DC Suburbs -- Part 6
by Martin H Slusser

Trapped and enslaved by memories of his grandfather. Benny gripped his knife and prepared to attack if discovered. Dim light of a watery moon glittered on strong teeth. Cautious, he waited for that first shout, the too familiar bay of rottweillers, and a siren's shrill warning.

Silence.

Slow, with soft, wolf-like movement, Benny turned. His hand crept to the thin stiletto that lay in a pocket sewn near the crotch of his jeans. Not too many were likely to suspect a weapon when a man reached down there. It was a dull matte black. The knife held a razor edge, but it wasn't meant for that purpose. Benny peered under the bottom of the shrub.

Shocked, his jaw dropped. He grinned at a petit girl. She padded on bare feet from the house to the pool. The scant, colorful, pool robe she wore drifted down onto the edge of the pool. A wisp of steam from the waters drifted passed her form, clothing it for an instant.

He was shocked. He was in awe. Benny was in love, or at least in lust.

She raised slender, feminine arms over a trim, almost boyish body. She was a Venus in all her unclothed glory. Benny swallowed a mouthful of saliva and positioned himself so it didn't hurt so much to lay on his front. Wolf of God, was she fine looking. Damn, but he wanted her.

She made a clean dive into the rich cool blue waters of the pool.

Which rhymes with fool. The girl was followed by an equally naked, but unequaled by, older man. What a jerk. Benny noted with a critical eye the paunch, the flabby muscles and thinning hair. Dude was kind of skimpy in the manly department all around. Benny snickered.

 “Peanut farmer. The crud gotta be three times her age.”

The man stumbled and flopped into the water. Benny gave a quiet snort. The slight roll on his guts would be stinging like sixty about now. The man surfaced with a gasped. Benny smirked at the pain on the florid, sagging face.

Water washed up, spewing onto the verge of the pool.

They met, came together.

Benny squirmed a little closer. His jaw sagged. The gum that had been working its way around in his jaws rolled over a stiffened, sweating tongue and plummeted to the mulch. Benny swallowed in nervous jerks. He took up the butcher’s container and popped off the top.

A piece of raw liver, meant as a bribe for enthusiastic guard dogs, came dripping blood to his hungry mouth. He munched on it, his eye fastened and greedy on the couple in the pool.

Growing bored, Nina pushed him away.

“Connel,” Nina scolded, “Please.”

Tongue flapping around his lips, Connel grinned.

As soon as he opened his mouth, Benny rolled his eyes.

“Texas steer.”

“Please Connel? My thoughts exactly, honey.” Connel leered at her. “Please?” His voice grew thin, taut and shaking. “Girl, you're driving me insane. What a little prick tease you are, Nina.” Connel squinted. “No more, little girl. Either do as I say, or else.”

Oblivious to anything but his own desires, Connel forced his mouth over hers. He didn't see Benny creeping closer through the dark, knife in hand, in case that luscious body of Nina's cried for help. The girl sighed and acceded to what ol’ Connel thought was his obvious male superiority.

Connel squealed and tore away from Nina. “You dammed little bitch.” He spat in the water and touched his bleeding tongue. “You dammed whore.” Connel drove himself at a laughing Nina.

Afraid now, her laughter cut off , Nina dived. Connel followed. He chased her to the shallow end of the pool and dragged her back by the hair.

Nina fought him, using every thing she knew. Connel slapped her hard, and she floated away, face down in the pool. Stunned, the man dragged Nina to the side and got out. He stared at her for a moment, certain she was dead.

In numbed silence Benny watched Connel pull Nina out. The man took her by the legs and yanked her onto the soft winter grass of the lawn.

“She's alive,” Connel said in a mutter. Benny sighed in relief and crouched low. A smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Connel stared at Nina.

A worried scowl grew on Benny’s face. He had seen that look at the Manse. People who suddenly realized that any perversion was not simply permissible, but encouraged. A lot of hosts never made it out of the Manse unscarred. Some were buried there by other hosts, like Benny, under the manure pile behind the stables. For just a moment, the sting of lime came to Benny’s nostrils. Connel’s giggle brought him back to the stark pain of reality.

“Chrisake. The bastard's gonna rape her.”

Benny's stomach twisted. Connel was kneeling between those slender legs, his every movement clumsy with the excitement and horror of what he was about to do on the sagging face.

The smell of evil strengthened. Mohawk-Buu rose in all his terrible beauty, his blood-blackened robes shimmered in the scant light of a pale moon.

Tightening his grip on the robes, the Owl hissed. How grotesque. The little man was seeking another female to play with. The fools on the lawn were none of his concern, though the one called Connel was sworn to him.

“Little human, die for me. Little Grey Wolf Person, cast thyself into the flames. Filth, gutter trash, flesh. Die. Give thyself to the 'Stone. Or give thine self to the Project. I care not which, but die thou shalt.”

©2003 StoriesByEmail.com

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