The Fourth Whore, page 8
“Put the boot down, Daisy,” the woman said. Her voice deep and husky like Jessica Rabbit’s. “You won’t need it ever again.”
“Who are you?”
“I am your goddess, and you belong to me now. I have chosen you to stand beside me as we take the earth back.”
“What the fuck? You got some problems, girl. I mean, mad props for this kind of shit.” Daisy gestured to the snake, which was finishing with Jon the john. “But, uh, I got me, OK? I mean I don’t need no goddess or some mythical shit.”
The woman approached Daisy, stepping effortlessly over the snake and its victim. Daisy threatened with the boot, but the woman knocked it to the ground. The goddess pushed Daisy backwards and straddled her. Daisy had never been raped by a woman before, but she guessed the crazy bitch would need a strap on or something. She felt nothing between them. Suddenly a tingling sensation that seemed to drop out of the woman on top of her crawled like a centipede around Daisy’s vulva and into her vagina.
“I heard the living creature saying, ‘Come.’ I looked, and behold, a black vine; and she who grew it had a pair of scales in her hand. And I heard the goddess’s voice in the center of the living creatures saying, ‘A fuck for a denarius, and pestilence for a denarius; but do not damage the public reputation.’” The goddess laughed.
Icy jolts of frozen lightening shot into her core. With it came a universal knowledge and a vision of the world to come. Daisy Fields stood with the three other women who would bring about the apocalypse. In that moment, she saw the end of this world and the beginning of a new kingdom where Lilith would reign as the Holy Goddess. If she agreed to give herself, body and soul, to the goddess, Daisy would hold court beside her. Yes, of course she would—in fact, she already had. For this, the goddess provided her with a new weapon, far better than a cheap boot. A living tattoo of deadly vines that beckoned from her sex and drew victims to her would spread like kudzu across the flesh of the earth. Her victims would suffocate and waste away.
“When you share this with others, you worship me,” the dark woman said.
Daisy watched as the snake’s shadow merged with the goddess and the darkness swallowed them.
“Yes,” she said.
z
She drove Jon’s Mercedes back to town and left it in a parking garage five blocks from her apartment. The two girls she shared the place with were still working. Daisy would go back out tonight too. First though, she’d need to hide the money she’d taken from Jon, whose real name was Phillip Simon Price, and ditch the wallet. She passed the filthy full-length mirror hanging on the door to the only closet in the entire place and stopped. Black lines peeked out from the top of her skirt. She pulled the skirt down, she had no underwear on, and laughed. Coming out of her cunt were at least a dozen black branches that ended just below her hip bones. They looked like trails the goddess’s cold lightening had left behind, as if someone had tattooed them onto her. She touched her skin and the lines rippled and inched up onto the tip of her finger. She pulled her hand back and shook it. Looking at her finger, she saw tiny tips of black that had managed to settle into her flesh in that split second of connection.
What would those things do to a dick? She smiled at herself in the mirror. Oh, but she knew. She knew so much now.
z
The widower—Guy, his name was—the one who only ever asked for a blow job and always ran his fingers through her hair gently while she did him, was waiting for her. She saw the headlights of his pick-up come on as she stepped back out onto “her” corner.
Tonight, he wouldn’t be getting a BJ. Nope. Guy was going to be honored as the first man to truly open Pandora’s box.
“You won’t be lonely anymore, Guy,” she promised as she walked up to his Chevy S-10.
Chapter 13: Book of Kenzi 4
Kenzi woke when the nagging pain in her shoulder became too much to bear. A beam of sunlight fell over her ankles. She tried to move her legs to kick the covers off but found them both immobile. The room was large and private and familiar. This was the ICU. She’d been in these rooms many times over the years when her mother OD’d or got a bad batch of some street drug. She may have even been in this very room before. She couldn’t be sure—they all looked the same after a while.
She remembered a little. She was going to bring her mom in again, maybe try to see the cute doctor, too. So, where was her mother and what was she doing here as a patient?
She tried to lift her right hand, but her shoulder screamed in protest. Lifting her left, she touched her head. Her hair was a matted, greasy mess. Patting herself down from there, she assessed her situation. A bandage covered the front of her right shoulder which was probably why it hurt to move it. There was a big IV line that went into her upper arm on the left and it was secured there with a piece of clear plastic tape. It was her belly that alarmed her the most. Fresh scars crisscrossed in a crooked T shape. Snuggled in to the small square of uncut flesh to the left of the T was a plastic bag. It was taped to her stomach and a fleshy pink ring could be seen just inside it. In the bottom of the bag, there was a brown fluid. No. This was not what she thought it was. No. She’d rather be dead than to have to shit through her stomach into a bag for the rest of her life. Gang Bangers who got shot or stabbed ended up like this. Not her. An image flashed in her mind. Gang bangers—one with a knife and one with a gun.
“Hey,” she tried to scream but her dry throat refused to let out anything more than a squeak. “Help.”
Nothing. She looked around the bed, her lower half forgotten. There had to be a call button somewhere. The rails were up and she couldn’t reach the tray table. Her left hand patted the bed on her right side. It came upon a firm plastic tube. She followed its course into the side of her chest.
“Oh my god, they tried to kill me. Why didn’t they?”
She was so weak that there was no way she could even pull herself up. There was no call button anywhere. She was alone.
The sunlight that had warmed her feet was now just a tiny sliver on the floor by the far wall. It was dark in the room otherwise and, with no one there to witness it, Kenzi broke down. Tears spilled from her eyes, ignoring the drought warning from her dry mouth, and soon turned into sobs which turned into chokes. Every hiccough hurt her throat, her ribs, her stomach, but fresh, raw pain felt good and so she let her cries release her.
“Ms. Brooks, you’re awake,” a soft, feminine voice said from behind the curtain pulled halfway around her bed.
A nurse, dark hair, about Kenzi’s height but with a much better body—even underneath the scrub top and pants—came into view.
“They tried to kill me,” Kenzi croaked.
The nurse navigated around the mechanical obstacles without turning on the lights and Kenzi appreciated that. No need for anyone to see her puffy, red eyes. She sat down beside Kenzi, her arm propped on the other side of the bed, thus pinning her patient in place. With her free hand, the nurse pushed Kenzi’s hair away from her forehead in a motherly gesture.
“Yes, they did. Men did this to you. Men abandon you, they use you, they sell you like property and they hurt you. They always hurt you. Then when you are at your lowest, another comes along to save you and manages to make everything even worse.”
This was not what she expected from her nurse.
“You have beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?” the woman asked.
Kenzi squirmed and cocked her head, a habitual move that caused her hair to fall back down, covering her “ugly eye.”
“No,” she answered honestly.
The nurse leaned into Kenzi’s face. “There are more men waiting for you. Police want to talk to you, doctors want to poke at you, and there is still drug money to be paid, isn’t there?”
The heart rate monitor picked up its pace as memories came back in clips.
“My mom! I need to check on her.” Kenzi sat up, ignoring the burning protest from her gut.
“Your mother is dead. Your friend Gloria is here, two doors down, brain dead.”
“No. That’s a lie.”
“The men know what’s best for you. They will tell you when they decide you are strong enough. They will want you to make the call—pull the plug. She has no one else. Oh Kenzi, so much pain is still ahead for you.”
“Why are you saying these things to me? Why aren’t you helping me?”
Her throat ached from talking. Her tongue was sticky, and she was so very tired.
“I am helping you, Kenzi. But you have to help me, too. I need you.”
“What?” Nothing was making sense and Kenzi could not keep her eyes open any longer.
The lights in the room flickered to life behind her eyelids.
“Is that you I hear, Ms. Brooks?” This was not the same woman she’d just been talking to. The voice was deeper, and gravely—that of a life-long smoker.
Kenzi opened her eyes. There was a new nurse standing at the curtain, her hands in the pockets of a scrub jacket. This one was older with her grey hair cut short and wire-rimmed glasses high up on her nose. Had she dozed off and they changed shifts already?
“I thought so. You must have been talking in your sleep but that’s a good sign.” She checked the printed EKG strip. “And it must have been a doozy of a dream too.” She jotted some notes on the strip where the spikes were close together.
Kenzi watched in silence.
“You need your whistle wet?” She picked up a cup, dipped a pink sponge-tipped stick into it, and ran it over Kenzi’s lips.
“More,” she asked. There was strength to her voice now.
“Here, take it.”
She put the cup in Kenzi’s right hand and the stick in her better working left.
“I’m going to call Dr. Patel to come see you. He’ll be happy to hear you’re awake,” she said, reaching for the call box that sat on the mobile tray stand on the far side of the bed. “Meanwhile, if you need anything, push this red button. My name is Jane. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”
“What was the other nurse’s name? The one that was here before you came in?”
“You mean the day nurse from this afternoon?”
“No, it was night, the other nurse here with you. She was in here right before you came in.”
“Honey, there was no other nurse in here before me. You were dreaming.”
“No, I wasn’t. She was here. We talked, and she said my mother is dead and my friend Gloria is a few doors down, but she isn’t going to survive, and the police want to talk to me.” Kenzi said after sucking all the room temperature water from the sponge.
The nurse stopped arranging the tray, and looked at Kenzi, her face confused.
“Where did you hear that? How long have you been awake?”
“So, it’s true? My mom is dead? And Gloria? Please tell me she’ll be OK. Why do the police want to talk to me? I don’t know anything.” But she thought she did. Maybe she remembered everything all of a sudden, even the bird and the snake.
The monitor alarm interrupted, warning Kenzi to calm down. Jane took the cup of water back and put a warm but wrinkled hand to her cheek. She leaned down so that her face was looming over Kenzi’s. Yes, she was a smoker and a coffee drinker. Kenzi suppressed the urge to crinkle her nose.
“Now, I need you to calm down before we have to give you some medicine. I don’t want to do that.” She rubbed her thumb soothingly across Kenzi’s cheek.
The sensation of a loving gesture coupled with the menacing stance and awful breath almost sent Kenzi over the edge. She inhaled as deep as she could. She had to get control of herself if she was going to get any answers. Otherwise these people would just keep giving her medications to make her sleep and she would never get out of here. The alarm stopped. The beeping returned— still rapid but obviously not too fast.
“Good girl. Now, I am going to go call Dr. Patel to come see you. He is a nice young doctor, probably around your age. I think you’ll like him. He is working with Dr. Childs who might come in tonight as well or may wait and see you tomorrow morning.” She adjusted Kenzi’s blankets, tucking her in.
“But the other nurse that was here. She said my mom…”
“Listen, I think maybe you overheard people talking while you were still sedated. Your brain made it into a dream that a nurse was here telling you these things. I’m sure no nurse would ever tell you that. Dr. Patel will explain everything to you when he gets here. Nothing for you to worry about right now, OK?” She headed toward the door, effectively cutting off the conversation.
“There was someone in here—you had to have passed her when you came in. She sat on my bed, right here.” Kenzi patted the bed on her left.
Jane turned at the door. “There was no one in here. I promise you. I know this because there are guards standing at your door. No one gets past them unless cleared by the nurse on duty and that’s me. Now just try to get some rest.”
Before Kenzi could respond Jane turned out the light, leaving her in darkness yet again. If anyone else visited her that night, she wasn’t aware.
Chapter 14: Book of Kenzi 5
Dr. Patel—Kenzi remembered his name—came around the curtain without waiting for her reply to his knock. Oh god, it was the cute doc who always seemed to be stuck taking care of her mom. She wondered if he remembered her, or worse, the time Marilyn tried to set the two of them up. Please don’t remember that.
“Good day, Miss Brooks. It’s lovely to see you up and alert. You’re looking more like your old sassy self.” Shit, he remembers. He smiled. Kenzi couldn’t help but notice how every part of his face participated in the smile. It sparkled like fireworks in his midnight colored eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Her mouth was still dry. She swallowed.
“OK, I guess.”
Her throat tried to catch the words as they came out and it hurt. She had so many questions to ask, but she didn’t know where to start. The thing was, she didn’t know how many of her own thoughts and memories were real and how many were fragments of drug induced dreams. The last thing she needed was to say something that made him question her sanity. She decided to let him do the talking and ask questions from there.
He walked to the bedside stand and picked up the cup and sponge.
“No,” she croaked. “Water please.”
“That’s not up to me, Miss Brooks. I’m sorry. This is all I can offer you right now.”
He pushed the cup at her again, and she took it. She swabbed her mouth.
“Then what can you do for me?” she asked. “I mean, why are you here?”
The smile fell off his face, his shoulders slumped, and he hung his head for a moment before straightening up and facing her once more. The subconscious movement that lasted only seconds, may have been missed by any other patient but Kenzi knew the look of self-defeat well and saw it for what it was. She knew he was a doctor in training from their visits before, so she did understand that he had to get permission from other doctors to make certain decisions.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Good job, Kenzi. He’ll remember you now that you’re acting just like your mother. Demanding he do something.
“I’m a resident physician, Miss Brooks. I can see to your medical problems and write some basic orders, but any major decision about your health has to go through both my attending and the other specialists involved in your care.” He touched the bag attached to her belly. “The general surgeon gets to decide when you can eat.”
She nodded. “I understand, I do. I’m just still a little confused. I don’t remember exactly what happened to me.” Lies.
“That’s not unusual. There’s plenty of time to consider it. We don’t know exactly either. There are many questions.” He paused. “We were hoping you’d be able to tell us.”
She shrugged.
“The police have been waiting to speak with you. So far, we’ve been able to keep them away because of your medical condition, but you’re doing so much better. We won’t be able to for much longer.”
It was as if he could read her thoughts. He knew she remembered more than she was telling, and he was warning her.
“I don’t remember anything,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “So just tell them I have amnesia and I don’t want to press charges.”
“You really don’t remember, do you?” He sat on the side of her bed and took her hand. “When they looked in your house, they found three dead men and your mother—”
She sat up, her stomach and shoulder screaming in protest. “My mother is dead. I know.” Dr. Patel squeezed her hand.
“Your mother was shot in the head, Miss Brooks. She was dead when they arrived at the scene. You were the only one found alive. I’m so sorry. Your mother was always a challenge, but I enjoyed caring for her and visiting with you.”
“No. I’m dreaming. This is a dream.” And then, “Gloria Paulson—is she here?”
“So, you do know her? Yes, she is. We’ve been trying to find the next of kin.”
Kenzi shook her head interrupting him, “She has no family.”
“Your name was on some things that were found in her bags.”
“She’s like my mom, more so than Marilyn really.”
Tears pushed themselves past the emotional dam she’d built against her mother and ran down her cheeks. Perhaps she loved her mother more than she’d thought or maybe she was finally mourning the loss of the mother she never really had.
