Coochie Coochie A Tickling Horror Story
Pt. 1 M.C. Laphar
Cana was afraid of her fate. She stood in the darkness, her hands chained to the ceiling above, and her feet to the floor below. She could feel the manacles, cold steel, through the denim of her foot length jeans. The nearly six foot tall university student with dark orange skin and long black hair, had been kidnapped after a party on campus, and drugged. She remembered that part clearly, as well as the fading into the darkness that she underwent. Aside from that, the drug was slowly wearing off, and giving her a mild headache as it did so. Sweat was pooling in her deep underarms as it rolled down her neck from her overheated hair that Cana swore she’d cut the week before, and soaked through her yellow short sleeved polyester shirt.
Where am I? Cana thought as she looked around in vain. She could see nothing in this darkness. Not even an inch in front of her. It was that totally dark. It was like what might be in Hell, a total darkness, where fire that is equally dark, lies in waiting to pounce upon you, and devour you in a burning, sulphuric embrace that completely envelops you. Cana wanted to scream, she wanted to shout, but something told her not to. It also told her if she did then she’d not live long enough to cherish the release of freedom.
But being the headstrong girl she was, Cana didn’t listen to that little warning voice. She shouted for help, screamed for release, and the individuals three floors up, hearing her cries, put down what they were doing and began to slowly make their way down the stairs to her. Rubbing their hands together as they descended in a unified, orderly fashion.
“Cana,” Marie said as she opened the dormitory door. The five and a half foot tall woman with the faint pink complexion mixed with a light brown opened the door. She was dressed in a black knee length skirt which matched her hair and her shadowed eyes. Her blouse was light gray, and had an oxford university insignia on the breast, just above the level of the heart.
Marie stepped into the room to find Cana’s belongings spread about the bed. “My word,” Marie’s favorite phrase, “What on earth happened here?” She knelt to pick up a dictionary Cana had bought a week prior. A soft click alerted her to someone else in the room. She whirled around to see a tall, police officer. He was thin with a set of wide shoulders.
“Who are you?” Marie asked nervously.
“I was about to ask you the same question Miss.” the officer said to her. “You’re trespassing on a crime scene.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “This is my friend Cana’s room.”
“Cana Fadruthiya?”
“Yeah,”
“She has been missing for forty-eight hours ma’am, have you seen her since Friday evening?”
“No, I assumed she left with her boyfriend.”
“Well, her boyfriend alerted us my dear.”
“So, he and you all think she’s gone?”
“No one else has been able to spot her around so yes, we believe she is gone, and we’re trying to find her.”
“Oh, my word…”
The door opened behind Cana, and three shadows entered the room, the clicking of the door as it shut snatched hope away from Cana’s optimistically beating heart. Then the door opened again, the figures left, and shut the door behind them. It felt like hours before she felt the sudden caress of the fingers along the back of her thighs.
The sensation made her jump slightly she gasped in terror, and tried to see who was touching her. The darkness told no secrets. Then she felt another brush along her thighs. She hopped as far as her chained feet would allow her, in the vain hope that the sensation would remain behind and away from her. The vain hope was just that. Her action seemed to make the caress more aggressive. It now felt as I a whole hand was sliding up and down the back of her jean clad legs. From the top of her buttocks, to the top of her calves. For a whole minute, the hand did this in varying degrees of firmness, growing from a hard press, to a soft, light stroking, almost panning the hand over her flesh; then there was the swift sharp shock of a smack on her buttocks.
“Jesus Christ!” She shouted as the pain flared in her rear. She was already fearful of the situation she was in, fearing for her life, wondering who it was that was stroking her buns, and then the smack comes along as if to say, “Oh, you think you’re scared now, just wait!” and then plants itself on her butt like a sloppy wet kiss from an old grandmother.
Cana felt a hand moving up the side of her leg, walking up like a small person. And it stopped just below her belt. For a period of thirty seconds, there was nothing but silence and the pressure of a person’s fingers resting on her jeans. Cana wanted so badly to scream, but she was unsure of what that would cause. She had shouted for help once, and these people came down, and now she was being fondled. She breathed a weary sigh. And then the fingers briskly tickled her hips. Cana squealed and fell bacward into the person who had tickled her. The individual didn’t push her away, but held her in an almost caring fashion, one arm was around her hips, briskly stroking her hips, and another was around her tummy where, small as it was, it had small love handles. And the hand on her tummy was tickling those.
Cana wriggled in the nerve stimulating grip of her kidnapper. If the light were on an onlooker might see that her eyes were turned upward, and her mouth was a portait of a perfect smile. Her dark lips contrasting on her orange skin, and middle-sized white teeth exposed. She couldn’t help but wriggle and laugh, it was as if the kidnapper knew just where to tickle her. Few people know that her most ticklish spots were her left hip and her love handles.
“Aha! No, what is this for?” Cana whined between bouts of cackling, she tried to pull out of the kidnapper’s grip, but there was little she could do with the perilous strokes drawing her concentration. “Stop please!”
There was no reply from the tickling person behind her. Whoever it was, kept digging their fingers into her hip and love handles, causing Cana to start flopping like a fish on a line as it’s taken out of the water. In fact it was this very idea that caused the tickler to stop suddenly and whisper in her ear.
“Clownfish,” the voice said. It was soft, faint, almost feminine. It was odd to Cana; she had never heard
A voice like that. But she knew it was a man.
“Please sir, please let me go,” she said as she tried to undo her bonds to no avail. “Please, I’ll do anything, anything you want, just let me go please!” His hands released her hip and tummy, Cana sighed with relief.
“Laugh for me, Clownfish.” he said before his fingers made a landing in her deep armpits. The scream she gave was one of electrified terror, and it only served to excite her captor even more.
Mandoline Concerto in G-Major played in Dante’s room. He was a tall man, with dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders and skin the complexion of boiled egg flesh. He was stretched out on a long couch in his house off the highway, in the deep forest a good two miles away from the road. He wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His black loafers looked like they had never been worn outside the house. He moved his left index finger to the beat of the mandolin. During the pauses in music, Dante could hear Cana’s squeals of laughter, and the occasional, “Yes! Yes, I’m a Clownfish!” followed by a crescendo of “hee hees” and rapid fire “hoohoohoos”. It wasn’t uncommon for him to hear laughter in his life. Cana was but one of hundreds of women whom he had kidnapped and held captive as he had them tickled until their nerves gave out or until they went mad. He had audio and video recording of the numerous episodes. A night vision camera with infrared lighting in a dark oubliette gave the young wealthy man a wonderful view of what befell the women he collected.
The piece of music finished, and Dante listened with aroused enjoyment at Cana’s pleas for mercy which weren’t far ahead of horrible laughter. Making her pleas seem like a joke. A tease even. Offering to do whatever the kidnapper wanted, and then yanking the promise back with a hearty laugh.
But Cana wasn’t his favourite by far. Dante closed his eyes and reminisced about the middle aged construction worker he had kidnapped outside of the union building. A brazen act in anyone’s book. He had his way with her in his living room, bound to the chair he now stretched out in, and slowly removing her hat, and watching her dirty blond hair as he removed hervest by cutting it with a pair of scissors, and delightfully and sadistically walking his fingers around first her ribs, then her armpits.
Michelle Brougham was her name, I recall. Dante thought to himself. Ah, what a wonderfully sensitive form she had. He relived the moments when he removed her work boots. He could feel the heat, from standing all day and smelled the stench of accumulated sweat. He pulled off her wet socks and touched one of the soles of her feet. Her foot curled and wrinkled. So many wrinkles… Michelle giggled with fear, and then screamed as Dante licked her sole with the vigour of a hungry dog lapping up honey, and the nimbleness and elegant motions of a woman doing an oral sex act.
His tongue slid along her heels and painted her soles, almost writing a message in Arabic with his saliva. His tongue enjoyed the ridges of wrinkles that she made as she scrunched her feet and flexed them. It was like licking the crème off of a lemon meringue pie. Then he slid his tongue in between each toe. He rotated it and wiggled it and enjoyed the woman’s shrieks of laughter and moans of what might have been pleasure, or acceptance of her fate. After finishing with her feet, he returned to her red shirted upper body, digging into her ribs with the ferocity of a lion, and feeling her hips buck under his crotch.
“Fuck!” the woman screamed, “Get off of me or I‘m going to kill you!”
“I don’t thik you’ll be killing me tonight,” Dante said as he leaned closer to her face. She was at least forty-three. He could tell by the wrinkles. “I think you’ll probably die laughing.” He looked her right in the eyes as he dug in her sweaty under arms. She looked at him for as long as she could before she fell into another deluge of laughter, precluded by a loud, “Shit!”. Her legs flailed around and the vibrations only made the situation sexier for Dante.
“Stop it please!” Michelle cackled and begged.
“Only if you’ll let me tickle you more.”
“No!”
“Then I’ll not stop now.” He smiled. He leaned close to her ear as he slowed the tickles and whispered, “but I have the power anyway, so, why would I ask you?” A tear rolled out of Michelle’s eyes as he said this. “Oh, does the hottie feel bad? I’ll give you a kiss.” He pulled up her shirt to just under her large breasts, and he began to blow raspberries on her tummy and digging his tongue into her navel. It was as if an laughing gas bomb exploded in her belly the way her laughter rolled out of her mouth.
Dante woke from his daydream and rose to his feet. He walked from the third floor to the basement level. Here he went to the room where Cana was. By now she was crying in pain; and she wanted desperately to be free. Dante could feel it. He almost felt sorry for her. But he knew people like her were not worth the struggle it was to save her. To free her from bonds she so willingly put herself into, from the day she came of age with the personality she had. Releasing her back into a world like this was mad in Dante’s view. The previous tickler left Cana fifteen minutes before Dante descended. When the door opened, Cana looked toward the door, she was turned halfway to it. Her eyes were pleading, tears trailing her face, eyes shining like dark gems in the light of the corridor.
“Please,” she whined, “don’t tickle me anymore.”
“Don’t worry,” Dante said calmly, “I won’ tickle you anymore.”
“Th-thank you,” Cana said as she closed her eyes. She so wanted to die right there. She felt the fingers of this new visitor on her chin as it lifted her head up. She opened her eyes to look at the man’s face that was half hidden in darkness. He smiled.
“I won’t tickle you any more than my assistant did,” Cana’s eyes grew in terror, and Dante put both hands on her sides, and began stroking her love handles Cana began chuckling uncontrollably. Stomping her bound feet and trying to move away from Dante’s nimble fingers.
“I like your sides,” he said as he looked into her eyes, “a little adipose tissue on a skinny Indian woman such as yourself makes you look quite attractive. Of course, I have more of an affinity to Indian women. My first love was an actress I met in Mumbai.”
Cana bent backward and hopped forward by pure accident. Dante wrapped his hand around the small of her back and scrabbled his fingers over her bare lower tummy with the delicacy of an angelic feather duster. It was driving Cana wild with laughter.
“Yes, Indian women are some of the more beautiful in my experience.” Dante said as he focused on Cana’s twitching navel. “I like the variety they have. Certainly there is just as much variety in Africa, but India has one of those special places in my heart. Have you ever seen a Hijra?
“I once held a hijra captive also. Many of the hijras are quite attractive, especially the tall, ones that look like models. I will say my dear, that he was far far more ticklish than you are.”
“Then…why do you continue to tickle me?”
“Because my little lotus blossom,” Dante said with a smile, “I have all the confidence in the world in you.” He kissed her cheek and slid his hand along her back, and then stopped. “You are wearing a thong aren’t you?” without waiting for an answer, Dante turned Cana around and looked at her jeans, he could see her lingerie. “You are!”
“Don’t strip me please!”
“Oh my dear why would I want to strip you?” Dante asked. He reached under both buttocks and began gliding his fingers over the sliky fabric of her jeans. Cana screamed, more out of desperation than the tickling, and fell into another wave of laughter.
“Ah,” Dante said, “our little visitor has a very ticklish set of buns.” He tickled faster, listening to Cana’s screams of desperate laughter grow in multitude and watching her small buttocks jiggle with every flick of his dexterous fingers. “I’ve heard you have a nickname, clownfish I believe it is. I think Honey Buns is a much better title don’t you think?” Cana did in fact think that Honey Buns was a better nickname than clownfish. But she was laughing too much to confirm it.
She lifted her legs to curl into a ball, and inadvertently made it much easier to get at all of her rear. Dante’s nails glided over her buttocks and skated along her inner thighs and danced back down to her butt.
Keeping her in that position, Dante put his right arm under her knees to keep her from putting her legs down. The restraint made it much more ticklish for Cana because she knew she couldn’t escape. She felt the nimble fingers dancing on her very ticklish bum and couldn’t do a thing about it. Were it her boyfriend doing this, she would have felt great about it. And she would have enjoyed exponentially more than she did now. Her pleasure of being tickled was gone the moment she felt that smack on her butt by the individual who called her Clownfish.
Cana knew this wasn’t over, she only hoped that she wouldn’t die. She didn’t want to be one of those Jane Doe’s that’s found on the side of a road or floating in a river naked, or worse, with their skin removed. The thought terrified her, and destroyed any pleasure she might have gotten from Dante’s titillating journey along her rear.
Marie was trapped in the police car, between two policemen in the back seat, and her legs sticking through the front screen, as it rolled down the highway. The two officers on her sides tickled the little Indian student on her sides and her firm tummy. Marie had slid to the floor of the back seat and was laughing up a storm. The two officers were taking great delight in torturing the twenty-year old Law Student. The car came to a stop by the side of the road, and Marie felt her sneakers being removed. Her Nylon feet were cooling in the air for only a moment when the driver’s fingers made landfall on her soles.
Marie’s teeth clenched and her eyes slammed shut as she tried to pull her feet back to her. They were bound in the barrier, making it difficult to pull the feet more than two inches in any direction.
“Look at her,” the officer on her right said, “She’s just squealing like a little piglet!” He was a heavily built man with copper coloured skin and dark spiky hair. His eyes were shaded by dark police issued sunglasses and his smile, a truly sadistic one, was filled with perfectly lined, perfectly white teeth. The officer’s partner concurred as he wormed his right hand up into Marie’s left armpit.
Marie couldn’t believe this was happening. She was standing with the officer in Cana’s dorm room when the officer got a call on his walkie-talkie and he was informed that they may have found Cana, alive. The news was both exciting and frightening at once.
“May I come to see if this is indeed Cana?”
“With all due respect Miss Aljahripur,” the officer said as he removed his hat to wipe his forehead, “you’ve got classes to go to.”
“No I don’t,” the young woman said. “My classes are on Monday’s and Wednesdays. This is Tuesday.”
“Ah, well then I suppose you can come with my men and I.”
“We should notify Dan,”
“Her boyfriend?”
“Yeah,”
“He’s in a car on his way to the site already. He’ll be waiting for us when we arrive there.” The officer confirmed that he was on his way with a friend of the missing person, and he made his way down the stairway followed by the anxious Marie. They made their way out of the dormitory and out to a patrol car.
Two officers in black uniforms smiled and greeted her as they approached. She goti n the car and within two minutes was off down Reservoir Road and off into Maryland.
“So,” said the officer on her right, his name was Finch, “what do you study at georgetown?”
“I study accounting.” Marie said. She kept looking straight forward. Watching the road pass from in front of her to the space she couldn't see, under her. As she did this, a car came speeding down the road and nearly hit the squad car. Had it not been for the driver noticing it and swerving hard to the right, they all would have been smashed like small sardines.
The two officers fell hard on Marie from both sides, and Marie had the breath knocked out of her momentarily by the pressure of the two heavily armored men on each side of her.
“God damn Mike,” the officer on her right shouted. “Watch out for the people in the back aight?”
“It isn't my fault Lou,” the driver said, “some numbnut in the car back there nearly hit us.”
“It's true, I saw it.” Marie said. And just after she spoke, the tire busted. “Oh Hell...”
And then the officers on her sides just started tickling her. She had no idea what brought it on, but all she did know was that it gave her a major dose of the giggles. She lurched to one side, then the other, and then fell back in her space, with the wiggling fingers digging in her belly, and she tossed her head back and cackled.
Cana lay on her belly on the floor of the dark room, Dante straddling her bucking body, his right hand planted firmly on her belly, and his left hand planted firmly in the middle of her upper back. Her laughter echoed through the basement rooms and the banging on the floor of her now booted feet mixed with the laughter, like a haunting melody that played through Dante's maind as his fingers waltzed along her midsection.
“Tell me Cana,” Dante whispered as he leaned close to the bucking college student, “how ticklish are you?”
“GAAAHAHAHAAA!!!” She whined. “You're evil! To EVIHAHAHAHAA!!!” Dante's fingers dug into her belly again and Cana bucked up and down on the floor, and Dante sat there, riding her like a jockey. His red eyes completing a ghastly maniacal expression of lust. His lips curled tightly against his white bared teeth, his long serpentine tongue licking his thin lips ever so often, and his nostrils flaring to bring in more air, to cool his blood, to keep him in his moment.
A violin played, its melody crawling through the hallways of the labyrinthine attic as Bethany hid in the darkness. She was perched on the top of a crate, and hidden by a large comforter that covered her. She could hear the maniacal laughter of her captor as he came down the hall. Her teeth chattered with the cold blood that fear provided. Bethany had been chased through the woods by three men in military black military outfits. The door was open, and she took her opportunity to escape from the pursuants who had disappeared from the chase minutes before. She wasn't too tall, Bethany; she was only five and a half feet tall. Her heritage was Germanic, and she was proud of every part of it, even the part that fought against the allied forces in world war II.
She wore running shoes, a pair of foot length blue jeans which had been stepped on so much that the cuffs had become threadbare, a black turtleneck sweater made of thick wool, and a black bandanna which covered only a quarter of her blond locks which fell past her near the small of her back. Her skin is a ruddy pink color, her face is ovalish with sharp bluish almond shaped eyes and thin red lips. A sharp nose completes the portrait of this confident young woman.
"Bethany," the voice of her present danger called. "Bethany, do come out, I'm not done playing with you." Just the sound of the smooth metallic voice chilled the young woman to the bottom of her soul. Sweat dripped from her hair and down her back, it felt terribly cold to her. "I can smell you."
Bethany stayed silent as the footsteps neared her hiding place, the violin music grew louder, as the villain's voice grew closer to her. She could almost hear his breathing. He was standing close, she could feel his energy. Or was it just paranoia? There was no way to know, but what was for certain in Bethany's mind was that she did not want to feel the cold, passionate, lustful hands of this wicked individual dancing along her being. Waltzing along her torso, doing a mock tarantellegra up into her underarms, and electric sliding up and down her legs. Inducing agonies of piteous proportion. Yet agony which was in addition to this setting, would provide her with night after night of horrible dreams for months or years to come.
"Your under arms are rather hot aren't they?" the man said. So is your blood. It must garner a lot of heat racing around your body at such high set miles per minute no?" He stopped right in front of the comforter. "And you shouldn't run around in undone laces."
"Shit," Bethany thought to herself. Her hiding space was invaded suddenly by the wiggling fingers of her captor. Bethany grabbed the wrists, and tried to twist them until they broke. Instead the captor grabbed her wrists and pulled her out into the hallway. He slipped his left hand out of her grip and began digging into her belly with a ferocity equal to a tiger. Almost immediately Bethany screamed, partly in anger at herself for being this stupid, and partly out of the raucous sensations grouping in her stomach.
"Don't do this!" She wailed. "Please, don't you have a heart?"
"No, I haven't a heart anymore my dear Bethany." he said as he put his hand under her sweater, stroking the skin with almost feather light touches.
"Daniel, please!" She begged before breaking down into laughter. "Please, don't tickle me anymore!"
"Ah, my poor, sensitive darling," he said as he leaned close to the woman's ear, "for the last time, my name is Dante."
She must have been so frightened when I chained her up to the wall, Dante thought as he remembered. the melody to Chopin's Funeral March for piano. He danced slowly, nimbly to the beat of the music of his mind. And her mind reeled so quickly. She went insane within twelve hours. Too ticklish for her own good. Ha. He rose from his seat and went over to the piano at the corner of the room. He began to play the music in his mind. His fingers glided over the keys quickly. gently pressing the keys where a gentle touch was needed, and pressing with force where the need arose. His eyes staring out the window to his right, glazing over with tears until they looked like glass orbs. For a moment the tears filled to the brim of his eyes, it was like an eternity; he didn't mind the stinging. He almost didn't notice it. Then the first tear fell over the brim of his eye, dragging others with it, and then his tears began streaming out like a river of seawater down a pale mountain face.
Lee rolled around on the floor as the menacing intruder to her own private hell dug his fingers into her ribs. The burly figure in the bulky black outfit had ripped off her redskins jersey and walked its thick fingers along her white tee shirted tummy, causing it to quiver quite a bit, before it quickly planted them on her ribs and attacked them with fervor. She was a tall woman, with dark brown skin and a dark afro which couldn't be seen in the dim light. Her wrists were chained to one end of the floor of the cell, while her ankles were bolted to the floor where they lay. The figure's eyes looked over the bucking and screaming woman with an ugly lust that couldn't be seen through its sunglasses. It looked through her hair, her dark eyes. Her thick lips lacquered in black lipstick. Her slender shoulders in the t-shirt. Her rapidly moving waist and her wiggling knees, her legs donned with a pair of shorts. And her sandaled feet, clad in a pair of cotton white socks, wiggling and thrashing as if they were being tormented.
"HAAHAHAA!!" Lee squealed as her head thrashed this way and that. Tears rolled down the sides of her head and pooled in little groups in random places, where they'd manage to collect.
"Did you think you could get away with the way you acted?" The figure gruffly asked; it was obviously a man. "Did you think you could really get away with the wrongs you committed for long?" He dug his fingers deeper into her ribs, near where they became the armpits.
"I DON'T UNDERSTAND!" She squealed. "STOP TOUCHING ME!" And suddenly the man stopped. As her laughter's echo died away, all that could be heard aside from Lee's heavy breathing, which eventually subsided, was th sound of Dante playing the piano. The music floated through all the vents. For the next five minutes the music was the only sound in the room; and as soon as the music ended the intruding man's fingers grabbed her wide hips and began to press his fingers into the muscle surrounding the bone. It was more of an annoyance than anything to the young woman, but fear held her in its grip.
"Tell me, Lee."
"You have an ugly soul." The man released her hips. And he disappeared into the darkness. For a moment, a quarter there was silence. Lee wondered if the man had left he room. Then she felt her sandals being removed. "Oh Hell..."
The man's fingers glided along the cotton fabric covering her feet, sending sensations up her body that were only a quarter as bad as the rib tickles. But Lee still laughed like a mad woman. The man grinned in the darkness. He had the power to drive this woman insane if he wanted. He knew that Dante did not want her. She had caused him too much trouble in the past. He collected her for the sheer enjoyment of seeing her die. Quickly preferably. But the kidnapper wanted to have some fun of his own with the woman before she died. And the piano playing the funeral march was merely the signal that the hour was upon them.
That evening Lee was carried out of the oubliette after being drugged. She was ridden out deep into the woods. She woke to find herself totally naked and tied between four trees. Dante stood a few feet away, watching her. He was dressed in a brown vest, and a white shirt with a high collar and long sleeves. His eyes were shaded by gold wire rim glasses with dark brown lenses. His black pants were slightly dusty, and his boots were well used to this kind of environment. He smiled at the naked woman. It wasn't a lustful smile. It was a sinister smile. One full of hatred. One that meant, "I'm going to kill you mother fucker." no matter who made it.
"There are so many things I want to say to you," she said to Dante. "But since you're going to kill me, I might as well keep my mouth shut."
"Oh no," Dante said with a wave of his hand, "please speak. Your words will be your last anyway."
"You, sir, are a freak. Not of nature, because you are too low to even be part of it. You're a freak of morality. You have no morals what so ever. It's as if you shirked them. I can not understand why you'd do something like this unless you simply had no morals."
"Hmm...you once said I was insane."
"I've never met you..."
"But you've written about me, in the Howard Hilltop. And I can't have that now can I." Lee looked at the sky for a moment, then she widened her eyes in horror.
"Oh shit..."
"You know, Lee, I always hate to be the one to kill my captives." He said as he walked up to her. "But you are just too much trouble you tall creature you." He knelt beside her. "You know, below you there are numerous fire ant hills. You are literally so close to them that you will not be able to escape their bites. Did you know that?" He put a hand on her bare belly. Do you know how they kill their prey? They have a venom which attacks the nervous system. It causes your lungs to shut down first, then your heart will stop. But you see, you'll still be thinking for a few minutes more. The last thing to go is the brain. The brain will still be there, afraid. Because there is no air, no heartbeat. You'll go insane within a moment in that. For you see, that is the closest you'll ever get to Hell in this lifetime. And that moment will seem to go on forever. And it all comes from a single bite." He rose to his feet, strode to the brush, and picked up a stick. "Of course, your hell will be infinitely worse because you will have literally hundreds of these devils on you. But at least they aren't the siafu. They've been known to strip an elephant to its bones in a single sitting. But on with the show." He stabbed the ant hill with the stick, he jiggled it a bit, and then laid the stick on Lee's side. "I'm going to watch the show." He sat down by the truck he used to get out there and poured himself some tea from his thermos, then crossed his legs and leaned forward with interest as the ants began crawling up the stick, and then onto Lee's body.
“Oh, and everything has a place in nature Lee, and these Ants are about to put you in yours!”
“Agh!” Cana screamed as the door to her cell opened. The loud squeal of the doorway on its hinges pounded in her ears. She could see Dante as he walked inside. She was no longer standing upright. She now hung from the ceiling. Her limbs held up from the force of gravity by the heavy chains which linked her to the cold metal ceiling. Dante's shadow stretched along the floor and then along the wall, like a dark hand .reaching out to embrace her.
“Cana, my love, do you like to sing?” He asked. His eyes looked over her body. He had had her washed earlier in the day. His three assistants had marched into the room, in the wake of a great white light that had burst on, illuminating everything and nearly blinding Cana. They grabbed her and tore off her shirt, and pulled off her jeans, and underwear, then brought out a bucket of soap and water.
No, they're going to rape me now... Cana thought with terror, as she felt her shirt being pulled away with the terrible rip. Gang rape ws the word that went though her mind. As her eyes adjusted gradually to the light, she could see the handsome faces of her male captors. They all looked like Dante, only darker, a tanned complexion lay upon their faces.
The men did not waste any time in what they did. They grabbed the naked young woman and doused her in one bucket of soapy water. The water stung her eyes for only a moment, and then was replaced by the sensation of squishy sponges slipping and sliding along her soles.
“YAAHAHAHAAA!!” Cana roared as she wriggled her toes and pulled her feet toward her, only to have them yanked back out as the sponges slid up her legs and down her arms. Scrub after laughter inducing scrub and squeak after agonizing squeak Cana rolled on the floor, flailing her limbs wildly as she bucked and stiffened up, relaxed and then broke down into laughter once more.
“I think she likes it,” one of the Dantesque men hissed villainously.
“I'd agree, but there isn't evidence D'Artagnan,” another of them said. “For, ticklish laughter has no more to do with mirth than a baby's grimace has with love.”
“Please stop talking, we must contiue to wash the woman,” the third of them said. He parted her legs and washed between them and then grabbed another bucket of water. Dousing her with more water while the others brought out spraying hoses.
Dante stood on the roof of his mansion, looking out over the forest that surrounded it. The mansion was placed on a hill, a massive one made of mostly rock and dead trees compacted in dirt. He played his mandolin as he spun about on the roof playing a dark melody, his eyes shut and his expression deep with a fearful passion.
“You need to stop playing that fucking violin you stupid boy!” The pale woman said to the little boy who sat on the floor, his right cheek red with the woman's hand imprint. “Why the Hell are you even here? You never do anything but sit around and play that fucking instrument!” She stormed out carrying the aforementioned instrument in her left hand.
“But...But God Mother,” Dante stuttered. The woman spun to face the little boy.
“I am going to stop this once and for all.” She said as she raised the instrument above her head.
“No! Give me my violin!”
“You spend too much time playing this damned thing!” She said as she smiled villainously while wiggling the violin.
“My violin, give it back!” Dante wailed.
“No, you'll never get it back.” She hissed maniacally as she swung the instrument down at a diagonal angle and smashed it against the post of the doorway. Dante stood in horror as the instrument broke in to a hundred pieces with a great twang. His dark eyes reflected the fragments s they clattered to the floor. For a moment there was silence as Dante walked forward and knelt to pick up the fragments of his instrument. His bottom lip trembled and then he let out a long, sorrowful, eldritch which was cut short by a swift kick to the guy by the god mother. He tumbled into a corner, curled into a ball, and wept.
Dante's eyes flashed open as he felt the tears again. He looked at the ground below and contemplated hurling himslef from the roof, to the road below. He considered the amount of pain he'd receive at each impact his skull made on the eaves, then the earth itself. He often contemplated the idea of suicide.
She never liked my music...he sighed. I hope she hears it in hell.
He pushed the door open and saw Cana before she shrieked. He stepped toward her, watching her hanging there, her breasts dangling, jiggling due to gravity's pull from below, and her elastic cells from above. He smiled. The scent of organic lavender soaps filled his nostrils as he inhaled then exhaled the darkness.
“Cana my love,” said with utmost curiosity. “Do you like to sing?”
“I do not,”
“Of course you do.”
“No, I do not.”
“You study, among other things, Opera at the University of the District of Columbia.”
“What?” Cana was horrified that this person knew this about her. “How do you know this?”
“I know because I am gifted with this knowledge.”
“You have been stalking me.”
“No.” Dante looked her in the eyes, half hidden in the darkness. “But let us return to my prior inquiry shall we?” He traced his finger along the young woman's bare hip tops. Her low rise jeans had been purposefully left unbuttoned. Seeing this, Dante buttoned them. “Do you like to sing? And don't omit the truth this time, you know I know much abour toy.”
“Yes,” she said wirh a sigh. “Yes I like to sing.”
“Opera?”
“Yes.”
“Contralto?”
“Soprano, but you know that already don't you?”
“Of course, I just wanted to--”
“To see if I would lie.”
“Oh you're such a clever young student.”
“That's why I'm in Georgetown.”
“But you could be in Harvard.” There was silence. “Tell me, Cana, what is your favorite opera?”
“Does it have to be american?”
“Of course not.”
“Madame Butterfly.”
“Ah yes. Madame Butterfly. Such a beautiful piece. I prefer Tristan and Isolde. However, to each their own no?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
Darkness was the water that filled the world Marie floated in. She felt it lapping at her, pressing her lungs, squeezing the breath from her body, she felt it rush in waves past her face, down her throat, into her nostrils, it was an ocean of it. An infernal sea of darkness, and in it predators of desire, wishing to pull her down, but none coming close to her. None molesting her. Except those wicked demons she arrived with. And they lived now both within her dreams, and without. And she could feel them through the icy waves, coming closer, at lightning speed; soon they'd be at her heels, and then they'd be at her hips. She swam away, but she could not escape them. She knew, for they came at all sides. They were like Langoliers. But they don't devour eternity. They couldn't. But they could touch for eternity. And their touch, their stroke, their every menacing carress, was electrifying and horrifying at once. And Marie knew it wasn't long before before they had her.
In infinitely less time than it takes a neural pulse to race from the lowest nerve end on the body to the brain, Marie contemplated surrender, and then banished the thought. Cana had always said, “Never give up, and never surrender.” So she continued to swim, though her work was in vain. The beasts in the darkness were at her heels, then they grabbed her hips, and then latched their gripping fingers along her ribs. Another hand grabbed her right foot, lifting it out of the water, followed by another grabbing her wrists and holding her beneath the darkness.
And then she felt it, rough fingers crawling with gargalene intent about her ribs. Marie couldn't laugh or she'd drown, she knew it, but the sensations the fingertips caused as they explored her ribs made the idea quite tempting. And then her mind detected another finger, sliding along her now bare sole. Dancing along the wrinkles and tormenting her ticklish toes. Marie couldn't stand it anymore. She burst into roaring cackles and shook and flailed her hands and feet wildly as the dark hands pranced around her beautiful body. She felt the darkness rushing into her lungs with each laugh, and was gripped with fear of death as the icy sensation filled her chest.
The three Dantesque men held Marie down as they poked and prodded the young woman from Oxford. She arched her back and twisted her head right and left. She roared with unchained laughter, and much to the young men's delight. One man dug deeper into her ribs and underarms and relished in the beautiful melody that sprang from her lips.
“Hahahaha...HAAAA HA HA HA HAAA!!!!” Marie was obviously explosively ticklish. And the men wondered in unison, if Dante knew this, and then, f they should tell him.
“Tell me about your first love...” Cana said, in an attempt to evade the inevitable as she watched Dante as he loaded the record of Madame Butterfly onto the player. It was an old fashioned one, with the large brass horn on the end.
“Her name was Parvati,” he said as he placed the record on the turntable. “She was far lovelier than you. And she never wanted to live in the land she came from. Of course, this was in the days when the British had begun colotnizing India.”
“What?” Cana said in disbelief, “b-but that's...”
“Over a century ago, I know.” he turned to face the hanging young woman. “But now that I think bout it, she looked a bit like you, but her face was far more angular, and her eyes, far more dazzling than your's.” He pulled from his shirt pocket, a delicate white feather, about three inches long. “She and I were in love from the moment we umped into each other. It was quite a special relationship, as she herself was an untouchable of Mumbai, and I was of a noble family of British-Italian ancestry.” He brushed the soft feather along the bottom of her right breast. “Oh, we had so much fun together. And she had a peculiar delight, some would say. She enjoyed being tickled quite a bit. It was her ecstasy one might say.” The record began playing. “Until one night when a group of hateful Hindu men and women came and bore her away.”
1817, Mumbai India,
Dante stood before a wall in his house where a beautiful woman stood. She was unwrappng a long garment made of a bright colored fabirc. It was given to her by Dante. Her skin was a dark brown, his skin a healthy pinkish complexion, they both smiled with happiness in their hearts.
Moments later, she is on a bed, holding her stomach as Dante walks his fingers along her abdominal muscles. Her wide smile is accompanied by throaty laughter. Her eyes never leave Dante's as they stare at each other. Their favorite opera playing on the floor below, Euridice.
As Dante is stroking Parvati's bare feet, holding her from rolling onto the floor; the door to his room bursts open, and two men, one yellowish, another very dark burst in followed by two women and a child. The men punch Dante in the face, and the chest, then cast him out the window. The women take Parvati and drag her out of the room.
The men and women and child get into a poorly made carriage and ride down the road, Dante struggles to his feet, having landed in the garden beneath his window. He find his leg is broken, and falls again.
“Parvati...” he whispers.
The next day there is a commotion in the next district, as the body of a woman is found hanging from a tree. The worst is confirmed as Dante sees his love, dead.
“Her throat was slit, my dear,” Dante hissed, “her eyes were gouged. Not out, just punctured multiple times. Blood filled her hair, and a terrible flap of skin hung on her chin.” He seemed to be una ble to bear the memory. “But make no mistake my dear, I do not think you are my lovely Parvati, incarnate. Oh by no means.” He laughed softly at the idea. “I know you aren't her in any manner, or form.” He held the feather up again. “But, I know that you are the descendant of the only survivor of my wrath, and that is only because I could not find her.” he stared at her with great hatred. His next words were spoken softly, and it chilled Cana to the bone because there was no emotion in them. “You, my love, are the sole descendant of the sole child of the Govinda family, which extinguished the flames of my heart's desire.” A moment passed that seemed like an eternity for Cana, staring into Dante's dark, pitiless eyes; eyes offering no remorse, no sensation of amusement. It was frightening to Cana, who was now learning more about the past than she had ever wanted to know.
“What are you going to do to me?” Cana asked bravely.
“Now,” Dante said as he drew the feather up her trembling tummy, “I will make you sing.”
“Where is my daughter?” Mehra Fadruthiya screamed. She was definitely Cana's mother. She had the beautiful form of her young daughter, and looked like a slightly older version of her. However the woman was dressed in a very expensive black dress. Her husband, Maloj was dressed in an equally expensive tuxedo. The president of Georgetown University looked over the two people who stared at him with eyes reddened from both worry, and drink.
“Now, my friends I-”
“Friends?” the mother screamed, “Saala kutta, I want my daughter to appear to us immediately.”
“My dear,” Maloj whispered, “they're saying that she's not on the campus.”
“You shut up.” Mehra hissed. “I want my daughter to be found.”
“There is no reason to call me a bloody dog my dear.,” the president said.
“Oh I am so sorry my wife called you that. Even more that you understood it.” Maloj said shamefully. “We've just come from a party you see,”
“A very important party,” Mehra hissed.
“Regarding our corporation. And we did not expect our daughter to be kidnapped.”
“It is understandable. No one expects their children to disappear into nothing.” the president said, “We are cooperating with the federal police, as well as the local and regional police of the tristate area. Cana and Marie can not have gotten far.”
“Marie too?” Mehra screamed, “Oh great gods...”
“How long have they been gone?” Maloj asked.
“Since friday night,”
“Oh my, you are very late on this aren't you?”
“We had no idea until someone reported it this morning when they saw Marie get into a police car.”
“Oh my...”
On the floor of the oubliette, Maria kicked and screamed as the thirty fingers of the three men danced along her belly and ribs. They came from three sides. Two behind her to her left and right, and one straddling her hips. Their manner was like a zombie digging for blood and guts, they dipper their fingers into the trembling ticklish flesh of the pretty youngf woman and drew out screams of terror and of agony entwined with uncontrollable chuckling.
But Cana was suffering more. For her it wasn't the aspect of the tickling itself, so much as, she had a feeling she was about to be killed by this Lecteresque man. Dante dragged the feather along the invisible line that went from Cana's deep navel to her breastbone. He then slid it along the underside of her breasts, watching them move as the feather pressed into her skin.
“Tell me Cana,” he said as he watched her hang her head, sniggering softly, “Do you enjoy this? Being tickled I nthis manner?”
“No..hehe....don't...stop it....” She snorted before laughing again. Dante stood upright and reached upward to stroke Cana's bare upper body. To him, it was like being Michaelangelo, painting the Sistine Chapel, on an even more wonderful medium; heaven rendered on the human form. It caused him to stop for a moment and consider his position. He left the room quite suddenly and Cana sighed in relief.
Twenty minutes passed in silence, save for the breathing of Cana's dry nostrils. Then the soft footfalls of Dante reached her ears, and Cana tensed up. He entered, with a paint set, a number of brushes, and a cloth and water. He dipped the cloth in the water, wrung it, and then gently washed her face. The cool water was refreshing to the young Indian woman's face, and it was even more pleasing when she felt the tip of the cloth threading through her nostrils, cooling and hydrating the flesh on the inside of her nose.
“Something tells me that you are prone to nosebleeds. Am I correct?”
Cana didn't say anything, but she knew he was right.
“I'm sure you appreciate the treatment, despite your precarious position.”
“Of course.”
“I have a bargain for you my dear.” Dante said, “I have killed many others in my time, and it isn't something I regret. But I will spare your life, on the condition that you accompany me to a ball. This evening.”
Cana's eyes lit up, she looked directly ay Dante, “Does this mean I will be free from this bondage?”
“You will be released for this moment, but I can not let you go free. Yet.”
“But there is a possibility that I will be free...”
“There is always a possibility Cana.”
“Well, I don't want to die in here so I guess I will--”
“Marvelous.” Dante knelt beside his paints, and began to work spreading them and mixing them.
“What are you doing?”
“You are far too lovely to be bare.” He said as he rose to his feet, a paintbrush dipped in a mixture of black and green paint in his left hand.
“You are a Sinistral,”
“Yes I am.” Dante said as he glided the paintbrush along her hip bones and up her right side, stopping just under the breasts, then gathering more paint, continued along her breasts, and back down the other side, to connect with the paint patter as it began. Cana had a maniacal grin on her face and her titters and squeaks fit the subtle situation.
“You have such a wonderful body, did you know that Cana?” Dante said as he dipped his brush in red paint and painted around her navel with the most delicate of strokes, causing the young woman to shudder and stretch, heaving in and out. “Even as I paint this masterpiece, your being is beautiful, quite perfect. Few others have bodies with the elegance of God's creation in them to such an extent.”
“Huh...huh.....hehehe.....” Cana giggled. Dante smiled sinisterly as he continued. For thirty minutes, Dante teased and applauded Cana on her ticklishness, and her body respectively. He often talked about the human body when he painted it seemed to Cana. When he finished, he let Cana down and led her out of the oubliette, and into the corridor beyond.
My god....out of the darkness... Cana thought as she walked down the corridor, holding tightly to Dante's silk clad arm. She was surprised she was doing this, and she let go suddenly. Dante didn't notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.
“Tell me about this ball.”
“It is a ball for millionaires, the GA Summit.”
“GA?”
“Gargalene Associates.”
“What is that?”
“A Tickling Enthusiast's Club for the rich and the well funded.”
“I'm not going to be tickled am I?” Cana said with a wretch. “I've been tickled for a while anyway..”
“No, they will not. I will not let them lay a finger on you.”
“Or anything.”
“Hm?”
“Don't think I didn't catch that you like to play with words.”
“Ah.” Dante smiled. “You are quite an observant young woman.”
“I learn well when I get the shit and piss tickled out of me.”
“You are not Hindu are you?” Dante asked as he made his way up the stairway to the doorway.
“No, I was raised a Christian.” Cana said as she followed him.
“I could tell. You don't have that Hindu aura. More of a freer aura, but a nasty one all the same.”
“What? Who do you think you are calling my aura nasty. You don't even know me.”
“But I can feel you.” He replied turning to face her, the white light of the upstairs cloaking him, causing him to be a silhouette. “And I have felt your aura before.”
“Who are you anyway? What is your name?” Dante smiled, his white teeth glinting from the natural light, a brilliant white.
“I,” he flicked his hair back with his left hand, “Am Dante Alighieri. And you need to wash your body.”
When they reached the main floor, Cana was amazed at what she saw. It was an old house, victorian style, but it was massive, with beautiful parquet flooring, and wonderful paintings on the wall. So realistic some of them, others, so fantastical, or romantic you would swoon at their sight. The artwork was the best Cana had ever seen.
“Wow,” Cana said as she looked at the painting of a young woman with dirty blond hair in a construction worker's outfit. “This is better than DaVinci.”
“I am better than Da Vinci.” He kept walking to the stairway. “Come along.” Cana followed him up the stairs and to a bathroom. Here he handed her towels, and closed the door. “Your size is a six in shoes right?”
“Yes.” she shouted before turning the water on. She turned to the mirror and gasped. She had forgotten that she had been painted on by Dante, and when she saw what was on her upper body, she was struck with some awe.
Fire. It was painted so vividly on her tummy that she thought it was real. Within the fire was a diamond, and above it was an Angel, holding its hand over it.grasping it. Her breasts were painted as two beautiful ghostly bluish white stars. Two planets orbited each one, and from the way they were placed, it looked likt the planets could be traded in orbit by the stars. Passed from one gravitational pull to the other and back again like a lunch bag in a pair of bully's hands as they play 'keep away' from a meek child.
An unwilling child. Bound to a game that she had to fight to win. No matter how many tricks are played on to keep the victim jumping. Cana could sympathize. She admired the angel's craft as she backed away from the mirror, and entered the shower.
Dante sat in the living room in the dark long chair that he had lain in before, that he had tortured Michelle in before, and he savored the view of Cana's face. It was a face he had seen only twice before he caught her. It was a slightly round head with a sharp chin; her nose was like an arrow, her cheeks were large; but not huge. Her cheekbones were set high and her hair was a deep, brown, and shined due to its natural straightness. The first time he met such a face, it was covered up by a lovely dark head wrapping which had been customary for people of the status of the face's owner. The second time it was at a party, on Georgetown University's Campus.
Music blared and drinks were shared and the faint scent of marijuana filled a corner of a room occupied by at least a hundred, maybe more, hard partying college students. It was a simple celebration of little importance, and yet it attracted a huge crowd. What had been intended as a small gathering had been inflated into a massive be there or be square event. Though less than a quarter of the students attended.
demons dressed in drag and angels dressed in leather danced alongside each other, for this night anything went and they knew it. And the mere mortals at the walls who looked as normal as anyone could be, wondered, if they danced out there in the middle, might they attain the status of these beings?
Only Cana knew which part she played that night as she danced, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a black and red skirt and top. Her thigh high boots, made of black and red leather completed the outfit. She danced with a similarly strangely dressed figure. The person wore a dark mask, a black redingote, and long black pants with dark socks. They danced in tandem to Cana, keeping the beat no matter the situation.
Dante watched from the side of the room, he had picked Cana out to be his victim. He had information on her from his associates who he had ordered to keep a very close eye on her. Studying her, he admired her freedom and vivacity. He enjoyed her smile, and her voice. But most of all, he took great pleasure in imagining how she'd act in his oubliette.
Dante was dressed so inconspicuously, that he drew no attention even though his skin was the colored of a boiled egg.. He wore a pair of black jeans, a black t-shirt and a pair of black sneakers. He had a chain hanging from the pocket of his pants, and he sipped some of the beer that was served. He could only take the drink in sips, because it tasted so horribly. He never liked beer. He was more of a Pirno Grigio man himself. He in fact had one of the first bottles of the priest's beverage in his wine cellar.
It was half an hour before the party as abruptly ended by an entry by the campus police. Everyone flitted around the room looking for an exit, and Cana dashed along with the people. She ran past a guard, who saw her and tried to restrain her. She kicked the man in the knee as she picked up her bag and left the room. Dante followed her. She had made her way down the hallway to a restroom, and Dante milled around a corner, listening for the door to open. When it finally did, he saw Cana walk out in a pair of blue low rise jeans, and a yellow t-shirt. She Had changed very quickly and even her makeup was different. In this way, Cana made her way right by the officers, acting as if she had no idea of what was going on, and left the building entirely.
She shouldn't have left the building. As she made her way to the Lauinger Library, she was subdued by Dante who put a cloth filled with chloroform over her mouth, and rendered her unconscious. He carried her to his car, and drove off into Maryland. Once he reached his house, his assistants took her to the oubliette and bound her. And he woke from his slumber after she began screaming for help.
Cana had finished her shower agter half an hour of bathing. She needed to get the filth of solitude off of her skin. She went into the next room and found a beautiful black dress and bodice set waiting for her. She fitted the bodice on, and then put on the dress. It fit her quite well, even though she expected the bodice itself to be rather tight, she was quite surprised to see it was not. She pulled on a pair of black stockings as well and then slipped down the stairway. Dante rose from his seat and brought her, in a very exaggeratedly chivalrous manner, a pair of shoes.
WHAT A HYPOCRITE! Cana thought. She msiled and took the shoes and slipped them on. “Where shall we gonow?”
“We shall go to my limousine.”
“What? You've got a limo?”
“Of course. I am not going to go to a millionaires ball without a limousine.”
“A personal limo?”
“Yes my dear Cana,” he smiled, “Now, we must be off, the ball awaits.”
The Belair mansion is a large estate where numerous exclusive parties are held throughout the year. They range from wonderful galas, to the mot exclusive meetings of societies that specialize in the surreptitious and the skullduggerous. The Gargalene were one of the most exclusive. It was an apparent honor to be invited to this ball, Dante had informed Cana, and he implied with a glance at her eyes that for her the honor was even greater because she was being spared a demise to witness such a spectacle.
The limousine roled into the drive, and stopped. Dante opened the passenger side door, and took Cana gently by the hand, and led her out of the car. He was showing a depth of chivalry that was unusual to Cana to say the least, from what she knew of him thus far. She was quite certain this was all a trap. Nevertheless, she accompanied him into the estate, where light played about the silk curtained windows, and the shadows of dancers coupled themselves with the light.
The couple made their way to the dining room where they met the first of many men and women who shared Dante's, though they did so to a lesser degree than her unnaturally gracious captor.
The first man was at least sixty, his hair had gone white and was tied back in a ponytail. His eyes were sharp and vibrantly white, while his skin was cracked with age. It had a faint pinkish color, and it contrasted with blinding starkness to the color of his black suit. He smiled as he spotted Dante speaking with Cana, and made his way over.
“Dante, my good man how are you?” He said with a straining serpentine voice. Cana jumped and turned to face the man who spoke. “This is the young woman who you have been telling us all about?”
Cana raised her right brow and her lips curled into an almost disgusted expression. Dante had been talking about her? What has he been saying? What lies has he spread about her, or what truths has he spoken of, that she'd be reluctant to speak herself? The questions flew through her mind repeatedly in the few seconds that it took for the guest to quiet down, and for Dante to reply in a very cool manner.
“No, Herr Munchausen,” Dante said keeping his eyes dead set on the man's own. “This is my dearest,”
“Parvati Sonserathis.” Cana interrupted. Dante and Munchausen stared at the young woman who was just as surprised as they were. Where had that word come from? She hadn't heard that name before!
“What did you say?” Munchausen asked in a demanding fashion.
“Parvati Sonserathin.” She repeated, with more fluidity this time. “That's my name, don't use it to death!” She smiled and gave a brief thumbs up.
“Ah! Good!” Munchausen said with the same affective grace with which he had approached the couple. “I suspect I'll see you at the dinner as well Miss Sonserathin?” He said without a hint of flirtation in his voice.
“Of course,” she replied with a smile. At that, Munchausen nodded and made his way off into the crowd of dancers. When he had disappeared among the guests, Cana turned to Dante, and Dante turned to Cana in that same instant, they both wore expressions of offended amazement.
“You've been telling people about me?” Cana hissed.
“You know of Parvati Sonserathin?” Dante hissed back.
“I just said whatever came to mind, that was what came to mind!”
“I told no one about you! I told them about that other girl in my home.” The two of them began walking toward the main room.
“You mean another one of your victims...” Cana whispered.
“Call it what you wish.” Dante said without care.
Cana was silent. And it was only when the couple began dancing to the classical music that played in the ballroom, did she utter a single word while her head was nestled his shoulder and neck. “Kidnapper.”
Another guest spotted Dante as he entered the ballroom, and he spotted the young woman accompanying him. This man wasn't very tall, he was well built, and his skin was a light orange complexion, his hair was a dark brown and hung limply at the sides of his head. His eyes were large, and watery, and were hidden behind a pair of thick lensed glasses. He wore a black suit as well, keeping with the outfitted affair. He came alone with the intent of leaving alone, until he saw his niece, Cana Fadruthiya.
Cana enjoyed the dancing to some extent. The music had a beat that was much better than the “Classical Masterpieces” on DirecTV. And the food being served was delicious, there were sausages, sweet potatoes, fruits of all kinds that she had never gotten the opportunity to taste. Vegetables that she enjoyed, and because of the deliciousness, considered becoming a vegetarian. Then she stopped and laughed at herself momentarily.
Me, considering being a vegetarian, while my life hangs in the balance! Ha! How whimsical, what fanciful delight, and yet, I have great faith I'll not be long for this world from tonight. She looked at Dante, who delicately ate a portion of his steak tartar, and then washed it down with glass after glass of a dark drink that Cana assumed was a heavy wine.
“I am glad you're not driving,” she said and tilted her eyebrow in the direction of his glass.
“I do not drink alcohol Parvati.” He said with a combative brow, “this is sparkling grape juice.” He gulped down the last of the drink. “Wine would make steak tartar taste even worse than it is.”
“How does it taste anyway?”
“It tastes like a cold wet tongue that's been tenderized. In essence, a cannibal's delight.”
“Hannibal Lecter,” she said under her breath. He stared at her, having heard the name then laughed.
“Hannibal Lecter,” he whispered, “He's got nothing on me.”
“My those two seem to be getting on quite well, they're smiling at each other and everything.” The Baroness Zilpah Munchausen said to her husband. “Have you noticed?”
“Yes I have,” the baron said. “they look lovely together, and yet I have a dark feeling about that Parvati girl.”
“Oh hush Miguel,” Zilpah said, “You have a dark feeling about every girl that Dante brings to the ball.”
“It's not my fault,” Miguel said. “I just pick up the vibe the girls give off.”
“Is it any wonder that you are wrong when it comes to my own feelings?”
“Yes,” Munchausen said, “it is some small wonder.”
Two hours had passed, during which time there was a display of Bondage accessories, and the hintingat, a grand exposition that was to take place. It was financed by three of the Gargalene Associates' Highest and most Benefactorial Members. After this, they music began again, and numerous people began to dance. Dante and Cana slipped out of the room after finishing their meal and began to make their way up the stairs. Before they reached the top of the stairs a man called after them.
“Master Aligheri?” Cana nearly jumped in surprise at the sight of her uncle Claude. Would she be free?
“Yes Master Foucault?” Dante said with overt superiority. “I am quite occupied with my dear Parvati, is something the matter?”
“I wanted to talk with you about tonight's show.”
Dante sighed, “Well then, let us speak.” He began to descend the stairway, his eyes locked on Claude's. “What did you wish to speak about, Master Foucault?”
“The slaves,” he began, “they are healthy, right?”
“I do not own slaves Master Foucault, that implies they are treated severely and that they are unhealthy, my victims,.are at peak perfection. They are washed daily, and they are fed well. They are also treated with kindness and respect.” Dante heard grumbling in Cana's throat. “Except if they are my lovers. Then they are treated differently.”
“How differently?” Claude asked.
“How do you treat your slaves Master Foucault?” Dante replied, “Do you tickle the women until they shit themselves like the Baron and Baroness did their daughter? Do you starve them, and then tickle them until their minds reel? Because I know my participants will be clean. But what of your slaves? Have you broken their will? Have you become a true misogynist in your manner?”
“What do you do to your lovers?”
“I have no time for discussions.”
“Just tell me what you do to them,” Claude demanded. Dante hissed a dry laugh.
“Heh, you want to see what I do to my lovers?” He turned to Cana, “Parvati, remove your top.” Cana reluctantly did as she was told. When she removed the corset and the dress fell to her hips, the painting shone more brightly, and gloriously than it had been before. The fire looked so real Claude thought he'd be burnt by the light, and the stars looked to be trading the planets along his niece's bosom. Seeing Cana aroused her uncle to some extent. But he quickly suppressed those thoughts and spoke to Dante who had turned to face Cana.
“She's still a slave, no matter how you paint it. She;s still a fucking slave.” Dante turned, and in the turn the back of his hand whipped across Claude's face, leaving a horrible red mark on his whole left side of his face.
“A slave, is what you keep; what you collect. I collect the laughter, the giggles, of those who wander into my caress. Those who find themselves in my care. And not a single one of them, regret it in the end.”
“Except Bethany!”
“She was a special case. She was unstable.”
“And you enslaved her, you toyed with her like a mouse in a maze with a hungry cat. And now she is in Saint Elizabeth's Mental Hospital.”
“She was going to have a nervous breakdown anyway, then she'd have been of no use to you, or to me. You're just jealous because she fell in love with me and not you.” Dante said with a decietful grin.
“You never loved her,” Claude shouted, “You never loved her, or any of your lovers, and you definitely don't love Cana!” Everything in the stairway was quiet. Dante simply stared at Claude with amusement. Claude and Cana were both stricken with horror. Dante stepped toward Claude and whispered in his ear.
“God was said to have given Muhammad great knowledge Claude, and he passed much of it to others. One of the pieces was, never get angry.” Claude tried to punch him in the rib, but Dante caught the arm and twisted it painfully, bringing the man down slowly to the floor. “Do you know why Claude? It's because you end up getting your wrist twisted to the floor, and you end up revealing the obvious, that you want your niece back.” He released Claude's hand and let him rise to his feet. Dante placed his boot on Claude's chest and pushed him back until he tumbled down the stairway. He turned and grabbed Cana and brought her to one of the bedrooms.
“You never kick someone when they're down Dante,” Cana said with disappointment in her voice.
“It was better that he saw the foot coming than to have had it at his back,” he said as he opened the door and let Cana enter, he admired her beautiful flawless skinned back. “And besides, I didn't kick him. I nudged him.” He shut the door as he entered.
Cana was quite surprised when Dante ordered her to get on the bed. He then tied her arms and legs to the bedposts, his eyes never changing from his passive, deep seeking stare. He then slowly straddled her just to make her tense up in nervousness. He then raised his hands slowly, elegantly, they hovered over Cana's ribs before they began their slow descent downward to her body. Midway Cana shrieked in terror. And looked at Dante with a hurt expression.
“I thought you said you weren't going to tickle me!” She pouted.
“No, I said I'd not let them lay a finger on you. You however, are not safe from my own hands.” He smiled as his hands landed on her sides. Cana tensed up and then screamed as Dante's fingers danced along her middle.
Her face twisted painfully before finally allowing her mouth to release the laughter that Dante desired. For fifteen minutes all Cana did was laugh and squirm under her captor's devilish hands. Her temperature rose slightly, and her hair, which was so well done when they arrived at Belair, had become an unkempt mess.
“Please...Dante....I beg of you, stop this...” She whined.
“Well, just because you said please...”
“Thank you....”
“Did you really think I'd stop?” he asked as he worked his fingers along her hips.
“GAAAAHAHAAA!!!”
“Did you really think I'd not take offense to you using the name of my beloved?”
“NOOOOOOOHOHAHAHAAAA!!!” Cana shrieked, she pulled on the bed posts in a futile attempt to snap them.
Dante took off her snoes and continued along her stockinged soles. “HAHAHAHAAAA...AAAAHAHAHAAAAA!!!”
“Do you enjoy this Cana?” Dante whispered, “do you enjoy being brought to the very edge of your resolve?”
“STOP PLEASE!”
“Please? It would please you for me to cease, yet it is me you are meant to please,” He dug in harder into her soles, “and it pleases me to continue.”
Cana's shrieks of laughter echoed through the mansion, and it competed for the attention of the attendants with the sound of the orchestral band. The louder Cana yelled, the louder the band would play. The louder the band played, the louder it seemed that Cana's laughter would echo. Or perhaps it was because her laughter was more enjoyable to the guests than the sound of Brahms or Pachelbel's Kanon in D.
At the end of it all, Dante undid Cana's binds and let her rest a while. She just stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes while she caught her breath. Her dark tresses of hair scattered about her like the rays of dark sun, or the arms of an octopus. At times she'd burst into giggle fits seemingly for the Hell of it. While she caught her breath, Dante sat behind her and began combing out her hair. He then began to plait it into two long braids. Once she had caught her breath, Dante put her shoes back on and led her back downstairs. Cana could still feel Dante's fingers dancing on her sides, and as a result she had a silly grin on her face when she walked back into the ballroom. Grin or not, everyone in the ballroom had heard Cana's explosive laughter.
“How the Hell does he get such fine women to be his dates?” One man wondered aloud. This brought on a lot of whispers of curiosity. But Dante told no tales. His lips were sealed, and they were shut until he and Cana returned to the table. Then Cana spoke to him.
“You are not afraid that Claude will reveal my identity?”
“No,” Dante said. “he won't, because then everyone in this room excluding your uncle and I will want a chance to drive you insane.” Cana went cold. The idea of all of those grimy foreign fingertips sliding on her body was both frightening and infuriating.
“Why?” was her next word.
“Because they all find it very status raising if they tickled the relative of a Master.”
“What about Masters themselves?” She asked with evident annoyance.
“Associates do not tickle associates. Doing so gets you thrown out of the Associates.”
“It's like Fight Club?”
“Fight Club?”
“Yeah. The first rule of Fight Club, you don't talk about Fight Club.”
“Oh, that's the first rule of Gargalene Associates.”
“So; The First Rule of Associates, Do not Talk About Associates.”
“Correct.”
“Then how the Hell do you find it?”
“You are given a number of exclusive clubs to join once you amass a certain amount of money.”
“Where are you ion this scale?”
“We, my dear Cana,” he said as he placed his hand gently upon hers, “are at the very top of the chain of wealth. Everyone you see here, is a member of this club, and the whole club is in attendance tonight. We are the top one percentile of the first percentile of the first percentile ad infinitum, of the most wealthy people on the planet Earth.”
“Sickening.”
“Simply because they delight in a pastime that to others seems trivial, and to you, deprave, does not make it sick.”
“When they keep slaves it is.”
“Your uncle Claude Fadruthiya keeps slaves.” Dante paused, “by the way, how did that happen?”
“What?”
“Claude? Your father's name is Maloj, yet your uncle is named Claude.”
“Honestly, I don't know...” Cana realized the oddity.
Claude meanwhile was on the phone with Cana's father.
“Maloj, I found Cana.”
“How did you know she was missing?”
“I saw her at one of my meetings. I was pretty sure she'd been kidnapped.”
“Well, where is she?”
“I can't tell you that,”
“Why?”
“Because the first rule of the club is to not talk about the club. But I can tell you where she will be.”
Ten o'clock finally came about, and everyone watched as the band retreated into the foyer, and a large box cloaked in red velvet was brought in. Large however, would have been an understatement. This box nearly borke being squeezed into the ballroom. When it was finally brought in and placed in the center of the room, the host of the party once again, spoke.
“Ladies and Gentlemaen,” she said calmly, “I have for you a gift from our three greatest benefactors. Claude Fadruthiya,”Claude whooped and hollered, praising himself exorbitantly. “Menelaus Donne, and Dante Aligheri.” Dante was silent. He watched the box with care in his eyes. The most normal emotion he'd shown thus far.
The cloak was removed, and the contents of the box were revealed. There was a mound of dirt in it, stuck in the mound of dirt were among other things, rocks, and small plants. On the top of the hillwere three large bronze crucifixii. And tied to them were three people. Two strong looking men, and one slender female.
There were shouts of lustful joy in the room and one gasp of horror. Cana recognized the woman in the middle. She turned to Dante and saw his eyes. They were not happy, they were quite annoyed. Fire ran through his eyes as they did on Cana's belly.
“You son of a bitch.” Cana hissed.
“This is Claude's doing...” he said as he looked over at his fellow associate. “I am going to have a long talk with him when he leaves.”
“You kidnapped my friend too?”
“Of course, I can't have witnesses.” Cana turned back to Marie and attempted to move toward the box holding the three prisoners. But Dante held her arm with a seemingly supernatural grip.
“Don't go near it,” he said severely. “You will die if you do.”
“Get off of me!”
“You will die!” he hissed, “these people are sacrifices.”
“What the Hell are you talking about?” Cana shrieked. The loud cheers muffled her voice.
“These three are going to die tonight.” Dante said, “And Claude is the one responsible for that woman being brought here.” Cana turned to see the box being swarmed by people who were climbing into the box, and the people inside were screaming for help. Marie had a look of horror on her face as her dress was ripped away from her body. The people pulled her and the two men down and the three people disappeared, screaming under the insanely reaching, curling fingers.
“We must leave.” Dante said as he watched Claude leave the ballroom. He grabbed Cana hurreidly and left the room as well.
The trees flew by the windows quickly as the limousine sped down the deserted highway. Mehra and Maloj had gotten the address from Claude of the Aligheri Estate, and were on their way to meet the wealthy recluse. They were sure that Dante did not know it. And they were quite prepared to do battle with him. Mehra had on her thigh, a tactical knife which she had sharpened very well before leaving the house. In addition to the blade, she had a semiautomatic pistol with armor piercing rounds loaded within. Maloj was similarly equipped. The two of them stared into the darkness at the other end of the limo. They were excited to fially rid themselves, personally, of Dante Alighieri.
Dante sat in his room looking up at the ceiling, his eyeballs did not move, his chest did not rise, his breathwas almost imperceptible. He was waiting patiently for his inevitable guests to arrive. He himself had called the police. He was all too aware that the Fadruthiya were war-like when angered, and he was not surprised that Cana was not. Nothing surprised him anymore, that was part of the life he lived. He took a deep breath, held it, then slowly released it in a sigh.
“It was many and many a year ago...” he whispered.
In the next room Cana sat on the bed. She listened to Chela mi Creda with Luciano Pavarotti. She stretched out on the bed widthwise, and stared at the ceiling. She knew her parents were coming, and then all Hell would break loose. She welcomed the appearance of the two adversarial beings who would soon have her captor's head served on a platter. At worst. And yet, she dreaded it all the same.
“In a kingdom by the sea,”
Claude's limousine rolled up to Dante's house and he moved among the bushes, tall grass and trees in order to remain undetected. He slipped a screwdriver in one of the windows and eased the pane of glass out of the frame. It fell to the floor inside, landing on something soft. He repeated the motions four more times, and then unlocked the window. He slipped into the oubliette.
“That a maiden there lived, whom you may know,”
Maloj sharpened his knife on a small whet stone, and then handed it to his Mehra who sharpened her own blade with vigor. They were dressed in black camouflage outfits, and The limousine parked in front of Claude's own vehicle, and the two exited from the car. They slowly made their way through the darkness to the dimly lit porch, the silent patio, and made their way to the door bell and raised their fists.
“By the name of Annabel Lee.”
The banging woke Dante from his meditation, and brought Cana through the adjoining doorway and into his room. She said nothing, but then, she didn't need to. Her face spoke volumes about what was going on in her mind. There was happiness, there was sorrow, there was guilt and admiration, adulation, and adoration. But most evident, and more evident tha the other emotions, there was hope. Hope that she'd be free.Hope that she'd never see Dante Alighieri ever again. The two stared at each other.for a time, then they were interrupted by the banging.
Dante madeh is way down the stairs and opened the door. He sidestepped the parents as they lunged forward with their knives swinging into the air. Mehra hit the floor, rose to her feet and grabbed Dante by the vest and pushed him against the wall. His expression was unchanged. He stared passively into Mehra's dark hateful pools. She raised her knife to his throat, pressing the blade into his skin.
“Where is my daughter?”
“i don't know hat you mean Miss.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she hissed. “Maloj, shoot him.” Dante pushed Mehra backward into Maloj as he raised the pistol, and knocked Maloj to the floor with a swing from his elbow into his chin. He then dashed down the hallway, pursued y Mehra and he disappeared into the basement. Mehra stood at the open doorway leading into the darkness like a long tunnel entering a great stomach.
“You think that will stop me?” Mehra scvreamed. “I've got a flashlight you coward!” She whipped out a small torch and ran forth into the maze of oubliettes.
Claude rose from theoubliette and stumbled along in the darkness. He was now officially confused. He didn't know which way was forward or backward, and he definitely did not know which way he had to go to get to the living room. He heard Mehra's voice screaming about a flashlight earlier, and then silence. He was a bit worried about her, and his brother.
Mehra walked softly in the darkness, not knowing what would happen. That's part of the horror for her, not knowing. It's why she is angry, why she obsesses over everything. Why she's willing to slit the neck of the man that had her daughter.
“Dante,” she shouted, “I see you!”
“Maybe in your mind,” a voice whispered at her ear, “but not with your eyes.” Mehra turned to her right, shined her flashlight and found a doorway. It hung open and she thought she saw movement inside.
“Your heart is too dark to see anything Mehra,” the voice continued, “I loved you once before, did you know that?” Mehra opened the door wider and shined her flashlight inside. There was nothing. Then Mehra felt a hard slap on her rear. She turned around to see a white, grinning skull, laughing maniacally as it floated toward her, skeleton hands wrapping about her ribs, immediately bringing her to the ground, squirming and kicking and wailing with laughter, and she was dragged into the vault and the door was shut.
“Mehra, mehra, mehra...” Dante said as he held her arms over her head and ran his fingers deep into her underarms. Drawing out squeals of laughter. He smacked her hard, relishing in the force he applied.
“OW HAAAHAHAAAA!!!” Mehra roared angrily. Dante flipped her over and dug his hand up her jacket.
“Let us see if you buck as well as your Cana,” He said as he placed one hand on the small of her back and tickled her belly with the other.
“No...NO NONONO NO!!!” She screamed before she laughed uncontrollably and tried to bounce Dante from her back. His eyes glowed red as his grin grew wider out of lust, out of power. His nostrils flared again and his blood grew hot. He tickled harder on the woman as her hips ground into his crotch, and his hardened phallas moved with the motion of her hips as they moved.
“You move in a much more sensual manner than Cana,” Dante whispered into the roaring woman's ear, “tell me, is that because you are older, or because you're a harlot?” He dug into her ribs, and Mehra grew even more violent and screamed for help, but the rooms were soundproof on this side of the hall. Just what the doctor ordered. He flipped Mehra over and placed his knuckled on her ribs, and knelt low. Mehra was a sweating mess. She breahed in great gulps, and stared at Dante as he met her gaze with his unrelenting eyes.
“Know this, my love, you will not leave this house alive. If I have any power over your destiny, you will never leave.” He then dug his fingers into her ribs, Mehra arched her back and howled.
Maloj came to in the foyer, Mehra's scream shocked him out of his mock coma and gave him more resolve to find Dante. He rose to his feet and stumbled blearily into the living room. No one was there; he stumbled into the kitchen, and again no one was there. He turned to go back into the living room and saw a man who looked like a darker version of Dante stride through. In his bleariness, Maloj attacked him, and was met by a great push which forced him into the stove.
Pain flashed through his body as his back made impact with the stove door. And then his cheek roared with pain as the figure's fist landed just off mark. Then his stomach erupted in a similar fiery expression. Then his testes, his knees, and his eyes. Whack after merciless, off point whack. He fell to the floor as the figure pounded him again and again.
Whoever it was, knew how to fight, and they fought way better than Maloj, who was a master Martial Artist in his area. The attacker was ruthless as it unleashed almost unholy wrath upon his form. Whack, his jaw was knocked out of place; then another hit and his right arm fractured. Another hit and it broke.
“Agh!” Maloj howled, but was cut short by a knock to the mouth. A moment later, the attacker picked him up, and tossed him out of the room like he was nothing but a piece of paper. Maloj crashed through the living room and skidded to a halt in the foyer. Claude was already there, shot in the leg, and whining in pain on the floor in the corner of the room Cana stood at the top of the stairs, aghast, at what was happening. Sheh ad slippedo ut of the dress and had gotten back in her low rise jeans and her t-shirt and her socks, and had her boots in her hands.
“Dad!” She squealed as she slipped down the steps. She skidded to a stop on the floor and felt the man's pulse. “Shit, Dad....” She saw the massive blemishes on her father's skin. Reddened marks from repetitive blows
“Ugh,” Maloj moaned. “Dad, keep breathing!”
“Shit...” he said.
“Okay, I'm going to get Uncle Oh Shit!” She looked at Uncle Oh Shit, I mean, Claude. She ran over to him and looked at his wound.
“Dante you bitch!” He shouted angrily.
“Don't you ever call me a bitch again or I'm going to leave you where you lay mother fucker!” Cana turned to the basement door where he heard her mother's laughter. She then saw Dante and the three assistants emerge from the basement carrying Mehra, their fingers digging into her flesh and drawing out a cacophany of howls and guffaws and chrotles, giggles shrieks and moans and wretched screams the likes of which never graced Cana's ears.
“Now, you shall learn the truth of all of this young Cana.” Dante hissed as he and his henchmen tossed Mehra to the floor. She howled in pain and fell into residual giggles.
Outside, the police pulled up, twelve cars in all. Guns were ready, but there'd be no shooting, only screams.And the men and women called here were about to see it all unfold before their eyes.
“Cana,” Dante's voice lyrically hung in the air as he moved from one place to another, circling the three interlopers who were now bound to a chair each, seated side by side. “Cana, do you want to know a secret?”
“No.”
“I have many of them,” Dante Continued, oblivious to Cana's answer. “Many of them are about you.”
“Hostage situation on the second level of the house,” An officer said into the walkie-talkie. “Requesting SWAT officers.”
“Request denied officer,” the garbled message came back.
“Lieutenant, we need hostage removal!”
“Officer, the SWAT are unavailable.”
Dante put his hand on Claude's shoulder. He squeezed it lightly. “Like your uncle here, he is a miserable man.Keeping slaves and sacrificing people at the drop of a hat. How disturbing no?”
“I don't do that,” Claude hissed between gulps of air for the pain was excruciating. “You are a liar.”
“No my friend, you lie.” Dante kicked Claude's leg and the wounded man moaned in pain. “Tell us, and don't lie this time, how did you get the name Claude?”
“My mom gave it to me.”
“No, you changed it.” Dante hissed. “You hate yourself, that is why you changed it.”
“dON'T YOU EVER TELL ME ABOUT MYSELF!”
“People hate to hear the truth about themselves if its bad.” Dante said. “Maloj, tell Cana about Bethany.”
“Shit...” Maloj muttered.
“Tell her,” Dante said with a high inflection, “or I'll hurt you more than my servant did.”
“Bethany was your lover.”
“But what was she to you?”
“I don't know.”
“Oh come now my boy you know,” Dante carressed his face then squeezed his chin. “You know, but you're embarrassed to speak, like your brother.”
“I know hwo she is,” Mehra squealed.
Dante glanced at Mehra, “The sins are to be borne by the sinner, you have your own, and so does your husband.” He turned back to Maloj, “So tell me, man, tell us your sin.”
“I have never sinned.” Maloj hissed in pain. Dante smiled, lowered his lids and rose to his feet. He walked over to the fireplace near the end of the room and picked up a bamboo stick which he kept alongside the poker. He returned to Maloj, and without hesitation whacked Maloj aside his skull.
“Agh, what the Hell is that for!”
“Speak th truth or I will hurt you worse than that.”
“I don't have anything to speak of!” Another whack, this time to the face.
Fifteen minutes later, Maloj was bleeding from his beating, and he finally relented and began to speak.
“Bethany was my adopted daughter....” He managed.
“What happened to Bethany Maloj,”
“She ran away,”
“Where and why.”
“Claude's, she didn't like me.”
“Why didn't she?”
“I don't know.” Dante smacked him. “Agh, she was crazy!”
“Don't lie,”
“Fine! Stuff happened!”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Stuff that'd drive a kid insane.”
“How old was she Maloj?”
“Eihteen.”
“When did you do this stuff Maloj?”
“Since she was twelve.”
“Heh,” Dante said without expression, “and people call me a pervert. Did you rape her Maloj? Did you take her flower that you were to nurture and shrivel it until every petal fell to the earth and crumbled to dust?”
Maloj looked at Cana who sat expressionless, “I-I-I...”
“All of these eyes...you know your eyes let people know when you lie Maloj.” Dante hissed as he forced Maloj to look at him. “Did you enjoy raping her? Did you enjoy making her your bitch Maloj?”
“I didn't do that,” he said through a preparation of tears.
“Oh come now, what did you do to her?”
“I...”
“Say it.”
“I...I Fucked her.”
“Oh, and that's different from raping her?”
“She asked for it.”
“And when?”
“Twice a month since she became fifteen.”
“Do you think the girl knew what she was gettign into?”
“I didn't care,”
“I know you didn't Maloj. I'll come back to you.”
Claude's eyes grew distant as Dante sat before him. “So, Claude, did you 'fuck' your adopted niece?”
Claude smiled, “You know as well as I.” Dante smacked the bullet wound. “You limey bitch....”
“Ah Claude, you did not answer the question.”
“Of course I did, and you were there.”
“Close boy, I was in the next room.” Claude grinned with lust in his eyes. “But you didn't just fuck her did you?”
“Of course not.”
“You tickle fucked her, right?”
“'til her body gave out.”
“Did she enjoy it?”
“No,” Claude laughed, “she pleaded with me to stop.”
“Tell us about how you did it?”
Bethany was bound to the bed, her arms bound to the wall, her pink sweater cut open, reveaing her pink glowing skin. A knife was in Claude's hand, he had cut the sweater open. He admired his handiwork. Crude, but then, nothing was ever elegant about raping someone. He took off her sneakers, lightly scratched her socked feet. Bethany cringed in fear. Claude licked his lips and shifted his hips. He had always wanted to do this to Bethany, she always looked like she asked for it. He never could stand the fact that such a pretty young woman was in his brother's house and not his own.
He had heard the squeals of pleasure Maloj gave when he thought about his bouts with his adopted daughter. How the girl loved it, how she asked for more and more. He was now going to experience the same he assumed. He assumed it the evening the girl showed up at his doorstep, crying.
“Dad hurt me...” she whimpered into her uncle's arms. “And, he's hurt me like that for a long time.”
“Don't worry Beth.” Claude said as he led her up the stairs. He grinned in his mind. The woman had no idea what she was in for.
And now, she lay upon the bed. Her chest rising and falling in rapid succession of each, and her eyes wide in horror as she saw Claude's fingers itching to dance upon her
“No, no!”
“Yes, yes!” Claude said as his fingers began dancing up her sides. Bethany screamed and kicked and bucked. The binds would not busdge and her uncles fingers were relentless.
“Why? Why?”
“Because you've asked for it ever since you were a little girl that's why.”
“PLEASE STOP!”
“No,” Claude smiled. “Are your nipples ticklish niecey?” he asked as he pulled from his pocket an electric toothbrush. He cut open her bra, and began to brush her areolas. Bethany screamed with laughter, and yet Claude was all too aeare that this was not enjoyable for her. But then, nothing was ever elegant about what he did.”
An hour passed and Dante woke from his sleep, he could hear screaming in the next room. He put his ear to the wall and lstened. There was breathing, heavy, lustuous. There was quiet laughter, strained, feargful, forced. And the movement of the bed. Dante could sense somethig was wrong. He opened the adjoining door quietly. He saw Claude over bethany. There was silence Bethany's gaze was directed at the ceiling,. It was distant. No one was there. It was a look of betrayal.
“Heh, you're quite fuckable dear,” Claude hissed. As he was about to go down again, he felt his shirt collar being grabbed, and then the man was wrenched from the bed and thrown against the wall.
“You disgrace yourself,” Dante said with frightening calm. “You shame yourself, and the Gargalene you damnable menace.” He kicked him in the face and then raised hiim up by a single hand and pushed him against the window until it cracked, then broke.
“You do worse than I you miserable fuck,” Dante punched him in the mouth.
“I do not approve.” He threw him through the doorway. He walked over to Bethany and unbound her limp form. He pulled up her underwear, then her jeans, and carried her into his room.
“You are still a disgrace.” Dante said as he rose to his feet and went back to Maloj. “You two are such disturbing creatures. I'd call you an ephebophile, but then, you two aren't even worthy of being part of a group. Other than rapists. Incestual Rapists....Maloj, what was your reaction when you first found out that Claude had his way with your girl?”
“I didn't care.”
“I know you didn't,”
“Then why did you ask me?”
“Because I wanted Cana to understand why I am going to do what I am going to do.”
Cana felt embarrassed. This beast of a man was interrogating her family members, revealing things she didn't want to know. Things she could have certainly lived and died not knowing. And now, she wanted to die, she wanted this to be over. But she had to fight it, she had to stay composed. She had to defend her family.
“Dante, please.” She softly exhaled.
“Yes dear?” he said without looking at her.
“Doing this will not bring back Parvati.”
“I do not do this for the sake of Parvati,”
“Then why do you do this?”
“So that you'll understand at least a fraction of a percentage of the depravity in which you have lived unwittingly.”
“You don't need to torture my dad to do that.”
“Maloj, tell her about her origins.”
“What?” Cana said, “Origins? My father is my father and my mom is my origin!”
“How ignorant you are my dear.”
“He's right,” Mehra said,.”Maloj isn't your father.”
“What?”
“And I'm not your mother.”
“Shit shit shit...” she thought to herself.
“Was I adopted?”
“No.”
“Who is my real father and mother?”
“We killed your mother.”
“So you kidnapped me?”
“Yes.”
“Who's my dad?”
“Cana,” Dante said as he placed his hands on her shoulders, “I am....”
Cana gasped for breath.
“the person who will give you the information on your father and mother.”
“Oh thank god...”
“There is a final secret of your family that you should know,”
“What now?”
“Mehra, is not a woman.”
“Huh?”
“Mehra is a transexual.”
“Uh...”
“I would have told you in front of her, but since she was so willing to confess her sins, I figured she'd have no problem wih it.”
Dante and Cana spoke as they climbed the stairs. He led her to his bedroom where he took out an envelope and handed it to her.
“In here is everything you need to know to find your family. Your true family.”
“How did you get this?”
“Let us just say, that I am blessed with certain abiities that,”
“Drop the bull shit, where did you get it?”
“tsk tsk, you'll find out on your own because of that dear,” he said as he turned to the desk, and then turned back to her. “You can leave now. My work is done, there are police officers ready to take you home.”
“What of my family?”
“You will find them.”
“You know what I mean.”
“They will die.” He strode to the door. “And you will find the truth.”
Cana made her way down the stairs. She wanted to go back to speak to her mother and father, who sat in the foyer. But she couldn't. A guard stepped behind her and made sure she didn't go back. She was directed to a door on the other side of the house, and then cast out roughly. Five minutes passed, in tht time she made it to the police officers around front and was being taken to a car.
“Mehra,” Dante said as he looked at him. “Do you remember in mumbai when I met you?”
“Of course,” his lipstick lined lips curled into an embarrassed smile, “I enjoyed it.”
“Why did you marry Maloj Mehra?”
“Because he offered to take me out of India.”
“I did the same,”
“You did, but we grew apart.”
“I was not going to love you as a woman,”
“Yet I loved you as a wife.”
“And I did not reciprocate, you knew I wouldn't reciprocate.”
“And so I married Maloj.”
“Tell me, Mehra, had you known what you'd be doing as his wife, would you have still married him?”
“No,”
“You could have divorced him.”
“And gone back to India, never.”
“You could have gone anywhere else in the world. You could have come to me.”
“No, I couldn't. You'd have been furious with me.”
“No, I'd have been saddened that you'd had to have gone through such a tribulation, and furious with the ones who put you through it. That is why the Jalvatis are dead.”
“You did that?”
“Of course.”
“Can we stop this homo convo?” Maloj shouted. “I'm already sick o my stomach as it is.”
“You're right,” Dante said, “our conversation has gone on too long.” He dug in Mehra's pockets, and pulled out the knife he had prepared for Dante. He then quickly and without hesitation, slit Mehra's throat at a diagonal angle. Terror filled his eyes as his blood washed down his chest, over his breasts, and onto the floor. He stabbed Maloj in the forehead, Maloj went stiff, and never relaxed. Claude saw the way that Dante killed the other two. Now he wondered, fearfully, how he'd die.
Dante knelt before Claude and looked him in the eyes. “I killed them for different reasons Claude. Mehra by the throat, because that's the most peaceful way to die. Maloj by the mind because he was a hypocrate. Do you know how I will kill you?” There was no reply, an empty gaze was al that Claude would give. A gaze that showed no fear, yet.
“I'm going to cut your balls off. And then you'll die a slow, painful death. And, if you should survive, which I doubt you will, you won't be able to burn another woman, the way you burned Bethany, the way you wanted to burn Cana. You'll be burned. Badly burned. Worse than any other man on earth.”
Cana sat in the squad car, and went over the events of the weekend in her head. Friday she was kidnapped. She woke, saturday morning and was tickled mercilessly. That evening she met Dante. He did the same in a more elegant manner. Then she was allowed to rest. The next morning she was washed, and left bound to the ceiling. Dante then came in, tickled her for a time, talked to her for a time, and then, painted a masterpiece on her. She looked at her chest, the artwork looked like a tattoo now, but still so realistic. She then went to a ball, where she ate, and had fun. She learned the dark secrets of the society as well. She saw Marie die at their hands, and then she came home in the evening and learned more secrets in her life.Bethany was her sister, Maloj and Claude raped her. It became obvious that Mehra was Dante's hijra. And then she finds that they aren't her parents. It was a joy, a relief, and a daunting challenge. She just hoped that she'd be able to accomplish what she was now set to do.
The sudden explosion rocked the car, officers screamed and fell ot the ground to shield themselves from the wood and broken glass that shot into the air, and rained down upon everything and everyone. Cana watched as the house went up in flames; long curling glowing plumes of fire roared up into the night like a dragon taking flight. Not a single window was darkened all the eyes of the mansion were alight with the livid low of a small Hell. Another explosion ripped through the ight and one of the many paintings in the house hit the window of the squad car. It shattered to a million pieces, the burning portrait shrinking into a black nothing.
Cana felt a pang in her heart, not for her parents, which had surprised her. But for Dante, she didn't know why, but she felt so sorry for him. She knew he was dead, but did he kill himself, or was this a hitch in his own plans? It didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered anymore. She merely wanted to rest. She slumped down into the seat, closed her eyes, and began to cry herself to sleep.
