It was going to be a full day. Had I realized how full the days beyond this one were about to become, I would have considered it a vacation.
Tuesday, November 8
12:27 A.M.
Suite 1233, Concourse Suites
St. Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 2:
She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this frustrated. Even the bath hadn’t helped, and she’d even used six cans of milk instead of four.
Of course, maybe milk wasn’t what she needed to use. Perhaps purity wasn’t the remedy she needed to seek.
She should know by now that purity couldn’t satisfy the hunger.
She finished closing her garment bag and tugged on the zipper. When it didn’t immediately yield to her pull, she gave it a violent jerk then shrieked at it. “Dammit!”
“Dammit…” She muttered the word again, her angry voice held low under her breath. “That fat bastard just had to ruin it…”
It was entirely his fault. She would be fine right now if it wasn’t for him.
She couldn’t believe it. The sensory deprivation, smothering, the razor; shit, even the gun didn’t make him afraid. And, he had known it was the real thing, it was his own goddamned gun! He just kept getting more excited no matter what she did to him. No matter what she threatened, there was no fear. Even after she would carry out a torture and follow it with psychological intimidation, implying that worse was to come, he would just get that much more aroused.
What a complete pervert he was! He was even so wrapped up in the game that he didn’t need manual stimulation. He just got off right there on the bathroom floor.
Damn the premature fucker.
She hadn’t been ready. Not yet.
None of them were ready. Especially her.
She hadn’t even had a chance to open her attache, much less do the ritual.
Damn him!
And, if that wasn’t enough, when he had blown his load, it got all over one of her shoes. Good damn thing he was carrying a healthy wad of cash. Her fees didn’t include having a three hundred dollar pair of suede pumps ruined by the likes of him.
But, even though he had the cash, it still made her angry.
And, when she got angry, she made mistakes. Mistakes like the one she made last night when she pulled the trigger.
No, she hadn’t been ready.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, she just wasn’t ready yet! And it was his fault! A few more minutes and maybe it would have been the right time. Maybe she could have evoked some fear, and then they would have been satiated. And if they were satiated, then she could have taken him quietly, and she would have had her reward.
But not this time…
Now, they were turning their backs on her.
She was ignoring her.
She was going to let her suffer.
She was being punished because of him.
She finished snapping the closures on the garment bag and hefted it from the bed then placed it near the door with her laptop and makeup case.
As she stood there, the word “no” suddenly rang through her head born of an ethereal voice.
She didn’t move. She simply continued staring at the luggage, trying to ignore the command.
The hunger continued deep within, hunger that went far beyond the physical. She closed her eyes, waiting for the gnawing sensation to pass, but as she feared it only grew stronger.
They needed to be fed. No… She needed to be fed.
She opened her eyes then stepped over to the window and absently peered through at the sparkling downtown Saint Louis skyline. Crossing her arms, she hugged herself tightly as if steeling against the chilly darkness.
“Not yet,” she murmured. “Not here. It’s too soon.”
The hunger didn’t listen. She could hear the response echoing in her ears with an unnatural hiss, “Yeesssss… Nowwwww…”
“No,” she objected quietly, her voice almost a whimper.
“Yeesssss,” the voice returned. “Ssssheee demandssss a ssssacrificssssse forrr yourrrr failurrrrreeee…”
She allowed her head to hang forward, squeezing her eyes tightly shut once more. What had she done? What pact had she made that now brought her to this point of addiction?
The voice echoed again, “Yeesssss… Nowwwww… Ssssheeee demandssss theeeee ssssacrificssssse…”
Slowly, she reached to the desk and picked up the phone then reluctantly tapped in a number with a lacquered nail.
“Yes,” she said after listening to an overly cheerful greeting from the concierge. “Suite 1233. Could you let the front desk know in the morning that I am going to need the room for an extra day, perhaps two… Yes… No, I would really prefer to keep the same room… Yes… No, just some fresh towels… Yes… Thank you.”
After she nestled the handset back into the cradle, she looked over at her luggage, all packed and ready to go. She hadn’t planned for this, and she would be needing a few things. She then glanced over to the aluminum attache sitting on the desk next to her purse.
With a resigned sigh, she stalked over to the baggage, retrieved her computer case and began unzipping it as she made her way to the desk. She might as well get started.
She needed someone to have for dinner, and it couldn’t be just anyone. No, the demand had been too specific. She wanted the sacrifice, and for this occasion, it needed to be someone very special.
Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to go far. She already knew him very well.
Tuesday, November 8
3:07 A.M.
CHAPTER 3:
A completely unexpected pain bit into my side. It was sharp and unpleasant but not what one would call agonizing. In fact, it was really just more along the lines of “insistently uncomfortable.” Still, whether agonizing or not, I rolled over out of reflex, moving in what my muddied brain perceived to be the opposite direction of the vexation.
My head was buzzing as an obnoxious clamor droned in my ears, and I might have focused in on that disquiet were it not for the fact that it suddenly, and thankfully, fell silent. I started to dwell on it anyway, or at least I think that’s what I was doing. I couldn’t be sure because the dwelling didn’t last very long. Apparently, my sleepiness-reduced serotonin levels were more than enough to convince me it wasn’t worth the time. In what was probably a span of no more than a second, I started drifting back into the comfortable darkness of sleep.
Of course, it was at about this point in time that the pain returned, just as sharp and even more unpleasant than before. This time it arrived in conjunction with a repeat of the raucous droning followed by a string of unintelligible speech. Neurons dutifully awakened inside my head, hurried through their electrochemical greetings with one another, then informed me that the elbow of the woman beside me in the bed was the instrument of my torture. Next, I was made privy to the fact that the droning noise had most assuredly been the ringer on the telephone.
However, my brain still couldn’t interpret the muddled string of syllables. A full translation being unlikely, and not being satisfied with simply getting two out of the three, it did the next best thing and gave me a short list of possibilities. The top pick among them was something akin to my wife telling me to answer the phone. Of course, after all of that thinking being foisted upon me, I was actually awake enough to lay money down that said pick was dead on the mark.
I groaned and sent my hand searching for the telephone on the nightstand. As I groped in the dark, using only one barely open eye for guidance, a passing thought rolled through my brain: If the thing had a longer cord, I could move it to Felicity’s side of the bed. It sounded like a good solution at the moment, but I knew she would probably just move it back. I tried to dismiss the idea, but something in the mind-fog kept reminding me that this was the reason she was still sleeping and I wasn’t.