Coven (17 page)

That was a woman’s voice,
but clearly not Sarah’s. It sounded silly with excitement like a
little girl’s. Then: “I’ll be going over these while you’re gone.”
A
second
woman’s
voice.

Jervis looked into the telescope. Sarah’s
window was still dark, and there was no sign of Wilhelm’s love van
in the parking lot. The dorm, clearly, was empty.

Then where were these voices coming
from?

“
Goddamn!” Jervis
sputtered. He realized then that his receiver was picking up
someone else’s bug. Czanek must’ve inadvertently planted another
bug for another client in range of Jervis’ receiver.

The voices crackled on from
the box. So far Jervis accounted for two women and one man. Then
the first woman said, even more excitedly:
—I can’t wait to begin! It’ll be so much fun!

And the man again: “I just hope it works out
this time.”

Jervis shook his head in the dark. Just wait
till he got hold of Czanek. He hadn’t paid six bills to hear
someone else’s goddamn bug! Yet something distant bothered him.
Something…

The man’s voice sounded familiar.

It sounded older, more
mature than a student. But then he heard another man, a
second
man. What was
this?

“
Sorry I’m late, boss. I’m
all ready.”

First man: “Excellent!”

Second woman: “Damn it, Dudley! I told you
not to bring that thing in here!”

The first woman seemed to giggle.

First man again: “Bring the box to the car.
Use your key. We’ll meet you at the labyrinth.”

That finished it. Only
static followed. Labyrinth? Jervis puzzled. Key? And the second
woman had said
Dudley.
Dudley
Besser?
That must be where the other bug was, in Besser’s
office.

This bothered Jervis. But one thing bothered
him more—the second man’s voice. It had sounded just like Tom.

Lights blared outside. Everything Jervis had
heard cleared from his mind. Wilhelm’s white van pulled into the
lot.

The truth had arrived. Jervis’ heart
skittered. He smoked down the rest of his Carlton and waited. A
minute, or an oblivion, later, Sarah’s window came alight. Jervis
pressed his eye to the telescope.

They walked in clear as day. Sarah picked up
the cat, named Frid, and cuddled it. Wilhelm was dressed in brown
Euromod yuppie shit. His cropped blond head was equally plain, his
broad neck, his sturdy arms and legs. He took a beer out of the
fridge, a Kirin from a six pack Jervis had forgotten to
reclaim after the breakup.

“
Scheiss!” Wilhelm
exclaimed. “Das
bier?

“
Oh, it’s something Jervis
left,” Sarah apologized. “I forgot it was in there.”

Wilhelm put the rest of the six pack in
the trash.

Next they were kissing. Wilhelm grabbed Frid
by some scruff and lobbed the animal aside. As they embraced,
Sarah’s hand went unhesitantly up the crack of Wilhelm’s ass, while
his hand, frightfully larger, plowed down her pants front.

Wilhelm was pulling her toward the couch.
Sarah was tee-heeing, feigning reluctance. Wilhelm peeled off his
jacket and shirt. Then he peeled off all her clothes as impassively
as skinning a piece of fruit. Jervis quailed.

Wilhelm had an upper torso like a Mr.
Olympia contestant. He wore black briefs which bulged, and the size
of the bulge was terrifying to contemplate. Sarah was rubbing
against him, moaning. Frid watched from atop the end table, eyes
wide as opals. Jervis felt corpse still as he peered on.

What happened after that seemed
devil inspired, a mocking one act sex play that somehow
knew Jervis was in attendance. This was the girl he loved more than
anything on earth, giving herself aplomb to this egotistical German
muscle-rack.

In a trance of sadness,
Jervis continued to watch as Sarah lay back on the couch. Wilhelm
stood feet apart, legs like corded, sculpted wood. He hauled down
the tight briefs. Sarah’s eyes widened as Wilhelm posed for her
appraisal. “Oh, Willy, it’s
huge!”

“
No,” Jervis pleaded.
“Please, God. Don’t let me see this.”

Sarah leaned forward, lust
glowing off her face. All Jervis could see was Wilhelm’s ass and
Sarah’s hands kneading the muscled glutes. He could hear the awful
sound of what she was doing to him. Lewd, wet smacking. Muffled
sounds of delight.
Thanks, God,
Jervis thought.
Thanks a
heap.

He began to cry.

Soon Sarah finished with the oral
warm up. She lay back again, woozy with lust, shiny around the
mouth. “Willy! It’s just so big!”

“
Mein stander?
Ja?
Das gute.” He turned
to let her look at it again, offering a full side shot, which
unfortunately offered a full side shot for Jervis
too.

“
My God,” Jervis uttered.
“My God.” Then tears slipped off his cheeks as he continued to
stare. Wilhelm pushed open Sarah’s legs and mounted her.

He teased her navel with the gorged glans,
slapped her stomach with it five or six times. Then he drew it
down…

Jervis felt hairs standing
out on his neck.
This guy’s bigger than a
rolling pin,
he thought.
Where’s he going to put all that?

Then he shuddered. Wilhelm proceeded as if
on cue. He sunk it all into her at once, one quick stroke to the
hilt. Bam! Sarah went momentarily rigid, then wrapped her legs
around his herculean back, riding the sudden, relentless movement.
Hot, delighted girl squeals shrilled from Jervis’ receiver;
his eye pressed harder to the eyepiece.

Wilhelm went on for more than a half hour.
Sarah maintained her excitement with equal vitality. Her orgasms
were obvious: multiple vibrating shrieks, legs tensing each time
she went.

Eventually Wilhelm withdrew. He grunted like
a fearless knight having just shorn down an enemy, and ejaculated
all over Sarah in dolphin spurts of seed. When he finished,
her breasts, stomach, and thighs shined as if shellacked.

Jervis was falling apart, his eye welded to
the telescope. Wilhelm got up and walked briefly out of view. Sarah
lay worn and shining on the couch, blissfully spent. Her pink sex
gaped. A moment later Wilhelm reappeared, holding a blue garment of
some kind.

“
Please, God,” Jervis
quavered. “No, God. No.”

What hung from Wilhelm’s hand was a blue
dress shirt, just your average Christian Dior, about thirty bucks
at any men’s shop. But this shirt in particular was one of Jervis’,
one he’d left in Sarah’s closet. He’d left it there on purpose,
hoping it would remind her of him in the future. The shirt was
allegorical, a psychic remnant. It was the last part of him in her
living space and, hence, her life.

Wilhelm put the shirt to immediate use,
guttering evil laughter. He very efficiently wiped his semen off
her breasts, abdomen, and thighs. “I wish Jervis could see this!”
Sarah bubbled. Then Wilhelm wiped his cock off as well and stuffed
the shirt into the garbage.

Satisfied?
he asked himself. Any English major would
appreciate the obvious existential symbols here. It wasn’t just a
shirt Wilhelm had wiped his cock off with, it was Jervis. The shirt
was Jervis.

To end the scene, Frid hopped onto Sarah’s
belly, purring. The blasted animal looked directly into the
telescope…and smiled.

Jervis collapsed.

He lay there for quite a while. The
telescopic scene remained in his mind like a lit ghost. Sometime
later he crawled to the wastebasket and threw up. It was a violent,
clenching emesis. He’d emptied himself as much from his heart as
from his stomach.

He’d wanted the truth and
he’d gotten it.
Only one thing
left,
he thought.
Dead love’s final flight.

The idea had a sweetness now, like a song,
like a nocturne.

You don’t have the
guts,
his mind told him.

“
Yes, I do,” Jervis
answered the dark. “Watch me...”

He got up and lit what he presumed would be
his last cigarette. He smoked deep. He let the room stay dark, for
it should be that way for this. Yes, dark. Sweet, sweet dark.

He pulled the Webley out of the sock drawer.
It was cold and heavy. It was big. His grandfather had given it to
him on his deathbed. “A young man needs a good pistol,” he’d said,
death already tinting his face. The Webley was a unique automatic
revolver, British made. Jervis cocked it, inspired by its
heavy, steel click. He was proud of his lack of reluctance.

I love you, Sarah,
he thought. He put the big machined barrel to his
head.
I still love you. With
all…my…heart.

Jervis squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell
shut.

And nothing happened.

“
Fuck me!” he shouted. He
flipped open the Webley. The cylinder was empty. He rummaged
through the sock drawer for his box of .455s, but it wasn’t there.
Someone had taken it.

He heard mad laughter in his head, a noise
like a flock of grackles. Poor Jervis just couldn’t win.
Consciousness heaved up and out, and he collapsed to the carpet
like an empty suit of clothes.

««—»»

Wade felt skittish driving her home. How
could he sum up an evening like this? Their discussion at the
tavern had been very weird, but the kookiest part of all was what
had followed at North Administration, where, for two hours, Wade
had played apprentice evidence tech. Helping a police officer
fingerprint a crime scene was one thing he couldn’t ever recall
doing on a date before.

He’d held lights for her as she Polaroided
the entire clinic office, and the door, the door frame, and lock.
She’d spent considerable time using extreme light angles to locate
major latent areas. It amused Wade the way she softly talked to
herself as she worked. She’d “dusted,” “taped,” “fumed,” or
“snapped” anything of interest. Wade was particularly impressed by
her ability to raise prints on the manila file folders and the
squashed door knob.

He didn’t tell her about the beer cap.

Lydia lived in an apartment complex just out
of town. She seemed played out, pleasantly bequieted as Wade drove
on. The breeze through the open t top played with her
hair.

This night of
contradictions was still flourishing. Wade grew jittery as they
approached the apartments. He wondered what she thought of him,
really. She seemed to like him, she seemed comfortable around him,
she seemed to… That was the problem. There was too much about her
that
seemed.
She
was indecipherable. He wondered if he’d even get a good night
kiss.

That idea dizzied him. Just a kiss, just
one…

“
I’ll make it up to you,”
she said. She sort of laughed. “Being dragged to a crime scene
probably isn’t what you had in mind for a date.”

“
Oh, it was…interesting,”
he said.

“
What I mean is I’d like to
see you again.”

Wade almost lost the wheel. “You would? I
mean, great.”

“
I liked talking to you.
I’m sorry I misjudged you. And I really liked the Old Nick.” She
pointed. “Here’s my building.”

Wade parked. She was smiling when they got
out. Crickets chirruped, and tall bushy pine trees stood by the
entrance. She stopped and turned around.

Wade tried to sound casual. “Hey, I really
had a good—”

She came right up to him and kissed him. One
second he was standing there, trying to act in control, and the
next second she had her arms around his waist and she was kissing
him. It was a wondrous kiss, which seemed an absurd way to describe
a kiss, but nothing else fit. It was soft, warm, delicate, wet,
fervent, precise, and a hundred other things at once—a subtle
mystery in moonlight. Her lips parted; the tips of their tongues
touched. He could feel her bare shoulders in his hands, her breasts
pressing. Her hair smelled lovely, clean; her skin felt hot. Pine
needles brushed his back, their aromatic scent mixing with hers.
Suddenly she was squeezing him so tightly it almost felt
desperate.

When they stopped, they didn’t say anything.
She was just looking at him, her eyes big and bright. She was
beautiful. She was stepping slowly back. Back, back, his own eyes
fixed, and she was smiling half happily, half sadly. And then she
was in the door and gone.

««—»»

Tom poured Penelope out of the box.

It was very late, a quiet, warm moonlit
night, and perfect for the work ahead. Tom had driven them in the
Camaro to a suitable clearing back in the woods. Besser rode up
front, and one of the sisters in back. Tom could see the idiot
kiddie grin and sunglasses in the rearview. The sight pricked his
nerves.

Penelope rode in the trunk, in a sturdy
cardboard box.

Tom had dug the first hole in minutes,
nearly breaking the shovel once or twice. He’d dug eight feet deep
and six around. This was no easy feat but it was a milk run for
Tom. Strength was one of the Supremate’s gifts. Tremendous,
indefatigable strength.

He buried Mr. Sladder’s remains, then dug
another hole. The low yellow moon glowed through tall trees,
dappling the hidden grove. Besser stood in supervision with a
Coleman lantern; he looked a bit pale. The sister stood right next
to him, grinning. Tom dug the second hole with the lackadaise of a
gardener hoeing a bed of petunias.

Penelope was blubbering something. She lay
boneless beside the hole, a rubbery mass of flesh. She smelled
good, though, like barbecued pork or something. He could see her
collapsed face, her widely spread eyes, the formless mouth trying
to talk. Her tongue lolled out and sputtered, slobbering.