The Sleepless (48 page)

‘Enough?’ said ‘Mr Hillary’. ‘You haven’t seen anything. This girl is my aperitif, before the real carousing starts.’ He walked around the couch, examining the girl from all sides. She was openly weeping now, and there were dozens of scarlet scratch marks on her breasts, but the kittens kept clinging on. 

‘You’re a pretty thing,’ said ‘Mr Hillary’. He reached in the pocket of his voluminous coat and produced two or three lipsticks. He examined each of them carefully, and then he settled on Strawberry Crush. With great concentration, he leaned forward and painted the girl’s lips, even though she was trembling with pain and concentration, and crying. 

‘ “And the sons of Azazel shall paint their women and dress them in great finery, and shall make divine harlots of them, and they shall teach their daughters to be harlots; and all women shall be harlots until the final consuming of the world in fiery hell; and they shall surrender themselves to all who want them, and revel in it.” ‘ 

‘That’s not in the Bible,’ said Megan, defiantly. 

‘You’re quite right!’ said ‘Mr Hillary’. He had taken out some eye-liner, and was making-up the girl’s eyes. ‘Your eyes are beautiful,’ he told her, with palpable warmth. ‘We have to make them up so that we can see them.’ 

The girl continued to weep and shake, and the kittens shook, too. Playfully, ‘Mr Hillary’ slapped at each of them, and they clawed and swung, and the girl screamed out loud. ‘Don’t do that! Don’t do that!’ 

Without another word, ‘Mr Hillary’ beckoned, and a thin-white-faced young man appeared from nowhere at all. He was wearing a black suit and dark glasses. 

‘This is Joseph,’ said ‘Mr Hillary’. ‘Joseph is one of my most senior sons, aren’t you, Joseph?’ 

Joseph said nothing, but reached inside his coat and produced two long thin metal tubes. He handed them to ‘Mr Hillary’, and then he went up to the couch and without any hesitation whatsoever seized hold of the girl’s wrists. She must have known what was coming, because she stopped moaning and began to shriek repeatedly, over and over, although she seemed to make very little effort to get away. None, in fact. Michael had the feeling that Joseph wasn’t holding her down because he expected her to escape, but because she was voluntarily going to suffer pain, and needed somebody to hold on to her while she did. 

Megan stared at him, shocked; but Michael touched his finger against his lips. There was a reason why ‘Mr Hillary’ was showing them this. He could just as easily have captured them, or chased them away, or even killed them – if it were possible to harm anybody’s aura. 

‘Mr Hillary’ stood next to the couch and eyed the girl’s bare back like a connoisseur. He trailed his finger across her narrow shoulders and down the length of her bony spine, right down to the cleft of her bottom. It was then that Michael noticed that she had two gold studs in her back, one on either side – two gold studs, each with a hole in the centre. He didn’t say anything to Megan, but he suddenly realized what these studs were for. They acted like the gold ‘sleepers’ that women put into their ears after they’ve had them pierced, to prevent the wound from closing up. This girl had two wounds in her back, which led directly to her suprarenal glands, and she had kept them open so that ‘Mr Hillary’ could sample her adrenaline again and again. 

‘Mr Hillary’ lifted the first of the thin metal tubes, inserted the end of it into the left-hand stud, and then slid it inside the girl’s body, expertly finding the suprarenal gland. The girl shuddered, and uttered another scream, and Joseph lashed at the kittens so that they would claw at her breasts even more viciously. 

‘Mr Hillary’ bent over the girl’s back, and took the end of the metal tube between his lips. He closed his eyes, and sucked. Michael could see his cheeks drawing in, steadily and rhythmically. His bone-white hair fell across his forehead, and he reached down and massaged his free hand against his crotch. There was an expression on his face of terrible ecstasy. 

Michael and Megan watched this feeding with gradually rising horror. As he sucked at the tubes implanted in the girl’s back, ‘Mr Hillary’ became more and more aroused. His white hair began to rise up on the crown of his head, cockatoo-like, charged with static electricity. His face began to shine white with pleasure, a blurred, dazzling white that Michael could scarcely bring himself to look at. 

‘Mr Hillary’ gradually took on an appalling handsomeness – the kind of handsomeness that could mesmerize men as well as women. He took a final sip from the right-hand metal tube, wiped his lips with his fingers, and then rose up to his full height, well over six feet, and confronted Michael and Megan with a smile. 

His white hair shone like the whitest silk. His blood-red eyes glistened with satisfaction and vigour. Although it was so pallid, his skin gleamed on his perfectly-formed cheekbones, skin so soft that Michael had a strong and subversive urge to reach out and stroke it. ‘Mr Hillary’s’ nose was straight and narrow, sharply defined; and his lips were two thin but sensual curves, like the curves of a Stradivarius violin. 

He turned back to the girl and gave a dismissive wave of his long-fingered hand. Joseph immediately dragged her off the couch onto her feet. Then he seized each kitten by the scruff of the neck, and tugged them one by one away from her breasts. She didn’t cry out, but she covered her breasts with her arms, and covered her face with her hands. Without hesitation, Joseph twisted the kittens’ necks, both of them together, as if he were wringing out a wet towel. He flung their bodies into the fire and didn’t even bother to watch them burn. Their fur flared, and Michael thought:
How real can this be? Is this a trance or isn’t it? How can I smell burning fur, when this is all supposed to be fantasy?
 

Joseph covered the girl’s shoulders with a loose maroon shawl, and ushered her out of the library. ‘Mr Hillary’ turned back to Michael and Megan, and he was still smiling, as if something had amused him. 

‘You’re welcome,’ he said to Michael. ‘This time you came of your own accord.’ 

‘This time I came to see if it was you who murdered Joe Garboden,’ Michael retorted. 

‘Mr Hillary’ shook his head. ‘You don’t understand, do you? Maybe you don’t want to understand. A sin is a sin, and has to be punished. There is no such thing as atonement. Your friend was meddling with destiny; and those who meddle with destiny must pay the price.’ 

‘My friend was investigating the assassination of a Supreme Court judge.’ 

‘Mr Hillary’ slowly shook his handsome head. He gave off a sexual attraction that was almost tangible – an attraction that made the nerve-endings tingle and the hair stand up on the back of Michael’s head. Michael had never been aroused by a man before, and the idea that he might have even the slightest homosexual leanings filled him with dark disgust. But at the same time, he felt an erotic prickling between his legs, as if somebody with very sharp fingernails were delicately cupping his testicles, and stroking the tip of his penis. 

He felt himself begin to rise, and he took a step away from ‘Mr Hillary’ in alarm and revulsion. 

‘Mr Hillary’ said, ‘Don’t blame me, Michael. I am sin itself – every sin imaginable – but it is you who made me so. I was your scapegoat. I was the one who redeemed you. You poor, weak, confused people! Look what mischief you work, look how you whine and whinge and beg for mercy when your mischief comes home to roost!’ 

His eyes lingered on Michael for a moment, trawled across his face like a netful of bloodied fish, and Michael felt a shiver of cold sensuality that ran all the way down his spinal column and shrank his prostate gland. His penis was fully erect, hard to bursting, and ‘Mr Hillary’ hadn’t even touched him. 

Then ‘Mr Hillary’ turned his attention to Megan. ‘This isn’t the real you, is it, Megan?’ he asked. ‘This isn’t the same you that Dr Loeffler has been trying to help?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ asked Megan, her voice tightly constricted with fright. All the same, her face and her upper chest were flushed, and her nipples were jutting stiffly through the thin grey silk of her blouse. 

‘Mr Hillary’ slyly covered his face with his hand, so that all Megan could see was his blood-red eyes, glittering behind the protective cage of his fingers. ‘The real you, Megan, is incapable of walking. The real you, Megan, is a poor paralysed scrap of a thing who has to seek fulfillment in cheerfulness, and in cakes and pies.’ 

He glanced back at Michael, and said, ‘You’re a good disciple, Michael. I look forward to seeing more of you.’ 

But then he turned to Megan again and shook his head. ‘Don’t deceive yourself, Megan. There’s far too much deceit in the world. Far too much! And the day is coming soon when all of that deceit is paid for, in full, with two thousand years of interest!’ 

He reached out with both hands and gripped Megan’s shoulders. Michael said,
‘Don’t touch her!’
but ‘Mr Hillary’ gave him a glare of such blood-filled ferocity that he hesitated for just an instant, and for Megan that instant was all that was needed to bring her low. Her knees buckled, and she dropped sideways onto the library floor, hitting her shoulder against a small footstool and toppling it over. 

‘This is the Megan we know and love!’ smiled ‘Mr Hillary’, and knelt beside her, like a lover kneeling beside his paramour, like a supplicant kneeling beside his fallen queen. He lifted her head up in the palm of his right hand, with infinite gentleness, and kissed her lips. At the same time his left hand ran lightly down her side, barely touching her breast, barely touching her hip, barely touching her upper thigh. 

Michael stumbled forward, determined to knock him down, but ‘Mr Hillary’ turned and raised his hand and simply said, ‘Stop,’ in the softest of tones; and then ‘Wake.’ 

‘W
ake
?’
Michael demanded. ‘W
ake
?’ 

‘It’s all over, Michael. Wake.’ 

Michael looked around him – at the library bookshelves, at the whitewashed ceiling, at ‘Mr Hillary’, in his soft grey coat, crouching over Megan handsome and evil, his hand still resting on her hip. 

He heard a sound like a mirror being stressed, the instant before it breaks. 

He felt the world slide from under him, faster and faster. 

He saw lights, darkness, and walls rushing past him. 

He heard voices and murmurs, thick and slow. 

He opened his eyes and he was sitting at Megan’s dining-table, blinking in the sunlight, and Megan was sitting opposite him, her hands gripping the arms of her wheelchair. She stared at him. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open. Her cheeks were two bright spots of pink. 

Michael didn’t know what to say. He had never in his life been gripped by such a feverish sexual passion. His chest rose and fell as if he had been running, and running hard. 

Without a word, Megan lifted herself from her wheelchair, and slid awkwardly onto the carpet. With one hand, she pushed the wheelchair away, and with the other, she pulled up her skirt. 

Michael tugged open the buttons of his shirt, unbuckled his belt, stepped out of his trousers. He was totally aware that what he was doing was wrong. He was betraying Patsy, he was betraying Giraffe. But the blood was pumping through his arteries like rainwater gushing through storm drains, and his head thundered with excitement. 

Megan was crying out loud, like a wounded bird. She reached down with both hands and pulled aside her white lace panties. Her vulva was swollen and rosy, and glistening in readiness. Naked, Michael climbed on top of her, his erection held in his fist, and pushed it into her, until their pubic hair was intertwined, and he could push it in no further. 

He kissed her and licked her and bit her earlobes. He pulled the buttons from her blouse, and slid his hand into the cups of her bra, and squeezed her nipples. And all the time he forced himself into her, again and again and again, the hugest and hardest and most indomitable erection that he had ever experienced. She didn’t have the use of her legs, but she had the use of her lips and the use of her fingers, and she kissed him and nipped at his lips and dragged her fingernails down his back. She pulled apart the cheeks of his bottom and teased him and scratched him and tickled him, until he knew that he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. 

Megan must have sensed that, too, because she said,
‘Here!’
and took hold of his penis in her hand. She pulled him upwards – urged him upwards – until he was sitting astride her. She kissed his penis and rubbed it with her hand, harder and harder, faster and faster. Their combined lust was like two express trains, hurtling toward each other on the same track. Harder and harder, faster and faster. 

Michael climaxed, a thick white pumping climax, spurt after spurt. Megan, in the strangest kind of ecstasy, directed his ejaculation all over her face – her eyelashes, her cheeks, her hair, her lips. When it was over, she looked as if she had been decorated with trembling pearls. 

Michael, in that empty moment after ejaculation, bent forward and kissed her. She kissed him back, very slowly, very lasciviously, and slid her fingers into his hair. 

‘You know what happened, don’t you?’ she whispered, her breath hot and thunderous in his ear. 

He shook his head. 

‘It was him, it was ‘Mr Hillary’, he possessed us both.’ 

Michael didn’t know what to say. He felt desperately guilty already. All he wanted to do was to get up from the floor and put on his pants and pretend that this had never happened. Jesus, he had been unfaithful to Patsy for the first time ever – with the disabled wife of a homicide squad detective. He couldn’t believe that he had done it. He couldn’t believe that he had
wanted
to do it.