Hansel 1-4: The Complete Series (22 page)

I wish I could have seen her through that.

“I don’t think we should go in,” I say as I watch her profile.

I don’t know for sure, but I bet she doesn’t recognize the landscape very well. I didn’t either, when I came for the auction.

My fear is that, even though I had the house redecorated on the inside, she’ll remember that too well.

Her fingers stay locked around my arm as the driveway levels out, and the house comes into sight. I’ve changed some things on the outside, mostly due to maintenance issues, but it’s still a stone base, with lots of windows and some wood beams incorporated into its vast, two-story layout. Two peaks rise around it, making it look almost cottage-sized, despite its eight thousand square feet.

I watch her wide eyes take it in, and press the brakes, despite us being about a football field away.

“Do you want to turn around?” I try to catch her eye. “It’s okay if you do.”

She shakes her head.

I wonder what she’s thinking as she looks out at the house and squeezes my arm.

The ivory sky above us seems to sink down low. I roll slowly down the narrow, dirt road, and I can feel the thinness of the air up here. The way the air seems to disappear inside my lungs. 

I put us into ‘park’ beside some firs. It’s the same place I always park. The same place Mother parked when she brought me here that first day.

Call it masochism. Call it OCD. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but I have never parked anywhere else.

I park the car and look at Leah, beautiful Leah, older now but still herself. Even now, with her skin so pale and her eyes so big, my Leah is a fairy tale. A princess, like I used to tell her.

I know I’m not the prince. I’m not the happy ending for her. Christ, I know. But I have plans. I have plans to make her feel the way she should. To show her, if only for a few hours, how much I love her.

I have plans to get this part over with, and drive away as fast as I can. I imagine it will feel much better than it does when I leave here by myself. Taking Leah with me…fucking perfect.

In Denver, I can take her to this donut place I think she’d like, and then I’ll park my car in an airport lot and walk her to her gate.

She won’t know much of me—just these few hours, on this single day—but I will do my duty. I will show her Mother’s house and get her back to hers, in Georgia.

It’s not much, but it’s all I can do.

The goal is not to keep my princess. I brought her here to set her free.

Right now, she looks frozen, so I take her hands and tug her body gently toward mine, so I can see her face.

“Leah?” My fingers stroke hers. “Let’s go. You don’t need to see the inside. This is it. It’s mine now,” I say, stroking the top of her hand with my thumb. “Nothing happens here. It’s boring. I fucking promise. It’s not what it was when we were here. Look around us,” I tell her. “Look at the trees and the sky. That’s what’s real. This house is bullshit. If you want me to, I’ll tear it down.”

Her vacant eyes meet mine. She shakes her head slowly, and my chest aches. My fear and worry congeal into daggers. I can feel the stabbing just under my throat.

“Leah… Fuck. This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”

I’m not sure why the fuck I brought her here. I wanted to make her better, but she’s clearly worse.

I let go of her hands and start to put the Rover in ‘reverse.’ “You don’t need to see this shit.”

She throws her door open, and I curse and hit the brakes.  She slides out of the car and leans back in. A brisk breeze whips her hair around her face.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go inside. I just have to see my room. When I’m finished,” she says, dashing a glance behind her, at the house, “we can leave. You will be my hero,” she says, smiling thinly. “All I need to do is go inside.”

I watch her inhale deeply, and she looks okay.

“C’mon. I mean it,” she says, sounding stronger now. “Put it in park and escort me inside. We’ll pretend it’s our place. Maybe it’s magic. Maybe it’s a castle. You never know.” She smiles a little, alluding to the bullshit stories I used to tell her when we lived in captivity here.

Leah turns away from me, facing the house, and that’s the first thing that slips out of my control.

I’m supposed to get out. Walk around and get her. Carry her up the stairs, if she insists on going in. Instead, she walks around the front of the Rover, and she opens my door.

She wraps her hand around the inside of my elbow. Her touch is redolent of casual affection. As if she knows me.

“Come on, Luke.” Her cheeks pinken as another gust of chilly air tosses her blonde hair around her. “Do you care if I call you Luke? Hansel doesn’t seem right anymore, and you know, Edgar is a little cheesy.” She smiles, clearly trying to keep the mood here light. “Why did you choose that, anyway?”

I look down at her, standing in the dirt while I am frozen in my car. It’s a simple question, easily answered—I’m a fan of Poe—but as I stare into her face, I can’t seem to get my mouth to work.

“Never mind,” she tells me gently. “I think I’m talking too much. I am nervous. I can’t lie. This is weird, but I’m glad you’re with me. I don’t think I could do it without you. Luke…? Are you okay?”

“I don’t think I could do it without you…”

No
, I think.
She couldn’t
. “Wouldn’t,” I murmur.

She frowns up at me. “Luke?”

Her hands flutter over me, landing on my leg, sliding up so she can clutch my hip. “Is something wrong? I’m kind of nervous here, and maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I’m pretty sure you’re acting weird. Do
you
want to go?”

I shake my head and get out of the car. “Let’s do this,” I say.

Black spots flicker at the edges of my vision. I ignore them. I close my left hand around Leah’s right one, and we walk up the stairs, taking them slow.

“I want to ask you about something,” Mother says through the small, horizontal hole in my room’s door. It’s been a long time since she’s come here—four or five days, I think. It’s been this way—more sporadic, less frenzied—since she found Boy Blue.

                            “What do you want?” I say flatly.

She doesn’t want me anymore. I understand. This always happens.

I bite into my lip, and I pray that she will open the door. I don’t like being in here by myself. I miss her bed. I miss her hands.

“Do you remember that time you told me about the triplets?”

I nod slowly, even though I don’t.

“It was years ago. Right after you got here. You mentioned triplets. Three blonde girls. They lived in Boulder?”

“Yeah…” I wrap my arms around my stomach, because that memory hurts.

“You said their names were ‘L’s. Laura and Lana and…”

“Leah,” I say, feeling breathless.

“Yes. Well, I have a question. A question and an idea. I would need your help for it to work. I would need you to remember, Hansel. I’m going to open the door now. Can you tell me their last name?”

“Do you have a key?” Leah asks. “No, wait. It isn’t locked.”

I drop her hand and wait for her to turn around and face me. I watch as she pushes the door open. “Oh, wow. This still looks like your entry hall. I can see you painted here, but— Luke?” Her hands touch my arms, her fingers warm and gentle. “Luke, what’s wrong?”

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

I wasn’t supposed to tell her, but…I think I have to.

PART FOUR

CHAPTER ONE

Lucas
Fourteen Years Ago
 

I will not beg.
Every time I hear her footsteps, I tell myself: I will not beg.

Not when she opens the flap at the bottom of my door and reaches in to get my empty plate. Not when she reaches in again to lower a new plate onto the rug.

I will not beg because it will not work. Mother loves to hurt me. Begging would only confirm for her that leaving me in this room does just that. If I beg, she will never let me out.

It’s been sixty-seven days since she spoke to me. It’s been thirteen days since I stopped eating the food she brings.

There’s a sink in one corner of my room. It’s plastic, shaped like a trough, and has four legs and a wide drain. I wash the food down the sink, and when it’s too thick, I flush it down the toilet.

In between the times when I hear footsteps, I use the items in my desk. Pencils. Crayons. Chalk. I draw on the loose-leaf paper she left for me. I draw on my wall. I don’t have the energy for much else. That’s good. It’s really good.

Just sleeping.

I write things like: green. Long ago, it was my favorite color. I write things like: pussy. In my dreams, my tongue is always buried in a warm, slick pussy. I don’t know whose.

I do know whose.

I sketch pussy, and I trace three names.

It’s evil. I know that. That’s the other reason that I will not beg. Only fourteen-ish more days, and there will be no more evil.

No more dreams.

I can feel my wrist glowing as I drift in and out of sleep. The door stays closed. I go more and more away. In my cloud of silence, the only name I can remember is
Leah
.

*

My solitude is punctuated with three sharp raps. And then her voice: “Hansel. It’s Mother. I’m coming in.”

I don’t have time to care. The door swings open. The stale air around me riots, dancing over my skin.

By the time her eyes collide with mine, I’ve managed to push up on one of my elbows.

I tried to steel myself, but…no.

I’m not prepared for her. I never am.

The leather pants. Black leather boots. The curve of her thighs intrigues me. I know what’s between them. I can taste it, as I lie here, reeling.

The light clicks on.

I squint.

Her arms fold underneath her breasts. Her shirt is red: a sweater. Hair is…longer. Pretty face. It’s so ironic. What a pretty face my Mother has.

The eyes on it pop wide. Her mouth twists. “Hansel? What the fuck?”

Her boots click on the floor. She’s standing over me. My heart pounds, making the room spin.

She leans down and slaps my face.

Another slap.

Another slap.

“Geez…us.”

Dizziness.

Her hands are rough, holding my face. Her smell is in my nose.

“I’d like to know what the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid boy. I can see your ribs!” Her nails pinch my cool, bare skin. “Do you think this is
your
body? Do you think you owe me nothing?”

Slap
.

The ceiling tumbles.

“I saved you! I saved your life, and this is how you treat me? By…maiming yourself? What a stupid boy!” Her fingernails push between my lips, and I can taste the bitter chalk of the blue pill that’s shoved into my mouth. “Swallow it!” She slaps the side of my head, and I choke on the pill. “Open your eyes and look at me!”

I can’t.

Her hand on my hip.

Jesus. I’m already getting hard.

I hear her laugh. Her hand around my dick, and… “Oh.
Oh, God
.”

“Good!” She strokes me up and down, and I start panting. “God. Oh, God.” I wonder dully what I’ll do if she loses her temper. My heart skitters like a rock over water. Head rush. Fuck—her hand works my dick, jerking up and down.

“There we go. You’re still my horny boy. Don’t pretend that you don’t want this!” Her hand swivels as she repositions herself, and I hear her pull her pants down. Then I feel her moving over me, lowering her warmth onto my face. Wetness on my mouth. She lays down atop me, her breasts pressing into the hollow of my belly.

“You better use your tongue! I want to come.”

My heart is beating so damn hard. I start to lap at her. Her mouth is a velvet glove around my cock. She sucks and strokes. I groan and groan. Despite my lack of strength, I push my feet against the mattress, push myself into her mouth. I’m close. So close. My heart races. I’m waiting. Wait for it…

And then she pops my head out of her mouth and squeezes it in her hand. She sucks my balls into her mouth and—

“FUCK!”

Her teeth.

She sucks harder on my balls, using her damn teeth. Sending spikes of pain through my belly.

I start getting softer. And then, like always, hard again. So much harder as she sucks my balls and makes me ache down to my toes. I come in her mouth, and she sucks it down, then chuckles. Then she moves off me and slaps my cheek.

I think as I sag down onto the mattress that this time, she didn’t come on my face. I don’t remember. Did she?

“You’re pathetic! Sick! Disgusting! I had a surprise for you but fuck it now, Hansel!” She grabs my left wrist. Jerks. I try to sit up, but I’m too dizzy. Fucking Viagra.

“I’ll leave your door open. You can wait in the foyer. I’ll be back tonight sometime with a surprise you don’t deserve!”

My eyes roll back into my head as she stomps out the door. I wait for it to slam, but…nothing.

*

I’m not sure how long I’m out, but when I wake up, the first place my eyes go is the door.

It’s open.

Holy fucking hell.

For a little while, it’s enough to just lie there and imagine. But soon, the curiosity turns to fear. Why did she do this? What’s in the foyer? Can I even walk that far?

I push myself up on my elbows, and the room tilts. Not as much as before.

I look down at myself and feel the cloak of shame fall over me.

I did this to myself: not just the sharp hipbones framing my dick—but all of this. It’s my fault I’m here. I could blame Mother. I could choose to hate her. But why? It’s true, what she says: I could have ended up somewhere worse than here, where the worst things that happen to me are that Mother feels me up and I decide to wash my food down the drain.

I don’t like this room, so I could hate her for that, but it doesn’t look like that’s necessary.

I pull the brown sheet over myself and turn my body slowly so my legs are dangling off the side of the mattress. The door is right in front of me. I can see the shadows from the torches in the hallway. I can smell the smoke.

Mother left the door open.

She let me out.

I wonder if something happened to Boy Blue.

I never liked that little prick, but…fuck. Mother can be a bitch. More than even he deserves. I wouldn’t put it past her to do something terrible to him.

I wonder, as I get onto my knees on the floor, what I did to prompt Mother to take Boy Blue as her roommate, anyway. She never told me. I just woke up one morning, and there he was.

I crawl over to my desk. Every time I move, I imagine I can hear my bones creaking. That’s how tired and broken down they feel.

I’m crawling because I know I can’t just get up. The other day, I had a nightmare— The other day, I tried to get up and I couldn’t do it.

I don’t know how long ago that was. A few days, I think? But I’ll admit it: things have gotten worse since then.

A few more seconds of my kneecaps trembling against the rug, and I can reach the desk. I walk my hands up one of its legs, then grasp the drawer in the middle. I balance on my heels, like a fucking frog with a hard-on, and try to pull with my biceps while I push with my thighs. I grunt a little as I stand. I mutter a curse as my dick hits the desk. I fucking hate Viagra.

I’ve got clothes somewhere in here—the brown shirt and pants she gave me when she put me in this room—but I glance around and I can’t see them. Things are still spinning. My eyes feel heavy.

I have to make it to the foyer, have to see what’s going on, so I start toward the door.

The first few steps are haunted by my memories.

             
I’m sitting on the side of the bed with my legs dangling off. They say I have to sit like this to get my strength back, but I never do. Not unless the nurses bully me into it. It’s been two days since I woke up. Two days that feel like two hundred—in my mind. My body, on the other hand, feels as if no times has passed since I got here. I feel nauseated and dizzy. Every time I flex my legs or shift my shoulders, my heart beats too hard.

              “So what do you think?” asks the woman in the chair beside my bed. 

              I look down at my bare calves. They look strange, the skin so dark against the white gown. I wrap my right hand around the bed’s rail, squeezing weakly. The other one is in a sling. I like the sling. I think of it like an offering. A bloody sacrifice rejected by the god of her. They can sew it up and wrap it up in bandages, but it will always bleed. I wish she would have taken it.  

“Do you want to live at my house?” the woman asks.

I swallow. Damn her fucking voice. It makes my eyes ache and sting. Makes my mouth hot. She looks at me, and my throat tightens. I wish she would just leave.

Instead, she leans forward. “I’ve got three great daughters, Luke. They would be your sisters. Foster sisters.”

              I want to make a crack about that. I’ve seen pictures of her ‘great daughters.’ They look like great fucks to me. I wonder if saying that would make her leave. 

“I don’t need sisters,” I whisper, avoiding her face with my gaze.

              “Lucas, you’ve got no one. Is there
anyone
who cares for you?”

              The fullness in my chest and throat begins to choke me as I think of
her
. Pain stabs through me, swift and searing, and I have no choice. I have to move. To get away.

My feet hit the floor, and my knees buckle.

I see her face in the swirl of the ceiling.

“I’m not sending you to strangers. Shelly would never forgive me. I have a plan for you. You’re coming with me.”

The empty hallway swims in shadows. The torches are always a surprise when I come up on one of them. They’re bright and I can feel their warmth on my bare shoulders. In between the torches, it’s a little darker, but not too hard to see. I pass a few windows, cloaked in curtains, and there’s light around the edges.

In between two of the doors—I think it’s Rapunzel and Snow White—I stop and try to stroke myself off. I’m tired of this boner. It gets in the way, and makes me think of pussy when I need to focus.

Why’d she let me out, I wonder again as I jack myself off.

Anxiety swells in me, and it turns straight to fear.

I can’t get off. I’m too dizzy. I turn around, facing the direction of the foyer—the direction of the foyer, I
think
—and I have to put my hand on the wall for balance. I’m so stupid. Mother is right. If she tries some funny shit, I can’t even run.

I move slowly down the hall, looking at everything. The doors, so tall and thick, with little metal keypads beside each knob. The texture of the curtains: fuzzy, almost like velvet, and the color of grape juice. I find a dry leaf on the floor and take the time to bend and pick it up.

I love this. Walking.

After a while, I come upon this statue of a naked man. I laugh when I see it and look from his dick to mine.

I laugh again, and slap him on the arm.

It’s getting easier to move now. I can see the mouth of the hall. Beyond it, a space that looks bigger and brighter. That must be the foyer. I know I’ve seen it before, but I don’t remember very well. Mother used to like to keep me drunk, back when I shared her room.

I walk twenty-one more steps, and I’m there—stepping out of the hallway and into the vast space of the foyer. It’s not like any foyer I’ve ever seen. That’s for fuck sure. It’s at least two stories tall, with a bunch of paintings and shit hung around, and some weird iron balconies just stuck to the wall, going to nowhere. There’s a fancy lamp thing hanging high over what I think must be the front doors of the house.

I look to the left and right, drinking in the windows, framed by huge curtains; a couple of comfortable looking couches and chairs. I breathe deeply. The air out here smells good and fresh, like cinnamon. I amble across a rug and sink down into one of the couches. It’s soft, sort of like suede, with a bunch of big pillows.

I take my dick in my hand, prop one of the pillows between my legs, and start to work on my boner. A few minutes later, I come into my hand. My eyes are closed before I have a chance to wonder what the big surprise was.

*