Rowan Gant - Perfect Trust Part 35

"On what he sees."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno. I've watched 'im do this maybe half a dozen times. Either he sits there starin' for a minute, then just snaps out of it, or he starts floppin' around and screamin' like a banshee."

"Why would he do that?"

"Cause of what he sees."

"I don't understand," she sounded puzzled, "I thought he was going to hypnotize her."

"He did," Ben grunted. "Look at her."

"But shouldn't she be talking or something?"

"That's not exactly how he does it.""How exactly does he do it then?"

"I dunno. Hocus pocus Twilight Zone s.h.i.t. He's the Witch, not me."

"So, what's he see that would make him start screaming?"

"I don't really wanna know. Do you?"

I know I didn't.

I'm drifting in a semi-conscious haze.

I remember flashing lights.

Bright. Blinding.

Over and over.

Darkness.

Flash!

Darkness.

Flash!

And the sound of shuffling.

I remember being moved.

At least I think I do.

I'm no longer cold, but I'm terribly uncomfortable.

I feel as though I'm still seated, but my hip is aching and I can feel my own knuckles pressing hard against my cheek. My arm tingles as if it has gone to sleep.

My back is starting to hurt.

My hair still feels incredibly bizarre.

I start to move but then I remember.

I'm afraid to open my eyes.

I know he is close... I can hear him.

I can smell him.

I gag on the stench I open one eye and find that the blur is no longer as bad as it had been earlier.

Still, I can feel something in my eyes and they are sore. Itching.

I'm in different clothing now.

It looks like it might be a party dress. All I know is that it is shiny and red and frilly and there is a lot of it gathered around me. My right leg is draped over the arm of the chair. My left leg feels like it is being stretched and pulled out of its socket in the opposite direction. From the way that my feet feel, I guess that they are crammed into a pair of high heels that are about a half-size too small.My side begins to cramp up and I whimper.

He doesn't hear me.

He is making far too much noise.

I can hear him panting.

I feel him close.

A shadow moves in front of me and in the dim light I can see that he is nude from the waist down.

His hand is pistoning back and forth at his crotch and I can hear him mutter, "So close... Almost perfect... "

A lit cigarette smokes in his free hand as the other pumps faster between his legs. I concentrate on the glowing coal, not wanting to witness his self-stimulation.

I watch him raise the cigarette to take a puff and notice that it is positioned between his middle fingers.

Curious.

I've never seen anyone hold a cigarette like that before.

I try to follow his hand, but my head feels heavy, and I cannot move.

He moves closer, standing between my legs.

I want to scream.

He starts grunting as something warm and wet splatters me. I'm afraid I know what it is, and I feel sick.

The scream escapes as a gurgle.

My brain overloads on the fear and disgust.

I close my eyes and pray.

He keeps panting and muttering, "Oh sweet Jesus, she's so close... She's almost HER. ".

"Did you see that?" Charlee McLaughlin's voice echoes past me in a distorted roar.

"See what?" Ben's voice rumbles behind. "They flinched."

"Yeah, so?"

"No, like both at the same time."

"Yeah?"

"Well does that mean something?"

"You're askin' the wrong guy, Chuck."

"It's been almost five solid minutes," her voice continued to echo out of phase."Should we try to wake him up or something?"

In my mind I was screaming YES! Of course, they couldn't hear me. I couldn't even hear me.

"First time I ever saw him do this," Ben explained, "he said, whatever you do don't touch me, or you'll break the trance. Or somethin' like that, anyway. Just let it go. As long as he's not screamin' and they're both still breathin' he's fine."

No I'm not! I screamed at them again to no avail.

One thought crossed my mind. Dammit, Ben! As I remember, you didn't listen to me then-so why are you suddenly deciding to do as I asked now?

The sense of absolute violation transcends even the pain.

I know he's been inside me, I can feel it.

I'm still so weak, so tired, that I cannot move.

I just lay there in the cold and cry.

Hot tears stream from the corners of my eyes, rolling across my face and finally dripping into my ears.

I'm on my back.

It's dark and there's something covering me.

I can feel cold vinyl against my skin.

The stench of stale cigarette smoke fills my nostrils.

I'm still with him.

How long has it been?

I've lost all track of time.

I feel motion.

We are moving.

I can hear the roughness of the mistuned car engine.

The vibration rattles me.

My arm slides across my chest, making tiny jumps in time with the vibrations until finally, it falls, glances from the edge of the seat and lands in the floorboard; or more accurately, into the trash covering the floorboard.

I can hear him in the front seat.

He's humming.

He's humming a happy, satisfied tune. He's humming Merry Christmas, Baby.

I feel the vehicle turn-left I think.I wonder if I can remember the turns. Isn't that what they do in spy movies?

Count the seconds traveling straight, then the turns ? Make a map in their heads ?.

Who am I trying to fool here?

I wonder where he is taking me?

My stomach wrenches itself into a knot as fear grips me.

He's probably taking me somewhere so he can kill me and dispose of my body!

I feel the car turn again, begin to accelerate, then the forlorn squeal of worn brakes reaches my ears.

The car lurches to a sudden halt, rocking hard on worn shocks. I bounce against the seatback like a rag doll, then roll forward. My body slides from the edge of the seat and crumples into the floorboard, face down.

I groan.

"Don't worry," I hear him say, "you're almost home."

Fear slices through me again. I wonder what he means by home? The bottom of a ditch? The river? A shallow grave somewhere?

My mind races.

I struggle to open my eyes and find my face buried in a pile of trash. As we pa.s.s beneath a streetlight I see that my pillow consists of fast food bags, empty cigarette cartons, and things best left unidentified.