The Evil Within Ch. 03

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In six months the horror that had gone on in Cynthia Knowles's house had passed into dim Hollywood infamy. Tourists found the house on their star maps just as they had found the site of O.J. Simpson's infamous home in Brentwood. But in the exclusive restaurants, bars, hotels and other places where the prominent and powerful of Los Angeles met and socialized Cynthia Knowles' name was not mentioned.

There had been too many Angelino elite who had attended Cynthia's parties and had used the young women that Cynthia always attracted to her house. Some of those women, they realized, had died in ways that even the most jaded of them could not bear to think about.

Christina had been made the scapegoat. She was the one who had actually set up Stacy Masters' "lesbian tryst" and after Stacy had passed out from drugs Christina had slipped her it was Christina who killed the woman on the tape. Then, with some creative film making, Christina was set up as the one who killed Knowles' "husband" and then Knowles' herself. Finally, a tape sent to the news media showed Christina being beheaded by a group of hooded people, a la the terrorists in Iraq, and thrown into the ocean in the middle of a group of sharks that had been attracted by large buckets of chum.

In reality, Christina was alive, if not well. Yvette and Roxanne had cut the girl's long hair as short as Yvette's boyish cut and colored it black. The shock of watching Maggie at work in the pump room and then actually having to do Cynthia Knowles under Maggie's supervision had left Christina mentally traumatized. Like Claire/Maggie, Christina couldn't remember her own name or her life before taking up residence in Cynthia Knowles' house.

Roxanne and Stacy Masters became a couple. One night in bed with Roxanne and Herbie, Roxanne whispered to Yvette that she thought she loved Stacy and she was going to ask her to move in. Herbie was Roxanne's best man and Yvette was Stacy's maid of honor at the wedding in San Francisco. The two women and Christina - carrying the couple's first child - moved into a beach house three houses down from Yvette and Herbie's on the Pacific Coast Highway.

Yvette thought a lot about the women who had partied at Cynthia's. She thought about their decadent lives. Most, she'd decided, were simply playing; giving reign to their bodies' desire for pleasure in excess. To them it was probably relatively innocent fun to get drunk and/or stoned on the weekend and to fuck and be fucked and bisexuality seemed to come easy for both the men and the women. Yvette thought none of them had likely ever given a single thought about the grotesque way some of them would die; the ones who had fallen victim to Robert's depravations.

Yvette had come to L.A. looking for what amounted to a fairy tale life of consensual sexual debauchery where anything went but no one got hurt. She dreamed of nights spent being fucked and sucked and sucking men and women in lush places of near darkness where the sounds of the orgy were muted. Now she realized she had that fairy tale back in Milwaukee with the "study group." No fear of pregnancy or sexual diseases or doing something she didn't want to do. She had no idea of the depravity she had gotten herself into in sunny Southern California.

Slowly, to Herbie's concern, Yvette became increasingly introverted and obsessed with the raw power of the depraved sexuality she had brushed up against, briefly had been a part of on the edge and ultimately had become its victim.

Yvette began waking up in the middle of the night. She'd be covered in sweat, breathing hard. The last image in her mind before she awoke was always so vivid. She would always be naked, standing before a naked young woman hanging upside down; Yvette was ready to make the cut in the woman's throat to bleed her. And when the cut was made Yvette would orgasm as the young woman's blood pumped against Yvette's naked skin. After awaking from the dream Yvette would always need to masturbate before she could get back to sleep.

One morning when Yvette did not have early procedures and they were getting ready to leave for their offices at the same time, Yvette provoked Herbie into an argument. Provoking Herbie, at his age and with his experiences, was not an easy thing to do but Yvette managed to do it.

A few hours later Herbie called Yvette at her office to see what was up and apologize; he was concerned. But Yvette was still fighting; she pushed his buttons and he found himself on the defensive and madder than after their first fight. When Herbie got home that evening Yvette was waiting for him, this time she appeared drunk. She laid it on thickly, goading him to do something physical.

"What do you want to do to me, big man?" She asked with venom. Before Herbie could answer she turned her back to him dismissively: "Whatever it is, you probably aren't up to it - no, check that - you probably couldn't do it, you fucking old bastard."

Herbie had had enough; something snapped. Herbie, who got his nickname in prison at age 18 doing five to 15 years for voluntary manslaughter when he let his anger get the best of him in a bar fight, first knocked Yvette unconscious with one punch. Herbie was stunned as he looked at Yvette sprawled on the floor but as Yvette stirred she prodded even more: "You impotent bastard..."

Even in the shock of Herbie's punch Yvette was vaguely conscious of Herbie pushing her skirt and slip up around her waist and then her panties tearing. She half mumbled, half moaned some obscenities at him and felt her blouse rip open, his hands under her camisole and her bra pushing roughly over her breasts. And then...she smiled inside...she felt her thighs roughly pushed apart and moments later she felt him enter her.

Yvette's consciousness came back to her painfully; an eye was swollen shut and the cheek under that eye ached painfully. She tasted blood in her mouth; her lower lip felt fat and she touched the corner of her mouth and felt wetness running down her chin. Blood too? She dragged herself into a sitting position and slumped against a wall. Herbie was a blur sitting against the opposite wall, his pants around his ankles and a vacant expression on his face; his cock was still partially erect. Yvette wondered for just an instant if she could provoke him to rage again and get him to rape her again. For a moment she wanted it.

"Herb? Baby? I'm sorry..."

Slowly Herbie looked at Yvette, "Why? Why did you do this?"

"Herbie, I love you. This was just an experiment..."

"JESUS H. CHRIST, VETTE! Why?! I could have killed you; hell maybe I almost did!" And then Herbie started to weep.

Yvette painfully crawled to her husband, laid her head on his chest and slowly caressed his head. "Shh, baby, I'm so sorry...Shh, please." They sat like this in silence for minutes.

"Herbie?"

"Yeah baby?"

"Herbie, I want you to tell me how it felt when you came inside me," Yvette half slurred and half whispered.

"What? Have you lost your fucking mind, woman?!"

"No, tell me. Then take me over to Rox's place so she can fix me up...you brute. My stud brute."

"Flattery will get you no where you whacked bitch. You're seeing Golda next week - professionally."

"Bullshit. Tell me how it felt."

Herbie thought Yvette's question for a minute. He didn't like the answer came up with. Resolutely he said, "I can't tell you. Now let's go to Roxanne's."

"Herbie..." Yvette slowly drawled and she took his now flaccid cock in her hand and pumped slowly.

Herbie swatted her hand away. "Don't. All right; I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone since prison. You can't repeat it and you can never bring it up to me ever."

"Um, okay."

"When I came in you this time it felt like no orgasm I've ever had except for one. They popped me for killing a guy in a bar fight. They could have gotten me for a lot worse. Me and the guy I killed, we hung together. The night before we got in the fight we found this blond, rich, stuck up bitch that we knew in high school; she was a varsity cheerleader. It was the summer after graduation. We stopped on the street and chatted. She'd always wanted "to do" a black guy; we told her two would be really fun. She got in my car. We went to an abandoned warehouse on the West Side and we partied.

"I'll never forget it as long as I live. My guy had her first. But watching them was doing nothing for me. Then she got pissed off when she realized he was doing her bareback. Party was over she said. Bullshit I said. When I came in her the first time...I've never felt like that until," Herbie started to cry, "until I raped you. It was fucking mind blowing."

Yvette held Herbie tighter though it hurt her face. "You got off on the power, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I suppose. It's kind of like letting the evil out; letting the demons run."

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Several weeks after Yvette's rape, when her vivid dreams of cannibalizing a young woman came back, she would go to Maggie's room. She left the lights off. She would silently take off her sweat-soaked tee shirt and panties and sit on the side of Maggie's bed and start caressing Maggie's body. Maggie always woke during these rendezvous. Sometimes the only indication Maggie was awake was Maggie's hushed panting and moaning; the sensuous writhing of her body under Yvette's fingertips, pulling a nipple especially hard or probing Maggie's sex and ass especially vigorously.

Sometimes they would talk, in short, hushed, urgent whispers, as Yvette petted Maggie's body.

Then over time Yvette began to make love to Maggie. Herbie used Maggie for sex too and sometimes after those couplings Yvette would take Maggie slowly and gently, taking a long time to suck Herbie's cum from Maggie's sex. Other times when Herbie had not used her, Yvette, imagining her rape at Cynthia's, imagining Herbie raping her, would brutalize Maggie. She felt wild and out of control. Her orgasms were blindingly intense.

But Yvette wanted more; taking and being taken, the insatiable lusts. She was addicted.

On a spring weekend when Herbie went back east for a conference, Yvette took Maggie out, cruising Santa Monica, looking for men or women. It was late and the number of people on the street was thinning. Yvette suddenly became tired and annoyed; she wondered why they were out and what the hell she was doing. She felt like taking Maggie to the beach and brutalizing her.

Yvette had decided that it was time to call it a night when Maggie pointed out an older looking tan, lean and attractive woman standing on a corner in Santa Monica.

Maggie looked at Yvette and lightly touched Yvette's face. "She's alone," Maggie said in her spooky, ethereal voice. "You'll like to use her though she's too old to really harvest and we shouldn't be wasteful. We shouldn't."

Yvette starred at Maggie for a moment. I never told Maggie why I we were going out Yvette thought, How'd Maggie know she wanted to kill?

Maggie tenderly kissed Yvette on the cheek where her fingertips had been just moments earlier. She pulled her fleece pullover over her head (it was all she wore), shook out her hair and crawled into the back seat. Yvette's hands would have been shaking if she had not had a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Yvette looked in the rearview mirror and met Maggie's calm gaze. "It's all right," Maggie said so softly that Yvette could barely hear her.

Yvette started the car and as she pulled away from the curb she felt a thrill run through her body. The woman readily accepted Yvette's offer of a ride; the woman lived in a beach house down in Venice.

Yvette didn't really have a plan but Maggie did. Maggie put her arm around the woman's neck and gripped the woman's chin, twisting the woman's head to the side. The woman was so surprised that she only struggled briefly; Maggie's arm lock on the woman limited the woman's ability to move much anyway. Quickly Maggie injected a drug into the base of the woman's neck and then the woman sagged in the seat.

While Robert had done some of his work in Cynthia's pump room, he had actually purchased a small farm in the Santa Monica Mountains where he had a barn, a slaughter house and a large commercial freezer for beef and pork. After the police finished going over the farm with a fine tooth comb, the county sold the property at auction for the cost of the tax lien. Yvette bought it. Yvette took her first prospective kill there this night.

Yvette helped Maggie get the woman's unconscious body on the prep table then Yvette stripped naked and sat against the wall of the killing room. She was sweating profusely, her stomach full of butterflies and her sex was pulsating. Yvette was masturbating slowly as she watched Maggie prepare the woman; stripping her and gently, almost lovingly, washing the woman's body.

Yvette knew the next step in the process would be to hang the woman upside down to be bled. But Maggie stopped. Maggie took one of the woman's hands in hers and pressed it to her lips. Yvette saw Maggie's body tremble and it looked like she was crying.

"Maggie? Maggie, what's the matter?"

"I - I made a mistake. This woman is way too old. I can't. We need to find someone younger. We need to take her back."

Yvette got up, annoyed, and stood on the opposite side of the table from Maggie. "What's the problem?"

"This is my big sister, Lisa. Recognize that tattoo on her hip?" Maggie's voice was trembling.

Yvette looked. "Uh, you have one on your hip like that too."

"We lost our virginity together. After the first time we made love with each other we went and got the tattoos. She was so gentle with me after the boy who took my cherry was so rough and clumsy. She gave me my first orgasm." Maggie laughed a short, quiet laugh and looked at Yvette, "We made vows that these tattoos would bind us together forever; we would love each other forever."

Maggie openly sobbed now as she laid her head on Lisa's breast.

"I remember now. Oh, God, I remember it all. My name is Claire, Claire Benton. I have two beautiful children. My husband sold me like a slave to someone he thought would kill me because he wanted to be with Lisa."

Claire/Maggie fell to her knees, sobbing. Yvette rushed to her side and took her in her arms. "Will your sister talk - about this?"

"No. She won't, I promise. I drugged her. I prepped her. It was me, not you. She won't say a thing."

Yvette lovingly stroked Claire/Maggie's hair and whispered in her ear. "Then why don't we go find your husband and do him? Would you like that...Claire?"

Claire slowly looked at Yvette and smiled.

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