All in the Family (9 page)

“Anything you want,” he said, though he still almost panted, “it’s yours, just name it; money, jewelry ... anything.”

She thought a moment,
why can’t I have it all?
“How ‘bout a passing grade?”

“You got it,” he said, staring at that ceiling.

“I want money and jewelry, too. Also, special treatment in class. I don’t want to answer questions or come to the front to do work.”

“It’s all yours.”

She smiled. “By the way, I really like your car.”

He sat, quietly contemplating her request.

* * * *

They opened the other doors and this last door; this had to be the door that the movement was coming from. There was none left. Behind the other doors, Mister Acne had found plenty to fill his pockets with. He had found rings, chains, at least two more watches and even a wad of cash that was just lying out.

Bobby put his ear to the door. There were muffled sounds coming from inside. He couldn’t make them out, but something was moving and working hard. The boy took his turn next. A wide grin came across his face. He eased the door open, quietly, silently. The hallway was dark, and when the door opened, the flood of a black-light flooded the hall. They looked at each other in its glow and each smiled. Bobby’s teeth glowed green under the light, along with the whites of his eyes; they both looked very tan, and little white specks of dust and lint poke-a-dotted their faces and glowed brightly.

That’s when they heard it; Bobby heard it for the first time. Grunting and panting came from inside the room. They boy’s toothy grin widened, and he reached down to dig at himself, ready to see x-rated action.

Chapter Seven

A black-light trance had come over them. Bobby had never been under a black-light before. The boy had seen them at the county fair, in the fun house, but never in someone’s house.

The boy eased the door open, and they were greeted by another short hallway. A door stood open to the right, a bathroom; the bathroom even had a black-light. Further inside and around the corner, that’s where the sound came from. Sounds of ecstasy, and perhaps agony, were coming from deep inside the room.

They crept slowly, being as quiet as they could be.

As they peeked around the corner, a flash nearly blinded them. Again, the flash happened, this time in a three flash burst. Soft music played in the background. Bobby blinked, trying to clear his vision.

When his vision finally cleared, in the black-light glow, he could make out a bed and something on the bed. On the far wall, a cross stood, not a crucifixion cross like the one in a church, but a bondage cross that looked like an X. Bobby had seen them on the internet. Chains and cuffs hung from the top and bottom. Near the cross, a whip lay spread out. Three sets of handcuffs lay spread across the floor as well.

On the bed, he could make out what appeared to be a dog. Yes, Bobby blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, it was a dog, and it was on the bed. The dog was hunched over, it’s back arched and its fur thick and slightly raised. Grunts and moans came from the direction of the dog. Was it a dog or someone dressed in a furry costume? Hell, it was too dark for Bobby to see clearly. There was movement behind him.

“What the hell are you doing in our house?” A female voice asked from the darkness, to their right. The grunts and moans stopped.

“What the fuck?” A male voice came from the left, from the direction of the bed.

Then it started, a snarl, a dog’s angry growl, a dog protecting its territory and possibly its master.

“Oh, shit!” the acne-faced boy said. He bolted for the door, followed quickly by Bobby.

There was movement behind them. A man cried out, a pain filled cry, and then something hit the floor, hard. Bobby heard it snarl behind him. He turned and behind him, glowing in the black-light, two yellow eyes nearly pierced him. He could see it was a large dog.

They flung the door open, and Bobby quickly led the way down the hall. He ran as fast as his feet would carry him. He hit the stairway and descended them, two and sometimes three at a time. He turned his head to see his partner in crime at the top of the stairs. The boy had stopped.

At the top of the staircase, Aaron decided to take his stand. Memories flashed through his mind. “Aaron Acne!” the kids taunted. Since he turned ten, he had acne problems, and the kids teased him. Maybe this was why he lashed out at those weaker than him now. Maybe it was the reason behind all the anger and bullying. Either way, he was going to make his stand today. It wasn’t a dragon, or a grizzly bear, and hell, it wasn’t even a huge dog. He knew he was going to make his stand, and he was going to slay this beast that chased them. He was going to go home this night a hero and expose the man who lived here for the pervert he was.

Aaron withdrew a switchblade from his pocket and pressed the button. The blade flung open with a small sound. The dog was on its way. The dog’s swollen member smacking the hardwood as it ran.

Aaron bent his knees, ready for the impact. It happened fast and hard. The dog snapped at his neck, and the weight of the dog forced him against the railing and then over. They tumbled fifteen feet to the floor, landing with a thud.

Bobby saw the gruesome aftermath. Aaron, Mister Acne to Bobby, lying sprawled on the floor, a huge dog on top of him. His neck ripped open, blood pooled beside his still corpse. A switchblade protruded from the upper side of the dog, obviously a lucky hit, for it had found the heart.

Bobby heard someone coming down the hall.

From outside through the broken window, he saw a naked man, naked except for a spiked leather collar around his neck, run to the top of the stairs and peer over the railing at the corpses on the ground floor.

“Ralphie! Ralphie!” the man screamed.

“My God!” an equally naked woman said. She stood by his side now; she wore a black leather mask that zipped across the mouth.

Bobby stood and ran; unable to truly comprehend the horrific scene that had just happened before his eyes. He ran, knowing that no matter what had happened, he could be in deep shit. He knew that they may have seen him, but he also knew that there were at least fifty other Dracula costumed kids out that night.

He ran hard, not home, but just away. He slowed when he heard the sirens and saw the lights. They passed him and that was when he knew he was fine. He knew that he had made it. He approached another house, kids lined on the porch. They were home and passing out candy.

“Trick or treat!”

* * * *

Ryan saw the lights and heard the sirens as well. He was on a final delivery of the night. The little flag that hung from the window of his car fluttered lightly as he slowed to see the house numbers.

“Seven-sixteen Ramsey Street,” he repeated over and over to himself as he looked for the number. He smiled as he found it. His smile widened as he looked across the street. Through the open blinds of the window he saw a woman, but not just any woman, a gorgeous slut of a woman. Any woman who would walk around with the blinds open dressed like that had to be a slut. Her nightgown clung to her breasts, but they were barely covered anyway.

As she killed the lamp by the window, she saw him standing and staring, warming bag in hand. She did a little wave of her fingers and smiled a broad yet seductive smile and then shut the blinds.

Oh, yeah, she wants me,
Ryan thought. He shut the door and continued his delivery.

* * * *

Loretta slinked around the house, her nightgown a little too naughty, as was most of her wardrobe. She lived to be on the edge to push men to their limits of fantasy. Herman rarely noticed her anymore, and that was fine by her, as long as she got her shits and giggles, she didn’t mind.

She felt a wave of loneliness creep over her, and she shuddered. Herman had disappeared somewhere in the house, and she was alone. Though she felt this loneliness more than she would ever admit, she hated the feeling.

She wandered through the house and lit candles. If she had to be alone, at least it didn’t have to stink.

Then, the doorbell rang, odd for the time. She expected no company, and the kids would be home sooner or later. She opened the door and there stood the boy she had waved at only minutes before, the pizza delivery boy. His name tag read,
Ryan
.

“Hello, Ryan,” said Loretta. Seduction was in her voice as though it came naturally. “Hello,” he replied, “I have your pizza here.” He smiled at her.

“I didn’t order a pizza.”

“Oh,” he said, “may I use your phone then, because I have an order for this house, and my bosses don’t like fake orders.”

“Certainly,” Loretta said and sidestepped to let him in. Her breasts jiggled in her nightgown which did not go unnoticed by Ryan. His eyes glued to her bountiful bosom as he stepped in.

“Thank you,” he said. She turned and closed the door.

“Now lock it,” he said. She heard the tell-tale clank of metal as he cocked a nine millimeter. “Lock it,” he repeated. He dropped the empty bag on the carpet and pulled the brim of his hat a little. He always thought that wearing his hat low made him look more bad-ass. It didn’t really work so well, but no one ever told him.

“What are you going to do with that Mister Mean-Man?” Loretta asked, pouting her red lips.

He swallowed; his mouth dry and parched, nervousness setting in. He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you! That’s what you want, ain’t it bitch? I saw the way you looked at me through that window.” His hand quaked. What if she screamed? What if she fought back? Damn it, Ryan, you ain’t nothing but a punk bitch running round with an empty gun. His mind raced. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Aw, Honey, all you had to do was ask,” Loretta said in a soothing voice. “Now give me that gun, and I’ll take you for the ride of your life.” She smiled her usual smile.

She took a step toward him, and he took a step forward as well. Gun still up. “Back up, bitch.” She stopped. He smiled.

He grabbed her bare arm, firm and yet somewhat gentle. Her skin felt soft under his grip. He knew she would feel good, better than his hand or that rubber glove he used to use.

He led her down the hallway until he found the bedroom. It was her bedroom, he knew it, he could smell it. Her perfume scent was stronger in that room and the feminine vanity told him all he needed to know. He forced her toward the bed and closed the door.

On her pillow, a folded piece of paper lay. Her name was written on it in ink. It was Herman’s hand writing. She unfolded it and began to read.

My Dearest Loretta,

My love, my life, I professed my love to you all those years ago. I found that I myself do not profess that love as I used to. I blame myself mostly, and the business, but from now on, I promise to tell you that I love you more often. I also promise to show you more often.

My dear, you may wonder why I am writing this. It wasn’t easy for me, but I saw it. I saw you with that other man, fucking his brains out. I just have to wonder how many other men have shared our bed with you. I am writing this to you because if I was to confront you directly, I may well do something that we may both regret.

Speaking of things that I may regret, we need to talk about Bob. Frank as you liked to call him.

Until then and with much love,

Herman

Memories came back to her now, memories of the love that they shared, the moments they had enjoyed together as young fools in love. She saw Herman, on bended knee, a gold ring between his thumb and forefinger. They were in the park, the birds sang, and the sun shined as brightly as ever that day. It was an early summer day, the first of June.

“So what do you say?” Herman asked. He smiled at her, or more squinted in the bright sunlight. He was lanky back then, thin and wiry. That was something that she liked about him. Dark circles around his eyes told the tale of his long nights of work after school. He still bore the dark circles.

She remembered the feeling that his question had brought that day. She could almost feel it all over again. Then she felt something else. A slap across her rump made her jump and brought her out of her momentary day-dream.

“What the fuck is that? A love letter?” Ryan stood, with his pants unbuttoned, his boxers showing slightly. “Well get to work. You know what to do!”

She worked his pants down. His boxers had little hearts on them. She smiled at him and took a seat on the edge of the bed. She found him limp under the soft cotton. He was small and thin. He pressed the gun to her head, as if to warn her not to laugh.

He took a breath, and she took him in her mouth.

It had been near of fifteen minutes, and he was on top of her pumping hard and working equally as hard not to spill himself too soon. Sweat rolled off his forehead and splashed on her naked breasts. He gripped her breasts with both hands, working her soft flesh, his gun long forgotten on the bed beside them. He had never had a woman like her before. She knew the ropes; she knew what she was doing. He slowed as the sensations became almost unbearable.

She moaned loudly, more or less trying to hurry him along, and yet still enjoying a man inside her. She noticed his slowing and urged him along, raking her nails along his thighs. That tickled him, and he almost stopped. She worked herself, wriggling on him, working him deeper inside her.