her bangs fell over her face.

  Richie felt sick. His heart and head pounded. His eyes were glazed, and every breath seemed to grow heavier and heavier.

  “Good job,” said Hockey Mask, as she went limp in his arms. “Now let’s get this bitch’s pants off and—”

  Sam’s head whipped up. Her lips, which were covered in her own blood, were in a cruel grin. With a guttural bellow, she flipped back so abruptly that the riders let go. As she flipped back, she kicked Shark Mask in the chest. He flew nearly five feet.

  Everyone, even Devil Mask, watched in shocked silence as he hit the ground in a heap.

  Richie just stared. The pounding in his head and chest vanished as a coldness overcame him. “Oh, my God.”

  Landing gracefully, Sam reached back and pulled her ponytail holder out, shaking loose her hair, still with only that sick grin showing. “Let’s play, boys.” Her voice had a deep, resonant reverb.

  What. The. Hell. Richie’s brain froze. He had never heard anyone talk that way before.

  Hockey Mask and Snake Mask rushed at her.

  Hockey Mask swung his chain so hard the air whistled. Catching it with ease, she pulled him close, kneeing him in the stomach. As he crumpled over, she elbowed him on the back of his head. He fell to the ground. She now had the chain.

  Skull Mask swore and then sprinted up the ramp, swinging his baseball bat and yelling obscenities.

  Richie again tried to stand, but Clown Mask continued to pin him. For the moment, he was forced to watch Sam fend off her attackers by herself.

  It wasn’t like she needed the help.

  Snake Mask swung his bat at her, but she caught it with the chain and disarmed him. She then jabbed him in the face with it several times before picking him up and throwing him at Skull Mask.

  The two crashed in a pile. Skull Mask’s bat rolled on the ground.

  Clown Mask got off Richie and sprinted up the ramp. Sam picked up the two bats. As he swung his chain, she ducked underneath and hit him twice in the midsection. He fell to the ground in a heap.

  She stopped right in front of Richie. Two of the riders were getting back up while Devil Mask started up his motorcycle. Richie looked up at her face. He could see into her eyes.

  They were bloodshot. The pupils were heavily dilated. The irises looked cloudy. Those were not the eyes of Sam Castille. They were another’s eyes.

  He asked, “Who—who are you?”

  Her sick grin persisted as she said, “The doctor called me Sam of Spades, little boy.”

  Richie didn’t understand. Sam of Spades was Sam’s pen name. What the hell is going on?

  By now, Shark Mask and Skull Mask were back up and charging her, Shark Mask flicking out a butterfly knife.

  She charged and then jumped over them, flipping. She came down on them with her weapons, and they hit the ground with pathetic cries. The knife slid across the concrete floor.

  The sound of an engine’s roar ripped through the garage as Devil Mask rode past her, swinging his pipe half-heartedly. She ducked with ease.

  As he passed Richie, he swung again.

  Richie stumbled out of the way and saw Devil Mask making his escape. He was about to sprint after him when an aluminum bat flew right by. Sam had thrown it.

  Even though Devil Mask was dozens of yards away, the bat hit him in square in the back with a loud thud. He swerved, grabbing at his back in pain, and nearly fell off the bike before riding away.

  Richie shook his head. “Good God, what the hell just happened?” He cautiously
looked over at Sam.

  Her head was still down and her hair was still over her face, only her cruel grin showing. She picked up the butterfly knife, closed it up with an expert flick, and pocketed it. Stalking up to Shark Mask, the rider who had tried to rape her, she raised the bat and said, “Give my regards to the Lord Baron… on your way to hell!”

  She swung downward with lethal force…

  . . . and stopped short of hitting the cowering rider in the head when Richie yelled, “NO!”

  The bat hovered an inch above Shark Mask’s face. He was shivering and blubbering. All around, the riders were either groaning in agony or gurgling in a stupor—a morbidly beautiful sound. Every one of them would likely end up in the hospital.

  Richie thought it was amazing that no one was dead.

  Slowly, Sam stood. Her head tilted up and her bangs parted off her face. He saw the look in her eyes—it was the Sam he knew and loved.

  “What the hell did I do?” she asked weakly, her voice now normal. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  He started toward her. He wanted to hold her and feel her close to him.

  As he neared, she swung the bat. “Don’t touch me!”

  He jumped back.

  She looked at the bat in her hand and dropped it, her lips starting to tremble. It clanked to the ground loudly before rolling down the ramp. Stumbling, she fell to her knees, lowering her head. Her arms and shoulders shook.

  “What the hell is happening to me?” Sam asked, looking up. Her face was wet with tears. “Goddamn, Richie! What’s going on?”

  Again, Richie rushed to her side. This time, she didn’t push him away. She just held herself and shivered. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, stroking her hair, her arms, and her back.

  “What’s happening to me?” she said repeatedly. “God, what’s happening to me?”

  “I don’t know, Sam,” he said, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like the Sam he was familiar with. “We’ll find out, OK? We’ll get you to a doctor and find out.”

  “I’m not crazy,” she said again. “I’m not crazy, Richie. I swear I’m not.”

  “I know, honey,” he said softly, kissing the top of her head. “I know you’re not.”