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Where did she go, Benny?
Faces crowded in his mind.
Where is she?
Don’t lie to us.
Where did she go?
On and on until the dreams started.
Until he ached from it. A wild, frightening
erotic wet dream, of one woman after another using him in his drug induced
haze until all faces blurred into one face, Cindy VanTur's face. Benny
cursed her and tried to fight it off.
Old man Ryan's wither ancient face leered down
at him once, but that was wrong. Pappy Henri killed that old pervert the
day Carl burned to death up home on 309. Benny shouted at the cold eyes,
and the man smiled at his curses and patted his face with a chilling,
scaly hand.
Ravens and eagles flitted through the haze. A
tiny, earthy woman patted his hand and whispered her love before she dived
off the bed and under the furniture. A dog whined and scratched. Benny
tried to warn the Tsi:ge:O woman about the dog, but couldn't find
the words in his mind.
The big ugly dude, the one that always ran him
down in the dohi:yi, the quiet place, raised his double bladed
sword in the air and drove Ryan away. The sword trilled, and the spirit
snarled a smile at Benny from where his head brushed the ten foot high
ceiling.
“Yo,” he whispered, “be cool, brat.” The
grin twisted and flexed scars as terrible as any of Benny's own. The
sword, its name was 'Heart, Benny thought in a momentary burst of clarity,
trilled a lullaby and the Warrior-Guardian settled on the edge of the bed.
Another woman came to him, put a condom on him
and gripping his shoulders, she straddled his hips. Her slender body
arched over his. Benny rose to meet her, thrashed under her as the drugs
hissing into his veins sizzled with a heat all their own, making him one
with the dream. She uttered a small scream, her nails pierced the
cult-marred skin of his pectorals. He shouted at the end with that small
pain and lay panting under her. Benny rolled his head and gasped for air.
What was it the warden said? The cool laughter of her voice rolled through
his mind.
We really don’t need you awake, Benny,
just alive.
“Bitch. Cindy. I fucking hate you,” Benny
shouted, and he threw her off of him. Benny tried to rise, only to
discover his hands and legs were manacled to the bed.
“You filthy using slut,” Benny shouted and
curses rolled off his tongue. He ripped at the nylon loops holding him
fast and writhed on the bed. In near hysteria Cindy shouted, “Stop it,
Benny. You’re hurting yourself. Guards. Help me, someone. Oh,
dear gods of Askarra, make him stop.” She staggered to the bedside table
and took up a needle and vial. She tried to drive the needle into his arm.
With a grunt of contempt Benny twisted away. The needle drove home and
snapped off in his arm.
Benny worked his arm free and cried out, “Shit
on this.” In his rage he slapped at her. Eyes frantic with alarm, Cindy
covered her mouth. She rushed from the room. “Guards. Rory, Tim. Help
me, dammit.”
With a grunt of contempt, he glanced at the
blood pouring from his arm. Nothing he could do about it now, anyway. The
tip grated on bone and he clenched his teeth at the pain.
Shit on it.
Benny loosened the Velcro straps.
Grinning with contempt and anger, he crowed,
“Good thing the bitch didn't wanna mark up her prize stallion.”
Laughing in a feverish hate, Benny looked for
his clothes. Some nice obedient lackey had washed and pressed them. He
didn't so much need the clothing as he did the knife and the keys to his
Red Sun. Live free and die free, a warrior of the People, forever, man, he:wa.
“Damn- I mean bless You, Lord.” He grinned
and snatched the jeans up. Yep, knife and keys were right where they were
supposed to be. Maybe Cindy was going to let him run the motorcycle around
in a little circle, under armed guard, if was a good boy. At the rate he
was going the whole Uohali-Sun line would be rusted junk before she
let him in the saddle, the Red Sun's saddle, should say, again. He pulled
on his boots and dashed for the hallway, his legs and groin cramping from
the times he had been used.
Take out one fed and the rest went sprung. The
knife was a pleasant buzz in his fist. Cops shot first and ask questions
later. Die free.
A right turn led to the stairs, he hoped. And
there stood Cindy. He flashed a grin at her startled eyes and popped her
lightly in the jaw. She fell into his arms and Benny tossed her over his
left shoulder and then they were on the main floor and moving in a low
crouch.
A shout warned Benny before the guard swung. He
kicked up and spun, and the man dropped, hands clutching his stomach.
Benny dodged around the agent and charged for the door. Klaxons shrilled
from speakers set in the paneled walls. The main door slammed open. The
guard lashed out with his fist. Benny reeled and spat out a mouthful of
blood. The man was quick, had a gun, but didn't dare use it for fear of
hitting Cindy. No way around the grinning mass filling the door, Benny
leaped and crashed through a window.
Glass sprayed around him, cutting like a
thousand tiny knives. He crouched and ran through the dark, dodging spot
lights and men with dogs.
“Where the hell is he?”
It was the man from the office, Tim?, the one
who loved Carl almost as much as he did. A man Carl trained. Grim, Benny
shoved back into the shrubbery along the walls of the house and froze.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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