Sunday, August 17, 2008

Reform, Chapter eight

Chapter Eight

The Truth Will Out

A motley crew in the mud wade;

to the dreaded Vault we MADE!

Sorry, couldn’t help myself.

I am a poet on a shelf.

OK, really, I’m done now. Honest. I’m no de Sade…

So on we did trod.

HA!

Sun fallen, I lead the way around the school to the Den from the outside, not willing to trash my good name forever by revealing the secret entrance from the inside. In tail, in no particular order, were Ash, Evelyn(this was a mission, got to keep things formal), Matron, and Taggart, his fingers around Ash’s neck. He managed to hold on for longer than 8 seconds, so Rodeo fans rejoice. Still, some heroes are never happy.

St. Croix should be in bed. No, in the nurse’s office.’

‘Agent,’ Matron ground her teeth like five out of five dentists didn’t recommend. ‘If there is a secret hiding place in my school, then I think St. Croix is using it to hide valuable property, and thus, I don’t want her to escape while we investigate.’

I stepped in some mud, but Evelyn pushed me on before I could scream out newly learned profanities. So attentive and there for me.

‘I’d chain her down to the bed. Five different ways, and she’d be sedated.’

‘We’re here.’ I said. The Den of Iniquity.

Moments later we stood before the terrifying Vault. Even if the dead people behind it were dead, I’m sure their ghosts wanted to suck my bones dry. This was a mistake. The dead were burying their dead—let’s walk away and keep up our end. Our duty was to pretend we never die, their duty was to stay dead. That's fair, I say.

‘Well,’ Taggart said to himself in the nicotine stained causeway. ‘This is new to me.’

Matron denied any knowledge of the door, which was probably true, as she wasn’t a smoker. ‘How did you learn of this place, Archer?’

I had to think fast, but nothing coming. ‘I was dared in here once.’

OH BRILLIANT!

‘It was for Freemason ceremonies. Esoteric ones.’ Everyone turned to my Snuggle Bunny. She looked self-conscious, then took Taggart’s flashlight and my handkerchief, and scrubbed away some of the caked dirt on the corners. Hieroglyphics! ‘This school used to be for masons, right? These weird engravings, and the out of the way location, must make it some secret temple for high ranking priests or something, right?’

I glared at her. How could she not have told me? Sure, nightmares, but how cool was that? Daydreaming Indiana Jones and me excavating the school's underground for postmodern mythical treasures could have made my time a little sweeter, let me tell ya. Oh, shit. I’m a lesbian. Evelyn was my Indiana Jones. I had to step in line to that. I’d buy her a hat when we got out. And the whip so… no, just the hat.

Taggart had one hand on Ash’s neck, but took back his flashlight with the other to investigate. Matron tapped her foot, glaring at his back. Evelyn took the opportunity to whisper, ‘I told you I’m going to run this place someday.’

‘You are awesome. What’s your hat size?’

Matron tapped until she got the attention she felt she deserved. ‘History is fun, but look at that lock. We’ll never get it open. We might as well go to sleep and I shall call a construction team for tomorrow.’

‘Oh,’ I’d almost forgotten Ash was there. ‘If I could borrow a hair pin I’m sure I could—‘ Taggart jerked her neck to shush the beast like you would a leashed dog barking at an Amish neighbor delivering homemade pie to welcome you to the neighborhood.

‘Gruber, take St. Croix. Don’t be afraid to bruise her wrists. Archer, hold this flashlight. No, there. No… on the lock. Lower! Good, stop… higher by half an—STOP! Don’t. Move. A muscle.’ The man who couldn’t give directions took a kit from a pocket and set to work tomb raiding.

‘My arm is getting sore, sir.’

‘Archer!’ Matron growled and I jumped. Taggart reacted.

Fuck. Wait, I think… I think that did it.’ Taggart put his back into it. He twisted his foothold, bent a little, but I kept the flashlight right on his grinding, shoving, irresistible backside forcing down a spiritual door of innocence and secret power that couldn’t be as powerful as Taggart’s hips until Evelyn kicked me.

The rust cracked and the door swung easy, sending Taggart through like a cartoon character. Then Ash accused, ‘That’s it! Lincoln on a pogo stick, you’re dating Danny!’ Evelyn backed up towards me three steps, in shock while Ash put her hands on her hips and bemused over us until even I wanted to slap her.

‘NoooOOOOOOOOO.’ Evelyn said, so I kicked her. ‘OW! I mean,’ now she whispered, ‘yes,’ then turned back half way in time for Ash to shove her into the Vault after Taggart.

Ash hugged me the fastest hug of my life. ‘Thanks, I’m out of here.’ I grappled her.

‘No, I got an angle for you to get out for keeps! Don’t be a fool!’ While we struggled a very funny thing happened. Hysterical, really. Matron Danielle Gregor karate jabbed each of us in the shoulder. I didn’t know if I still had my arms. Stunned and helpless, she shoved us in the Vault of my nightmares, tossed in a fire grenade, and pulled the massive door shut with a BASH while Taggart tripped over us to stop her, losing his flashlight. I saw the last sliver of light and knew it might be my last.

Hyperventilating, I darted my eyes around the dark room until I turned blind, deaf, hot, and suffering from singed hair. The room came alive, and I could see it was maybe fifteen by fifteen feet, but half of that, the rear half, was crammed with Cold Relief Cream cans and boxes of paperwork and money in flames, and the fire gave me enough light to see that the smoke wasn’t venting.

Paper is thin wood. Wood. Wood burns. Goddamn wood had my number after all.

Evelyn was on her feet, rubbing her head. Ash backed into a corner. Taggart found his flashlight and went to work on the lock.

My hearing returned as fast as it left me. Taggart said, ‘She jammed it.’ He looked around like most men look for the perfect sized Philip’s Head screwdriver in a messy garage. He was solid, but there was a wild, angry animal inside him that stretched its chains. And then Ash screamed.

On her knees, she dug her face into the stone corner of the room, screeching like nothing I’d ever heard before, but I bet it was worse than those bats in that cave her former mechanic boss battled a DDU spy. She dug and flailed and slammed her pretty head into brick again and again. I saw a fingernail cut off with a splat on a stone.

Taggart grabbed me and threw me to Ash; Evelyn followed. My limbs half worked again. I grabbed at her but she was too strong and wild, and she wouldn’t stop screaming. I looked at Evelyn(and I definitely needed Evelyn now, not Snuggle Bunny), and she agreed. We hit Ash at two angles, me from above, Evelyn from below. It was a tussle, but we got her on her belly. I had an arm and her head pressed to the ground so she couldn’t bang it, Evelyn had everything else. She still screamed and pleaded and begged. I couldn’t understand it, but there was definitely a “mom” and “dad” in her slobbering. I wanted my mommy and daddy too.

Taggart used his jacket to wave the smoke from the ceiling against the walls. Idiot, what was he thinking? We’re in a confined space. There was no way—and then it hit me. I was going to die. I learned that knowing you are going to die is just like dying. It’s like falling asleep when you’re not at all tired, and feeling, bit by bit, how nothing feels. It didn’t feel cold. It felt like nothing. You don’t feel your insides until they hurt or they go away, meaning you do feel your insides without appreciating them until they go Carmen San Diego.

Then Taggart responded. He threw himself at a segment of the wall and watched the smoke he just wafted against it. I thought he’d lost it, but then he waived his jacket four times at the spot, keeping his eyes sharp on one spot. I followed his eyes, and there it was. Venting smoking. Venting out, and fuck death we were going to live.

Taggart put his jacket back on as he studied the wall.

‘Hurry!’ I Felt like an idiot saying that, but I couldn’t think of any other way to help but to give my vote, and that’s how I learned the importance of voting.

The End

Just kidding.

Taggart flipped out his kit and poked the wall here and there while I experienced a drop in oxygen. Evelyn coughed once, then repeatedly. I think I did too. Taggart, fire moving around him, bit into his left wrist, his eyes blood red, and kept jabbing at different nooks in the wall.

I didn’t feel like I was dying anymore. Everything was quite fine, really. I was sleepy, but that was ok because I could use a nap. Ash kept moaning, and I wanted to tell her it was going to be ok because… the thing, I couldn’t remember, but we were safe now. Then she gave me an elbow to my chin and I was awake for three seconds and knew I was going to die before I was ok again.

Stunned, maybe the eighth time that day, I watched Ash tangle with Snuggle Bunny. Sigh…. didn’t Snuggle Bunny know everything was ok? Stop fighting! If you need to wrestle with a girl, hey, I’m right here. Except first I needed a pillow and a few days of sleep. Hmmmm... I love being warm. A little house cat curled up before the living room fire.

Taggart gave Ash the same jab to the shoulder Matron gave her(and me) just a few hours ago, grabbed her, pointed at me, then ran into the smoke. Damn it, Taggart, we were perfectly safe here! Taggart found a door! There was no reason to run away. Just wait until Taggart opened the door and—

Evelyn picked me up without even asking (which is a violation of our consent agreement), there was a lot of cigarette smoking, then I vomited on the cool stone floor of a smoke free corridor. I’d need that extra fifteen minutes of shower time for sure.

* * *

Sitting, Evelyn cleaned my mouth with my handkerchief(which was made for spanking generated tears but it worked on partially digested food nonetheless) while Taggart held Ash rolled up in his lap. Her skirt was up and all over the place, and I was amazed at how much the man she sat on didn’t seem to notice. He whispered to her down from freaking out status to soft whimpering.

‘What’s the deal?’ I whispered, looking around the dank stone corridor lit by modern bulbs on bolted wires running across the ceiling.

‘Didn’t you hear her?’ Evelyn whispered back. ‘I think her parents… when she was a kid, I think she saw her parents’ house burn down with them in it.’

‘Oh…’ Damn it. Why does shit like that happen? ‘I… I don’t…’

Evelyn finished cleaning me and got to hugging. ‘Nobody knows what to say. It’s just horrible.’

‘He knows what to say. Apparently.’

‘Apparently Taggart knows everything.’

Five minutes and Ash was almost back, but still wrapped up like a baby, her head on Taggart’s shoulder. I could see Taggart desperate to get moving, but he couldn’t leave Ash a wreck either. A minute later Ash poked her head up and whispered back. Taggart shook her to her feet, and slapped her across the face so hard she would have fallen if he didn’t hold her up. A full arch slap with the force of kicking mule.

I went to scratch his eyes out, but Evelyn put me in a strangle hold.

‘Ashley Thomas St. Croix, it happened! It wasn’t your fault, and your parents would have burned and died a thousand times so you could live one life. Their child lived, so their lives were successful, understand? Understand!?’ Ash stood up to him. She was back, but I was afraid there would be another fight and that one of them would die, and we couldn’t afford to lose either. Thankfully, Ash dropped in the most inhuman of fashion and nodded a consent, bitter as it was. Her panic and anguish were replaced with hatred. It hurt my stomach to see it. The mindset was something I saw, I swear, but I can’t explain it, then or now. ‘Good, because if we don’t move quick their lives will be made a failure. Everyone in this school is in danger. Can you move?’

Meaning us.

‘Yes.’ Evelyn spoke for us.

‘Good, come on.’

Taggart took his jacket off of Ash and put it back on himself, checked some pockets to sort himself out, then moved down the passage. We followed.

‘How…’ Ash wiped her nose with her sleeve and pretended nothing happened. She needed a good talking to about emotions, but now wasn’t the time. ‘How- how did we get out?’

‘Taggart found a secret passage way.’ I answered. ‘Which begs the question…’

This is going to be difficult to describe, but it seemed to me that Taggart put most of his mind on the passage, and allocated only a little smidgen to talk to us girls so we wouldn’t panic, so his answers sounded more like internal rebukes than explanations. See? Tough stuff I’m dealing with here. I don’t pretend to be any Shirley Jackson, but I will play her on TV for the right sized check.

‘Begging a question is a logical fallacy. You mean, “which leads us to the next question”, which is how did I know about the door. I didn’t, I deducted a door.’

‘Which leads us to—‘

‘The rust on the Vault door. That door hadn’t been opened in decades, yet those cans were new, so they must have gotten there another way.’

‘Rust can be faked.’ Ash said, her tone obstinate as ever.

‘I thought of that, but three facts suggested otherwise.’ Taggart tapped a light bulb and rung his fingers through the electrical cords, following them, occasionally stopping to read words on them. 'First, the Freemasons are excellent magicians, and all magicians need an escape route to fake apport and asport. Second, it would be inefficient to put rust on a door every time they needed to open it twice a month, as the tracts suggest. Third, and most important, they couldn’t very well carry the cans from the South Fence to the Vault without risking being seen, even at night. Or the money back.’

Evelyn shook her head. ‘You keep saying “they”. So, Gregor has a deal to scam us out of some cash for her cans, enough cash to kill for, but—‘ Evelyn stopped talking and thought as we walked down this never ending (and creepy) Indiana Jones type hallway. Damn it, a whip would comfort here and now, but I'm still not getting her one. ‘Why would she go and kill us over this? For some money? She must know she’d get caught and tried for murder after you disappeared.’

Taggart stopped to check the wall for something I don’t know what. He studied in silence long enough for me to want to scream. What the Hell was going on here? Answer me. My parents pay your salary!

‘She’s DDU.’ Taggart moved further down the passage.

‘Yeah right.’ I said before thinking.

‘What do you think happens if I don’t report in every eight hours?’ Nobody answered. ‘An army attacks. I’m not exaggerating. Agents, yes of course, but also copters, tanks, soldiers, satellite realignments—everything. Even grave digger detachments.’ That last addition didn’t sound like a very funny joke.

‘But she could leave us in the Vault.’ My sarcasm defense melted a tab. My stomach started to hurt. I felt like I was in bed after a nightmare, my dad explaining to me that, “yes indeed, the spaces under beds are homes for child eating monsters that can't be stopped, so be careful. Goodnight, baby. I hope I'll see you in the morning.”

Taggart spoke low and harsh, and feminism be damned—I couldn’t argue against that tone.

‘I have beacons implanted in my bones. A matron would know that. And it makes sense. We’ve gotten reports that the DDU has upped production of cans that fit the specs of Relief cans. We thought it was for a new type of drug. May be still. But we know they’ve been siphoning more and more money from our economy. These reform schools are perfect. Isolated, few adults, no police, girls minding their business out of fear of the cane. Indoctrination.’

Evelyn clutched me in shock, but we kept walking. ‘The essay topic change! No wonder she hated my paper!’ It must be true. I accepted the grave fact. There wasn’t one passive tense sentence in the whole brilliant thing. Her essay proved a masterpiece. Only a DDU bitch could hate it. Oh, and the whole freedom of the individual thing. Had to love that. But not one passive tense sentence! You try it.

‘Yeah,’ Taggart stopped, so we did as well. ‘Kids are vulnerable.’ He muttered, looking up and around, touching the wall, even jumping to touch the ceiling.

Ash looked back from wince we come, then at her feet, and counted with her fingers. Not really counting with her fingers, but using them as numerical bench marks. ‘We’re twenty feet from the stables.’ I didn’t even know we were heading south. I slapped my head.

The fucking SOUTH FENCE again. Those tire tracks Ash went on and on about. That’s how Gregor got the cans in. That’s why the fence was so well guarded. That’s why Gregor caned Ash so hard for snooping about. That’s why everything that could be done to keep a girl away from the South Fence was done in spades. And near the South Fence were the stables and Foxtrot’s shed.

‘Yeah. About twenty.’ Taggart finished inspecting the walls, then looked at us. ‘Look, Gregor knows the jig is up. She knows she’ll be caught, so she knows we’re going to find out everything about the operation, and a lot more that would cripple their operation. That means she has to destroy the school.’

‘WHAT?’ That was me blurting.

‘It’s her only play. Killing all the students will cause a panic, will reduce faith in our governments ability to protect the people, which is our first responsibility. If people lose that faith, then nothing else we do matters. It’ll generate calls for the old ways, the brutal ways. Simple prisons to turn citizens against their country. Close our country, crippling our economy. She wont let herself be caught—she knows too much. And by blowing up the school she destroys any useful evidence linking the scam to the DDU. They'll be hearings and witch hunts, all the press. Law suits. It'll be a good blow. The smart move.' Even Ash wilted. ‘But not all the evidence will be destroyed. Our side will figure out her operation. The truth will out. But too late to do much good.’

I asked, ever calm, ‘How can you be so sure they’ll blow up the school?’

‘Because I know how they think. They think in groups.’ Taggart answered. And fast.

He stared us down hard, somehow looking each of us in the eyes all at the same time. Ash and Evelyn looked confused, and so did I until I slapped my head, which is the only way to get me to think. Well, everyone seems to think slapping my butt works pretty good, too.

‘Oh my God. The DDU is selling cans in all the other Reform schools. She’s going to… she’s going to tell all the other… agents all over the country to blow up the other schools.’

‘But.’ Evelyn couldn’t take it all in all at once. Neither could I, I must admit. I knew it, but I didn’t know what I knew right away. ‘That’s thousands of people.’

‘Tens of thousands.’ Ash was grave, but dig a little deeper and you’d find wraith. That psychotic fury inside my crazy friend might have even given me hope. ‘Forty-three Reform schools. I’ve been to seven.’

‘So many murdered,’ Taggart’s tone became guttural. ‘We will have to start a war, even if the war serves the DDU. We wont have a choice. Millions will die.’

This isn’t right. It was way too surreal. Millions will die? Hours ago my biggest fear was getting spanked, for crying out loud. I am not adult enough for this crap! I never wanted to be this adult. I acted a certain way so I’d never have to be this adult.

Evelyn said, ‘She must have already made the call. It wont take long.’

I, here, must admit an intrusive thought. Here, in the tunnel, I was safe. I would not be one of the tens of thousands. I would live on, and my parents would be so grateful and loving to me after this horrible day was over. They’d freak when their TV told them of the holocaust. Then they’d learn I survived and rush to me and hug me and never let me go and daily cover me in chocolate and buy me anything I want and I…

‘Look at me.’ We obeyed the man from Praxis. ‘None of that is going to happen. I hate this, I hate to do this to you, but I need all the help I can get. This is too important. You’re all adults by age, and I need you to act like adults tonight, which means, I need you all to obey me. Like the military. Do what I tell you, when I tell you. You agree? If not, stay here until it’s over.’

‘I’m in, sir.’ Ash said it like another person. Like a person eager for authority, which is to say, like Ash’s Evil Twin, who is good.

‘Me too.’ Evelyn spoke for us, but I wasn’t sure.

* * *

We watched Taggart climb the ladder to Foxtrots’ shack. Then we listened to Taggart attack, subdue, and torture that creepy old grounds keeper. Ash flew up the ladder, then Evelyn, then me, not wanting to be alone.

The shack was rickety and dirty. Foxtrot, his ancient arm and leg broken, was none-the-less tied up with electrical cord and on the floor. Taggart tore furniture apart until he found a computer in a cactus planter. It was black and modern, and contrasted greatly with the wooden décor. No wires. Taggart clicked and clacked on the keyboard, gave up on breaking the code after five seconds and jumped on the twisted old man, a knee landing on a twisted leg.

Obviously, there was a scream.

And then another. ‘Turn around!’

Evelyn turned on the spot like a good soldier, then turned me around with more force than was necessary. She had my head at my neck, doing a good job of restricting my view. It didn’t occur to me to shrug her off. I couldn’t see Foxtrot, but I could turn enough to see Ash. Ash watched what I couldn’t, a hard look on her face. Evelyn, unlike me, could talk.

‘We don’t know he’s with them.’

‘Of course he is.’ Ash spat out.

‘But—‘

‘The computer, the shack by the South Fence, the passage entrance opening in his shack.’

‘But still… what?’

Taggart screamed words I didn’t know. A lot of “j’s” and “t’s”. It wasn’t anything European or Asian or African… it was too concise. Very. It was artificial.

Evelyn tried to control her breathing, but failed, so she talked to pretend to have control. ‘That’s the Didactic Language. Invented…’ Taggart must have done something horrible to that old man because my bones heard the next scream. I longed for the dank, dark tunnel. ‘Invented to remove nuance… oh, can’t this end? What if he’s just a creepy old man?’

Foxtrot answered Taggart with the same “j’s” and “t’s”. Ash looked satisfied. I didn’t understand the argot, but I know it couldn’t be gibberish. It was too consistent, and Taggart stopped doing whatever he was doing, and listened. Then a CLUNK and I forced a turn to see him at the computer, entering codes. Foxtrot cringed and crumpled along the wall. He twitched until he went limp.

‘OK. Good.’ Taggart dropped his head and closed his eyes. He decided, put his fingers on the keypad, and I heard the distinct sounds of four-wheelers not forty feet away.

‘No.’ I murmured. A cliché idiot was I.

‘Get back in the passage.’ Taggart clicked away at the computer while we failed to obey him. He repeated himself, and we repeated failure to obey him. Boy, I sure hope he doesn’t spank me before DDU agents slit my throat.

‘OK, word is out. But they’re not going to get here in time. Southdown is remote on purpose. For trouble makers.’

‘What about the military base?’ I asked.

‘Two hours away.’

Bobby or Harrison drove two hours just to ball me? I. Am. Hot!

Taggart shoved us, one by one, under a window and pointed a finger in our faces, one by one, and, in no uncertain terms, told us to stay put or he’d kill us. Then he punched Foxtrot’s lights out. It took him half a second to find the best weapon in the shack. A short rusty old ax. Against guns?

‘Listen,’ he whispered, crouched before us. ‘I have to neutralized them before we can move to the school’s main building. I have to do this alone, or I’ll lose the element of surprise. I need you in the school. The school is our objective; these clowns are just an obstacle.’ He tested the blade of his ax with his fingers. Not sharp enough to cut skin. ‘If I fail, immediately approach the school along the tree line, enter the school, and turn the main generator off. After that, hide or make a run for it. Our boys are coming by air. Stay low until the fights over.’

‘But you don’t even know how many are out there.’ Evelyn said.

‘We’re not in a position to pick our battles. Stay put.’ Taggart opened a rear window and climbed out without making a noise a dog could hear. Damn he had a great ass. I looked at the other girls. Evelyn bit her lip, but seemed in control. Ash, and I’m not making this up, looked at the window with a queer, contemplative look. So, she was human after all.

‘I want to confess something before I die.’

Evelyn jabbed me between rib three and four. ‘Don’t jinx us!’

‘Sweetheart, we’re up Jinxed Creek without a Jaddle. Anyway, I hid the Third Accounts Gregor was looking for in Lauren's teddy bear Dr. Featherstone without telling Lauren. So… sorry.’

Given our current situation, and my apologetic tone, I didn’t think I deserved those looks.

Men spoke that same weird tongue. I counted at least six voices, but they’re could have been thirty for all I knew. They were having problems getting men over the fence. One very loud, very in charge voice gave what must have been an order, and then I heard the clang of the dreaded South Fence meeting its fate. Sic semper tyrannis.

The South Wall rested in the dirt, like a lot of my friends would soon. I wanted to help, and I would, but we couldn’t win. At least Taggart got the word out and the rest of the Reform schools had a square chance.

Three screams, cut short, then gun fire. Taggart had engaged during the chaos of the fence falling. Evelyn rose to look through the window, so I grabbed her with all the wrestling skills Coach Van Brown paddled into me. It was a pitched battle until the gun fire stopped. We stopped fighting. We stopped breathing.

That very in charge voice yelled questions while someone got his ass kicked. They got Taggart. They got him, and were going to beat it out of him. I’m guessing the DDU agents weren’t using a paddle.

‘Where’s Ash?’

What? I looked around. The vixen! Maniac! Human my ass; she was deadhead!

We let go and shot to the window. Two men held a bloodied and clothes torn Taggart on his knees. Goddamn did he look hot. A third kicked him in the stomach. The forth and final, the commanding voice, pointed a pistol at Taggart. Black leather overcoat and sharp hat, tall and strong, though his face was emaciated and withered. He held an handkerchief against a blood flooding cheek. He repeated his question. “Jar tango res tinale?” Taggart ignored him and dealt with the pain. The commander added, “Tinalae” as a statement. He tossed his handkerchief aside and two handed the pistol to steady it. His face was a geyser of blood until Ash rode a horse over him. Chest to chest, a horse beats a man. Ash, showing off her animal husbandry, pulled on the reins, and the black horse danced over the fallen bastard until his face didn’t have any blood left to bleed.

Taggart’s legs grappled the man who kicked him, pulled himself free from the two holding his arms, then broke their necks faster than I could say, “He broke their necks!” Taggart pushed a corpse off and got to his knees. He scrambled across the battlefield to the enemies equipment. Only then did I notice the other axe opened bodies, but I didn’t count them. I didn’t even count the times I vomited. My dentist will be pissed, I thought.

This couldn’t be happening to me. I wish I just got spanked again.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Oh why not then

I started this story many years ago. It didn't work for me. I don't know... it just didn't seem to work. But it costs me nothing to post it. Perhaps one of my billions of adoring readers can do something with it. I guess I'm not a good PR guy. There are a few turns of phrase I like, but damn it, the chapter doesn't work. I fear the story is vulgar at its core and can't be redeemed even with the brilliance we all know I have.

Enjoy!

The Bitter Workings of a Neglected Indentured Servant

(or Sex Slave: The Debate Continues)

by Pallidbust

My second day as a slave began with an early breakfast I didn’t eat, a long bath/shower/Turkish Sauna/shower/hair-skin-nails and girl chat with Simon’s wife, Pam, and then I was propelled into brunch. I, like so few people in the history of the human race, would meet my master over brunch. I know. It sounds ridiculous. Imagine how hard it is to write it. Its harder to write it than it was to live it.

And I did live it.

I sat with Pam on a lush couch in a lush living room in a mansion. Never been in a mansion before, but I supposed it was a lush mansion, but as far as I know it could have been a really crappy mansion as far as palatial palaces go.

Simon sat at his own thrown type giant chair and fought back the urge to gobble down all the brunch. I wore my only possessions. Dark blue tank top that just shows off my mid rift (which I was and am very proud of thank you very much), my blue jeans jacket that has served me since my older brother gave it to me eight years before, and tight-tight-tight low rise blue jeans that I stole from a wicked sorority sister when I dropped out of college because I loved them more than she ever could. Actually, I wasn’t sure they were mine anymore. If I were owned, and I owned the shirt on my back, then it made sense that my shirt was owned by whomever owned me. And what’s the difference between me and my shirt?

Now maybe you understand how confused I am. And was, but still am.

‘Mr. Simon. Missus.’ A tall man in a dark suit (ok, I admit it, an awesome dark suit) walked into the living room with a well practiced stride. Simon pounced and shook his hand and insisted that the new man sit. Apparently his name was Richard. A common enough name.

Richard unbuttoned his jacket and sat. He pulled out a flip notepad and reached for his inner pocket, probably for a pen. I liked his hair. It was very simple except for a slight, natural spiking around the edges only crude oil could keep down. He didn’t oil his hair. He probably had it trimmed once a week, but there was always a little showing to make it unmanageable. Very male.

Simon pressed. ‘You eating? Pam’s afraid you’re not eating.’

‘You look thin.’

‘Pam says you look thin.’

Richard paused a moment, taking in the scene. I could see his eyes avoid me. I’m use to it. Eyes either zero in on me or avoid me. That’s just the way it is.

Richard paused for a moment further after a failed attempt to respond. ‘Yes, I’m eating. So…’It was a pen! ‘How can I help y….’

‘Richard, that job you pulled for me last time… that was above and beyond, man. That was something.’

‘I’m glad you’re satisfied, sir.’

The man captured the whole room. He was so damned… I don’t know. He was very something. He put his notebook and pen back into place and waited. He looked like he never lost blinking games. Simon looked to Pam for something, got it, then turned back to this tall man in a suit that one could curl up in to die or snooze for hours if healthy. I should mention he had darkish blonde hair. Well, sort of brown. Or mostly black. Don’t know why I mention it, it just seems like one of the things one notices.

‘Richard, we’re concerned about you.’

‘I’m concerned about you, Mr. Simon.’

‘Frank! For goodness sakes, Richard, we’re at brunch! If you can’t call a man by his first name at brunch, then the Founding Fathers failed! Right? Of course I’m right.’

Frank Simon was in his fifties, an inch or five past being on the verge of being pudgy, and full of energy.

‘Right, Frank. So the last deal is holding?’ I could tell this Richard knew the deal was holding. He wanted Simon to get to it. Clearly a subordinate, but he pushed.

‘This is Fallon.’ That’s me. ‘See her there? Pam just loves her. Wants to adopt her; I can tell. What do you think? Brand new, right out of the pond. What do you think?’

He looked me over like I was a horse! That does not put you on my good side.

‘She’s very nice, Frank. Pam.’

Very nice? What the fuck does that mean? A new DVD player is very nice. It’s one thing to be humiliated like this, but for the love of God, I wasn’t nice. I was hot! If they were to enslave me, then the least they could do was note me as a high-end slave.

‘Good!’ Simon burst with joy. ‘Then she should suit you fine.’

‘Pardon?’

‘A gift. Enjoy her while she lasts. Only have her for two years. Then she’s off the farm.’ Business over, Simon attacked the snacks. ‘Pam, do I like this? That there.’

‘Yes, Frank. It’s what you gorged on during your niece’s confirmation while Dr. Lee begged you to stop.’

‘Right!’ He munched down. ‘Dr. Lee is a good doctor. He cares. Good catering, baby.’

Richard didn’t eat. He scratched at that bone to the upper left of his right eye and thought a moment. ‘Frank, I have my home just how I want it, and I’m not sure I can accommodate…’

‘Life is conflict, my boy! Greeks knew that even in ancient times. Please, eat, or Pam will talk my ear off. But not this stuff; that’s for me. Pam, what is it called? Find out who invented it, and make sure I make them rich.’

Richard sighed. ‘It was invented hundreds of years ago by an Italian working for the king of Spain. He’s quite dead.’

‘Then I’ll make the delivery boy rich!’

* * *

I sat shotgun in Richard’s black, scary SUV and fumed. It was so clean and empty of fast food rappers it was positively eerie. OK… I’m a sex-slave. That’s a forced situation. Humiliating? Sure. Invoking my righteous indignation? You bet. But this thirty-something bastard not appreciating the gift the great Simon gave him, namely me, that just pissed me off.

By the way, I use both the past and the present tense, because I feel like it. Get over yourself, English Major; this is my life story, and it’s very emotional.

I hid my fuming.

‘So… I’m your sex slave. Any orders?’

‘You’re not my sex slave.’

‘Well, lets review. I have to do everything you tell me, and if you so order, I have to enjoy it.’ He ignored me. Under normal circumstance ignoring me was suicidal. I knew this was not a normal circumstance, so I played it cool. ‘I mean, if you pulled over, told me to strip, bend over the hood, and then took me like a big strong baron, I’d have to not kill you in your sleep later, right?’

‘Why?’

‘Because my asshole ex-boyfriend had a charming little secret -- he was a coke dealer. Hurray! Kept his “supply” in my toilet… it was this or prison. A lawyer gave me the option: be a sex slave for two years, no record at all, or five to ten in prison as a sex slave to a large woman who wouldn’t care about my needs. Wouldn’t you choose free market slavery?’

My new master drove on a bit before addressing me. ‘I’d flee the jurisdiction if I couldn’t get justice, but you didn’t, you opted for me whether you knew it or not. However, you only need to serve me for a certain term. You’re an indentured servant.’

‘A sexual indentured servant.’

‘No. I promise you, if you just keep quite, you’ll breeze through the next two years with your virtue.’

Motherfucker. Look, I’m a feminist. I’m more of a feminist than you’ve likely met. I don’t even think in terms of feminism, that’s how feminist I am. The point is, I’m hot, I’m young, my “virtue” was as dead as my love for my ex-asshole-boyfriend, I’m smart as a whip, charming as a Kennedy, and this bastard isn’t at all grateful for getting me as a gift. Well… we’ll see about that.

‘I’m sorry to put you out. I know it must be a burden to have a nubile girl kneeling at your feet. It’s like having to take in a hapless brother-in-law with a gambling problem.’

‘Fallon, is it?’

‘Yeah. Or, of course, you can rename me.’

‘Fallon,’ he was calm, which upset me, as I was trying to get his goat. He had a big, fluffy, golden fleece goat, and I was going to get it, and gut it, then hire some redneck to roast it old school; but it wasn’t going well. So far he had total possession of his goat, well hidden behind an impregnable fortress guarded by gargoyles and Navy Seals. ‘Fallon, I don’t know what you’ve been told, and I don’t know what you expect. And I don’t care. I’m in this community. I work and live here. You’re my first indentured servant, and hopefully my last. If I want a wife I’ll order one from Russia or Korea. I don’t approve or disapprove of this community’s system. Its an ancient system, it works, it makes the powerful complacent, keeping them from turning Napoleon, and keeps honest young people, like yourself, out of a soul rotting prison. You are a shock to my system, but with patience, equilibrium is inevitable. Let’s be rational, OK?’

‘Ah… yes. Very good. So, are you a robot, or a Vulcan?’

He drove on. I really fucking hate being ignored. I must seem to you, my dear reader, like a vulgar person, given to foul language. Well I’m not. When I’m not entering slavery, I’m a dove. I’m a God damn Pollyanna. Anyways, I like attention. Ladies, you know what I mean. Gentlemen, you know the fucking horror.

‘What do you do for Frank?’

‘Mr. Simon.’

‘He told you to call him Frank.’

‘Brunch is over.’

* * *

Grasslands and corn. Lots of it. Every once in a while we passed a home. All of them nice. One of them had a pony. Boy do I envy the slave in the pony home. I hope Richard has a pony. I’ve never ridden one, but I could spend the next two years, sixteen hours a day, learning how to ride a pony and feeding it sugar cubes. I’d name it Basil if a boy pony, and Audrey if a girl pony.

My new lord and master pulled into a long driveway, but stopped well short of the two story number in the far distance, no pony in sight. Gravel driveway, if it matters to you. He parked, and rubbed that bone above his eye. Either he should see a doctor about that, or he should let me go, because I seem to cause it a lot of pain.

Good.

‘You didn’t put any luggage in my jeep.’

‘Yes I did. The slave-kit.’

‘I don’t like repeating myself.’ Shouldn’t have told me that. ‘You’re not a slave. Slavery is illegal, even here. You don’t have habiliments is my point.’ I looked him in the eyes, refusing to flinch. ‘Necessities.’ Shit.

Well, he had me there. Also, of course, he had me in general. I was had. I’m sorry if I keep getting back to that, but it’s not an easy concept to get accustomed to. Look, I’m ending my sentences in prepositions! I’m really thrown for a loop here.

He pulled the SUV back into the street and headed on down the road.

‘Master, aren’t you going to take me to your home so I can clean the kitchen floor with my toothbrush while you flick me with a riding crop for being lazy and/or insolent?’

‘You don’t own a toothbrush.’

He switched to cruise control. I just saw it… yes. A kernel of annoyance.

‘And don’t call me master.’

* * *

It was adorable. An adorable little main street with little mom and pop stores everywhere. Ah! A Homemade Ice Cream shop… gorgeous Americana.

I followed my lord and master into, what appeared to be, a micro-Walmart of some sort. It sold everything, but only had a few of each, and everything was overpriced by at least two dollars. And everyone looked happy, until they saw my above mentioned lord and master that is. They stiffened up a bit. Then they saw me, and confusion set in.

Interesting.

A sign read, “Welcome to Lauren and Paul’s Emporium!” Lauren and Paul were a couple in their forties. They seemed to run the joint. Richard spoke briefly with Paul, who nodded, confused, then amused. Paul then whispered to Lauren, who pounced! She took my arm, congratulated me on my red hair and being adorable (Lauren got it, what’s the asshole’s problem?), and ushered me to the female section of the micro-Walmart.

I looked over my shoulder, saw Richard approach, then was forced to look over a red sweater that matched my hair… but it didn’t, it was far too bright, but I needed all the friends I could get, so I agreed.

‘So, I guess she’ll need a sweater?’ Richard asked, like he was discussing his car’s maintenance.

Lauren seemed to have lost all fear of my vassal. She was in her element now.

‘One sweater? Mr. Rhodes… we’ll be a while.’

Mr. Rhodes, is it? Mr. Richard Rhodes. Alliteration… like a comic book superhero. A brooding superhero perhaps? One with a dark past that has focused his pain and fear into a brave and skilled crime-fighting persona? Or was he just a Dick?

‘OK. Look, get her what she needs. Put it on my tab. I’ll be back in an hour.’ Lauren shook her head. ‘Two hours exactly; that’s it.’ And the big strong man walked off, no doubt to find some wounded doves to step on.

‘Goodbye, Master Rhodes.’ He stopped on a dime and cocked his head like I insulted his mother. I believe he might have counted to five. He turned sideways. Paul and Lauren watched on, enjoying the newly-bonded spout.

‘Don’t forget her toothbrush.’

Erg. Hope he wasn’t serious about that. Ah hell with it. I’d achieved my first victory: public humiliation, so I smiled and shall smile at the memory as I type. La de ha, I am so pleased. Well, moments of joy don’t last. Back to it then.

I watched him through the windows as Lauren whispered in my ear.

‘The best thing to do, to start it off right, is to buy a lot of stuff. Let him know a woman has needs. He doesn’t have any experience with women that I know of, so how can he set the tabs too high?’ Paul gave Lauren a firm spank on the rear end, something I know old couples were into because none of them half way earned a B.A.’s in Women’s Study at Berkeley before dropping out to star as an extra in a B movie filmed in Thailand that they didn’t finish because of a monsoon but had no regrets because the Key Grip became their ex-boyfriend with a coke habit, but I didn’t hear Lauren object to the smack, or Paul relent, and I needed friends. I suppose people got tired of bickering, and just started smacking backsides to save time. I was in no position to judge, being a slave.

Besides, smack or not, I was winning round two already. I smiled a little wider. Victory two was in sight. Economic victory.

* * *

I don’t know how to describe houses very well. I shall keep this as short as possible, and you, dear reader, can use your imagination. If you don’t want to use your imagination, please watch some TV. I wont be offended. I recommend Desperate Housewives.

Two story, brick and wood. Modern, but not modern art. Brown carpet in living room. Big kitchen. Pool in the back (awesome!). Bookshelves all over the place, all packed. Big TV in front of couch, thousands of DVDs (awesome to a lesser extent). That’s about it. Just imagine a nice place without any plants. It was very clean, and as I carried load after load of possessions up to my room, second floor, I couldn’t help but noticed a heavenly aroma coming from the kitchen, which by the way, was very clean. The lying bastard didn’t need my toothbrush.

I had bought ten just in case.

I finished the moving, decided to nest later, and flopped downstairs. Oh, yeah, I don’t want to forget this part. He doesn’t wear shoes in his home. OK, fine. I would mind if he had pretentious Asian crap everywhere, showing off how “spiritual” he was, but he didn’t. Probably just liked clean floors. However, every time I passed the front door, I had to either take off or put on my sneakers, greatly increasing the time necessary to move my new habiliments from his scary, black SUV to my room on the second floor. I’m proud of my legs, and I’ve made more than one Stairmaster my bitch, but it was a good workout for my legs and glutes I admit.

I mention the barefoot affair as I consider it his victory number one. I’m still one up with my economic victory, but now I knew I’d have to watch him.

Too late. The slave kit, a green suit case, laid conspicuously on the couch table in the living room. It hadn’t been opened. Now… was I Pandora, or was I the cat? Wait… they both were curious, weren’t they? Both got it in the ass? I’m doomed.

Then the smell again and I realized I hadn’t eaten all day, and it was the late afternoon and I was very hungry. I will never turn down a free brunch again.

I peaked into the kitchen. I was very stealthy, but I couldn’t tell if he didn’t notice me or was just indifferent. I watched as he left an elaborate salad making factory to retrieve a marinating steak from the refrigerator. He carried a towel over his left shoulder with ease. Something about that towel over his broad shoulder gave me a… something. Damn you, words, you abandon me! Anyway, the towel over the shoulder piqued some instinct or DNA or something. I liked it, and filed it away in my memory so I would dream about Jeremy Brett in such a towel.

‘So, master, you’re one of those guys, right?’

‘Don’t call me master. What kind?’

‘The kind that are self-sufficient, don’t need any pestering female to take care of them, takes the garbage out without being told, knows how to cook… you know. Grown up, I guess.’

‘If you say so. Thanks for not calling me “master.”’

Shit!

‘You’re welcome, Ma...’ He stuck an asparagus fried in a creamy butter sauce in my mouth… victory number two for Richard Rhodes. We were even. Then I savored the asparagus, and considered unconditional surrender.

‘Is it ready?’

‘Grrhmmmmraahhhhh…. Um, I mean…. Yeah, its good. I mean, it’s as good as its going to be, Master.’

‘Stop it. Sit down while I think. This pestering has to stop.’

‘Why, Master?’

‘Fine. If you insist, you can talk all you want in your room until breakfast.’

Ahhhh…. here it was. The master and the slave. Finally, we were being honest with each other. I knew it. Men were men. They could put on whatever veneer they wanted, but when push comes to shove, they shove. Tall, hairless monkeys, everyone of them, thank the Goddess. Now we can stop playing games and come to some kind of workable if uneven arrangement.

I, of course, sat down in the dining room at a small table fit for four at most, and three of them would have to be skinny. I twiddled my thumbs and looked around the room. Nothing on the white walls. It felt like we’d both just moved in.

To Sparta.

He brought me a salad. Let me describe the salad, and yes, I’m bragging, because I got to eat this salad, and you didn’t, Nah-na, nah-na-na. From bottom to top: a thin layer of roman lettuce, red vinaigrette dressing, a just barely seared in cream and cheese sauce slice of tomato cut from the middle, a bunch of iceberg lettuce, light Italian dressing (my guess was Newman’s Own until I saw him making it from scratch), capers, black olives, the smallest lightest Cherub’s toe tap essence hint of heated feta, and crushed croutons. If that doesn’t sound freaking great to you, then you don’t have a human’s tongue, or you didn’t recognize many of those ingredients. Make a list, take them to the store, and treat yourself. You’ve earned it reading my mad ramblings this far. Or get your slave to do it.

Master ate his…. I’m sorry, excuse me. The man who I call master to piss him off ate his salad in the kitchen. I could hear him performing impressive acts in there while eating, but dared not move from my seat to risk banishment to my foodless room. Unthinkable.

He returned with more of the adequately perfect asparagus and little crackers with tasty stuff on them and… you know what, you’re probably not reading this for the food. Sorry. I’m going to save some time. We ate the pre-steak stuff, he apologized for serving the dishes out of order (he implied it was my fault), he asked if I were a vegetarian (nope, bring the dead animals on), and he gave me a little speech.

Cliffnotes speech: we’re stuck together. Stop trying to piss me off. I don’t want to have to treat you like others in the community treated their indentured servants, but if you push me, I will. I like silence, and don’t call me master again.

Cliffnotes response: Agreed. I’ll try. I’d prefer to avoid that, too, whatever that is. I have earphones, and I’ll compromise with “sir.”

Cliffnotes inquiry: Why “sir?”

Actual answer: Because its silly, and I want the next two years to be as silly as possible, as my ego is very bruised.

He thought about that one for several courses. He brought in the steak. I fought the steak. It was a tie. I destroyed all of the steak, along with the potatoes that tasted like the steak, but it might have delivered me a death blow. Then this Greek summer salad deal… I somehow made it to the couch and slumped and thought about cutting open my stomach. Instead I moaned with equal parts pleasure and regret. If the movie Se7en didn’t prove it to me, then that meal did: Gluttony is a deadly sin.

He brought me coffee. He sat in a chair, drank his coffee, and read a book. Didn’t say a word to me.

‘Sir, why are you being so nice to me, and so rude at the same time?’

‘Pardon?’

‘I mean, you feed me that… adequate meal, then you bring me coffee, but then you… oh my God is this freshly ground? Anyways, then you… oh, God… never mind, God, it is. Anyways, then you just sit there and… I guess its not rude, but it’s not normal, is it?’

‘I don’t know.’ He waited for a reply.

‘I guess not. Hey, what do you think is in the slave kit, sir?’

‘Hmmm? Oh, I don’t know.’

‘I’m guessing loin cloths and a neck collar with studs on it. Oh! You think they’re diamond studs?’ I expected a laugh, or a scolding even. Instead he grabbed the case and made to walk off. ‘Woa, where you going with that. I want to see.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Either I’m Pandora or the cat. Don’t know yet.’ He looked at me critically and hard so I could see his eyes in detail (bright blue). He set the case down, careful not to tip my coffee, and opened the case.

In the case, which comes free with any purchase of me, were an assortment of paddles, whips, a thin stick with a cute leather handle, cuffs, chains, rope… you get the idea. It looked like the briefcase of a perverted Englishman.

And no diamonds. Damn it.

He looked at me. ‘I hope you’re happy. I suppose these are for use on you.’

‘Pretty sure, Sir. Oh, wait. A manual. Let me see…. Well… a lot of copyrights… acknowledgments… index… ah, yes. They’re for use on me. For correction and pleasure. Hmmm…’

He snatched the manual from me, sat down and read. He scanned each page, flipping when he was done with alacrity. He was so intense and fast at reading it, and dead serious, that it sort made me a little goofy in the head. I shook the goof out of my head and handled an equally serious wooden paddle, like the kind the sorority I left had on the wall for decoration, except this one didn’t have a sticker of Snoopy on it. I’d never taken a good close look at a paddle. It didn’t look all that bad. I fell on my ass once Bruised her up nice. I lived.

‘I’ll put it in the closet, and that’ll be the end of it. Reason will rule this house.’

I reclined on my couch (I claimed it as a cat would), and found myself in complete agreement with Sir. Play it cool, entertain yourself, two years would be a breeze. Maybe I’d learn a foreign language. Or get “a degree from home.” Plant a garden. There were thousands to things to do. I would not, however, get beaten like a naughty indentured servant that just ached for attention on my curvy bottom then stick my finger in my mouth and, eye’s wide, say, “have I been a naughty girl, sir?”

No sir, Sir.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

POTUS SPANKUS

Is there more to a spank, in the mysterious mind of the female human creature, than the mere physics? Is physical strength via crude muscle alone the decider? Or can, perhaps, gravitas add import to the old sharp crack of hand on butt? Witness Americans in Cathay:


This highly tuned Olympic athlete supplicates and yields to the leader of the free world, inventing the transparent lie that the public spanking she requests is only "a jokey custom between players intended to offer encouragement." Ha! Yeah, right. She is a warrior, and thus can smell Bush's power. She wants it--no!-she needs it. I submit that to women, power is always the new black. And that man knows missile codes.

Bush eyes fresh prey....



















But who among us can blame these Olympians? Look how happy a presidential spanking makes them!!! They burst with energy.
















POTUS exercises his spanking mitts to keep them sharp and hard for the pole vaulters' bottoms:


Look at the cold determination. America's bringing home the gold for female pole vaulting, you can bank on it.

PB