Firefly. Part 23

She did not actually like being alone; she liked independence. She had a.s.sumed that the two were inextricably linked. Now she wondered. A man who wasn't brutal, who would let her be herself, strong enough to be himself-there was an appeal to that.

Well, it was probably academic, and she had more immediate concerns. Her body was healing, but she had far to go before achieving either physical or emotional comfort. She didn't like being dependent on others for food and clothing, but had no choice at the moment. It was nice of none to get Mid to offer the use of the main house, but that would have put her with none and Geode, and she wanted them to be alone together. Also, there was indeed the matter of the monster. Who else could she ask to serve as a lure for it? She was on the job here, using her recovery time to its most effective potential. That, perhaps, was her root reason for declining the chance to stay at the main house. She preferred to be in harness, pulling her own weight, and she was doing that here.

The prospect of this night frightened her, without a doubt. none had called her a brave dragonfly-but dragonflies did not fly by night. Fireflies did. The monster was a firefly, and she was its prey. For somehow she knew it would come here to feed, and not elsewhere.

As far as she knew, it had never taken an alert person. But did it depend on natural sleep, or did it somehow lull its prey to sleep? She would find out. The prospect made her distinctly nervous, but she reminded herself that Cyrano was out there watching; she should be safe.

It was midafternoon. She would sleep till dusk, then be alert through the night. It fed at night; she was depending on that. In fact, she was betting her life on it.

She lay down and slept. It was an ability she had developed as a business a.s.set, for her investigations could require odd hours. She knew she would be able to stay awake for the night with this preparation.

She woke at dusk, as planned; the other part of sleeping on command was waking on command. She felt better; she had slept so as to prepare for the night, but it had helped her heal too, perhaps, or at least put a bit more distance between her and her recent horror.

She went outside, gazing at the evening. The ponies were not in evidence; apparently there had been too much recent activity here, so they had moved elsewhere. With a square mile of field and forest, they had many options.

She saw a firefly flash in the shadow. That reminded her of the monster. How close was it now? How close was Cyrano? Suppose it came, and he did not? Could she handle it when alert? She knew it was small enough to get in a window, which didn't seem so fearsome, but large enough to consume a man, which it did. A python could crawl in a window and consume a man! How could she defend herself? Now she regretted declining Frank's offer of a gun. She wished Frank were here!

She heard something. It was faint, so faint she might be imagining it-a high keening, like a tuning fork or a ringing in the ear. Where was it coming from? She couldn't tell. Did the monster make a sound?

She thought of Frank again. What would it be like to have s.e.x with him? A man's fires diminished somewhat as he aged, but plenty remained when evoked. Her husband had demonstrated that! Had it actually been so bad, being sodomized? In some circles it was an acceptable alternate mode of s.e.x. Cyrano had reminded her of that. She had to agree that the perpetrator was more to be blamed than the victim. But she would rather have Frank here, stripping down, doing it normally, eagerly- A horrible realization came. The firefly! It used s.e.x to pacify its victims! Pheromones. That was why she was becoming so uncharacteristically s.e.xually excited. IT WAS NEAR!

She hurried back into the cabin. Now her decision to remain here another night seemed foolish. She knew of no one who had escaped the monster. She had a.s.sumed they were all asleep or unconscious-but maybe they had all tried to have s.e.x with it. What aspect did it a.s.sume, to compel a person to come close and to remain while it consumed that person?

Would it seem to her that Frank was arriving, and would she go gladly into his arms for s.e.x-and would they find her bones in the morning? What folly to expose herself here to what she did not understand!

She looked for some weapon, but realized as she did so that it was futile. The best that offered was a broomstick or a small paring knife. Somehow she knew that neither would be effective against the firefly. Would she hit or stab Frank when she was l.u.s.ting for him? Even if she knew he was only an illusion covering the monster?

But suppose she simply refused to have s.e.x? Would the firefly then be helpless against her?

She remembered the pheromones. She had reacted erotically when she smelled the remains in the old mining pit. How much worse would it be with the living firefly? She was very much afraid that not only would she be unable to fight it, she would welcome its embrace, even knowing it for what it was. Already she was thinking s.e.x again, wanting to embrace a man, to open her legs for his member, to feel him penetrating her. That really wasn't natural for her, but now it seemed completely desirable. It was no use reminding herself that s.e.x was all too often inconvenient, uncomfortable, and messy; she craved that messiness.

Then she heard a motor. Relieved, she ran to the door and flung it open.

The ambience of s.e.x struck her almost tangibly. The keening was louder. The closed cabin had sheltered her from it to some extent. Now she had no doubt at all: it was the firefly, coming for her. All too soon she would desire its approach; she felt the urge mounting, felt her crotch becoming hot and moist. If she saw anything like a p.e.n.i.s she might grab it and climb on it. What power in those pheromones!

She saw the lights of a car coming down the path through the forest, blinking on and off as they were interrupted by intervening trees. Surely the firefly couldn't be driving it! Yet if it was in fact a man with a unique method-no, impossible! The car had to be coincidental.

Then the vehicle came into sight in the closing dusk.

It was her own car! The one Mid had given her!

Did that mean Frank had gotten the keys and brought it here to her? Wild hope surged. She could have him and escape the firefly at the same time!

Then she saw the figure inside. It was Bull Shauer!

She reeled, emotionally and physically. Everything was happening at once! What could she do now?

But the shock brought some sense to her. One thing about which she was absolutely certain; she did not want more of Bull's type of treatment! Not even pheromones could override her fear and aversion! She had to get away from him.

She knew she could not. Maddened by the pheromones, he would be ruthless. And she-how long could she hold out against the pheromones herself? How long before she welcomed Bull's s.a.d.i.s.tic l.u.s.t? That would be horror on horror!

Then she remembered the anesthetic dart. She had it hidden under the mattress. She went and fetched it. Where could she hide it on her person? She tucked it quickly in her hair. She hoped it was effective, because it was her only hope. If it wasn't- The car pulled up almost to the door. Belatedly May remembered the lock. She rushed up and turned it.

There was a thud as Bull pounded once and tested the k.n.o.b. Then a pause. In a moment there was a sc.r.a.ping. He was using his knife to jimmy open the latch. The door had no dead bolt.

May ran into the outer chamber as the door opened. There was no help here; the mattresses would only hasten his appet.i.te. She went beyond, to the enclosed porch, but its door had been long since sealed over; no egress there. She was trapped.

She turned back to the main chamber. He was there, smiling cruelly. "You were foolish, April, to think I would let you go so readily," he said.

She knew he wanted to brag. She played the game; it was better than the violence that would erupt if she didn't. "How did you find me?"

"I never lost you, April. I was not asleep when you wrapped that towel around your a.s.s and tiptoed out bare-b.o.o.bed to hide in the broom closet. I wanted to know what your contacts were. Who would have thought they were a sheriffs deputy and a rich Chinaman! I must compliment you on your savvy in managing men." He frowned. "But I think you know now that if you get close to that deputy again, his livelihood is gone. One call, and he'll pay for your bare t.i.tties with his job."

He had seen! "You fooled me completely, Bull," she confessed, honestly enough.

"And if you think that a.s.shole in the van is coming to your rescue, forget it. I took him out on the way in."

"What?" she asked, dismayed anew. She had hoped Cyrano would spy the commotion and investigate.

"I tied him to a tree. He won't move till I let him move. Maybe in the morning, when we're headed out of here and back home."

"But-" But what could she say? Bull wouldn't give a fig about the danger from the firefly, and indeed, if he didn't know about it, she shouldn't tell him.

"As for the Chinaman, all he wants is privacy. He'll boot you the moment you become an embarra.s.sment to him. So-you will become that embarra.s.sment. But first we'll have a little fun."

"You've already tried to give me AIDS," she flared.

"AIDS? What are you talking about?"

"Weren't you-when you-?"

"When I f.u.c.ked you in the a.s.s? h.e.l.l, no! I don't need any stupid drugs and I wouldn't touch one of those d.a.m.ned fairies! I was just letting you know your a.s.s is mine. And you know that now, don't you, April?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He had just lifted an enormous burden from her mind. Bull never lied to her; her opinion was beneath his contempt.

"Say it, April."

"My a.s.s is yours, Bull," she said with appropriate reluctance. Actually, her heart was singing, despite her present peril. Bull would beat her, but wouldn't actually kill her. The AIDS would have killed her.

"So bare it for me, b.i.t.c.h." He used the bad words deliberately, aware of her relative fastidiousness about terminology. He was savaging her already, verbally. It would hardly stop there. With part of her mind she noted that the pheromones didn't seem to change his behavior; apparently they couldn't enhance a sado/s.e.xual drive that was already firmly in control.

She removed her clothing, slowly but not too slowly, in the way he liked. Then, naked, she took the pins out of her hair, letting it down. The last was the hypo Cyrano had given her. How could she use it, with him watching?

"b.i.t.c.h!" he snapped.

Startled, she dropped the handful. The hypo rolled across the mattress. He knew about that too!

"Stop stalling with that s.h.i.t. Come open my pants."

He wanted oral s.e.x, she realized. He knew she didn't like that either. He hadn't seen the hypo! She approached him and dropped to her knees. Probably the forced humiliation of the position was as important to him as the act he demanded.

Her mixed relief was short-lived. "What's that?" he exclaimed, gazing down.

She froze, not knowing what to say that would not d.a.m.n her.

"You into drugs now, b.i.t.c.h?" he demanded.

"No," she protested, hope flaring with this miscue.

"Think you can lie to me, you f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e? Give it to me."

She got up, then stooped to pick up the hypo. Bull extended his hand to take it from her as she straightened.

Now she thought. She did what she had never done before, and attacked him. She lunged, stabbing at his arm with the hypo, depressing the plunger as the needle entered the flesh of his forearm.

"You t.u.r.d!" he cried, s.n.a.t.c.hing the hypo away. "What's in that thing-c.o.ke?"

She retreated. Had she scored on a good place? How long did it need to take effect, from a peripheral site?

"You trying to turn me into a druggie?" he demanded, advancing on her. "Instead of shooting up yourself, you shot me up? Well, it won't work! One shot doesn't make an addict. Meanwhile, I'm going to ream your a.s.s so hard-!"

He grabbed for her, catching her arm. She spun around and away, stumbling by him, her nakedness making her harder to catch on to, and ran for the other room. But he turned and dived after her, grasping her by the hair. He yanked cruelly back on it, bringing her up short. "You are going to pay," he said.

She turned back, swinging her arm. Her right elbow caught him on the cheek. He grunted and his grip on her hair loosened. She wrenched away and charged the door again.

He was after her again immediately. But she was committed now. She had discovered that she could fight him. In all their years of marriage she had never struck back. Now she was doing it. Maybe the pheromones were giving her some sort of sublimatory courage, translating her detestation of his kind of s.e.x into violence. He would pulverize her, of course-but he would have done that anyway.

She dived out the door, but he was faster. He caught her again, his right hand clutching her shoulder. She turned, trying to spin away again, but his other hand caught her wrist. He yanked, and she came flopping into him. There was no way she could match his strength.

She jerked her hand up, but he still gripped her wrist. She put her face to it and bit his knuckles, hard. There was almost a glory in this, fighting back physically! The end might be certain, but this time he would be scarred as well as she.

"You d.a.m.ned c.u.n.t!" he raged, letting go and making a fist.

She stumbled back, turned again, and sprinted barefoot for the car. Had he left the keys in it?

No. They weren't there. She couldn't use it to escape.

She ran again-but her brief pause was fatal. He caught her again. This time he tackled her. She crashed to the ground, turning her face barely in time to avoid the gra.s.s and dirt. There was a flare of pain from her injured left breast. He changed his grip, virtually climbing up her, holding her down while he opened his fly. He turned her over, jammed his knee between her knees to force them apart, and came down on her.

But his follow-up was oddly slow. He was trying to have s.e.x with her, and his member was ready, but it was as though he were falling asleep.

The sedative! It was working at last! Bull had run out of steam!

She renewed her struggles, and this time was able to break free of his loosening grip. She drew herself out from under him. Bull remained where he was, sprawled facedown in the gra.s.s, fly open, p.e.n.i.s out, and stupefied. He had an erection, but nowhere to put it.

She couldn't pause to gloat. She didn't know how long the sedative would last, considering that she probably hadn't given him a full dose. The moment Bull recovered, he'd be after her again. She couldn't trust herself, either; the moment her terror of incipient capture faded, her obsession with s.e.x returned. That big, stiff p.e.n.i.s- She ran to the cabin, entered, jammed on her clothing and shoes, and came out again. The car-she needed to use that! But he had the keys.

She looked at him, lying there. Could she go and pick his pocket for them?

She didn't dare. It would be just like him to play possum, and grab her when she approached. Cat and mouse was his game. And if she got close to that p.e.n.i.s again, she would be drawn to it, heedless of the consequence. It was as if she were drunk with s.e.x: she didn't dare drive. Or whatever.

She set out on foot, following the trail into the dark forest. With luck she would make it to the house before Bull recovered. They could set the alarm system, so that he could not break in without bringing the police, fire department, and whatever else. If only he didn't wake too soon!

But even as she ran, she felt the horrible, continuing urge for s.e.x. The smell of the firefly was here-and where was it lurking? Down this trail? Would she stumble into it in the dark? Would her fear of it be greater than her hunger for s.e.x?

How could she know? It was Bull or the firefly. She plowed on, hoping she wouldn't get lost. Maybe she could find Cyrano and untie him, if the firefly hadn't- She stifled that thought. That couldn't happen, it just couldn't!

* 28 - BULL SAW HER go, but was unable to pursue her. The b.i.t.c.h had stabbed him with her drug hypo, and it had brought him down into a stupor. He had a.s.sumed it was whatever she used, c.o.ke or heroin, though she'd never been into that stuff before. Instead it seemed to be something to make her sleep-and now it was making him sleep. At least, it made his body sleep; his mind was awake, his eyes open. He just couldn't move. What had she dosed him with, curare? That was the stuff the pygmies used, that knocked out the body and not the mind. Surgeons had given it as an anesthetic, and patients had complained that they felt the surgery, and naturally the doctors had dismissed that as imagination-until a surgeon had had surgery under curare. Then he believed. Too bad they didn't do the same thing with dentists, make them feel what the patients felt, so they could stop calling it imagination.

Well, if it was something like that, at least he wouldn't be conscious while being cut up! It would wear off after a while, and then he'd get after the b.i.t.c.h again, and catch her, and make her pay. What kind of s.e.x would appall her most? He'd had her in the a.s.s, so that wouldn't have the same effect next time. He had to make her really hurt, in the mind as well as the body. He had three years of hurting to catch up on.

Maybe bondage: tie her up, burn her t.i.ts with a cigarette, make her beg for s.e.x, scream for it, and really mean it to get out of the pain. Then burn her while he was going into her, so her writhing brought him off. He'd heard of a guy who did it with a chicken, holding the bird down, putting his p.e.c.k.e.r in the avian c.u.n.t, then cutting off the chicken's head, so when the bird flapped around and clenched in its death throes, it brought him off. Something like that for April-yes, the notion of her screaming and twisting in pain while he rammed it into her, that was great! She'd pay, oh, she'd pay!

It was getting pretty dark, but he saw something. Heard something too. A sort of high keening. Crickets? It didn't seem the same. He wanted to turn his head and look, but couldn't; peripheral vision was all he had. So it was just a rustling in the gra.s.s, maybe a snake, down somewhere beyond his feet, but coming closer.

A snake? There were rattlers in these parts! If one came up and bit him- He put that aside and thought of s.e.x again. The h.e.l.l with where and how he f.u.c.ked her, so long as he did it fast and strong. The bondage could wait until he got the edge off, and she'd think it was over; then he'd tie her and start in again, making her hurt while he got it up for the reprise. His p.e.c.k.e.r was hard as a rock, poking out from his pants. He'd never been this h.o.r.n.y before! He'd f.u.c.k her continuously, the way they did in those dirty movies, in the mouth, in the c.u.n.t, in the a.s.s and back to the mouth, on and on, coming and coming, let her scream and beg him to stop, let her choke on it, he'd just keep ramming it in. He imagined her lying there, her fleshy legs parted, while he pumped it in continuously, like a fire hydrant, spuming out around her crack, no end to it. She was a solid woman, Rubenesque, ample of breast and hip and thigh, and he liked her that way, a piece of a.s.s that a man could really get into. Sometimes he had the feeling that it would be dangerous to f.u.c.k a slender woman; she might split right in half when he wedged his c.o.c.k into her crack. But not April; she could take it all, and still be there for more. She was big and soft, like a pillow-doll, and pneumatic.

A d.a.m.ned ant appeared by his nose, a little reddish one. He knew about the ants of this region, fire ants, with many-holed mounds, whose sting made a burn that hurt for hours. If that f.u.c.king insect stung his nose- Something touched his shoe. He felt the nudge, but still couldn't see what it was. He really didn't care; if it came within range, he'd f.u.c.k it too! The smell of s.e.x was in the air; that was all he cared about.

Another ant appeared. He pursed his lips and blew it away; at least he could do that!

Something touched his p.r.i.c.k. There was a fine caress, and a soft surrounding, an enclosure. The pleasure magnified. G.o.d-a woman should be like this! This was the finest c.u.n.t that ever existed. His p.e.c.k.e.r got so hard it was bursting, and still the pleasure mounted. The old Roman G.o.ds, they must have f.u.c.ked like this, immortally great, who cared what woman was on the other end of it, they were all just sheaths for the rod, just coming and coming, never-ending s.e.x.

It was like an o.r.g.a.s.m, but it didn't just come and go, it continued. It started at the tip of his p.r.i.c.k, and swelled into the head of it, and down inside the channel, like s.e.m.e.n going backward, making the pleasure follow. Now his entire member throbbed with the sheer joy of penetration-the exquisite bliss of that fluid coursing slowly inside. His p.e.c.k.e.r felt as if it were a foot long and six inches thick, deep in a hot, slick c.u.n.t to match.

Then the ecstasy proceeded further in, following the channel down and around and deep, making the whole root of it resonate. There had never been gratification like this, not in all the aeons of man's existence! He could stay here a thousand years, just letting it happen, transported by the ultimate sensation.

It traveled on into his bladder, spreading its rapture. His whole belly radiated pleasure. He never wanted this to stop. If this was a d.a.m.n wet dream, he hoped he never woke. He just wanted to ride on its current forever. He was on his way to f.u.c.king Heaven.

Gradually his consciousness faded, as the delight extended up through his body toward his head.

* 29 - FRANK TISHNER STARED down at the body. That was Bull Shauer, all right, the description fit. May Flowers's car was not far from it, as she had said.

The phone had roused him in the wee hours: May, sounding desperate. Her husband had found her; she had stabbed him with the hypo and fled. He had caught her, but succ.u.mbed before he could rape her. She had made her way through two miles of forest, following the trail, until it led her to the house. Bruised, scratched, mosquito-bitten, she had pounded on the door, and Geode had let her in. But Bull was still in the forest, and so was Cyrano-and the firefly.

Frank had gotten over there in a hurry. Now he was at the cabin as the dawn threatened-and here was Bull, exactly where May said she had left him, on the ground, facedown. His clothing, and his bones.

The firefly had taken him.

Frank left the body there for the moment and went in search of Cyrano. It seemed that Bull had claimed to have tied him to a tree. Since there was no evidence of Cyrano, that was probably true.

He found the place where the tread marks of Cyrano's van left the main trail. He followed them. It wasn't hard, now that he knew what he was looking for. Soon enough he found the van, parked under a reaching live oak. Not far from it was the man, sitting on the ground, his arms behind him around a small tree, tied. He was gagged.

Frank moved the gag, then the rope binding the wrists. It was a simple tie, but just about impossible to escape.

"May Flowers," Cyrano said, unkinking his arms and chafing his wrists.