The Black Train Part 27

"That's just great." Her glare mixed with heartache. "Let me spell it out. If you put your p.e.n.i.s into my v.a.g.i.n.a, that's s.e.xual contact. Why? Because my v.a.g.i.n.a is my s.e.x organ. If you put your mouth on my v.a.g.i.n.a, that's s.e.xual contact, because my v.a.g.i.n.a is my s.e.x organ. So tell me, Justin. If you put your finger in my s.e.x ORGAN, what is that?"

Collier's jaw froze open.

Now she was wiping her eyes. "I'm leaving. Good-bye."

"Wait!"

His shout cracked down the street. He was sure anyone within a block had heard it. Now he was squeezing her arm hard.

Let her go, man, insisted the Evil Voice. She's the Tease from h.e.l.l. Forget about this nutty b.i.t.c.h. Go back to the hotel and use Lottie for an oil change...

Collier was getting sick of that voice. "Listen," he began.

"Let me go. You're hurting my arm."

"At least give me a chance to talk. This isn't fair at all."

He released her arm. Now the street stood in total silence, like the silence after a machine-gun volley. He could see several late diners at the bistro craning their necks at them.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't understand-"

"Come on, you were working me-"

He pointed his finger right in her face. "Let me talk, d.a.m.n it. Give me two minutes, and then you can split and think whatever you want. But I'm sorry. I didn't understand. You gotta admit, your rules are a little weird."

"I know they are!" she yelled. "But they're still my rules, and I explained them to you, and you said that was okay, but five minutes later you've got your hand down my-"

"All right!" he yelled just as loud. "I get it! I guess it was my male instincts or something. But you were letting me...do...other stuff, so..."

"So you figured it was okay to stick your finger in my p.u.s.s.y?"

Those words, too, echoed down the street. Jesus, he thought. This is too hard!

So why didn't he just leave?

"We were just making out, Justin," she said, "and it was wonderful. It was pa.s.sion, it was desire. But that's never enough for you guys, is it? If two people are making out, then that's carte blanche for the guy. Everything's got to be a nut. Everything's got to be a piece of a.s.s. If a woman makes out with a man, even after she's told him she doesn't want s.e.x, all of a sudden she's got an obligation to f.u.c.k him-"

"Now you're being a cynical smart-a.s.s," he countered. "That's not how I feel at all." He felt the need to convince her. "And look at it this way. I know now that I'll never get to have s.e.x with you. Right?"

She peered at him with suspicion. "Yeah."

"So if I'm just your typical c.o.c.k-hound, if all I'm out for is a piece of a.s.s... then why am I still standing here? How come I'm not long gone?"

Dominique couldn't answer.

"Tell me that you'll go out with me again," he insisted.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Justin-"

"Bulls.h.i.+t. It's a great idea." He squeezed her arm gently this time. "Tell me you'll go out with me again."

She sighed. "All right."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Great. What time?"

She grinned. "Seven thirty in the morning."

What! "That's really early."

"Take it or leave it."

Collier's shoulders fell. "All right. Seven thirty in the morning. Where?"

She pointed across the street.

Collier couldn't see the building very well, for the shadows. But he could see the sign just fine: ST. THOMAS METHODIST CHURCH. JOIN US FOR OUR EARLY SERVICE!

CHAPTER TEN.

I.

"Please!" wept the nasally voice. "I'm begging you...My love!"

Jiff frowned, his feet kicked up in bed before the television. "But I was just there earlier today. You want me to come over again, tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, yes!"

"I-" Sheee-it! "I got too much work to do tomorrow," he semilied. "My ma's p.i.s.sed at me fer not gettin' to all my ch.o.r.es today."

Sniffling. A croak. "I'm...worthless."

You got that right.

"I love you."

"I done told ya. Quit talkin' like that!"

"I need...to be utterly debased. I'm not worthy of your love because, I know, I'm s.h.i.+t. I'm begging you. Come here tomorrow morning and humiliate me. Treat me like the garbage I am."

It was getting pathetic. "No. I told ya. I cain't."

"I need to be profaned. I need to be debauched. Please, my love."

"No!"

"I'll pay you a hundred dollars..."

"I'll be there. What time?"

"Thank G.o.d!" Another sniffle, and something like a yelp of joy. "Come at nine, and...Jiff?"

Jiff was trying to watch Home Shopping Network. "Yeah?"

"I need it...to be real bad. Because I've been real bad. I'm so unworthy of your love that I need to be treated like common sc.u.m, do you understand?"

Jiff waved his hand. "I gotcha, J.G.," he almost yelled. He was getting to hate the pitiable fat old man and his m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic kink games, but...

For a hundred dollars?

"Don't worry. I'll surprise ya. Now go to bed, I'll be 'cos at nine."

"I love y-"

Jiff hung up. At least business was picking up. He'd made over a hundred dollars today just at the bar; another hundred tomorrow just from one trick with Sute would cash in a fine week. Things could be worse.

It was going on midnight; Jiff hoisted himself up and left the room. He still had to empty the ashtrays and take the trash cans outside, then make a final window check before going to bed. When he pa.s.sed Lottie's room, he thought he heard her bed squeaking. Sounds like she's humpin' her pillow again, Jiff figured.

The next contemplation aggravated him. Sute wants something extra hard tomorrow. But Jiff couldn't imagine what. He was being left to his own creativity, and as much of a pain in the a.s.s as it was...

A hundred bucks is solid bread.

Jiff knew he'd think of something rough.

When he left the wing, he didn't notice the pallid brown dog snuffling around at the other end of the hall.

II.

Collier came back to a lobby empty and barely lit. d.a.m.n, didn't realize it was so late. He felt like looking around at more of the display cases but thought better of it. Need to go to bed right now, he reminded himself. I need to be in CHURCH at seven thirty tomorrow morning...He could still scarcely believe it. I'm p.u.s.s.y-whipped for a girl who will never go to bed with me. Collier thought hard about that, but didn't feel any different after doing so.

He was really looking forward to seeing Dominique.

The incident on the bench seemed so absurd now, he almost laughed out loud. Smart move. Great way to really impress her. But his nerves still felt vibrant from being so close to her. He could still smell her hair, could still taste the clean sweat he'd been allowed to lick off her skin...

G.o.d...

He left Mrs. Butler's truck keys behind the counter. Mental note: NEVER borrow her truck again. He'd walk to the church in the morning. He was about to turn up the stairs but noticed a display for the first time: an oblong gla.s.s display case on end, almost as tall as he. It held a woman's dress, a rich burgundy, in something almost like velvet. BALLROOM DRESS WITH STOMACHER AND PANNIERS, the plaque told him. WORN BY MRS. PENELOPE GAST. Collier stepped back to a.s.sess it, as one might a painting. She wore that, he abstracted. A hundred and fifty years ago, her flesh and blood was standing in that dress-in this house...the wife of a twisted killer. The notion gave him a chill.

Mrs. Gast. Mrs...Tinkle...

He stepped away, unnerved, but not before noticing a much smaller case hanging on the sidewall of the stairs. It looked like a pair of crude pliers next to an old hat, but then he read, HAND-FORGED IRON COOLING TONGS-1861-AND REGULATION PATTERN 1858 "HARDEE" HAT, OWNED BY R. HARDING, THE FAMILY BLACKSMITH.

Collier remembered Dominique's story, the midnight blacksmith in the floppy hat. That's it, he thought, looking at the hat. If the guy she saw really was a ghost...that's the hat he wore. Same guy that made the shears in the other case...

Another chill followed him up the stairs. He hadn't noticed that the "Naughty Girl Clips" in the other case were now missing.

The floor creaked with every other step upstairs. Several wall-mounted electric candles were all that lit the stair hall. Did he hear a door click shut somewhere? Collier gazed through grainy dark. When he pa.s.sed room two, he couldn't help it. He bent to sniff the keyhole but noticed nothing. Then he whisked into his own room and locked the door.

Why am I so creeped out tonight?

It was Dominique's story, of course, and the power of suggestion that would follow most anyone who'd heard it. Something in the house was building up, some unnamed psychic residue, and Collier was picking it up like a lint trap.

When he stripped and turned out the lights, impulse took him to the curtains over the French doors. He looked out at the old forge, which, in the sinking moonlight, looked like nothing more than a pile of rocks.

Sleep impelled him once in bed. G.o.d, I'm tired. But when he tried to drift off, his brain betrayed him with images of Dominique: her eyes in the moonlight, her bare legs s.h.i.+ning, her nipples plump beneath the thin fabric he'd sucked a great, wet circle in. His p.e.n.i.s erected at once, but he shouted at it, No!

He thought about her force of will-to abstain from s.e.x-and then thought about his, which barely existed. He determined himself not to use her to a.s.suage his own l.u.s.t. The voice of his id kicked in yet again, You got her so torqued up, she's home right now with her feet sticking up in the air with a twelve-inch d.i.l.d.o stuck in her, you a.s.shole!

Collier, somehow, doubted it, and he sloughed off the voice.

Right now she's hauling some other guy's ashes 'cos you didn't have the b.a.l.l.s to go for it...

Collier smiled and shook his head.

He fell into black sleep and began to dream at once. Please let me dream about her...Instead he dreamed of lying p.r.o.ne in a lightless void; darkness lay on him like great rolls of pitch-black cotton.

No s.e.x dreams tonight, he begged his mind in the dream.

Because he knew this was a dream.

He dreamed that someone was looking in his keyhole...

Who was it? And what were they seeing?

The blackness prevailed. A soft hand ran up his chest. s.h.i.+t...There was no relent to his l.u.s.t, even in sleep. It stained him like wine on white linen. Another pair of hands landed on him, one rubbing the other pectoral, the other slowly sliding toward his groin. His hips squirmed but he couldn't move-of course not-as the hands softly molested him. It was as though two women knelt at either side, to tend to him.

Even his dream was goading him to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e. But why not with images of Dominique? Was Dominique one of the women, and if so, who was the other?

Eventually the tongues and hands retreated.

Did he hear a giggle?

That's when it occurred to him how small the hands on his body seemed...

A lively whistling, then a girl's Southern drawl whispered through the utter blackness, "Here! Come on! Here!"

The bed rustled a bit; then someone else began to ravenously lick his face. It was frenetic, unabating...

More giggles.