Sips of Blood Part 15

"Dad takes good care of the grave."

"He loves your mother."

"And because of that he hates me."

"Your father and I talked about you and your mother yesterday evening. My impression is that he's confused."

"Why are you here," he asked. "Out of curiosity?"

"I wanted to see how..." How the dead really lived. "Your father talked about her a lot. He even got me to drive him here to the cemetery before taking him home."

"He had to spit-s.h.i.+ne the stone."

"I think he missed her and was trying to figure out how to connect with you."

Wil faced Liliana.

"When I was a boy I used to spy on my Dad. See that tree over there?"

An oak nestled its roots outside the cemetery; many of its branches hung over several stones near the fence.

"Yes."

"I climbed that tree as a child. Used to watch Dad cleaning the stone, planting flowers, even kneeling in prayer.

"I had to be careful, though. See that big branch that glides out over the fence?"

"Yes."

"Sam, a boyhood friend, used to climb up there with me sometimes, until once he nearly fell right down on top of the spiked fence. I grabbed him in time, but he never climbed that tree again. Almost found himself truly staked out over the cemetery." Wil laughed.

"Bet Sam didn't think that joke was funny."

"How did you guess? Do you know him?"

Liliana turned away and began her walk back to the cemetery gate.

"Wait up," yelled Wil.

She stopped for a second, then continued. When Wil did catch up, he was slightly breathless.

"You doing anything special tonight?"

"Yes, I am."

"Okay. How about tomorrow night or anytime within the next six months would you go out with me?"

"No."

"Because of your grandmother?"

"No. I don't want to."

"But let us consider matters from another viewpoint. Is this a personal chastening I'm getting? and as if I were a naughty little boy, the idea is to spank me into good behavior? Wasted efforts, Madame. If the wretchedness and ignominy to which I have been reduced by the Ma.r.s.eilles judges' absurd proceedings, who punished the most commonplace of indiscretions as though it were a crime, have failed to make me mend my ways, your iron bars and your iron doors and your locks will not be more successful."

LETTER (1777).

To Madame la Presidente de Montreuil.

by the Marquis de Sade.

Chapter 26.

It had been just over a week since Garrett had met Letcher and his dog, and Garrett's body had just started feeling better. Not well enough to have s.e.x with his wife or to return to his regular workout program, but comfortable enough not to mind the potholes his chauffeur couldn't avoid.

Garrett set aside the legal pad on which he had been doodling and leaned against the back seat of his Lincoln. Useless. His brain was useless today. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't forget. He glanced out the window. The road they were on did not lead home.

"Philip, where are you going?"

"It's Tuesday, sir. I always take you upstate at this time."

They were coming up on La Maitresse's home. He could see the house and the bright colors of her garden. He had no appointment with La Maitresse. She had told him she would call when she could take him back.

Philip turned and pulled up in front of La Maitresse's garage. The chauffeur immediately got out of the car and opened the back door to allow Garrett to exit.

An older man stood on the porch of the house and stared at the car. He had white hair and his stance appeared haughty. Could he be the favored slave?

Garrett stepped out of the car and walked up to the porch.

"Is Marie expecting you?"

"Marie". Garrett had never known her real name. Hadn't wanted to. Fantasy began when he crossed the threshold of her home. The home of Maitresse la Presidente. He paid in cash and never asked anything about her own life.

"Is... she here?"

"No. But I am. Perhaps I can help you." The man's smile was a cross between a leer and humor.

This man knew why Garrett came here.

"Do you live with her?"

"No, monsieur, but I'm quite familiar with the place."

"Are you her husband?"

The man with the French accent guffawed.

"Son-in-law, monsieur."

"Sorry."

"Ah! Sad it is, because she drove my own Renee-Pelagie away from me. May she rest in peace. But you are not here, monsieur, to inquire about my relations.h.i.+ps. Instead, I think, you seek pleasure. N'est-ce pas?"

"Will she return soon?"

"Not soon enough for you, I'm sure, monsieur. Perhaps you could help me with this Eton Bench. I want to bring it down to the donjon. Perhaps I may even set it up now, monsieur. It has not tasted flesh against its platform in some time."

Why did his f.u.c.king c.o.c.k ache? wondered Garrett. Hadn't he learned his lesson? The bruises had been slow to fade. His b.u.t.t still had a yellowish cast from the last beating. On the other hand, this would allow him access to La Maitresse's house and a world with which he was familiar.

"I a.s.sure you, monsieur, that Marie allows me full use of the donjon. At least when she is not here. By the way, I introduced her to many of les instruments de travail. And with my expert guidance she has become a well-educated dom."

Garrett's breath caught. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His body tingled. A breeze carried the sweet smell of honeysuckle to his nostrils, almost turning his stomach.

"I can't wait for your decision, monsieur."

The man on the porch walked over to the Eton Bench and lifted it easily. As he started for the front door Garrett quickly reached out for the k.n.o.b.

"Thank you, monsieur. I will certainly need your a.s.sistance when I reach the donjon. If you remember, there's a terrible kink in the stairs."

Garrett remembered. He remembered the placement of the whips, floggers, canes, manacles. He remembered his lowly position. On his knees and hands. Head down, a.s.s raised in the air. He thought of all this as he moved through the house, knowing where the dungeon door was without thinking.

The dungeon always remained cooler than the upstairs. When he opened the door a cool breeze sped by him.

"Thank you again, monsieur. Would you mind leading the way down the staircase? You can then warn me of any obstacles that may be in the way."

The wooden steps were unfinished. Rough splinters protruded from the pine. Garrett grabbed the metal hand railing. The steps were steep, and he did not want to add to his bruises. At least he didn't consciously think he did.

"It is tres gentil of you to a.s.sist me. Often I have been down ici, but with such a large load I thought it best to have someone along."

"Then why didn't you wait for..."

"Marie?"

"Marie."

"I wanted to set up before she got home. Une surprise."

Garrett reached the kink in the staircase and turned to face the older man.

"We may have run into a problem. Would you like me to help squeeze that thing around the turn?"

"Eton bench, monsieur. Patterned after the one designed at the school. It is used for the birching or caning of les eleves."

"My French is poor, but you did say for caning students?"

"Oui, monsieur. Some extra restraint straps have been added for my special purposes."

The older man cleared the turn easily. His strength and agility amazed Garrett. The rest of the trip down the stairs went swiftly. At the base of the staircase the older man did not bother to rest; instead he carried his burden over to the opposite end of the dungeon--an end that sat in complete darkness. Garrett recalled that La Maitresse always kept the stairway light on, but the dungeon lights she adjusted to the situation.

"Are you okay?" Garrett called.

The man came out of the dark with a smile and not a hint of being out of breath.

"ca va tres bien." A lean man, he stood perhaps five-feet- two or three inches, but exuded confidence and knowledge. His features were attractive, and his blue eyes seemed to send out an inferno of warmth.

"Who are you?" Garrett asked.

"Louis Sade."

Letcher, Rin Tin Tin, and now Sade.

"What's your real name?"

"Donatien Alphonse Francoise de Sade."

The man's eyes sparkled. Garrett would have laughed except... No, Garrett thought, this is ridiculous. This old man is simply taking on a persona, a rather twisted historical role that conveniently portrays his fantasy. This Garrett could understand.

"I guess I should admit to being Leopold von Sacher-Masoch."

"Ah! But his encounters were only with women. Can you say the same?"

Garrett felt a heat flush through the skin of his face. He wished he could answer 'yes.' Staring into the other man's eyes, he knew the man couldn't be lied to.

Louis walked over to the controls of the track lighting and slowly raised the level of light, but still kept the light dim enough to cast shadows across his own face.

"I would appreciate additional a.s.sistance from you, monsieur. The Eton bench, it must be set up and tested."

Chapter 27.

Marie watched Wil fill the car with groceries. A mundane ch.o.r.e of which she willingly followed every nuance. The tattered chambray s.h.i.+rt rode closely on his muscles. The rolled-up sleeves revealed the definition of his blood vessels. His hands were large but slender, with a recently made paper-cut marking his right thumb. The smell of the blood reached her quickly. Luscious and warm. The low-slung jeans draped his hips the way in which she wanted to, curving into his loins to capture his heat. The taste of salty blood and s.e.m.e.n, only a wished-for phantom on her tongue, drove her to approach him.

"Your father lets you out alone?"