Paint It Black, page 6
part #3 of Sonja Blue Series
The inside of the warehouse was lit by the midafternoon sunlight slanting through the barred windows. The whole place smelled of dust and rat piss. The meat locker was on the ground floor, just where Mal had said it would be. Its metal walls and door were covered in swirls of spray-painted graffiti. What looked like a huge line of coke marked the locker's threshold. Judd grabbed the door's handle and yanked it open. There was a faint crackling sound, like that of static electricity, and a rush of cold, foul air. He squinted into the darkness, covering his nose and breathing through his mouth to try to offset the stench.
"Sonja?"
Something moved in the deepest shadows of the freezer.
"J-Judd? Is that you?"
"It's me, baby. I've come to get you out of here."
"Go away, Judd. You don't know what you're doing."
Judd steps into the locker, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. He sees me now, crouching in the far corner with my knees drawn against my chest, my face turned to the wall.
"No, you're wrong, Sonja. I know exactly what I'm doing."
"I let her hurt you, Judd. I could have stopped her, but I didn't. I let her - let her-" My voice grows tight and my shoulders begin to shake. "Go away, Judd. Go away before I hurt you again!"
Judd kneels beside me. I smell like a side of beef gone bad. My hands are covered with blisters and oozing sores. Some of the fingers jut at odd angles, because they healed without being properly set. I pull away at his touch, pressing myself against the wall as if I can squeeze between the cracks if I try hard enough.
"Don't look at me."
"Sonja, you don't understand. I love you. I know what you are, what you're capable of - and I love you anyway."
"Even if I hurt you?"
"Especially when you hurt me."
I turn my head in his direction. My face looks as if it has been smashed, then reassembled by a well-meaning, but inept, plastic surgeon who had only a blurry photograph to go by. My eyes glow like those of an animal pinned in the headlights of an oncoming car.
"What?"
Judd leans closer, his eyes reflecting a hunger I know all too well.
"When you did those things to me, at first I was scared. Then, after awhile, I realized I wasn't frightened anymore. I was actually getting into it. It was like the barriers between pain and pleasure, animal and human, ecstasy and horror, had been removed! I've never known anything like it before! I love you, Sonja! All of you!"
I reach out and caress his face with one of my charred hands. A renfield. The Other turned him into a renfield. And he doesn't even know it, the poor sap. In the space of just a few hours he was transformed into a junkie, and now I'm his fix.
"I love you, too, Judd. Kiss me."
I want to think I am being merciful.
I sit behind the wheel of the car for a long time, staring out into the darkness on the other side of the windshield. Nothing has changed since the last time I was out here, disposing of Kitty.
I press my fingertips against my right cheek, and this time it holds. My fingers are healed and straight again. I readjust My shades and open the car door and slide out from behind the wheel of the Caddy I bought off the lot, cash in hand, earlier that evening.
Judd is in the trunk, divvied up into six garbage bags, just like Kitty. At least it was fast. My hunger was so intense that I drained him within seconds. He didn't try to fight when I buried my fangs in his throat, even though I didn't have the strength to trance him. Maybe part of him knew I was doing him a favor.
I drag the bags out of the trunk and head in the direction of the alligator calls. I have to leave New Orleans, maybe for good this time. Kitty might not have been missed, but Judd is another story. Arlo is sure to mention the missing Judd's weirdo new girlfriend to the authorities.
It is time to blow town and head for Merida. Time to go and pay Palmer a visit and check on how he and the baby are making out.
Palmer.
Funny how I'd forgotten about him. Of all my human companions, he is the only one I've come close to loving. Before Judd.
I hurl the sacks containing Judd's remains into the water and return to the car. I try not to hear the noise the gators make as they fight among themselves.
I climb back into the car and slam a cassette into the Caddy's tapedeck. Lard's "The Last Temptation of Reid" thunders through the speakers, causing the steering wheel to vibrate under my hands. I wonder when the emptiness will go away. Or at least be replaced by pain. Anything would be preferable to the nothing inside me.
I don't see why you had to go and kill him like that. We could have used a renfield. They do come in handy, now and then. Besides, he was kind of cute....
"Shut up and drive."
- from the diaries of Sonja Blue
4
It was late afternoon, sliding toward evening, and Palmer was out in the courtyard, hammering together a shipping crate for a collection of handpainted Dio de los Muertos masks. The masks - made of papier-mâché and painted in primary colors so bright you could still see them when you closed your eyes - were piled in a small heap nearby, grimacing blindly at the failing sun.
Palmer dropped his hammer and straightened up, massaging his lower back. He pulled a bandanna from his pocket and mopped his brow. God, he hated this part of the business. Building the crates for shipping was a relatively minor hassle. Loading Lip the Land Rover and taking it into the city were the real ball-busters. Still, the pay was pretty good, and money went a lot farther in Yucatan than it did back in the U.S.
He looked down, and his gaze fell across the masks in their nest of excelsior. He'd bought them as part of a larger job lot from a family of artisans who'd been producing carnival decorations for over four generations. Until now, he hadn't paid that much attention to them. He sifted through the collection, studying the workmanship. Most of the masks were small, designed to cover the face of a child. All of the traditional carnival personas were represented: there were skeletons, their teeth bared in aggressive, lipless grins; what were supposed to be tigers, judging by the stripes, but looked more like jaguars, broom-straw whiskers bristling from their snarling muzzles; blood-red devils with grease-pencil mustaches and shoe-polish goatees, licorice-black horns jutting from their foreheads; grinning clowns whose noses and chins met, like the Punchinello puppets of medieval Europe.
Yet there were less typical false-faces scattered throughout: a sheep's head, the wool cunningly made from balls of cotton; a wolf, fangs bared in a predatory snarl; a rooster caught in midcrow, its beak open and throat sac extended. Palmer chuckled to himself as he sifted through the empty masks, remembering Halloweens spent dressed as pirates, cowboys, hoboes and other exotica.
Then he found the black mask.
It was at the very bottom of the pile. He frowned and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Like the others, it was papier-mâché. Unlike the others, it was adult-sized. And, except for the eye holes, it was without features of any kind. There were no overly exaggerated human or animal characteristics, merely an oval painted black and coated with several layers of varnish, so that it shone like a scarab's carapace. There was something oddly compelling about the mask - something that made him set it aside from the others as he prepared to load them into their crate.
It was dusk by the time he finished driving the last nail into place. He tossed the hammer back into the toolbox and stepped back to appraise his handiwork.
A bootheel scraped behind him. Palmer spun, his mind bristling. A figure stood in the door leading to the front of the house. Whatever had breached the security of his home could not be human, or else he would have heard - or at least felt - its thoughts long before it reached the front door.
Before Palmer could launch his psionic strike, the figure laughed dryly and stepped from the shadows.
"Hello, Bill. Did you miss me?"
"Sonja!”
She stood there looking tired, her leather jacket powdered with road dust, her mirrored shades equally grimy. In one hand she held a battered black nylon duffel bag, in the other a neatly wrapped present bound with colored twine. She smiled tightly, as if the corners of her mouth concealed fishhooks. Her head was surrounded by a blackish-red halo that strobed and pulsated like a lava lamp. The Other was very active tonight, it seemed. Palmer tried not to let his dismay taint his own aura.
He hugged her, savoring the smell of her as he pressed his face into her hair. For a moment her shoulders seemed to quiver, as if struggling to shrug off an invisible burden.
"Auntie Blue! Auntie Blue!"
Palmer and Sonja stepped apart as Lethe bounded onto the patio, grinning broadly. Dressed in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle t-shirt and a pair of bright yellow stirrup pants, she could have passed for a normal child - except for her golden, pupil-less eyes. Shambling in her wake, Fido paused at the sight of Sonja. Although Palmer could rarely "read" the seraph's aura, he knew that it, too, was disturbed by evidence of the Other's activity.
Sonja smiled and the stress drained from her face at the sight of her godchild. She dropped down on one knee, opening her arms wide. "C'mere and give me a hug, sweetie!"
Lethe shot into Sonja's arms like an arrow, clinging to her tightly. "Are you staying this time, Auntie? Are you really staying for good?"
"Maybe not for good - but at least for a couple of months. Here, let me get a look at you.... You've grown, child! Hasn't she, Bill?"
"Eighteen inches in the last six months."
"Did you bring me something, Auntie Blue?"
Sonja laughed and ruffled Lethe's dark hair. "Here you go, darling. I just hope you haven't gotten too big for dolls...."
"I'll never be too big for dolls! They're my babies!"
Palmer stepped forward, gently nudging Lethe in the direction of the house. "Lethe, why don't you and Fido go play with your new doll? Auntie Blue and I have some things to talk about. And tell her thank you for the gift."
"Okay, Daddy. Thank you, Auntie!"
Sonja watched as Lethe skipped away, Fido lumbering after her like a demented pull-toy. "She's big, Bill. Too big for thirty months."
"You're telling me? That's why I've been trying to get you to come home - we need to figure out what to do with her."
* * * * *
Several hours passed before they could be alone. First Palmer had to prepare dinner for those members of the household who actually ate food, then they had to go through the process of readying Lethe for bed. After baths and bedtime stories, it was close to midnight before he could join Sonja on the front porch. He found her curled up in the hammock, watching the night sky. She was still wearing her sunglasses.
"I brought some refreshments," he said, holding up a bottle of tequila. "Any room there for me?"
"Maybe," Sonja smiled, moving so he could join her.
Palmer cracked the seal on the bottle and took a hefty swig before placing it on the floorboards of the porch. He lifted his arm and Sonja flowed into its hollow like a shadow, one cheek pressing against his breastbone. They lay there for a long moment, Palmer idly stroking her hair.
"Things are getting weird, Sonja."
She lifted her head from his chest and gave him a quizzical look. "`Getting'? I thought they'd been there for some time now!"
"You know what I mean. This stuff with Lethe is getting out of hand - I don't know what to expect from one day to the next! Hell, this time last year she looked like she was ready for kindergarten! Now she looks like she should be in the fourth grade!"
"Is she giving you problems?"
"No - far from it. She's an angel. A little rambunctious at times, but she's no real trouble. But she's starting to want to go with me on my trips to the city. She's becoming curious about the outside world. We can't keep her hidden away forever, Sonja."
"We can't risk anyone finding out about her. You know that as well as I do. If Morgan finds out where she is, there's no telling what he'd do to her. Or with her. I promised her parents I'd never let Lethe fall into that bastard's hands. Besides, the locals would probably not look kindly on a child as - unique - as Lethe."
"I realize that, Sonja. It's just that - well, it's not natural for her to be alone like this! All she has in the way of playmates are Fido, Lefty and me. That's hardly what I'd call a 'well-rounded' play atmosphere."
"What do you expect me to do? I know as much about Lethe's true nature as you do. Hell, you probably know more, since you're the one who actually takes care of her. As far as I can tell, she's a healthy little girl who just happens to be somewhat - advanced - for her age. There's nothing either of us can do except try to take care of her and wait to see what will happen. And as to her having playmates ...well, Fido and Lefty will have to do for the time being. At least she isn't being raised by the lousy TV set!"
The subject was closed. Palmer knew enough not to reopen it. At least not now. He took another hit from the tequila bottle, offering it to Sonja. She shook her head.
"So ...how was New Orleans?"
Her body tensed, like a cat preparing to leap. "Fine. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Just curious, that's all. That's where we first met, after all. Remember?"
"Yeah. I remember."
"Hey, what's wrong? You're really tense, you know that? I feel like I'm cuddling an ironing board!"
"Sorry," she muttered, pulling away from him. "I guess I'm not ready to relax yet. It's just that I=" She let the sentence trail off.
"Just what? Did something happen in New Orleans?"
She turned her mirrored gaze away from him. "I had some trouble with the Other. Bad stuff."
"Want to tell me about it?"
Silence.
Palmer took another hit from the tequila and began to climb free of the hammock. "I better go check on Lethe...."
Sonja touched his arm. "No, you stay here. Let me do it."
Palmer shrugged and settled back. "Whatever. Bring me back a couple of beers, won't you?"
"Sure thing." As Sonja entered the house she paused on the threshold, fixing Palmer with her unreadable eyes. "Do you love me?"
Palmer looked up, slightly taken aback by the question. She rarely spoke the word "love" with her mouth - only her mind. "Of course I love you!" He gave a short laugh to show how silly a question it was.
She paused, as if weighing his response. "Why?"
Palmer blinked, his smile slowly dissolving into a frown. "I just love you, that's all."
"Oh." Again the pause. "I'll be back with your beer in a few minutes." Palmer sat in the hammock under the starlit sky, listening to the calls of the night birds, and wondered what the hell had gone down in New Orleans.
* * * * *
The door to Lethe's bedroom was slightly ajar, allowing light from the hall to filter in, so Lethe wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night and be scared to find herself alone in the dark. Sonja was uncertain whether Lethe was actually scared of the dark or not, but it seemed the proper thing to do.
She stuck her head inside the door, her eyes automatically adjusting to the dim light. Lethe lay on her side, her back to the door, surrounded by a multitude of dolls. She had kicked off her bedclothes. Sonja stepped inside the room, quiet as a shadow, and stooped to retrieve the discarded covers. As she straightened up, there was a motion at the corner of her eye.
Fido had moved from its sentinel position at the foot of the bed, its eyes glowing like molten ore. Although she knew the seraph meant her no harm, Sonja felt the hair on her scalp prickle and a low, guttural growl begin deep inside her chest.
Lethe rolled over and opened her eyes, smiling beatifically. "Don't be afraid, Auntie Blue. Fido's just protectin' me, that's all."
"Why should he have to protect you from me? I'd never hurt you, sweetie."
"I know, Auntie. But the Other would. It wants to hurt me right now, doesn't it?"
Smart little fucker, isn't she?
"I would never let the Other harm you, Lethe. You know that."
"I know, Auntie Blue. But Fido isn't so sure.”
* * * * *
Palmer started from a light doze as a Tecate, still dripping ice from the cooler, was pressed into his hand. He jerked awake like a science-lab frog zapped by a dry-cell battery.
"Uhn! Oh - thanks." He tilted back the bottle for a quick chug. Sonja straddled him as he lay in the hammock. Except for her sunglasses, she was naked.
She perched atop his crotch, the moonlight outlining her body in silver and shadow. Her breasts were still as full, her stomach and thighs just as taut as he remembered. Palmer set aside his beer and reached up with one damp hand to tweak her nipples. They were cool and hard between his fingers, like smooth little stones.
She reached down with one hand and yanked open his denim shirt as if it were made of newspaper, sending buttons flying in every direction. Lowering herself atop him, she slid her legs down his, wrapping her arms around his neck. Palmer caressed her naked hips and she moved to fill his hand, like a cat eager to be stroked. A heady rush of arousal and fear surged through him, as it always did before their lovemaking.
On a deep, instinctual level, Palmer knew the beautiful creature that fondled him was death personified - yet, on an intellectual level, he trusted her not to kill him. His physical excitement came from the knowledge that his lover could, at any given moment, tear him apart like fresh bread.
The moment his fly was open, Palmer's penis leapt free. He closed his eyes as Sonja took him into her mouth, exhaling a long sigh as the curvature of her fangs glided against the head of his penis. A sane man would go limp knowing razor-sharp teeth encircled his cock. But Palmer hadn't been sane in a long while. Trembling, he pulled her head away from his crotch, gasping between his teeth as he fought to regain control.
She moved quickly, lowering herself onto him before he could protest. Palmer reached up to cup her breasts and, with a firm upward thrust of his hips, penetrated both her body and her mind. To tell the truth, he missed the mental bonding more than he missed the physical aspects of sex. He could always jerk off when she was gone, but there was no such thing as masturbatory telepathy. And without further effort, he surrendered all thought and self; all barriers dissolved before the bond.
