Soultaker

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Raymond Slater dressed for bed with the numb precision of an automaton. At no point was he conscious of the process. His fingers moved of their own accord, following patterns established over decades, drawing on his silk pajamas, pushing buttons through buttonholes, squeezing a small twist of toothpaste onto a brush that needed replacing. He spit out toothpaste foam in the bathroom sink, blotted his face with a paper towel, and stepped back to appraise his reflection. But the image in his mirror triggered something in the recesses of his mind, a dangerous spark of awareness.

He muttered a curse: “Shit.”

He flicked off the bathroom light and returned to the tastefully, and expensively, appointed bedroom he shared with his wife of twenty years, Patricia Louise Winston Slater. He flipped back the plush Laura Ashley comforter and crawled beneath freshly laundered sheets that smelled vaguely of pine needles. His wife, clad in a blue silk nightgown, set down the latest issue of Vanity Fair and shifted her considerable bulk, rocking the canopied bed as she turned to face her husband.

Raymond sighed. His wife always knew when something was bothering him. She was excellent at reading his moods, almost to a scary degree, but luckily, wasn’t so good at detecting hints of infidelity. He dreaded what was coming-one of those intensely earnest, supposedly heart-to-heart talks, the intent of which was to purge him of stress and set everything right in the world again. It never worked. Oh, he allowed Patricia to think the talks did him some good. He played that game, that age-old conjugal dance of deceit, and he played it well. Normally, he considered it a small price to pay, a necessary hoop to jump through so she wouldn’t suspect his real obsessions.

Patricia Slater made a clucking sound. “Something’s bothering you, dear.”

A statement. Not a question. Words that would brook no denial. He sighed again, an indicator of reluctance, of difficulty finding the right way to phrase how he really felt. It was a stalling tactic. Jesus, what could he say to her? He suppressed an inappropriate burst of laughter, twisting the smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth to look like a grimace of pain (this wasn’t difficult).

He imagined telling her the truth: Well, dear, today was a very interesting day. A truly singular day, in fact. I’ve never quite experienced the likes of it before. You see, a girl, one of my students, is a demon. Yes, a demon. I mean that in the most literal sense. A spirit. An incarnation of evil. A fucking DEMON. And, well, she’s forcing me to participate in something horrendous tomorrow. I suspect I’ll be dead soon. No, there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. And how was your day, dear?

What he actually said was, “I suppose.”

“Hmm.” She touched his arm. Raymond only barely managed not to flinch. His grimace deepened as he watched her face form an expression of sympathy, which looked ghastly behind her mask of facial creme. “Is it that dreadful business at the police station? That boy, what was his name?”

“Trey McAllister.”

Patricia’s fingers stroked his forearm, her manicured nails lightly grazing his skin and sending an uncomfortable tingling down the length of his arm. “Yes, Trey, that’s it. He’s a student of yours, correct?”

Raymond answered with a grunt. He was trying not to acknowledge the steadily increasing intimacy of his wife’s touch. It was just possible she was feeling horny. She didn’t attempt to seduce him all that often, probably because she was having at least one extramarital affair of her own. He hoped like hell it wouldn’t happen now. He groaned when her hand left his arm and dipped under the comforter. Her fingers fiddled with the snap of his pajama bottoms before Raymond gave up and tossed the comforter back. Best just to get it done so he could get to sleep. Patricia giggled. She lifted the hem of her nightgown and straddled her husband. She gripped his limp penis with her left hand and slapped him several times with her right hand. He grew hard in her hand. This was the way they always did it now. It was the only way Raymond could perform with her. She mounted him and rode him until he spurted inside her. In the moment before orgasm, Raymond saw Myra’s face in his mind. The memory of the way she’d looked straddling his lap that afternoon was the thing that pushed him over the finish line.

Then, spent, he recalled the way Myra had looked moments later.

He whimpered.

Patricia’s face crinkled with concern. The layer of facial cream made her look like some sort of demon herself, like a bloated gargoyle. “Oh, honey. It’s awful, I know. I hoped I could take your mind off it for a while, but I can see how heavily it’s weighing on you.”

Raymond thought: Not as heavily as you, I can tell you that.

He wanted her to dismount, but he didn’t say so. This “intimacy” was bad enough-really, it was just shy of vomit inducing-but offending her was the last thing he wanted. The many people who loved Patricia would never believe the level of cruelty she was capable of in private, but her wrath was a truly awful thing to incur. Raymond put up with it because her worst moments were very rare. Enduring them was preferable to going through a very expensive and messy divorce.

He coughed. “Yes. It is. Very much so.” Best just to go along with this load of steaming horse shit. “I’ve had a rough time of it. I know I can’t protect my kids the way I’d like to.” When Raymond wanted to subtly showcase his sensitivity, he referred to the students at Rockville High as “my kids.” Patricia fell for it every damn time, and this time was no exception. She made a noise of empathy, and Raymond decided to lay it on a little thicker. “Trey McAllister has a special place in my heart, you know. I’ve long suspected abuse by his parents.”

Patricia shook her head. “It’s awful. Simply awful. There ought to be a minimum IQ requirement for becoming a parent in this country. Those McAllisters are trashy people. I well remember all the trouble you had with Trey’s older brothers.”

Raymond frowned. “You do? But…that was so long ago.”

“Mmm, yes, it was.” Patricia’s eyes were closed, and there was a dreamy quality to her voice. She tightened her vaginal muscles around Raymond’s shrinking cock and her large, drooping breasts undulated beneath the fabric of her nightgown. She rolled her massive hips and her torso began to sway. Her eyes came open-they were glazed. “I have a good memory, Raymond. An excellent memory, in fact. Photographic, you might say. Jake and Michael McAllister caused you tremendous aggravation back in the day. You would tell me about their escapades over dinner. That was back when you still loved me and would willingly share your troubles with me.”

The motion of his wife’s body felt nice. This was odd. He was enjoying physical contact with Patricia for the first time in…well, in a very long time. He grew hard inside her, and her rocking rhythm increased a little. Now this was beyond odd. An encore performance with Patricia? That hadn’t happened in many years. He smiled. And this time some of the day’s stress really did begin to dissipate. He felt very mellow, very relaxed, and pleasantly aroused.

He moaned.

He closed his eyes and focused only on the physical sensations.

Then his eyes snapped open. “Wait. Wait. What did you mean by that?”

Patricia smiled. “Mean by what, dear?”

“You know exactly what I mean. You referred to my love in the past tense.” It was true that Raymond didn’t love Patricia. He hadn’t for a very long time. But having this reality verbalized by Patricia made him angry and defensive. “That’s just ridiculous. It’s…cruel.”

Patricia laughed. “Is it?”

Raymond’s face contorted with rage. “It fucking well is. How dare you-”

“Oh, shut up.”

Patricia bit her lower lip and began to buck like a bronco, rattling the bed and abusing her husband’s spine. It hurt. The hell of it, though, was that he was more turned on than ever. Patricia clamped a hand around his throat and applied considerable pressure. She was choking him, but it only served to intensify his pleasure. She spewed verbal abuse at him. He built quickly toward orgasm, and when she eased the pressure on his throat he went off like a rocket.

Raymond laid there panting for several moments.

“Oh…oh…Jesus…”

Then he met his wife’s steady gaze, saw her smirk. “What was that all about?”

“It’s a reminder.” Patricia’s eyes went flat. Her voice was icy when she said, “And a going-away present.”

Raymond felt a flicker of alarm. This was so unlike Patricia. Even when she was treating him like an idiot stepchild, she never sounded like this. Never this cold. “Patricia, what’s wrong? Have I done something? Please tell me.” A welling of tears surprised him. “I promise I’ll fix whatever’s wrong.”

“We’re past that, Raymond. I wanted you to remember that I know what makes you tick. I had to remind you that your wife is still the best fuck you’ve ever had-or ever will have.” Her lips twisted into a sneer. “Tell me, Raymond, be honest, has that little slut English teacher you’ve been screwing ever made you come that hard?”

Raymond’s eyes widened. He spluttered. “Wh-wh…what?”

Patricia laughed again. “That’s right. I know all about it. And I have pictures. Graciously provided to me by a concerned, albeit anonymous, friend.”

Raymond felt a pain in his chest. Panic ripped through him like a virulent virus. His world was falling apart. Suddenly. Without warning. And he felt powerless to halt its disintegration. “Patricia, you’ve got to listen to me.”

Patricia’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Me? Listen to you?”

She threw her head back and laughed heartily.

Raymond strove to keep his voice calm. He had to make her see reason. Only by keeping a level head might he see his way through this storm. “I’ve been blackmailed. It’s been horrible. A nightmare. I’ve had no choice.”

Patricia glared at him. “And I don’t care. I’m through with you, Raymond. I’m getting a divorce. I’m getting this house and all your fucking money. And then I’m getting the hell out of this podunk town you’ve trapped me in all these years. There’s nothing you can do about it. You’ll agree to whatever I want.” She grinned. “Unless you want everyone you know to see the pictures.”

The thought of it made Raymond pray for a heart attack. He imagined his daughter, a college freshman, seeing those pictures and wanted to scream.

Raymond’s chest hitched.

He sniffled and his vision blurred.

“Awww.” Patricia mocked him again. “Poor little baby. Is my soon-to-be ex-husband about to cry?”

Raymond wiped moisture from his eyes. He met his wife’s fiery, horribly satisfied gaze and felt a long-dormant piece of himself flare briefly to life and then die. It all hit him at once. The tragedy of his broken life. He’d had it all. A wife, a beautiful child, money, and a rewarding career. Not anymore. Piece by piece, bit by bitter bit, he’d dismantled his slice of the American Dream through his own arrogance and stupidity. Looking into Patricia’s eyes, he knew it was all over.

He sniffed again. “I’m sorry. I really am.” The sentiment was sincere. Now that the big secret, the thing he’d worked so hard to conceal, was a secret no more, he was seized by a need to come clean on everything before it was too late. Tragedy could still be averted. The desire frightened him because he knew the risk involved was probably life threatening, but he plunged ahead anyway. “There’s something I have to tell you. Your first instinct will be to scoff, but I beg you, Patricia, I beseech you, please listen with an open mind. So many innocent lives are at stake. We have to warn people. A student at Rockville High is a…” He hesitated. Here it was, the big moment. But now he felt ridiculous. She would never believe this. He sighed. “She’s a demon.”

Patricia laughed again louder than ever. “You grandiose, delusional fool!” Hilarity rendered her voice shrill. “You ridiculous man. Egads, how lucky I’ll be to be shed of you!” She rolled her eyes. “A demon!”

Raymond’s shame and self-pity intensified. He felt small. Impotent. Then he heard something incongruous, barely audible through his wife’s laughter. A creak. And another. A sound like someone moving with deliberate stealth. When Raymond saw what was looming over Patricia’s shoulder, he opened his mouth to scream.

It was too late.

Patricia’s laugh became a squeal as her head was jerked roughly back. A long, curved blade was then pressed against her throat. The gloved hand holding the blade’s handle gave it a savage jerk and Patricia’s throat opened like a zipper. Blood geysered from the massive wound, splashing Raymond’s face and getting inside his mouth and nose. He felt another pain in his chest, this time so intense he thought he really might have a heart attack. Then the big blade, similar to a machete, returned and ripped at Patricia’s neck again.

The strength of her attacker was phenomenal, almost inhuman.

Her head came free of her body.

Penelope Simmons jumped onto the bed and kicked the lifeless body aside. Clad entirely in black and wearing a dark wig and sunglasses, she looked like something out of a piece of spy fiction, a sexy paid assassin. She stood over Raymond, the top of her head nearly grazing the bed’s canopy; then she grinned at her lover.

“I heard you, Raymond. You big tattletale, you.” Her blue eyes burned with excitement. “You’ve been naughty. You better hope you-know-who doesn’t cut your tongue out. That would be a shame. I’m rather fond of your tongue.” She gave Patricia’s severed head a hard shake, pumping it like an especially enthusiastic cheerleader waving a pom-pom. “Aren’t you glad this stupid cow is dead? We’re free at last, Raymond, free at last. Praise Lamia.”

Raymond just blubbered, incapable now of speech or screams.

Penelope cackled. “Catch, baby.”

She tossed Patricia’s head to Raymond.

This time he did manage to scream.

And he screamed for a while, straining his vocal cords.

Until Penelope made him shut up.