Depraved (29 page)

The excitement of the crowd was a palpable thing even in the relative quiet after the house lights went down. The murmur of whispered conversations rose as the moment lingered. The anticipation built. Then came the first note of music. A sinister industrial beat. Someone in the audience whistled and cheered. Then there were more cheers. People began to clap.

The emcee’s amplified voice filled the room: “Ladies and gentlemen, the Velvet Coffin is proud to present…THE TORTURE TWINS!”

Cheers and whistles gave way to screams of delight.

A spotlight hit the center of the stage, illuminating a man bound to a chair. He squirmed and flinched at the light. A dark form in high heels strutted onto the stage, and the emcee’s voice boomed out again. “PLEASE WELCOME, ALL THE WAY FROM STOCKHOLM, THE SWEDISH MISTRESS OF PAIN, HELGA VON TRAMMPE!”

A big segment of the crowd shot to their feet as Helga moved into the circle of light and seized a handful of the bound man’s hair. She wore her trademark six-inch stiletto heels, a tight leather bustier, black stockings, and
an SS-style hat with a shiny brim. Gripped in her right hand was a cat-o’-nine-tails. She wedged it under the man’s chin and grinned at the audience.

The music thundered.

The audience went crazy again as another form ventured onto the stage. Another dark figure in high heels. The emcee’s booming voice only barely managed to exceed the volume produced by the frenzied crowd this time: “AND NOW HELGA’S EXQUISITE PARTNER IN PAIN, ALL THE WAY FROM THE FROZEN NORTH,VIVIAN ICE!”

Megan stepped into the circle of light and moved to the front of the stage, where she struck a dramatic pose and leveled a fearsome gaze at the audience. The excitement was still there, more palpable than ever, but the crowd became almost quiet again as she stared at them. The look she gave them exuded a mix of sexiness and malevolence that intimidated everyone present. Her reputation proceeded her. She and Helga were cult figures on the underground club scene by now. There were numerous fan Web sites devoted to them, but the official one that had just gone online required a paid membership and allowed unlimited access to explicit videos. They were making money hand over fist, enough that they technically didn’t even need to do the club circuit anymore. But Megan wouldn’t have it. She enjoyed the thrill of performing live too much. She wouldn’t have envisioned anything like this kind of life for herself a year ago, but she wouldn’t have it any other way now.

The music reached a crescendo and abruptly stopped.

Megan glared at the audience a moment longer.

Then she turned her back on them and strutted slowly over to the bound man. She turned and sat on his lap, then leaned back against him. Helga leaned over her and slid a hand down the front of her bare torso.

The crowd began to go nuts again.

Megan suppressed a smile.

Helga had been right about so many things.

They had adjoining suites at the Cleveland Hyatt. They returned there after the performance. Megan took a shower and afterward put on a robe and went out to the balcony to stare at the city lights. From here it looked like any other city. She and Helga had visited so many. And had conquered them all.

She went back into her room and opened the connecting door to Helga’s suite. The gorgeous blonde goddess wore a black silk negligee. She sat at a table, leaning over the keyboard of her laptop. She glanced up and smiled as Megan came into the room. “Great show tonight, huh?”

Megan went over to the minibar and poured herself a glass of expensive wine. She returned from the table and sat down across from Helga. “It was good. I still wish there was a way to simulate that head-standing thing you did at the Sin Den.”

Helga frowned. “I do that every night.”

Megan shook her head. “No, no. The other thing. The heel sinking into the ear.”

Helga laughed. “I don’t think there’s a way to do that without killing a dude. We’re popular, but I don’t think we’re popular enough to get away with onstage murder.” Her eyes widened. “Oh! Speaking of the Sin Den…”

Megan arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I got an e-mail from Madeline tonight. She’s reopened the Sin Den in Nashville. It’s all aboveboard now. She’s even got a few of the same girls with her. Anyway, she’s invited us to come do our show there. What do you think?”

Megan thought about Madeline. And she thought about how an ice pick felt in your hand when plunged into living flesh. A thing Madeline had made her do. But it was all a matter of perspective and circumstance,wasn’t it? Madeline had not come to the Sin Den willingly in the beginning either, but she had nonetheless somehow carved out a grim but enduring existence at the top of the food chain there. Megan didn’t care for what it said about her as a human being, but in her most secret thoughts there lived a belief that she would have become just like Madeline had she been forced to spend years imprisoned in that place. It was a thing she could be honest about with herself, if not with anyone else. Only Madeline would understand. And perhaps Helga.

She sipped wine and thought some more.

Then she smiled.

“Tell her we’ll do it.”

Helga grinned. “Awesome.”

She leaned over the keyboard and started typing rapidly. Then she clicked a button and said, “Done!”

She stood up and peeled off her negligee. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Make me a drink while I’m gone?”

Megan smiled. “Double martini?”

“Of course.”

Helga turned and walked away from her. As it always did when she got a look at Helga’s bare back, Megan’s gaze went to the scar left by the knife wound. It had healed nicely, but the livid white line would always be there. Helga did not try to hide it. And why would she? It added to her mystique. But every glimpse of it brought back vivid memories of that long night of madness. The hard things she’d endured. The awful things she had been forced to do. All of it culminating with the stunning revelations about Pete. Sure, there was no concrete proof he had done the things she suspected,
but she knew the truth of it in her heart. Like her, he had suffered unspeakable things. She had been changed by those things in ways that were a mix of good and bad. She would bear the psychological scars the rest of her life. The experience clearly had changed Pete, as well, but in his case it had broken him. Wherever he was now, he was no longer the man he’d once been. No longer the man she’d once loved.

He was a killer.

A savage.

But maybe she was being too hard on him. He’d only killed his captors and had not bothered with the two black women kept in cages in the basement of that house. She’d freed those women, and they’d helped her get Helga into Carl’s Porsche, and they’d stayed with her until they reached a hospital in a neighboring town. They made it out of Hopkins Bend a heartbeat or two ahead of the army clampdown. That was something she still didn’t understand. The things that came out in the media afterward baffled her. The ludicrous claims made by the government bore no clear relation to the very real horrors she’d witnessed in that godforsaken town. But she knew better than to come forward with her own version of events. The feds would disappear her in a heartbeat. And hell, maybe there really had been some kind of redneck, homegrown terror cell in Hopkins Bend. Who could say for sure?

Megan finished off the wine and went back to the bar. She fixed two double martinis and carried them back to the table. She sipped her martini and patiently waited for Helga to return. She had a new idea she was eager to run past her partner.

A way to almost mainstream the Torture Twins act. She knew it could work. They were doing very well now, but soon they could be genuinely rich.

She thought about it some more, and her smile broadened.

She was so happy she’d finally found her real niche in life.

There were few things more lovely than the ocean at night. And few things more soothing than the gentle lap of the tide rolling in and back out again. From his prone position on the Corona beach towel, Pete stared up at a moon swathed in clouds. Moonlight reflected prettily on the ocean water below, a shimmering overlay of white radiance that filled him with a quiet awe. He wished he could capture this moment perfectly in his mind and be able to recall every sweet aspect of it whenever he wanted. But memories always faded, even the sweetest ones. He sometimes still thought of Megan and tried to connect with the feelings he’d once had for her. They had been happy. It seemed they had been happy.

He certainly remembered having fun with her.

But had they really been in love?

He didn’t know anymore.

But it didn’t matter, because he was without question 100 percent in love with the one woman he could imagine being with until the end of his days. He sat up and stared at Justine. She stood up to her ankles in tidewater down at the edge of the ocean. He watched her kneel and use a little plastic shovel to scoop something into a bucket. More seashells probably. He admired the soft, feminine swells of her nude form and felt a tingle of arousal. They
had this stretch of private beach all to themselves and had already made love in the sand a couple times. Pete felt sure she would be up for another round. She always was.

She stood and turned away from the ocean,then walked up the beach to where he sat. She plopped down on the beach towel next to him and set the bucket between them. Pete peered inside and saw sand and a few curved shapes that had to be shells.

He smiled. “Find anything good?”

She leaned closer and touched his face with a soft palm. “I found you.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

Her smile became shier. “Yes, silly.” She hugged her knees to her chest and looked out at the ocean. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

Pete nodded. “Sure is.”

They were on a beach on Tybee Island, a barrier island off the coast of Georgia. It had been Justine’s idea to come here. She’d vacationed with her family more than once in Tybee as a child, and the last time, her clan had stayed in the big beach house behind them. The house had several immaculate rooms and enough amenities to please Donald Trump. Pete was looking forward to another dip in the balcony hot tub later in the evening, especially now that there was more of a nip in the air down here on the beach.

He shivered and grinned at Justine. “What do you say? Time to get back inside?”

She hugged herself again and her teeth chattered. “Y-yes please.”

He stood and offered a hand to help her to her feet. She let him help her up, and they walked hand in hand up the beach to the house beyond the dune barrier. They entered the property through a gate and skirted a swimming pool deck en route to a flight of white stairs
that carried them up to the third floor. They entered a large and well-appointed living room through a set of balcony doors.

Pete grinned and waved as they came back inside. “Hey, gang. Happy to see us again?”

The other occupants of the house stared at them, but remained silent. Pete chuckled and closed the door behind him. He walked over to a portly middle-aged man tied to a chair and knelt in front of him. “Hello, Frank. We’ve had a lovely evening on the beach and would like to thank you again for your hospitality.”

Justine giggled.

She did several ballerina-like spins around the room.

In one of her hands was a screwdriver. She stopped spinning at one point and slammed it through the back of a bound woman’s age-spotted hand. Frank roared behind the layers of duct tape wrapped around his mouth and head. The other bound people made similar sounds of outrage and terror. There were four of them altogether. Four left. There had been nine at the start of the evening. The other five were dead now. Parts of their bodies adorned various end tables and shelves, providing a macabre counterpoint to the quaint knickknacks and old books.

Pete picked up the knife he’d left in Frank’s lap earlier and smiled. “I think it’s time for that other ear to come off.” Frank rocked in the chair again and Pete laughed. “Oh,stop being a baby. Besides,it’ll make you symmetrical again.”

This elicited another giggle from Justine.

She came over to him and dropped down beside him, draping an arm over his shoulders. “Can I do it this time?
Please?
”

Pete handed her the knife. “As you wish.”

She got up and moved into position behind the man. Pete watched her go to work on him and again
experienced that by-now-familiar sense of contentment he felt every time he observed the delight evident on Justine’s face when she did something like this. He had long ago lost count of how many people they had killed together. He knew it was more than thirty and maybe as many as forty. This escapade tonight would be by far the most they had done at one time. But no matter how often they did these things, it never got old. That same electric thrill and amazing sense of power was still there every time.

He watched Justine chew on the man’s bloody ear and felt his stomach growl.

It was about time to cook again.

But first…

He stood and drew Justine into his arms. They kissed deeply, with a passion he’d never experienced with anyone else. Not even Megan had come close to making him feel this way. Eventually he eased her down to the floor and they made love as their captive audience watched and awaited their turns to die.

Fort Campbell, Kentucky

A woman sat alone in a spare room with no windows and a single table with four chairs. She wore a crisply pressed uniform and kept her hands folded primly on the table as she waited for someone to come in and tell her why she had been summoned here the night before she was set to be deployed to Afghanistan. She had been in the room
alone almost a half hour. Waiting was something you got used to in the army, or you did if you hoped to survive the experience with your sanity intact. She was a patient woman now. This had not always been the case.