The Fourth Whore, page 16
“I haven’t.” He laughed. “Those were the days, huh, baby?”
Lilith held her anger, eyes closed tight, willing the revulsion to stay beneath the skin. She spun around to face her rapist but kept her arm around the young girl. “I expected more from the great Demon of Lust than an adults’ version of Disney World. All this neon gives the flesh a sickly hue, don’t you agree?”
Asmodeus sneered. Snot flew from his nostrils in hot droplets as he snorted in disagreement.
She was not ready to let him speak yet, she needed him to know that she was stronger now.
She patted the girl on her puberty-rounded bottom. “Go on, get out of here. Why don’t you run along home to your loved ones before this whole world falls apart?”
The girl darted like a mouse, the crowd parted, and the sound of the gate punctuated the end of the child’s part in the scene.
“What do you want, Lilith? You want some kind of apology? Revenge? For all the wrongs done to you?” The joking lilt was gone from his voice now. There was nothing in it now but the deep, gravel of a common demon.
“No, you insult me with such trivialities. It seems I have over-estimated you, Asmo,” she said. “I came here because Lucifer seemed to think you would be interested in causing a little trouble with me, but perhaps you are too set in your ways, too happy with the as is.”
She was walking back to the gate when his voice boomed.
“Go on, you have my attention.”
“Well, what a lucky girl I am.”
“Lilith, as you can see, I’m a very busy man. I don’t have time for your silly childish games.”
“I wasn’t sure you were right for the job. Lucifer, of course, gives you much credit. This is going to be much more involved than a back-alley blow job.” She opened the gate and let herself out.
The girl sat in the hallway, a tattered backpack on the floor beside her. She’d put on a pair of shorts and a faded leopard-print tank top. A cheap pair of flip-flops cut into her feet.
“I thought I told you to go?” Lilith said
“Ain’t got nowhere to go.”
“If I were you, I’d find somewhere quick. Is this how you want to die? In this stone prison? The world’s about to end. You better pick a side.”
The girl looked up at Lilith. In the lighted hallway, her cherubic cheeks showed her true age. Lilith touched her cheek, and pain—both the girl’s and Lilith’s—exploded between the two in a jolt of electricity. Lilith let go.
“Against me.”
She kissed the girl on the lips, gently, avoiding any other touch.
“Or with me.”
The girl stared in astonishment like a deer hypnotized by the headlights of an oncoming car. She grabbed her backpack, but Lilith had her hand on it. The girl pulled, curling her lip up like a stray cur.
“I like your spunk. With me, it is.”
Yanking on the pack, Lilith pulled the girl back into her arms. This time, the kiss was not gentle, but forceful. Lilith’s tongue parted the girl’s lips, prying her mouth open. The snake tattoo was now coiled tightly around the girl, squeezing the breath out of her. Lilith inhaled deeply. When the girl’s soul joined the others deep within Lilith’s womb, the demoness dropped the emptied skin to the ground and kicked it and the backpack to the edge of the hall. She shivered and smiled, satiated. Sassy female souls made her feel invincible.
The hinges of the gate screeched behind her. Lilith swung around. Standing in the center of the room, his asymmetry ugly even in the dark sex-filled club, Asmodeus called out to her.
“Lil, come on back, would ya? I’m sorry. Really. I already promised Lucifer I would help you. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She grinned, her nipples grew firm and her sex throbbed. The flush of triumph warmed her body. She brought the tears then, weak, and womanly, and ran to him. Forcing her arms around him, she furthered her play.
“Thank you, Asmo. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Chapter 26: Book of War 3
The green room of the Christian Broadcasting Network reminded Melanie Pryor of a funeral home. A lot of mauves, blues, and golds accented the furniture beneath a soft lighting. The art prints decorating the room were on the level of the stuff her mother had tried selling at home parties back when every middle-class woman worth her salt used wall sconces and silk flowers in her décor.
“I guess Jesus approves,” Melanie mumbled to herself, still taking in all the room had to offer.
There was of course the obligatory coffee urn and donuts, bagels, fruit, and orange juice on a table pushed against the wall opposite the maroon couch she was sitting on. Glamor shots of all the show’s stars and some frequent guests hung above the food. In the center of these framed idols was a large wooden cross with a horrifyingly life-like Jesus impaled upon it.
“Ugh, get me out of here,” she said.
The door swung open and a middle-aged blonde in an ankle-length denim skirt with a very pregnant belly came in. She carried a clip board and wireless headphones with mic attached.
“Did you need somethin’, Miss Pryor?” she asked in an Alabaman drawl. “I coulda swore I heard you say somethin’,” Ask and ye shall receive.
Blondie grinned and put her free hand on her belly. Melanie stood and ignored her question.
“How far along are you?” She approached with her hand out. “May I?”
Without hesitation the woman grabbed Melanie’s hand and pressed it firmly against her protuberant abdomen. Melanie could feel the child rolling around inside the woman’s womb. The woman gushed at the single survivor of the “Attack on Life” as it was now being referred to by the political right.
“Thirty-six weeks. Almost there! This is baby number five—our first boy—Adam. Each one is a miracle.”
Melanie put her other hand on the woman’s belly and without asking permission kissed it. The baby inside stopped rolling. She looked up and smiled.
“God is always in control, isn’t he?” Melanie said, dropping her hands away.
They shared a moment of raptured bliss before the blonde grabbed Melanie by the shoulders and hugged her.
“And that is why He saved you! So, you could come here and preach His word. We’re so very honored to have you.”
She squeezed one more time before letting go.
“Well, it’s just about time to get you out there. My job is to make sure you’re presentable.”
She held Melanie out at arm’s length. “You look good to me.”
The woman, who had never bothered to introduce herself, escorted Melanie to the edge of the stage where she was told to wait until introduced. Standing in the darkness, the power of the goddess surged through her. She was not Cynthia Parris any more than she was Melanie Pryor. She was the third whore—bringer of war.
“…Miss Melanie Pryor,” she heard the name called, followed by applause.
The nameless pregnant woman ushered her out where she was received by the elderly man who hosted the show and his middle-aged female sidekick—not cohost. As the man, he ran the show.
After the customary small talk, the host got down to business.
“Now, Miss Pryor, we need to ask you about that terrible day last month when someone, and we stress that we do not know who yet, killed twenty adults and seven children, all of them doing God’s work. You, by some divine intervention, had walked a block away to a convenience store when the bombs went off, is that right?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“And what were you all doing there on that particular day?”
“We were peacefully protesting the abortion clinic across the street. We try to protest as often as we can.”
“So, this wasn’t new. You’d been doing it for some time.”
Melanie opened her mouth to answer when the sidekick interrupted her.
“As we must, all of us. We have to continue to speak out until Roe v. Wade has been overturned and murder in any form is illegal.”
She smiled to herself as the audience applauded. The man gave her a warning look that wasn’t missed by Melanie.
“But this was your very first protest with the church, is that right, Miss Pryor?” he asked.
“Yes, I just moved here from Boston and joined the church. I finally found people who shared my beliefs and I wanted to be a part of it.” She felt as if she was being interrogated by the police rather than celebrated for surviving a bombing.
“Who do you think did that to your friends? To the church family who took you in?” He asked but took her hand in his paternalistically.
There was an answer he expected from her and the hand-holding was his unspoken way of telling her not to fuck this up.
“I would say, and I hate to make accusations against anyone,” she answered slowly, watching his face for approval. “I would guess it was someone who has no respect for human life.”
The audience erupted in applause, many standing. The sidekick was in tears, the host nodding in agreement.
“I don’t think we need to say any more than that, do we?” And then, “We’d like you to be our guest of honor at the Rally for Life next month, Miss Pryor. I think you have become an important symbol of our fight for life.”
“I’m afraid it does seem to be turning into a war,” she said, suppressing a satisfied smile. “Aristotle once said ‘we make war that we may live in peace.’ And I tell myself every day that sometimes we must fight for those who cannot, so that they may live, period.”
The cries of A-men and Hallelujah and the thunderous applause did little to drown out the pain-filled screams from just beyond the stage. Those watching from home saw a commercial, while those in the studio fell into their seats. A blonde haired pregnant woman stumbled onto the stage, clutching her belly. Blood flowed down her legs like a river and bloomed across the back of her denim skirt.
“My baby!” The blonde screamed, as the crew and hosts ran to her. Melanie stayed in her seat.
“Is dead,” she said. No one heard her.
Chapter 27: Book of Kenzi 12
The light in the room was grey, she’d been out for some time then. The IV was now in her right hand, which, like its partner was tied to the bed. A device was pushed into her nose and the air flow through it was much more forceful than the little tubes that had been there previously. Her leg ached. She had a feeling the screw had been replaced and tightened. Her mouth was dry which she suspected was due to a combo of the air being forced through her respiratory system and whatever drugs they’d used to knock her out.
“I gotta get out of this place,” she muttered. Looking around the room for inspiration, Kenzi saw a new addition to the furnishings.
A figure sat in a chair against the wall. It was nothing more than an outline in the dusk of the lightless room. Male or female, she couldn’t tell, but either way, her visitor appeared to be sleeping.
A sitter? It was ridiculous—she certainly didn’t need anyone watching her. Maybe it was a cop waiting for her to wake up, afraid that if they put off the questioning any longer, they may never get any answers. Kenzi leaned over, trying to see any details. Besides a long, thin frame, all she could make out were the legs sprawled out straight in front of the chair and the head thrown back as if deep in sleep. This wasn’t the semi-conscious sleep of a bus ride or air plane; this person was dead to the world. Great job they were doing.
All this and her skin still itched, still begged to be opened, to let the anxiety spill out and leave her. On her side table, which had been pushed into the far corner of the room was a dinner tray and, on the tray, a plate. A plate meant solid food and solid food meant silverware.
She worked at her restraints, twisting her wrists first clockwise then counterclockwise but only managed to cause that same sissy-test burn the straw had caused.
“Ugh,” Kenzi huffed. It was useless.
“Were you a cutter before he gave you this?”
Lily was holding the rabbit’s foot up by its chain. Her baby bump was impossibly larger than the day before. She was standing beside the snoozing sitter somehow reading Kenzi’s mind.
“No. Can you undo these restraints?”
“I can do better than that. I want to get you out of here. I’m here to save you.” She stepped closer to the bed.
“What are you, Lilith?” Kenzi asked irritated. “Yes, I know who you are, I know all about you, but what are you here for? Sariel said you’re trying to get to me, that you need my help releasing your soul or something. But if that’s true, what does that make you: a demon or a ghost or what? And what makes you think I can help you?”
The restraints rubbed deep into her wrists as she rolled back and forth pulling at them. Her teeth clenched, and her lower jaw jutted out in frustration. “And can you please just get these fucking things off me!”
She yanked on the right one to punctuate her demand, but it was no longer there.The surprise came too fast to abort the momentum and Kenzi tumbled out of the bed and onto the floor.
“Oof.” The air coughed out of her.
The person in the chair never stirred.
Kenzi stayed on the cool laminate floor of her room assessing the physical damage and pain before trying to get up. There was no pain. None. She wiggled her toes—nothing—and not just that but the backs of both feet touched the floor which meant there was no metal halo around her right leg. She patted herself down the left side and felt no bag bulging from her middle, no pain, no hole in the skin.
“Get up and come with me. There is nothing wrong with you,” Lilith said.
Legs, one of which was coiled with a snake tattoo that continued up under the thigh-high skirt, stood next to her. A hand descended into Kenzi’s view.
Kenzi worked herself up onto her knees and held up a hand up in the “stop” gesture.
“I’m not going anywhere with you until I get some answers.” She stood up and brushed off her hands and torso.
The man in the chair was wearing a security guard’s uniform and he was dead. Even in the dark, she could see that. You didn’t grow up in the ghetto and not know what a dead man looked like, and Kenzi knew death better than any of her neighbors. His head was tilted back because his neck had been crushed and his jaw hung open as if unhinged. There were dark stains around his mouth that Kenzi guessed would be red with the light on. His short-sleeved, white button down was wrinkled and twisted; the right side had pulled out of its tuck into the pants. He looked as if he’d been wrung out like a wet washcloth.
“What the fuck did you do?”
“You see we cannot talk here. It’s far too dangerous.” She held up the foot again like a carrot on a stick. “Come.”
“First, give me my keychain back. You obviously don’t need it anymore. You’re here. I just want it back.”
She had no idea if Lilith needed it or why. If Sariel was right, Lilith might never give it back, but it was worth a try. After all, Lilith had been abused her entire life and hadn’t everyone turned their back on her? So, maybe she understood Kenzi better than anyone else. She’d freed Kenzi and healed her. Lilith wasn’t as bad as Sariel feared. If she just talked to her, treated her like a friend, maybe Lilith would reciprocate.
Lilith put it back over her head. “I’m sorry, but not yet. Sariel has controlled you with this for the last time. For now, I will hold it and I promise you: when the time is right, it will be yours again.”
Kenzi nodded. Play the game, don’t let on how much you need it, don’t focus on the itch.
“How far along are you? I mean, how are you even pregnant if you’ve been trapped for so long?” It was a reasonable question to change the subject but also, really, she wanted to know, that and how that baby was growing so damn fast.
Lilith said nothing. Instead she reached out and pushed the hair away from Kenzi’s face, exposing her colorless eye. She kept going. Keep talking, tell her about you so she knows she can trust you.
“It’s called hetero-something-or-other. My doctor—one of my doctors—told me that some cultures believe that people like me can see both sides. Like life and death or the afterlife.” She hoped it would trigger something from Lilith.
“And so, the day your brother died, you were saved because you saw Death and stopped. Your brother ran on and the car hit him, only him.” Lilith nodded as if in complete understanding.
“Yes.”
“And what, do you think, would have happened had you not been able to see Sariel?”
“I guess I would be dead too.”
“Did Sariel do anything to try to catch your attention? Wave to you, shout at you to stop?”
It was like being interrogated on one of those crime shows. Lilith was leading Kenzi to an uncomfortable conclusion.
“No. I mean, I don’t know really. I thought for the longest time he was my imaginary friend. I thought maybe I made him up after Robbie died to give my brain something to think about instead of the images of my dead brother. But when I really think about it, I don’t know what made me look up—I just did and he was standing there.”
“And when did he give you this?” She held up the foot. The itch intensified.
“Well, I remember crying and asking him if Robbie was going to be OK and did he have to take him away. He showed me Robbie’s name on his arm, which I think maybe he told me or maybe I just figured it out that it meant he had to take him. And I think I asked him if he had to take me too.”
“What did he say?” Lilith asked.
“Well, obviously, he said no,” Kenzi answered irritably. She wanted that foot. She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. “And I think that was when his bird brought me the keychain—well, it was a necklace, but my dad put it on a keychain not long before he took off. Sariel said I could keep it, that it would keep me safe because it belonged to a strong girl like me…so I guess it’s nice to meet you finally.”
