It’s posted - If you can find it.

So, I’m sure you are wondering when my next chapter is going to make itself known. Just dying to know what Marco has planned? How Annerire will recover, adapt? What were those words over which he ran his fingers while she lay there, dead to the world?

Wait for it… wait for it….

Oh, and in case you’ve not discovered the new location on your own, well, oh well. Sadism can be fun. Weee!

Some of you have already come across it. Will you share your findings? Keep them greedily to yourself? I suppose the real test comes when the post goes live and those that ‘have’ can dangle it over those that ‘have not.’

Don’t look to me for answers. I will tell you this…[nevermind, deleted. Can't make it too easy.]

This should be the last installation you see. Here, at least. I’ll try to find a home for this story in a submenu - or perhaps another domain sometime soon.
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This isn’t a story about a rape - forced or consensual. It doesn’t open with a sleeping virgin and end with her sobbing into her sheets over the ‘criminal’ enjoyment she secretly gained from some unknown perpetrator. It is a relationship and the story starts with him seeking her out for his own purposes. Do you think rape was the primary goal? Her subjugation? His exercise of power? Something else? All of the above?

I think this chapter will answer some of those questions.

I don’t know how long I slept after having settled Annerire into her drugged induced sleep. It was the subtle knock at the door that stirred me from the chair, my neck aching from having remained in one spot for too long a time. I glanced over at the bed. Her figure was a small, brocade covered hill in the center. I pushed from the chair, my bones cracking as I rose. I glanced at the time and frowned. It was later than I suspected.

The door opened without my touching it and as such was met with the brunt of my palm slamming it shut. I heard the sound of the wood as it struck the head of Joseph, my muscle, but my most trusted of allies. He was Joe to me and to his rather charming, if loud, wife. He was sitting back on the floor, his hand to the area where a lump would undoubtedly form on his head later. I eased my grip on the Browning that remained tucked under my arm during most of my waking, and obviously sleeping, hours. I offered him my hand. It was a gesture that had meaning. He was my friend, but he was also someone I knew better than to trust completely. I wondered why I did.

‘That how you greet me?’ He reached over and picked up the pack of cigarettes before taking my hand and rising. He rubbed his head again and looked at me with a crooked smile. ‘Eh. I did knock.’

‘Did you?’

He studied me for a moment and then laughed, slapping me on the back hard. ‘You are too paranoid for your own good.’

I shrugged. He walked over to the mirror and leaned forward giving a good natured chuckle. His meaty fingers moved through his graying hair as the smile faded. His steely gaze caught mine in the reflection. ‘You sure you want to go through with this?’

My gaze dropped to my fingers for a moment and I nodded my head before looking at him. He had moved closer to study the still form of Annerire. ‘I need too. It’s like I’m evaporating.’

‘And her?’ He gestured towards the bed. ‘She hate you?’

‘Without question.’ I smiled without humor. I scratched my chin lightly and glanced back at my watch. ‘Give her the meds. I’m going to go find out where Crowne is.’

I moved towards the door. Joe cleared his throat and spoke quietly. ‘He’s downstairs. Setting up.’

I exhaled slowly and nodded my head, opening the door. He spoke before I stepped out. ‘There’s no going back, Marco.’

‘I know.’ My hand still rested on the heavy, dark wood of the door.

‘Think it’s fair to her? Putting her in the middle of a war?’ He said this as he filled the syringe, speaking casually as if the topic were the weather.

‘No.’ I felt my face empty, the stoic mask slide into place. ‘But the true casualties of war aren’t the soldiers that wage it.’

He leaned forward and injected the medicine into her arm. She didn’t stir. He rubbed the spot on her arm with his thumb and then tossed the needle beside the bed. He paused for a moment and looked at me before bending down and pulling her to the edge of the bed by her arm and heaving her over one shoulder seconds later. ‘It’s easier to work when they don’t fight you.’

‘So I hear.’

— — — —

‘I’m done.’ Crowne turned to me and pulled off his rubber gloves and moved the light closer to her back. Annerire was still, remaining unmoving for most of the time it took the artist to finish his work. I placed the journal to my right, sliding the pen in its pages to hold my place. I glanced at Joe whose head was back and mouth open in a manner that strongly suggested sleep. As if I wouldn’t notice the snoring. We really needed to keep better hours. I blinked and rubbed my eyes with my palms, my pupils adjusting to the increasing light as I crossed the room.

There it was written in small scripted text across the center of her back. Two sentences. I moved her hair from the back of her neck and lightly grazed my fingers over the numbers placed there. The area was smooth, he had shaved it bare before he started. I wondered if she would even notice those, so hidden, or soon to be hidden in her hair, when the bolder of the two stretched across a wide expanse of her back.

It was a battle for another time. Casualties. War. Greed. Money. It all blended together at some point until all that remained was a sickly gray. I glanced at Crowne who stood smoking a cigarette on the patio. He was a talented artist. Respected in many circles for the work he did. He was also an alcoholic. And a pedophile.

I nudged Joe who awoke from his ’sleep’ without a sound. I smirked. ‘Laying it on a little thick, weren’t you?’

‘Dramatic license.’ He glanced out at the patio. ‘Ready?’

I nodded. He stood and started walking towards the patio. I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. ‘Take her out to the car. I’ll handle this one.’

‘Take all the fun, why dontcha?’ He mumbled the question with that same empty smile I knew I was about to settle on my face. Seconds later, he walked out the door with her tossed neatly over his shoulder, and I walked out of the doors onto the deck to stand beside Crowne.

‘My fee?’ He held out his hand. I dropped the stack of bills into his hand. He started counting it, thumbing through each bill, his lips keeping a soft tally.

‘It’s considered rude to count the money in front of me.’

‘Fuck you. Think I’m going to trust a fucking tightass in a suit?’ He waived the money in front of my face before he tucked it into his dirty jeans. He lit a fresh cigarette and spoke as he exhaled the first cloud of nicotine laden smoke, the cigarette waging drunkenly from his lips. ‘I’m out for number one. Me.’

‘So I hear.’

‘Did your research, eh?’ He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and made a spitting noise as he tried to disengage a piece of tobacco from his tongue. ‘Think I’m give a flying shit? You’ve got your own skeletons, wanker.’

He waived in the general direction of the house and leaned in towards me. His breath washed over me. ‘I’d like to get me a piece of that as well.’ He sneered. ‘A bit old for me.’

I looked at him and he took a step back. I reached inside my jacket and pulled the gun from its holster. I saw the fear register in his eyes and savored it, thrilled in it. It had been a long time since I had killed someone so worthy of death. I paused for a moment, and then pulled the trigger. 5 times.

Author’s note: Assuming you are over your crushing heartbreak at losing Pluto as a planet… It has been a little while since the last installment in this series. Part of the delay had much to do with a break up with N as she served as my muse in this endeavor. It actually happened in July, but I’ve kept silent on the issue for my own reasons. As such the intended movement of the story has been a little more difficult than I anticipated.

So perhaps it will go in another direction. Predictable plots are a story’s death and well, how can you know the end when I haven’t even thought of it yet?

I pinched the bridge of my nose, a sudden weariness was weighting on my shoulders. What had I expected? I turned and walked over where the knife lay folded on the floor before walking to the bar, leaving her as she was, curled in a ball, trying desperately to control the sobs racking her body.

It went as I had planned, expect perhaps for the bite on my shoulder, the carved paths of skin on my forearms. I glanced at them and felt pure frustration for a single moment as I acknowledged that she would have to be paid in kind for her action. I had learned long ago that weakness was punished and so too, would her rebellion be. Had I expected her not to fight? I looked over at her, still in a fetal position, and felt an odd tightening across my chest.

There was a soft knock at the door. The silence, it seemed, had fallen for too long a time. I opened it, and Lou’s blank face stared at me. The men that worked with me rarely said or asked much preferring, I imagined, to simply not know what it was I did. They just cleaned up the mess, what little there was, tied loose ends and kept their mouths shut. Fear, Dante had said. They feared me. I was l’uomo nero, el cucuy, the myth come to life, the beast that would take them away in the night. It was a childish superstition, but the fear was real enough, and in this business fear and respect are what mattered.

He nodded, confirming he was there just to check on my well-being. ‘Get me the kit.’ I mumbled the order, glancing at the girl on the floor as I shut the door in his face. She was unmoving, but I doubted she slept. She was simply hiding in plain view, keeping silent to avoid attention. She, who stood out in any crowd, was hiding from me. I didn’t like it. I had never raped anyone before. That thought bothered me as I stood there waiting for Lou’s return. My gaze was focused on her back, the puddle of black hair that spilled on the carpet.

He knocked twice this time before I opened the door a second time, reaching to take the small, black package from him. I unzipped the bag and unrolled it, pulling out one of the vials and a syringe. Chemical ropes, I called them. I generally preferred to use insulin to keep people feeling weak, shaky, ill - controllable, something that did little damage, and emptied out of their system in very little time. It kept people manageable, kept them afraid, uncertain and too sick to follow through on foolish and hastily made plans.

I’d chosen a mild sedative. She needed to be calm, and it would be the first peace, I imagined, that she had experienced during her stay. The drug worked fast and afterwards the haze would keep her thinking she had dreamed it all. It would only be a temporary nirvana for her. The simple fact of the matter was, she would never be able to accept that illusion long term, even if everything were left as they were at that moment.

I glanced at Lou, a silent statue, and nodded in Annerire’s direction. ‘Where is Crowne? I want to move get this moving.’

To his credit, he didn’t turn but glanced at his watch. ‘He should be here in a few hours.’

I nodded my head and inserted the needle into the vial, pumping a shot of air into it before flipping it over and drawing the clear liquid into the syringe. I glanced at him and followed his stare to the marks that scored my forearms. ‘Problem?’

He stiffened, his gaze returning to mine. ‘No, Sir.’

‘Good. I’ll be done here in ten. When he gets here let me know.’ He started to turn and I thumped the barrel twice to remove the air bubble before pulling the needle out. I spoke just before the door closed behind him, causing him to pause and look at me as I said ‘…and for God’s sake, make certain he’s sober.’

He shut the door quietly and I placed the vial back on the counter before replacing the cover over the needle. I pulled an alcohol pad and latex gloves from a hidden box under the counter and pulled them over my hands with a soft pop of sound. She was silent, the soft sound of her crying no longer pierced the silence of the room. I hadn’t noticed when it had stopped. I didn’t care at that moment, this was business. My business, my project to complete.

I stood over her for a long moment before I kneeled down beside her. Her eyes were closed, but I caught the hitch in her breathing when my gloved fingers grasped her arm. The syringe was between my lips, the alcohol stung my nose as I raked the pad across her bicep. She opened her eyes then and turned to look at me as I popped the lid off the needle, but had no chance to react before I sank the needle into her arm, pushing the chemical into her body. She jerked and a small spot of blood appeared before I pulled the needle out and wiped the spot with the still moist pad. I replaced the lid on the needle.

Her fingers came up to cover the spot and she opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. I studied the fine lines and imperfections of her fingers as I spoke, waiting to see the effect start to take hold. ‘It’s nothing, a tranquilizer….sedative….to keep you calm.’

She laughed. It was a soft sound, filled with the kind of malevolent spirit that she should not have understood. It was wrong coming from her. The sound abraded my ears, but I remained there by her side as it faded into the soft sound of crying.

My fingers grasped her upper arm and rolled her back towards me. I lifted a gloved hand and looked into dilated pupils. She was fading fast. My thumbs slid across her eyes to force them shut and I said, knowing I was speaking only to myself, ‘I’m not going to kill you, Annerire.’

Even I doubted the absolute truth of those words.