Covenant (12 page)

Harold had barely gotten himself between her cheeks before he’d cum, but he pumped himself into her anyway and knocked off another load before he was done. He’d been waiting for this for a decade and had saved up enough spunk to nail her five times in a night, if she’d let him.

Of course, the real Harold wouldn’t have had the stamina, but the Harold that grasped at Angelica’s tits and slapped his thighs to her ass was not the real Harold. Well, he was Harold,
but with a bit of augmentation. The real Harold would have cum, cried and run away in shame. But it was no accident that it was Harold who had driven the road out of town in the middle of the night. He’d been called, whether he knew it or not.

Flashes of knee-melting pleasure mixed with pangs of rage and humiliation as Angelica accepted his dick inside her—even encouraged him to ride her harder. Her mind was raging near insanity inside, alternately crying and yelling with Harold’s weak but penetrating thrusts. But nothing came out of her mouth. Only the thin drool of the lunatic. She willed hands that would not respond to beat on the stinking flesh that rutted with hers, that raped hers…but it was no good. Her hands only stroked his sweaty face like a true lover and toyed with the slick tool between his legs. She was his slut and nothing she could do would stop it. This humiliation would have been bad enough to break hers, or anyone’s, spirit.

But of course, it got worse.

Just making her fuck the most disgusting man she knew wasn’t enough for Him. He knew how to twist the knife. After they’d rolled around on a dirty blanket Harold had dragged from the bed of his truck, after he’d done his thing with her three times, until the stench of his B.O. was skunk-sprayed inside her head and she felt as if she’d bathed in his filth, they lay back from each other. Damp and naked to the night, they stared up at the stars. But they were thinking very different thoughts.

“I’ve dreamed of you,” he whispered, “for so long, Angie. Why’d you make it so hard?”

Angelica wasn’t sharing his reverie. As Harold reveled in the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, her hands were busy. She struggled to understand what He planned next. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d guessed. She couldn’t have stopped what He planned. She was His instrument tonight. And He was using her body to hurt her where it hurt the most.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” Harold said to her then, and as she raised herself up on an elbow, she could see the tears running down his fat, stubbled face. He was an ugly man, far less desirable even than the nerdy kid he’d once been—the geek who’d chased her a dozen years before into high school hallway cul-de-sacs. She couldn’t help but to feel something when he said those words, charged with the longing and heartache and loneliness that two decades of obsession had fertilized.

He was gross.

He was ugly.

He smelled bad.

But all he had ever wanted was her. Angelica’s heart turned over at the pathos of it all. A spark of something between pity and compassion took root in her heart.

That was when He struck.

Angelica felt her hands raise the belt they had carefully snaked out of the mechanic’s discarded pants, and slipped it around his neck so quickly, Harold’s first thought was that she was coming down on him to kiss him full force. Then he realized that his wind had been cut off and he tried to push the object of his desires away. But it was too late. As soon as he lifted his head from the blanket, Angelica rolled over behind him, allowing Him to tighten the belt without Harold having a clear grab at his tormentor.

Angelica’s mind screamed so hard, she felt something in her neck snap. She’d thought fucking him was horror, but killing him was worse than having his cum inside her, worse than tasting him when He had forced her to put her mouth on his fat, grotesque dick.

Harold bucked his legs and back against her as though he were a rodeo steer as she cinched the belt tighter and tighter. Her arms held on snugger than any cowboy. She strangled the life from him with a borrowed strength that pulsed through her biceps as the leather gagged the fat man beneath her.

His voice was gargling out past his spit to beg for his life.

That was the worst part.

“Please, Angie,” he croaked. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Tears coursed down her face as she heard him pledge his love. The hatred she’d felt for him for so long had died, but now she could do nothing to save him, only watch as her arms betrayed them both. In the sterile glow of the moon she could see his face turn prune purple, his eyes flashing and bugging wildly. His arms flopped from side to side. She felt one clammy paw slap her in the belly. Another sent a jolt of pain through her chest as he hooked a finger on her right nipple and pulled hard.

But soon his struggles degenerated into wet, weak slaps against her thigh. Through it all, Angelica’s grip never loosened on the belt.

Eventually his choking and struggling slowed down, and she lay with her full body weight on top of his, tightening the strap even more than before.

“I…lu…ve…d…you,” was the last thing he gasped.

For the first time all night, He spoke to her.

“
That was sweet
,” He mocked. “
Give him another kiss, why
doncha. Love shouldn’t go unrequited
.”

“No,” Angelica blubbered. “Please.”

She begged Him to let her go, but it didn’t do any good. His control of her didn’t lessen. He forced her to watch as her hand toyed with Harold’s dead wood, and then her foot lifted over his thigh, positioning her cunt to straddle him. Angelica’s head twisted and locked, forcing her to see what she was doing, to stare into Harold’s dead eyes. They were wide-open, like he was looking at a ghost. Only they were already glazed.

Gone.

Empty.

His face was a dark color, his mouth wet with foamy spit. But she bent down, touched her lips to his, and…

…slid her tongue into the stinking abyss of his already cooling mouth.

Her chest gasping with sobs, she slid herself up and down his dead body, tasting the salt of his semen, licking his ears, prodding her tongue between his rubbery lips. For an hour she crouched over him, forcing him within her until her insides were raw. She could feel herself lubricating his cock with blood, finally, and then…for a long time she was gone.

She couldn’t watch anymore.

She couldn’t feel anymore.

Despite His hold on her, Angelica turned off.

Later, she would dimly remember dragging Harold away from the road. She would shred her fingers prying up rocks and piling them over his body in a rough, thorny spot near the shore. Mosquitoes buzzed and flies stung. The sound of the surf gave her a rhythm: lift, move, drop. Lift, move, drop. Soon she couldn’t see the pale, hairy flesh bubbling out from between the rocks. The wide clay features of his face were all that was left.

And then, the biggest rock she’d been able to lift dropped down on that face and crushed that clay to the ground. Tears wet the sand between the stones as she scooped and threw, scooped and threw. Then more rocks. Lift, move, drop. Lift, move, drop.

Scoop and throw. Scoop and throw.

Angelica worked for hours, until her back and legs and arms were a maze of mosquito welts and her thighs and ribs were streaked with sweat and sand.

When even He could squeeze no more strength from her muscles, she staggered up the bank, climbed into Harold’s truck, and drove it to the other side of town. At dawn she was walking stark naked through the center of Terrel, oblivious to everything.

She walked all the way home.

Angelica stared down into her lap, refusing to meet Joe’s eyes.

“I don’t know how many people saw me walk through town that night, or what they thought. But nobody ever said anything to me. And nobody ever found Harold’s body.

“It was a long time before I was right in the head after that. What He made me do that night…it was worse than dying. But it was effective too. I’ve never tried leaving Terrel again since. He made His point.”

Angelica finally looked up, black mascara streaked down her cheeks. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that a good enough story for you? I don’t think the paper will publish it in Terrel.”

“Did you ever go back to”—Joe cleared his throat— “look for the body?”

She laughed.

“Are you kidding? At first I didn’t really want to find it, but eventually, I had to. I had to know. I was sick to my stomach for weeks—both from thinking about what I’d done, and from worrying about what the police would do to me when they found him. I took a lot of walks over that stretch of land. And every time, I felt like someone was staring at the back of my neck. I always went in the daytime, but it was like He was watching me, laughing at me. I never did see anything that looked familiar. I remember building a mound of rocks on top of him—you’d think that would be easy to spot. But, the
end of that night is kind of a blur in my mind. I’m sure some of that’s deliberate. I don’t think He wants me to remember some of those details…and anyway, who
would
want to remember what I did?”

A suspicion suddenly dawned on Joe—one that made him nauseous just to consider.

“Angelica,” he said. His voice was low. “When you called me over here that night, and you were only wearing a robe…” he began.

She looked up at him, eyes filled with pain. And tears.

She nodded.

There was a sinking feeling in Joe’s stomach. He knew in some way he’d been used that night, but he’d never suspected this! She hadn’t really wanted him, had she? Maybe she was even grossed out by him, like she was the mechanic. Maybe the thing in the cliff had chosen a man she found repulsive and rubbed her nose in him. Literally. The images of that night came to him like the fast-cut trailer to an adult film. Her eyes wild and wanton. Her hands moving over him velvet smooth and then digging in, claws of pleasure.

What did she really think of him? He suddenly felt like he had to know. Did she see images of that night in her mind and have to stifle the urge to vomit? Could he ever hope to know?

Angelica stood up then and walked over to the front window again, pushing the curtains aside slightly with the back of her hand.

“Who are you watching for?” Joe asked. “Every time I’ve been here you’ve done that.”

“I don’t want them to come and catch you here,” she said.

“Who’s them?”

“The other girls. Rhonda, Karen, Monica. If He’s aware of you, He might send them for you.”

“Angelica…” he began.

She turned and crossed quickly to the couch.

“Joe, I wasn’t kidding earlier when I told you to leave town. He won’t let any of us do it. We’ve all tried. And sometimes He uses the rest of us to stop someone who’s trying to escape. If He’s already set his sights on you, it’s probably already too late. But if you can, Joe, you should go. Fast.”

“Was it hard for you, the night we…”

She smiled a little, lips twisted in a troubled attempt at good humor. Then she bent forward and kissed him softly, on the forehead.

“Not like you think.”

Then she pulled him from the couch. He marveled at the strength in those slender arms.

“I’m serious, now,” she said. Her face bled desperation. “If you’ve heard Him…you have to go.”

Just then, a piercing light flooded the living room. A car pulled up in the driveway. Angelica panicked.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She started toward the door, then stopped, motioning wildly down the hallway.

“Quick,” she cried. “My bedroom. Go. No one should see you here.”

He stood to go and she turned about and grabbed his elbow, shoving him down the hall, to the left of the bead-curtained reading room. Grudgingly, he went. The door slammed closed behind him, and then he heard the knock on the front door.

There were voices, female from the pitch. But he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. He could hear the growing sense of upset in Angelica’s voice, though. It grew louder and sharper against the lulling murmurs of the other women. He sat down at the doorframe and rested his head to the crack. It did no good. He couldn’t make out what was going on down the hall. After a few minutes, he gave up and looked around. The last time he’d been here, he hadn’t had time to take in the sights. He’d been a bit preoccupied with its own er.

It was a small room, or at least it seemed so with the dark
oaken furniture that was crammed into it. A grandmother’s bedroom, he thought, noting the decorative carving work that had gone into the legs and edging of the heavy antique bureau that rested to the right of the four-poster bed. A bed that absorbed you into its bosom as if you were a little kid, he recalled with a smile. Then he frowned as he remembered why he knew that. After the revelation that she had been possessed, coerced into sleeping with him, it was not the kind of conquest he wanted to remember.

Did she enjoy it at all
? he wondered again.
Not like you think
, she’d said when he asked if it had been hard for her to accept him. What did that mean?

That she did find him attractive and the demon hiding out in Terrel’s Peak had only helped her fulfill a hidden desire? Or that when it took over her mind, she could pretty much fuck a troll and manage to get a kick out of it?

Joe shook his head, trying to knock these thoughts away. Best not to think about it. Chewing on something without asking questions never brought answers, he’d found. However, chewing on something and searching for answers…

This was a perfect opportunity for a little investigative reporting, he realized. Joe stood up and walked to the dresser. It was an old, narrow piece, probably handed down from someone’s grandmother. If it hadn’t had so many nicks and scratches across its face, it probably would have qualified as a valuable antique. The surface was strewn with the usual litter of feminine jewelry and trinkets. Angelica’s pieces were more gaudy than most, he noted, staring at the mess of rhinestone-studded bracelets and twinkling beads of iridescent plastic that hung from a hook on a small wooden jewelry box at one corner. He supposed her profession demanded a certain lack of conventional taste when it came to accessorizing.

A statuette of the Virgin Mary peeked out from behind a stack of what looked to be bills. He thumbed through the stack. She owed the electric company $67.52. She bought underwear from the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. He grinned. He
had yet to see evidence that she wore underwear. She owed Visa $453.

At the back of the stack was a yellow bit of legal paper, folded in half and then folded again. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, and then opened it.

Bernadette
was scrawled in the center of the paper in blue felt-tip marker.
June 28th, 8 p.m.
was written below it. And then, at the bottom of the sheet, two words:
No excuses
.

Joe glanced at his watch. It was eight fifteen. And today was the twenty-eighth.

She’d known they were coming. That’s why she’d looked out the window repeatedly. But what did they want?

He suddenly knew who the voices belonged to. The letter had said
Bernadette
. There was only one Bernadette who he’d ever heard of, besides the saint. And she had lived and drowned in Terrel two decades before. In the company of Angelica. And four other women: Rhonda Canady, Karen Sander, Monica Kelly and Melody O’Grady. He’d bet a Buick that this was the roster of the group in the living room right now. The only one missing would be, of course, Bernadette.

Joe refolded the paper, replaced it at the back of the pile of bills. He wanted to take a walk into the living room now more than ever. Stroll through casually, nod his head at the assemblage and say, “Hi, ladies. Any word from our pal in the cliff lately?”

What if they said yes?

He shook the thought away and tried the dresser drawers.

She
did
actually wear underwear. At least that’s what he took the silky, lacy panties in the top left drawer to mean. On a hunch, he pulled at the waistband of the black and electric blue pair on top. A Victoria’s Secret tag was woven into the elastic.

So…one bill accounted for. Sum easily paid. But what price did the Bernadette bill carry?

In another drawer, he found the garish costume blouses
and robes of her profession. And in another, blue jeans. It was in the center cabinet that he found what he hadn’t realized he’d been looking for. The door allowed access to three tightly set drawers. Stacked in the top one were rows of small bottles and vials—more tricks of the woman’s trade—a pile of perfumes and cosmetics. But in the center drawer was a book. A leather scrapbook that he’d seen before. The book which held the newspaper clippings she’d shown him the night she’d seduced him.

At that moment, it occurred to him that it might not have been Angelica at all who had decided to let him read the clippings in the scrapbook. The monster that had apparently possessed her had volunteered that information. It had given him a piece of the puzzle, lured him deeper into its mystery.

Why?

Shouldn’t it have instead tried to protect its history? Or did it want him to know more?

The thought made him shiver. How did he fit into its plan? It had used him once, unbeknownst to him at the time. And it had spoken to him in the depths of the mountain, promising a future meeting. Suddenly Angelica’s plan for him to leave town sounded like a good, not lunatic idea.

He set the book on the deep blue bedspread and opened the cover. He paged through the opening pages, which were a collage of diary entries, photos of the cliff from various vantage points, and newspaper clippings. On the first page, in loopy, blue ballpoint handwriting that reminded Joe of notes passed in first-period algebra class, Angelica had begun a diary of sorts. The girlish script read:

Just then, the author of the diary screamed from the other end of the house.

“
Nooooooo
,” Angelica yelled.

Joe slammed the book shut and stood up. He hesitated at the door, waiting for a sign. The cry had sounded desperate, but should he go? What if she was just yelling at the other women and he barged out and ruined things for her? His presence could conceivably damage her standing with the group. None of the other women had given him, the newspaper snoop, any real information. If he burst out of Angelica’s bedroom to surprise the meeting…

He leaned into the door, listening for any clue as to the state of things in the living room. The talk had dropped again to a murmur, and then he heard the front screen door slam. He ran to the bedroom window, slowly lifting the shade just in time to see the back door of a van close. Two dark figures opened the driver and passenger doors, respectively, and climbed in. Then the vehicle roared to life and peeled out of the driveway.

Joe dropped the shade and ran back to the bedroom door. He eased it open quietly.

He crept down the short hallway, careful not to disturb a creaking board to alert anyone left behind to his presence. But when he peeked around the corner of the living room, he saw that the room was empty.

And Angelica was gone.

Shit
. He should have moved faster. Her cry
was
one of danger. And she’d paid for his caution.

Now what?

Joe surveyed the room while he thought. There was no sign that anyone had been here. A steel pole lamp gave off a yellow glow between the two cushioned chairs on one side of the room. A copy of
TV Guide
lay open on one. Angelica
may have just stepped into the other room for a beer, by the looks of things. But Joe knew better.

They already had too much of a lead for him to catch up, unless he knew where they were headed. He hesitated, looking at the front door. Should he try to follow? He knew what direction they’d gone, at least.

No.

Now was an opportunity for uninterrupted research. He could look at source material here that Angelica might not ever volunteer.
If
he was able to find her. He walked back to the bedroom. Worry for her nagged at his gut, but he was not going to run off after her half-cocked. He might find more answers here that would help him in his search.

Instinct kicked in and stilled the gnawing ache in his belly; he continued his search of her dresser where he’d left off. But the rest of her drawers offered nothing more than old underwear and T-shirts.

Her jewelry case did offer one item of interest—the necklace she’d been wearing the night he’d spent with her in this very room. He wouldn’t easily forget it; it was the only thing she’d had on most of the night, and the erotic twining of the two horned figures that made up its pendant had bounced against his chin and chest—sometimes painfully so—as she’d ridden him. Twin silver figures, joined at the hips and sprouting wicked grins and antlers. Or devil’s horns. He lifted the pendant on its leather thong and slipped it into his pants pocket.

Then he picked up the leather scrapbook and decided it was time to make his own exit before the women decided to return.