Camilla Ch. 088byMawrGorshin©
Around 5 AM, someone driving in Agape's neighbourhood saw a black-haired woman walking out of Agape's house and onto the sidewalk. The dress she was wearing looked familiar.
"That's one of Carrie's dresses, isn't it?" the driver said.
When the woman had walked far away enough not to notice the car, the driver parked in front of Agape's house, got out of the car, and went over to the side of the house.
The sun was just starting to come up, allowing only a slight hint of light. The driver looked through the window of the side door, which led into the kitchen. The dim light allowed the sight of only a pool of blood on the floor, and a hand lying palm up in the blood. The naked eye wouldn't have even seen if the hand was a man's or a woman's, it was so dark; but the driver knew who was lying there.
Walking quickly back to the sidewalk to see where the black-haired woman was going, the driver took out a cell-phone and dialled a number. The woman was walking towards that tall apartment building where, in one particular room neighbouring that of a fat young man, there had been much lesbian lovemaking, as well as a lot of heroin use.
"Hello, police?" the driver said into the phone.
Patrick, piss drunk, had arrived home at about 3 AM. He'd turned on his computer and sent an e-mail to all of his family and friends. This is what it said:
I can't live with what I've done. My selfishness has resulted in death, undeserved death. I, however, do deserve to die. Sorry, but I can't take the pain anymore. Something inside me, in my blood, has made me inhuman, a monster. The pain I feel weighs down on me; I can't breathe. Sorry, and goodbye.
He'd left the house ten minutes after sending the e-mail, having left the computer on so Camilla could see the message when she came back.
The black-haired woman went into the apartment building with her hair hanging down over her face, covering it almost completely. She pressed the elevator button and waited.
How could everything have gone so wrong? she thought. The elevator opened, and she got in.
At about 5:30 AM, Mr. Berman's housemates forced their way into his bedroom after he hadn't answered their repeated knocking; they found him hanging by the neck from a sturdy light on the ceiling. A chair was lying on its side by his dangling feet.
"What the fuck?" one of them said, almost falling on the floor in shock.
The other housemate, with his hand over his mouth in case he threw up, went over to Berman's computer, moving the mouse and noticing, on the monitor, a draft of an e-mail, sent to Berman's family, friends, and boss. This is what it said:
I've done many bad things in my life, some real, and some imagined by slanderers. But the worst thing I ever did was fall in love with one of my former students. She made me do things that I, in my right mind, would never have done. I hate myself for being weak enough to get mixed up with a girl half my age. My family despises me, I've lost my self-respect as a former teacher, and I've degraded myself beyond redemption.
This self-hate has pulled me down so low in depression that I literally can't even move, except with great effort. Something...alien...is inside me, making me feel even more ashamed that can be put into words. I can't bear this agony anymore. Sorry, but goodbye.
As the driver, frowning, waited for the police to arrive, he psychically scanned the bullet that had been shot, to ensure that the ballistic fingerprinting would match the bullet to the gun. Sensing different markings, and concentrating with closed eyes, he mentally adjusted the markings to ensure accuracy.
It's a perfect match now, he thought; I'm ready. He saw a police car coming down the road, and rushed to his car to get something.
As the elevator went up to the right floor, the black-haired girl went over in her mind what had happened three hours before.
I put my gloved hands on the doorknob of the front door, she thought, then I psychically scanned for the locking mechanism and the burglar alarm, assuming they'd be set. But bizarrely, the burglar alarm wasn't on, and the door was unlocked! Had someone already come in to do the job? It didn't feel that way. Anyway, I obviously didn't need Nigrovum to help me get in. I opened the door carefully and quietly, and I walked in, removing my coat and high heels and leaving them by the door. I crept over to the kitchen; then I sensed someone coming down the stairs from the bedroom. But who was it? Was I being psychically blocked? As I heard the person coming towards the kitchen, I hid behind the fridge, waiting to fire...
At about 5:45 AM, a police car drove by the scene of a car crash. Patrick's car was smashed against the side of a building. Patrick's bloody, lifeless body was leaning against the steering wheel, his mouth kissing the ever-beeping horn.
Two police officers, one male, the other female, got out of their car and walked up the driveway to Agape's house, where the driver, sobbing, was sitting on the porch with the gym bag on his lap.
"You reported a murder, sir?" the policewoman asked.
"Yes," the driver said, wiping tears from his eyes. "My name is Don Josiah, and three hours ago, I shot and killed Agape Mennon."
The elevator doors opened, and the black-haired girl got out and went down the hall. The fat neighbour opened his door slightly to ogle her. She gave him a look that would have made the evil eye seem friendly; he quickly shrank back and closed his door.
She got out a key and unlocked the door to the room across the hall from the fat man's. She went in, still thinking about what had happened in Agape's kitchen.
I felt that urge swelling up inside me, she thought; Kill! Kill! Kill! My hate and lust for violence was distorting my thinking, and though I couldn't psychically focus on who was entering the kitchen, I knew I wanted to shoot that person, whoever he--or she--was. I took off my gloves and got ready to aim.
She went over to the bedroom, about to open the door; still, she went over in her mind what had gone awry in Agape's kitchen.
I aimed as my victim came in the kitchen and turned on the light, she thought; I saw Carrie. "Ca--?" she began to say.
The black-haired girl opened the bedroom door, turned on the light, and looked at a pile of blankets on the bed, covering most of the motionless body of a pale-skinned girl with black fingernails. Walking closer to the body on the bed, she barely seemed to notice the disturbing sight, for she simply couldn't stop obsessing about the tragedy that had occurred in that kitchen.
I fired, she thought; as soon as the bullet hit 'Carrie' in the chest, 'she' suddenly changed into Daddy! He'd been using Nigrovum to trick me into thinking he was her! This was his plan to protect her from me. The sharp sting in my fingertip, which dripped ignored blood on the floor, was a pleasure to feel compared to the shaking of my heart.
Camilla pulled the blankets aside and saw the open-eyed, pale face of 'Goth-looking' Candice lying on the bed, dead from a deliberate overdose of heroin. Wearing no makeup, her lips were nonetheless jet black, and her baggy eyes suggested black eyeshadow.
"So now I know where you were aiming your killer instinct, Candice," Camilla said, beginning to cry. "Baby, I'm so sorry."
Agape's body was put on a stretcher and in an ambulance. The police handcuffed Don, while Carrie, sobbing in loud, high-pitched shrieks, watched him being put in the back seat of the police car.
"Please forgive me, Carrie," he said, still crying. "I was out of my mind; I didn't know what I was doing."
Carrie, with her face blanketed in tears, watched the police car drive away. Then she thought she heard--or, more accurately, felt--a voice, Agape's, 'saying', Don't cry, sweetie. I'll be right by your side, every second of every day. And wait for your dreams: there you'll have a taste of heaven, with me, every minute of every night.
Don mediated in the back seat of the car, communing with Agape's spirit. We did it, Don thought; Camilla has absolutely no reason to kill Carrie now, for without you, her father, Camilla has no prize to claim.
Agape: That's right. It's a good thing you got to her locker in that strip joint, just in time before it closed.
Don: This power we have, it sure is convenient, allowing me to open the padlock just by mentally scanning for the right combination; and psychically distracting everyone else, so no one would notice me in the locker room. I got my gym bag out, and left safely. I'm so glad no one else got to it before me.
Agape: And with the markings on her mental 'bullet' altered to match your gun, the evidence will point only to you, and not to Camilla. She'll be safe from any suspicion in the murder. You sacrificed your freedom for the girl you love, my daughter. Thank you so much.
Don: Oh, that's nothing. You sacrificed your life for the woman you love. That was very brave.
Agape: I hope Carrie will be alright. I'll comfort her in her dreams. And now that I'm in this other world, I can navigate it more skillfully, so when Camilla dies and arrives in the darker areas, I can rescue her faster and more assuredly.
Don: I wish Camilla could appreciate the value of sacrifice, for it is true love, not incessant sexual conquests.
Agape: Yes, and I hate to wish an early death on my daughter, but she mustn't build up any more bad karma. It will only make it harder to get her out of hell.
Camilla sat on Candice's bed. She'd removed her emotionally numbing psychic dome, for she knew she had to have a crying moment for her father, to remind herself that she was still human. Always crying, she continued going over in her mind what had happened in Agape's house:
"Daddy!" she screamed, grabbing him and breaking his fall. She laid him gently on the kitchen floor on his back, and knelt beside him. "I'm so sorry! I can heal you. I'll use my power to get the bullet out."
"No," Agape said, coughing out blood. "Let me die."
She tried visualizing her 'bullet' disintegrating, and the wound closing, but Agape wouldn't let her psychic energy touch his body.
"Daddy, why are you blocking me?" she cried, desperately trying to break through the force field he'd put between her healing energy and his wound. "I can save you: let me save you!"
"No," he said, smiling serenely as he looked up at her lovingly. "You must...let go...of me." He coughed out more blood.
"No!" she screamed, bawling and crying. "Carrie! Help me! Daddy's dying!"
"She can't...hear you. I've put...a dome...around her. It...protects her...and blocks...out sound."
"Why do you want to die? That's despair. That's a sin. You know what the Church teaches. You'll go to hell."
"No, I won't. I don't...want to die. I must die."
"To save you...from yourself. It's you...who'll go...to hell...when you die. I must get...you out...of there. My dying...will teach you...to let go...of your desires."
"No, Daddy. Please! Don't you die on me. I love you." She was sobbing so intensely that her inarticulate words were now barely intelligible.
"I love...you, too. But I...love Carrie," he said, still spitting out blood.
"Yes! You must live for her!" Camilla cried.
"Then what? You try...to kill her...again?"
"No, I won't."
"You will," he said, his voice getting weaker and weaker.
"I won't, Daddy. I promise. I learned my lesson. I'll be good, I swear. I'm sorry I hated her."
"You still do. I can't...be with her...if you...oppose our...togetherness. You must learn...the consequences...of your actions. Saying sorry...and promising...without keeping...the promise...won't be...enough. In the...other world, I'll be waiting. When you're...in hell, Don and I...will get...you out."
"Don's not dead, is he?" Camilla asked.
"No, not yet. But alive...or dead, he'll help you...as will...Dr. Singh."
"No, Daddy. Don't listen to Ravinder. He's gone crazy with this power."
"No. He's right. The masked men...want you."
"Oh, no," Camilla said in softer sobs. "Nigrovum's made you crazy, too."
"No. It's given...me peace. You can...have it, too."
"I can't have peace, Daddy. I'm too horny. I'm being eaten up by desire."
"That's why...I must...save you," Agape said. "You can...be saved."
"It's too late for me."
"It's never...too late, sweetie."
"But I always want sex. I can't stop wanting it. It's an addiction."
"The masked men...make you want it. They make it...an addiction...to make you...their slave. But I'll save you, sweetie. I promise."
"Oh, Daddy. You're so sweet to me. I love you. Oh, I want you." She, breathing heavily, reached down to kiss him on the lips, craving to drink his blood and make it mix with hers.
"No, my daughter. I won't...take part...in your...filthy desires."
"Let me kiss your mouth." Her lips got closer and closer to his.
"You'll have...my body," he said, feeling his life drain out of his body, "but my spirit...will repel...all incest. I'll be...in your...dreams tonight, and...every night..."
As soon as her lips met his, he died. She kissed him passionately, putting her tongue inside and snaking it around his motionless tongue. Sensing the lifelessness of his body, she acted fast.
"I'll reanimate you," she said with a shaking voice. She stared intensely at his vacant eyes, visualizing them moving and showing human expressiveness again. They moved ever so slightly, if soullessly; it was enough for her to continue trying. Come back, she thought, imagining his resurrected body; come back to life, for one last fuck.
As she continued focusing and concentrating on her meditation, her hair began to flutter out at the sides, as if a wind was blowing on it; her entire eyeballs also temporarily turned pitch black. The energy of Nigrovum vibrated from her hands into his lifeless body, electrifying it from head to toe. She was breathing heavily and hoarsely as she sent her psychic energy pulsating throughout his corpse, which, within seconds, seemed no longer to be a corpse. Indeed, his body slowly began to make ever so slight movements in the hands, legs, and head.
Encouraged by this progress she was making, and madly covetous of every inch of his--as she saw it--sacred body, she bent down to his chest, in the middle, where the bullet hole was; careful not to suck the bullet out, she began sucking out his blood, in large gulps. I will have as much of you inside my body as I can, she thought. Though she felt saintliness in his energy, she ignored that aspect completely.
His body was now moving, if mechanically. She then focused on his cock. She unzipped his pants and pulled it out, visualizing it as fully erect. She grinned salaciously as she watched it slowly grow and thicken into a rock-hard phallus. Her dress was soaked in his blood; she took it off and threw it on the kitchen floor near the entrance to the living room, outside the ever-widening pool of blood. Wearing no underwear, she was naked.
She got on top of him in the cowgirl position, and held his artificial hard-on below her descending pussy, which was already wet with lecherous expectation. She slowly fed it in, the dead member that eighteen years ago had given her life. Sighing hoarsely as she felt his hugeness filling her up and stimulating her every vaginal wall, she thought, I can only temporarily reanimate you. But if I can make you come in this resurrected state, I can get pregnant with your child. I'll use Nigrovum to ensure that no birth defects result from inbreeding, and in a way I'll have you back, however indirectly.
She fucked and fucked, screaming and squealing from the probings of the best cock she had ever felt--and would ever feel--in her whole life. Even as a cool, reanimated corpse, he was hot! She came, her ejaculation mixing with his blood. She kept him hard, and continued fucking.
In a way, this was the best fuck she'd ever had with him, even with him dead: for she didn't have to divide her attention by psychically making herself look like Carrie, to fool him--she could focus completely on her lust; also, with Carrie in a soundproof psychic dome, Camilla didn't have to worry about her lovemaking being interrupted; best of all, she could keep this reanimated corpse going, and going, and going, for it was only about a quarter after three in the morning. They could keep fucking until sun-up, and she wouldn't get tired!
She came a second time, and her come poured out on his lap, surrounded by his pool of blood. She continued fucking.
As she bounced on his cock, she reached down to drink more of his blood from the wound in his chest. Her face was dripping with red, but she loved it, because it was his blood. She came a third time. Now she wanted to use Nigrovum to make him come: she visualized that cock inside her about to spout, as it tickled and massaged her G-spot, A-spot, and all her vaginal walls. Finally, he 'came', and she gleefully felt his love-juice flowing inside her.
She got up, feeling his tingling cock slide along her vaginal walls and come out of her soaking pussy. Then she went down on his lap and sucked all her come, with his blood, off his lap, using Nigrovum to ensure that absolutely no traces of her come remained.
Suddenly, she remembered her bleeding finger: she mentally healed it within seconds, and sucked her blood off; then she scanned the room for drops of her blood on the floor--it had mixed with her father's. She psychically made her blood merge with his so completely, and indistinguishably, that no blood analysis would recognize any of it as hers.
Then she took her come, which she'd psychically separated from his, from out of her pussy and lubed her ass with it. Noticing his erection going soft again, she mentally got it hard again and sat on it, slowly feeding it inside her rectum. As his cock slid in and out, she thought, since this is going to be our last fuck, Daddy, I'm making sure it's our best--one epic, necrophile fuck!
She went up and down, up and down on his cock, loving how its thickness and length stimulated her anal walls thoroughly. Her only regret--apart from, obviously, her accidental killing of him--was that he wasn't enjoying the fuck as much as she was. After several minutes of intense ass-fucking, which caused her to have an anal orgasm, she pulled his cock out and flipped around for some ass-to-mouth.
After drinking all of the come from her anal orgasm from his cock, balls, and lap, and enjoying its mixture with his still-flowing blood, she slowly took his cock in her mouth, licking the tip and underside, and taking his shaft in half-way.
She blew him with a most ironic joie de vivre. She took his cock out of her mouth and sucked on his balls for a while, her tongue kicking them alternately and feeling them bounce off the roof of her mouth. Then she put his cock in her mouth again, deep-throating him: his blood-stained pubic hair went up her nostrils, and she sneezed as the drops went up her nose. She thrilled to feel the knob of his cock down in her throat. As she continued to have the entire length of his manhood in her mouth, she gently shook his balls with her hands.