“I don’t think you’re a whore, Elisa. I didn’t mean it that way. I enjoy our time together.”
“You mean you enjoy fucking me.”
“It’s just that I worry about you. I worry that you are so provocative because you are hurting inside. I worry that I’m abusing you by sleeping with you, that you need stability and a progression of intimacy. It concerns me, Elisa. I don’t want to hurt you, and I think you are already.”
* * *
She’s roused herself finally, slipped into her camellia georgette sleep shirt too quickly for his tastes, never even made it out from under the covers before it was on, still something to see though, he sometimes asks himself if she knows, behavior and all that, she’s wouldn’t be bothered, probably put on quite a show, just morning fog. She missed another visit from the assistant, sympathetic voyeurism on his part, although he’d feel no jealousy, not if he caught it, either pretends not to notice or doesn’t, hard to really say, potential for rebranding right there, he’s got the evidence, last resort.
Tonight she’ll be with him, never accepted his reasons for short absences, always that nagging gaze she tries to feign is relationship based, no visits from the Wolf, as far as he knows, in a few months, she never mentions it, psychically speaking, no nocturnal briefcase raids either in awhile, perhaps it was all her, no conspiracy, just curiosity, to know more, wouldn’t really blame her, he’s lying, she knows, he knows she knows, she knows he knows she knows. He isn’t quite sure how involved she really is anyways, could be their liaisons are purely physical, she doesn’t pursue it with him anymore than she does with Vincent, perhaps his affects have been raided as well, as he slept. He’d like to believe that. He can’t remember ever being so confused, just wish she’d behave normally, give herself completely, accept him, no more questions, just love… He doesn’t have the luxury, couldn’t explain the investigation, couldn’t go from investigator to husband without some tap-dancing, save quitting, beyond his capabilities, he was made for his work. She’s foul, a dangerous mind, all of it hidden in those eye lashes and humping good body, sometimes wonders if he’s obsessed, endorphin addict, she’s capable of such perversity, it makes his mouth water, just thinking about it: hard-on and images invading, she’s given him so much to remember, a lifetime of pornographic memories, some without him, transfused from other partners, she can’t help but recall as she carnie contorts for him.
She concentrates on her bed, satin sheet fluttering down onto mattress, vignettes of him, not Vincent, he’s seen the murmur of it, several men merged or rag-doll man stitched together, she leans over the bed, quick, before she rises, from behind the door, quietly, four steps and on her, she begins to turn just as he grabs her, forces face into satin covered mattress, twists arms behind her back, holds slim wrists with one flexed hand, unbuckles, unsnaps, unzips, she struggles against him, body writhing, his legs holding her against the side of the bed, drop drawers, big nasty cock lined up, driven into her, she struggles harder, harder, pushing against a fleshy barrier, final involuntary relax, her labored grunts — stop, stop, really need to stop this…
She’s finished with the bed and heads into the adjoining bathroom. He’s becoming a wolf, uncontrollable fantasies, forced intercourse, desires to humiliate, injure, more perverse, surpass her, scare her, make her cry, little preteen against crab grass, ignorant, he’s going to pin her, pin her good… it’s all he thinks about… she’s out of camera range, flips over, already in shower, shower-cam, ahhhh… how did he become the wolf?
Pride over his will power, finger hovering over the button, clicks; image implodes into a faint star on black screen, waits — what if something happens? No, no, he’s got to stop, he’ll see her soon, only a few more hours, she’ll agree to anything, real…
Vincent stirs from his chair, leaves his office, follows the maze (Joseph would wonder where the minotaur is) to the Hall of Records and puts in his request to a crunchy little man of sixty or so, who speaks like the reports he manages, has no name (surely he does, but Vincent doesn’t know it). He patiently waits, a little too nonchalantly, even going so far as to whistle intermediately.
“Father Nicholas, a.k.a. Arthur Dodger, thirty-eight year old author of eighteen books, Fiction, Children’s; chairman of the Children’s Literature Institute, winner of the Seuss Award, World Book Award, Educational Story Medallion, and special doctorate from New Jerusalem University. No known address, quota plan, no debts or credits, voluntarily unclassified, no med schedule on file, no known ownership.”
“That’s odd, any run-ins with the department?”
“Yes, Arthur Dodger was arrested but not charged with a variety of small misdemeanors and small time anti-social acts in his late teens and early twenties. The first few concern a club he was involved with, some indication he was the leader, that vandalized automobiles by adjusting the content of stickers on the back window shield or rear bumper with derogatory and offensive words and images. It appears that the first altercation occurred when Mr. Dodger was caught changing a sticker on a Ms. Betty Raspell’s car from ‘My Son is an Honor Student at Hobokin School for the Gifted’ to ‘My Son is a Horny Student at Porno School for the Depraved’. Then, within two months, Mr. Dodger was arrested again, this time for altering a sticker that read: ‘I’d Rather Be Fishing’ to ‘I’d Rather Be Humping’. Mr. Dodger was remitted to a minimum security branding facility after he was questioned by a court-appointed psychiatrist because he had delusions of grandeur and refused to take his social harmony meds.”
“Delusions of grandeur, does it say what those were?”
“Yes, Mr. Dodger believed that the messages they made on these stickers would cause other people to join a revolution and the eventual overthrow of the government. Of course, the psychiatrist noted that this was a juvenile fancy that would be easily subdued through the proper treatment. Mr. Dodger was a model student at rebranding and was released in less than a year’s time. He was listed as the prime suspect six months later in a bizarre event in Blackburn Woods in which six girls of varying ages were found dancing in the nude around a cauldron which contained business clothing, it was later uncovered that the clothing belonged to the fathers of the six girls, and that they had been persuaded into stealing their father’s entire wardrobe. According to one of the women, Mr. Dodger drugged them with medication and tricked them into removing their clothing. Mr. Dodger was never arrested due to insufficient evidence. However, a month later Mr. Dodger was arrested for deviant behavior along with a Miss Sara Samedi, who was the oldest of the six girls in the previous case, after the two were found engaged in sexual intercourse in a public park. It is noted that both Mr. Dodger and Miss Samedi were dressed in costumes and that the way in which they were found is against social policy. This was followed by a few petty-theft crimes, in which Mr. Dodger would break into corporate offices during business hours and steal seemingly random items from the offices. He was initially caught removing seven machines for copying documents from four different corporations and allegedly, Mr. Dodger claimed he was helping the workers of these businesses by driving them close to madness. He has reportedly been warned by Section 1 for some of the books he’s written, four of which were required by court order to be altered before their release, and one other one is no longer available for resale because of the questionable values it represents. Mr. Dodger has six books on the questionable list and he has been investigated twice for allegedly making subversive comments. He has not had a run-in with the department, though, since he was twenty-four years old.”