Down

"My turn."

The last of the group gave Paul his cock to suck while the guy in his ass kept thrusting away. The taste of the bald guy's spunk was still making Paul want to gag, his jaw ached, and his asshole was burning in excruciating pain. He just wanted these two to finish, for it to be over. Maybe they'd kill him, then, and dump his body in some vacant lot or abandoned building. He almost didn't care. He just wanted it over.

Finally, the guy behind him groaned and shot his load. When he pulled out, Paul waited in terror, afraid they'd all start over again. But now it was just the guy in him mouth. Paul sucked and licked how the guy was telling him, dying to have him finish. Dying to have it over.

When the last guy came, they hoisted Paul, limp and whimpering, up off the table, and dragged him over to a corner and dumped him in a heap. In no big hurry, they tied his arms behind his back, and put the collar around his neck again, chaining him to a sewer pipe mounted to the wall.

For the next few weeks they kept him there, using him now and then. Mostly, though, they offered him to the men who showed up to buy drugs.

"For an extra twenty bucks, you can do whatever you want. Fuck her cunt, her ass. Or she'll give you head. For fifteen each, you can go two at once."

Then there was a raid, and the cops found him, chained and naked, filthy and starving. The men who'd kept him prisoner had abandoned the place three days earlier.

The authorities brought in a translator to work with the trauma counselor. Paul told them everything. What he'd done to Lena and the other girls, all of them, for the last twenty years. How Luc had gone missing and Lena had started appearing, haunting him, and everything that had happened after.

Later, the counselor presented Paul's statement to a judge.

"She's a deeply disturbed young woman. Taking on the identity of her pimp is a psychological defense, a mechanism for coping with the degree of abuse she was forced to endure for a prolonged period. But I'd judge most of her testimony to be based in fact. This man, Paul, lured her to the States under false pretenses, forced her to surrender her passport and visa, and convinced her that without her documents, if she were to go to the authorities, she'd be deported or imprisoned.

"He then repeatedly forced her to engage in sex acts with him over a period of several weeks, at which time he coerced her into sexual servitude with other men for money, first with friends and personal acquaintances, and later with anonymous johns.

"From Lena's testimony, it would appear that Paul has been doing this for years, possibly with as many as ten women per year. It's difficult to assess the situation, given the witness's delusional state of mind. However, she was able to provide his full name and address, which, if verified, could lead to further evidence. Possibly, he is part of a larger human trafficking syndicate."

A full investigation was opened. Paul's house was searched, and full custody of his son was remanded to his ex-wife, Rachel. In the course of the investigation, and the publicity surrounding it, Zach and his mother learned many of the things Paul had been doing for the past two decades.

The authorities, unable to verify the identity of the young woman in their care, arranged for her transfer to a mental health care facility in Belarus, her stated country of origin. There, as she was prone to fits of hysterics and violence, she was kept in restraints.

Her second night there, after the first twenty-four hour period of intensive observation had expired, the male orderly on duty used his key to enter her locked room. With both her arms and legs in restraints, it was easy for him to kneel between her splayed legs and lift the coarse cotton gown. When she screamed, he covered her mouth with one hand while he got unzipped with the other, spit in his palm, got his cock wet, and drove it up inside her. He kept her cries muffled under his palm until he was done. Then he pulled out, zipped up, tugged her hem back down, and slipped quietly out of her room.

It was pretty much the same with the orderly on duty the next night, though that one took a minute to look at the girl strapped to the bed, caressed her cheek and said, "It's been a long time since we had one here as pretty as you."

Paul was starting to forget who or what he was. When he looked in a mirror—or, rather, one of the gleaming rectangles of metal that stood in for real mirrors—sometimes he saw the face, the body of a man, thick, dark brown hair, a dark beard, a tall broad frame; other times he saw a delicate young woman with long, flaxen hair and skin so pale it was almost translucent.

One day, Paul was sitting in a wheelchair, wrists secured to the arm rests, when someone brought a chair near and sat down by him. Paul looked away, and started whimpering quietly.

"No. Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

It was the voice of an old woman. Paul turned to look. And then he started to cry, because at first he thought it was her. Lena. The woman had that look. Waxy skin. Her big eyes all black, like two huge, glassy marbles. But not Lena. Not the wraith.

"Your dead," he told the woman.

"No. Not dead. Changed. Changed by suffering. Changed by my power."

She touched his cheek with her cool, waxy fingers.

"Your madness," she whispered, "someone did this to you. Someone hurt you."

Paul went on crying.

"Don't be sad, dear girl. I can teach you how to pay him back, the one who's done this to you. It will take time, yes, but all we have is time, here. All the rest of our days and nights, nothing but time to think, to work our will. I'll show you."

The woman curved her thin, damp fingers over Paul's restrained hand.

"It's an old secret. For a thousand years my people have known how. I'll teach you, as I've taught others here. All you must do is think of the one who's hurt you most. Focus on him. In time, you can make him see you, as you will see him. In time, you can appear to him, like a phantom. Or make him see you in others who are near him. There are other tricks, too. I'll show them all. In time, you will make him suffer, as you have suffered.

"Now. Focus. Picture this man's face."