Sweet Little Lies (5 page)

Long, wavy black hair cascaded down her back,
a subdued headband held the unruly mess off her forehead. She was
dressed in a white skirt with eyelet lace along the hem that just
skimmed her knees, a white button down oxford cloth shirt with a
yellow scarf tied around her waist. The straps of espadrilles wound
around her slim ankles, and Papillion licked his lips. He’d always
been a leg-man. And the sister was a beautiful example of what a
woman’s legs were supposed to look like.

He watched her move through the crowd, saw
their deference to her. Lucia. She was a powerful woman. A woman
that more than one faction wanted dead.

Papillion could retire after this hit. But it
was a delicate operation. He needed to wait for Sister Lucia to
announce the hoax. Then the shooting could be blamed on one of the
faithful on the ground, someone so overcome with the emotion of the
appearance of their holy mother that a declaration of foolery would
tip them over the edge.

Fatima, this was not.

***

Lucia stared at the face of the holy Mother.
She waited, tuning out the noise, the heat, the fetid stench of the
unwashed. Was she in the presence of a miracle? Had a great secret
been revealed, a battle for good won? She waited, and felt nothing.
Disappointment filled her. Another hoax. The last time she’d felt
the presence of God was in a field, with no attendance other than a
small rabbit. There was nothing holy here.

She rose, shaking her head. The faithful
moaned with hatred, denials were shouted. She simply ignored them,
walked back to her Jeep. A flash caught her eye, high on the cliff
rising to the heavens to her right. Papillion, she assumed. He’d
been waiting for a chance to take her out for months now.

Lucia stopped. She spread her legs, spread
her arms, threw her head back. Presented herself to him, a target.
Waited to feel the slam of the bullet in her chest. When it didn’t
come, she smiled. An honest assassin, Papillion. Or smart enough to
know that when she found the real miracle, she wouldn’t be able to
hide her joy.

She climbed into the Jeep, closed the door on
another falsehood. One day, she prayed. One day.

***

One day, Papillion prayed. One day she will
find God, and I will help her meet him. His eyes were closed; he
felt the flash, the burn from below instinctively. When he could
finally pry his eyelids apart, the Jeep was gone. Lucia too. There
was only a deep crater in the dirt, blackened and smoking. Pilgrims
were scattered carelessly in the brush. Red and black mingled with
the desert browns, painting the sands with raucous color.

One day had arrived at last.

CHIMERA

Flashing in the Gutter 2006 (appeared in two parts –
Chimera and Redux); Surreal South 09, edited by Pinckney Benedict
and Laura Benedict, Press 53, 2009

I do not sleep anymore.

I can’t take the risk, not again. I won’t
survive it again.

“I’ll see you in hell.”

These words are rooted in my brain. They
aren’t even words, exactly. Not enunciated and pronounced, but
hissed and lingering, seeping into my skin and settling into my
bones, my heart, my mind.

The room is dark, silent and reproachful.
I’ve forgotten the nightlight again and the gloom is penetrating,
the white walls lost in the abyss. There is no boundary to the
room, it is infinite, black and salty. I can’t smell the sulfur,
even though I’ve been told I would. It is more than the scent of
the sea, slightly brackish, dead fish and seaweed making it
offensive.

The hissing begins again. “I’m here to take
you. It is your time.”

I realize this has happened before. I’ve been
in this bed, this room, this murky gloom when the demon came to me.
How many times have I fought him off?

I turn to face him. He has come through the
shuttered window. The night air blows behind him, sweet jasmine and
bougainvillea overpowered by his rankness. He doesn’t resemble
anything I’ve seen before, any depiction drawn or imagined. He is
taupe, nearly translucent, skinny ferret like body supported by
long boned feet, hands ending in claws that drip a viscous liquid.
I assume it is the remnants of bitter souls from the night’s catch.
I’m not sure how I know he is male, there are no external clues to
his gender.

“Tiiiiiimmmmeee.” That sibilant voice again.
I feel a drop of slime hit my forehead. His hands are past my
shoulder now, reaching around to scoop me in his arms. His mouth,
crowded with sharp teeth, spit trails stringing between upper and
lower jaws, grows wider, bigger, and I feel the claws rake across
my back. He is pulling me in, consuming, sucking. I feel my soul
depart from my heart and begin to leave my body.

No. I will not let him take me.

I take a breath so deep that pieces of his
spittle fly into my mouth and scream. Louder, longer than I knew I
could. My body convulses, tiny tears surface in my throat. And
still I scream. I know, deep in my heart, that he will leave if I
continue. They don’t like screams.

Flashing a look full of hatred, of lust and
regret, the demon is sucked back through the shutters. They bang
close, startling me with their vehemence. My scream trails off. I
am safe.

I sit up and turn on the light. My fears are
realized.

The Chimera has come again.

He sits in the chair, feet tucked under him
like a pleasant cat. He raises an inky eyebrow, strokes two fingers
through the obsidian silk of his goatee. He flashes a smile at me,
teeth so pearly against the darkness that they’re nearly blue. He
doesn’t say a word. Stroke, smile. Stroke, smile.

“Bastard,” I whisper.

He laughs silently, deep in his chest, the
sound reverberating around the room like thunder.

We made a deal, he and I. It was a long time
ago. I was too young to know any better, he was hunting the night
for victims. A match better suited to novels and nightmares. But he
likes me. Enough that the deal we struck benefits us both.

I murdered. I sinned. He took. It was that
simple.

Fetial declarations aside, he takes from
everyone. Good, bad or indifferent. The indifferent, mostly. He
signs for their souls without them ever knowing. It’s that last
glimpse, when they assume they’ll see the light, that shocks the
living hell right into them. And the Chimera laughs as he greets
them, down below.

But the lost souls aren’t my problem. The
Chimera is my problem. We’re friends in a strange, make a deal with
the devil kind of way. Like I said before, he likes me. He’s a
fallen angel like the rest of them, still wanton in his desires. I
guess I fit with his image of a partner.

He’s here to collect. Anytime, anywhere.
That’s our deal. I don’t have to go straight to hell. He possesses
my body. Gives a whole new meaning to burning desire.

He knows that you’re most vulnerable when
you’re frightened. That’s why he sends in the demon first, to
soften you up. Like I said, he’s a true sadist.

I do have a choice in the matter. God gave us
free will, the ability to choose which path to follow. My path is
forked, two roads less traveled. I can accept the demon’s proposal.
Go with him the next time he comes to me. It’s a toss up,
sometimes, which is worse. The Chimera or the demon. Love, or
death?

I could just never sleep again. It’s not like
I get any rest. Every time I close my eyes, start toward that REM
stage, they appear. Never sleeping again is a comforting idea.

I wish I could take back that night. The
Chimera was there; I didn’t know that at the time. I thought it was
just the two of us, alone in the alley. That no one heard my
screams. That I was abandoned. That I wrestled the knife away at
the last minute with my own strength. That my fingers grasped the
hilt. That my muscles forced the tip of the knife into the man’s
gut. That the blood spilling onto my arm, my torn dress, my shoes
was untainted.

He could have let me die. It might have been
easier.

It was ten years ago.

The yin and yang of his world is too complex
for me to comprehend. Suffice it to say that while I was being
raped and strangled, he stood and watched. Waited. Knew that he
could give me the strength to overcome the man and stop the attack,
which he did, just not until after the man finished grunting and
scraping at me. When the knife appeared, the Chimera stepped in,
silent, transparent. He grasped my hand, grappled with the knife.
Using my strength, he stabbed the stranger in the stomach, driving
the blade in so deep that the warm spill of his intestines gathered
in my hand.

He turned with that luminescent smile and
said, “You owe me.”

As we were driving our deal, he had the
audacity to point out I should thank him for saving my life. What
kind of life is this? Labyrinth assassin, fevered dreams, the warm
copper spice of lifeblood pouring through my hands. The Chimera,
possessing me night by night, the length of him buried deep between
my thighs, his scorching desire blazing inside me.

He comes to me, insatiable, unfulfilled.
Takes me, over and over. Drives me onward. Over the brink, where
the madness of climax allows me glimpses into the raging inferno
that awaits.

He is the cause of my reckless journeys, my
wasted relationships, my never-ending string of dead end jobs. He
is in the drugs, the alcohol, the cigarettes. The lush, provocative
nights and the solitary days. He never leaves my side, but only
appears when I sleep. He and his demon familiars.

I’m a lucky girl. I’ll never be alone
again.

BITS AND PIECES

Blog Short Story Project 3, March 5, 2007.
Sponsors: Dave White and Bryon Quertermous. Theme: The required
theme was something to do with blogging. What better than to start
one?

The Musings of a Serial Maniac

Monday, March 5

Welcome back, mes amis. I apologize for the
long absence. I’ve been tied up.

As those of you who have been reading from
the beginning know, the melancholy has begun. It’s just not easy
living inside a body that you cannot control. I didn’t choose this
path. The life chose me.

This was treasure number five. She was
delectable, lithe and smooth, and over the next few weeks, we’ll
get into all the details. She was the finest triumph thus far, I
assure you.

But mes amis, I must confess that I am
restless already. According to plan, I stashed her body in the
cardboard box, set it by the side of the road, and drove away,
leaving her like a present under the Christmas tree of life. Who
will find her? What will their reaction be? Will they feel
reverence, pity, disgust? Dare I hope for a tingle of excitement?
And why am I worried? I feel like I’ve passed some invisible mark,
have entered new territory.

I’m ashamed to admit that I drove through
town on the way home. I’ve broken protocol. I’ve broken my own
rules. It was careless, I know. If there’s one thing I’ve learned
from your comments and encouragements is THE GOLDEN RULE—Never
Break Any Rules. That’s how we get caught.

Yet as I pulled away from that lonely little
box, I couldn’t help myself. I drove through campus, my blood
singing in my veins. I watched the innocents and felt myself stir.
I don’t know how long I can wait. The raging of my soul will be my
downfall, I fear. No, I know.

I must tell you, this blog has become a most
therapeutic exercise. Many thanks go out to TeddieB21 for the
suggestion. As a community, we all learn from one another.

I’ll join you again tomorrow, mes amis. Until
then… Keep on Killin’. Over!

Tuesday, March 6

Mes amis,

I find myself unable to concentrate. I’ve
been watching the news, waiting for any word of my treasure’s
discovery, and there has been nothing. NOTHING! I’m afraid.
Something must have gone wrong. The treasure was left in plain
sight. Maybe I should check, see if she’s still there.

I can hear TeddieB21 now, screaming at me
through his computer. No, you’re right, buddy. That would be bad.
It would be breaking the RULES. Never come back to the scene. I
know. I just have this longing building inside of me, and I can’t
seem to decide the best thing to do. This happened the last time,
with the fourth treasure. It took me three or four days to get over
the high, to sate my desire. If I can just get through a couple
more long nights, it will be fine, I’m sure.

I drove through campus again this morning.
There is another treasure waiting for me to loosen her from the
glories of this life, I can feel her. The vibration is back. It’s
too soon. I must make it go away.

On a higher note, work went well today. I
have been given a promotion. It means a bit more pay, so Donald,
I’ll be able to get you your payment for the tapes. They were
divine. I highly recommend you seek out Donald and browse through
his extensive collection. Those videos have gotten me through many
a bad night, I’ll tell you that. I wonder if I’d ever get over my
shyness long enough to allow myself to be filmed with one of my
treasures?

I’ve rambled on long enough. There’s a movie
on soon I’d like to watch. I won’t tell you what it is, because
you’ll laugh at me. Suffice it to say I’ll rewrite my own
endings.

KOK. Over!

Wednesday, March 7

Mes amis,

They’ve got her!

The delay was my fault. I chose the site
poorly. I didn’t realize that there was a short detour on the
outside of town that rerouted incoming traffic to Route 41,
dropping visitors to the city downtown instead. No matter. She is
found now.

The outrage has made my blood simmer with a
yearning I’ve never felt before. The fifth treasure is certainly
affording me new experiences, and that’s what Elvis54 always says
is the most important aspect of our careers.