“He?” Uncle Myer rushed to Oren’s side. “Who is he? What have you done?”
“Why, I’ve brought you a present to feed your ardent fetishes.” Oren opened the back door of the car with a flourish to display the large, unconscious man lolling in the seat. “Ta-da!”
Wary, Uncle Myer eased closer. His eyes widened. “A man? Is he dead?”
Idiot. “Not yet, no.”
“But who is he?”
Chafed by the questions, Oren stepped back from the car. “That, Uncle Myer, doesn’t concern you.”
Aunt Dory peered over Myer’s shoulder. Her eyes sparkled and a wild pulse thrummed in her throat. “Oh my. He’s awfully bloody already.” Her ripe nipples showed beneath her nightgown, turgid, elongated. “Did you do all that to him, Oren?”
At least she appreciated the gift. “No, of course not. I found him like this, and decided he’d make an excellent playmate.”
Uncle Myer rubbed his chin. “He doesn’t have any family looking for him, does he?”
Growing more splenetic with each sign of his uncle’s hesitation, Oren crossed his arms and glared at each of his relatives in turn. “He’ll be bloodier when the two of you finish with him.”
Aunt Dory twittered, and her homely face lit with burgeoning excitement. “Really?”
Smiling at her fervor, Oren held out his arms in grandiose presentation. “Absolutely. Do what you will with him. Anything you desire.”
Breathing hard now, Aunt Dory pressed a hand over her breast. “Anything?”
“By all means. He’s a gift. Indulge yourself in whatever means pleases you.”
Uncle Myer wasn’t convinced. “But, if he dies . . .”
“He most certainly will, and that’s fine. I want him to.” The man groaned, stirring a little, and Oren stroked his thigh. “Shush now, my friend. You’re going to delight my relatives, and when they’re done with you, why then, you’ll serve a higher purpose. Your miserable life won’t be a waste.”
Laughing now, Dory said to Myer, “Hurry. Let’s get him on the rack before he comes to.”
“I prefer women,” Myer complained, even as he reached into the backseat and hauled the man out by his uninjured arm. He collapsed onto the basement floor.
“And you’ll have a woman,” Oren promised. “A sublime woman. A woman like no other.” Saying it aloud excited him. “A woman who will last.”
“You’re so good to us, Oren.” Aunt Dory danced to the side of the man to help elevate him.
As Dory and Myer dragged the man toward a specially designed restraint, Oren watched. Once locked into place, there’d be no escape for him. “I’ll procure the woman for you next—but not until the time is right.”
Myer grunted as he arranged the man onto the platform. “Any idea when that’ll be?”
“Soon. Very, very soon.” Talking about it excited Oren unbearably, so he forced the image of the tall, dark-haired girl out of his mind. “But for now, would you rather I leave Aunt Dory to her pleasures and give you chores to do?”
“No, course not.”
Sullen idiot. “Then hurry it up and get him fastened down. I think he’s in shock. If you keep dallying, he’ll die before you can even get started.”
That warning spurred Myer to haste. As he and Dory worked with industrious delectation, Oren went up to his rooms to change from his frumpy, dirty clothes. He detested the garb he had to wear to fit into the slum neighborhoods. He much preferred finer things, but he was adaptable enough to do whatever was necessary.
Leaving the intercom open so he could hear the frenzied activity in the basement, he stripped out of his costume and changed into his regular clothes.
At one point, he laughed aloud at Aunt Dory’s rapture. She was such a rutting pig that her groans of pleasure could be heard over the man’s hoarse screams of agony.
And Uncle Myer, for all his protestations about preferring a female, wallowed in the ministrations of pain with the vigor of a man half his age.
The high-pitched wails were like music to Oren, feeding his soul. He’d missed this so much. Thanks to the tall woman, it had been too long since he’d luxuriated in his preferences.
When the coordinated blend of tormented outcries and squeals of carnal pleasure began to fade, Oren knew the man had expired. As he’d suspected, the brute hadn’t lasted long.
Because of his personal bent toward inflicting pain, Oren often read up on various medical afflictions. He knew that shock could cause a sudden drop in blood pressure, a faint pulse, and if left untreated, death.
Of course, shock had only hastened death. The overindulgent tendencies catered by his relatives had done the most to terminate the man’s life. They had never learned to savor opportunities, but in this instance, Oren didn’t mind. Their lack of mastery over their obsessions had, for once, served his purpose.
Resolute in his whims, tingling with impassioned expectancy, Oren made a casual descent to the bowels of the grand house. As he reached the cool basement, the scent of death, excrement, and sweat assaulted his nose.
Lifting a hand to shield his nostrils, he ventured forward into the tableau of pain. The mangled body of the man, now stained with blood and his own body fluids, as well as secretions from his relatives, showed signs of grotesque abuse.
Like children denied the last bite of succulent candy, Aunt Dory and Uncle Myer stood there, silent and sullen.
Her desires not yet fully sated, Aunt Dory still quivered with need.
Uncle Myer, for all his protestations, looked well glutted.
Buffoons.
They lacked all finesse, and neglected all sense of advantageous detail.
Walking past them and the bloodied remains, Oren approached a mahogany cabinet. On the outside, apparatuses of various use hung in arrangement according to size and application. Accoutrements of torture filled the many drawers. The amount of paraphernalia his relatives had procured through the years belied their ability to control themselves.
After searching for the best device to suit his purposes, Oren retrieved a long surgical blade from a golden hook. From a velvet-lined drawer, he withdrew elbow-length rubber gloves. Inside double doors at the base of the cabinet, he took out a long plastic apron.
His mouth trembled. His hands shook. Deforming a corpse added no felicities to his perversion, he assured himself.
But he’d do this.
The end result would bring immeasurable pleasure to him.
It would be the best joke of the century.
Ann sat on the edge of his desk, flirting without meaning, annoying for the fun of it.
“Luther, Luther, Luther.”
“What?” he asked, trying to concentrate on his papers despite her physical disruption.
“After all the women who’ve thrown themselves at you.” She tsked. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
Laying his pen aside, Luther looked up at her. “Really, Ann? Harassment from the woman who’s sleeping with Morty Vance?”
Umbrage put her shoulders back. “His name is Mort, not Morty.”
“Whatever.”
After a moment, she treated Luther to a Cheshire cat smile. “He’s adorable, isn’t he?”
Not in the least. “If you say so.”
She stood, stepped behind his chair, and rubbed his stiff shoulder muscles. “So what about you?”
“What about me?” God that felt good. Lately, he stayed so knotted up, he felt like a walking lump of tension.
Leaning around to see his face, she specified, “Are you sleeping with little Miss Sunshine?”
He wished. “You’re awfully nosy all of a sudden.”
“There’s a method to my madness.”
“Yeah, and that’d be?”
She went back to rubbing, which kept her out of his view. “Have you seen Gaby lately?”
“No. She wanted a few days to herself.” Gut instinct started churning. But then, he always felt uneasy when thinking of Gaby. “Now why do you ask?”
“Huh.” Stepping to the side of the desk again, Ann lifted a wrist and looked at her watch. “Our shift is up. Are you ready to go?”
Dodging his question? “I don’t think so. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”