Evelyn slid the entire length of cock into her mouth, pushing to the opening of her throat, gagging a bit until her muscles relaxed and then beginning the swallowing motion that she knew got Warren off most effectively. He tensed up as she milked him, looking back and forth now and then to make sure the coast was clear; this street was usually empty at night, just a scenic overlook squeezed between two expensive houses in a remote neighborhood, but you never could tell. He thought he caught a flicker of movement on one side, but when he looked again it was gone. Then he was distracted, once again, by Evelyn's mouth as it slid down to the bottom of his shaft; he bit his lip.
Eventually Evelyn broke off, lying back in the truck and pulling Warren down with her. "It's freezing out here," she said, "hurry up and fuck me."
He groaned a little. "Oh come on, just a little more." He gestured to his still-wet dick. She shook her head.
"A little more and you won't last." He glares at her. She puts up her hands. "What? It's true. Come on, sitting there with your feelings hurt isn't getting either of us laid any faster; stick it in."
"Wait," Warren says, "I don't have a condom..."
"I don't give a shit."
"But what if—"
"Quit being a little bitch about it," Evelyn said, reaching around his waist and grabbing his ass with both hands, pulling him down onto her. She wriggled out of her jeans and wrapped her bare legs around him, stretching her arms over her head, grabbing the truck gate for leverage.
"Now," she said, "are you going to be a little bitch, or are you going to be a real man?"
Warren glared at her.
"Show me then," she said, lips curling
He responded by thrusting once, hard, burying half the length of him inside of her. She was amazingly wet and he slid in without resistance, the muscles of her cunt clamping down on him. She gasped, eyes rolling back into her head.
"Good," she said. "Again."
He gave another thrust of his bare cock, pushing the other half in now, sliding up to the base. Her legs squeezed his body. She gripped the gate tighter.
He started to pump her violently, rocking against her body, pushing with all the force that his arched back and squared shoulders could exert.
He held onto her hips, fingers threatening to bruise her flesh. He drew all the way out and penetrated anew with each thrust, grunting like an animal. Her back was soon bruised by rubbing against the metal, but still she panted over and over again: "Harder! Harder! Harder!"
Without thinking, he clamped one hand over her mouth, and with the other he started to choke her; not hard enough to cause real harm, but enough to set the furnace inside of her burning hotter and brighter than it ever had with him before. Evelyn's eyes rolled back in her head and her fingernails scraped metal as her body throbbed. Warren was relentless, pushing and pounding, pouring out exertion, trying, muscles aching, hair dripping with sweat. His cock piston-slammed again and again. Evelyn's pussy was saturated. Her eyes bulged as his fingers twitched on her throat, then relaxed. She couldn't talk now, so she just moaned, and when that was too much trouble, she growled.
Warren became aware of the headlights of a passing car but he ignored it, even though the driver surely must have seen him. He paused only long enough to verify that it was not a police car and, in absence of flashing lights, he went back at it. The hard, hollow thump of their bodies against the metal seemed incredibly loud in the quiet night: thump, thump, thump. Below them the whole city was lit up with partiers, but up here it was just the two of them. Evelyn's hands were all over him now, and her hands slid under his shirt and raked down his back; he imagined the bright red scores standing out against his skin. They ached.
He grabbed her thrashing, wriggling body and held it down again, constricting her into the closest semblance of stillness that she seemed likely to accede to, and then continued with his merciless fucking. She was now raw and bruised, but he paid no attention. Her eyes looked glassy and unfocused. Once the top of her head bounced off of the gate, but she barely seems aware of it. He closed his eyes and narrowed his focus down to the feeling of a hot, flushed, sweaty, pliant body underneath his, and then he began to cum, releasing a steady stream into the confines of her pussy, burying himself in her for the last time while he burst and gushed. Then he collapsed, exhausted, next to her, and for some time neither of them spoke. Eventually she rolled over and flopped an arm across his chest.
"That was...amazing." Her throat was almost too raw to talk. "I didn't know you had it in you."
"Yeah..." was all Warren could say.
"You're...an animal," Evelyn said, giggling and kissing him. He kissed her back, but something caught his eye, distracting him; what was that? He looked up.
"Hey," he said, "I didn't think the moon was full tonight..."
"It's not," said Evelyn, kissing the side of his neck.
"No, it is, look," Warren said, pointing. Evelyn looked up. She frowned.
"That's weird," she said. "I swear it wasn't like that when we drove up here. How could—" But she screamed before she could finish, then jumped up, huddling against the truck window. She pointed. A man was staring at them, peering over the truck gate, in fact.
Warren leapt up and pulled his pants on. The stranger still stared. Furious, Warren ran at him, hands balled into fists, but then as the peeping tom stood up Warren stopped, confused; he saw yellow eyes and bared fangs, and a muzzle, and matted black fur. The creature snarled, then howled, then jumped up into the truck bed and crouched down low, growling, foam flecking its lips. Warren backed away a step, but of course, there was no room to run. The creature snarled again. "What the fuck?" Warren said.
The monster jumped up and Evelyn screamed and Warren, without thinking, balled his fists again and took a swing. The creature ducked the blow and grabbed him, and they both fell to the ground, rolling over each other. Warren landed first, the impact driving the air out of him, and he felt claws at his throat, and now he was swinging his fists wildly, blind in the dark, grappling with the monster. They rolled along the ground, the thing's jaws snapping, and only when Warren felt the stones start to shift underneath them did he realize they were so close to the edge of the cliff—
But it was too late. Evelyn screamed one more time, and the monster howled, but Warren said nothing, silently dropping away, feeling the wind in his hair, feeling weightless for those few seconds. He looked up at the sky, the stars, the moon, even the lights of the city stretched out underneath him, blurred, like an old black and white photograph...
And then nothing else.
Dwight sat at the police scanner, pen moving over pad as the calls overlapped, drowning each other out:
"...disturbance at the War Memorial Opera House, possible hostage situation, send all available units..."
"...attacked by a werewolf. Yes, that's the description she gave: a werewolf. We've got one in the hospital, no sign of the suspect, please proceed with..."
"...breaking and entering, assault and battery, suspect is dressed as the Frankenstein monster..."
"...suspect is fleeing on foot through the park, suspect should be considered highly dangerous, suspect has already assaulted an officer. To repeat, suspect is..."
Dwight looked up, eyes wide, cheeks pale. "It's working!" he said. "My God, it's actually working!"
Richard looked at the scanner, then at Pierce, then at the posters on the wall. "No," he said. "No, no, I don't believe any of this, not for a minute."
"But the calls!" said Dwight.
"Bullshit," said Richard, running his hands through his hair. "It's all fraud. There's no possible way I'll believe he's doing this."
Pierce opened his eyes. He smiled. "Dwight is right," he said. "It's working. With the power of my mind—"
"Bullshit!" Richard said again. "What did you do, Pierce? How did you set it up? How many accomplices do you have? How long did they spend working on those costumes?"
"No costumes, good sir," said Pierce. "The genuine article. It's the tulpa, Richard, it's real! The Tibetans teach us that a focused mind, close to Dzogchen, can channel the energies of the universe and make thought into matter, even into seemingly living beings, and I've proven it, I've proven it tonight! Look at the wall, just look at it!"
Richard looked. The titles on the posters seemed to taunt him: "Frankenstein," "The Mummy," "The Wolf Man," "The Phantom of the Opera," "The Creature from the Black Lagoon."
"Using the power of my mind and these foci, I have projected my thoughts as physical incarnations. I have taken these fictions and, for a few minutes at least, made them into reality! I have proven my theory, to you and to the world, Richard. Why, more than that: I've discovered power unimaginable, the power of a god!" Pierce leapt up, his voice becoming shrill. "Now I know what it feels like to be a god!"
Pierce was taller but Richard stood on his toes to look him in the eye. "I don't believe it," he said. "I don't know how you've faked this, but I know you have."
"Do you still doubt me, Richard?" Pierce's smile grew more manic. "Or do I see fear in your eyes? Do I hear it in your voice? Do you know, deep down, that no matter how much you object, no matter how stubborn you may be, that I'm speaking the truth, that this is a power you cannot comprehend, much less oppose?"
Pierce stared at Richard; Richard flinched.
Dwight turned the volume up on the scanner: "All units, all units, please converge on our position, repeat, all units, converge—"
"Listen to me, Pierce," Richard said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'm not saying I believe you, I'm not saying any of this is true. But...if this really is your power, if you really can conjure these creatures out of thin air, then for God's sake, send them away. If you made them, then unmake them, now, before any more people get hurt!"
Pierce shook his head. "Do you believe, Richard? Yes or no?"
"Damn it, we don't have time for this!"
"Yes or no?"
"YES OR NO?"
"Yes, yes, damn it, I believe you, I believe everything, I believe, I believe, now stop it, please, just stop it!"
Richard was red-faced, panting, weeping, wounded.
Pierce snapped his fingers and the scanner turned off. The television in the next room went silent as well; the house was peaceful.
"I'm actually impressed, Richard," Pierce said. "It can't be an easy thing, having to swallow your pride to save lives."
Richard said nothing. Dwight looked back and forth between both men, but remained silent as well. "How do you feel?" Pierce said.
Richard was shaking. "What the hell does it matter?"
Pierce grinned. Then he gestured to Dwight, and he began collecting up the equipment.
"I hate to be rude and run you off," Pierce said, putting his arm around Richard's shoulder and guiding him toward the door, "but I have to document these results right away. You understand, or course. Here, let us show you out." Pierce stopped for a moment to get his coat. "Rest assured, I won't hold a grudge, Richard," he was saying. "In fact, I'd be willing to let you do your own parallel, independent study. You are, in your own way, uniquely qualified now." Richard said nothing.
They went outside, moving through the garden, past the empty swimming pool and toward the driveway. Richard looked like a beaten-down dog; his feet shuffled under his body. Pierce was bright and smiling, talking loudly about the new avenues of thought and the new golden age of consciousness that his full findings would bring about once published. Richard licked his lips.
"Is it over? Did you...unmake them?" he said,
"Pierce...you hurt people tonight. You might have gotten them killed."
Pierce shrugged. "You can't change the world without a few mediocre people getting caught up in the works. Omelets, broken eggs, all that. Besides, anyone who died tonight, I'll just recreate them in the morning." He saw Richard's horrified expression and Pierce began to laugh, long and loud and shrill.
He kept laughing until he was interrupted by Dwight as he cried out, pointing. Richard spun around, but whatever Dwight had seen seemed to be gone. Pierce appeared unperturbed. "Dwight, what is it?" Richard said. "What did you see?"
"Over there, behind the trellis," Dwight said, his voice labored. "It was—it was—" But he couldn't say it. Richard rounded on Pierce, who was smiling again.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I had to see one for myself," Pierce said. "And I had to make sure you saw one. I know you'd try to back away from what you said earlier unless you saw one for yourself."
Richard's blood went cold. "Pierce," he said again, "what have you done?"
Pierce drew a gun from his coat pocket, then a second one, which he handed to Richard. Richard stared at it like he didn't know what it was. "You'll want that, trust me," Pierce said.
A noise made all three men turn toward the pool. Something was moving, just on the other side, something in the dark. Richard squinted. "What is it?" he said. "Which one...?" His voice trailed off. Pierce shrugged.
"Oh, which one do you think, Richard? Which one was always my favorite? Did I ever tell you that? Ever since I was a kid, I've always—"
Dwight screamed again as an unspeakable figure emerged from the gloom. He collapsed, hands over his head, crying as the thing came at them. Richard's mouth went dry and his knees shook. Pierce stared, entranced.
"It had to be this one," he said. "It was my favorite. I had to see..."
The monster stumbled toward them, unsteady on its flippered feet. Its scaly hide was dark and wet, and its eyes goggled; Richard could see the gill flaps throbbing on either side of its neck. It was a clumsy beast on land, but the way its limbs moved testified to the horrible strength in its body. It came forward with one awful claw extended, its webbed fingers grasping as its lipless mouth moved up and down in a meaningless, gurgling cry. Richard's hands were so slick with sweat that he nearly dropped his gun. Dwight was weeping. Pierce appeared enraptured. "My God," he said, "it's beautiful!"
"It's monstrous," Richard said, his voice tight. "Send it away, Pierce, unmake it. You've made your point."
"Not yet," Pierce said, walking toward it. "I want to get closer. I want to really see it."
"Pierce, what are you doing? Pierce, don't!"
Richard raised his gun but Pierce was already too far ahead of him, already blocking his shot. The creature was beside the dry pool now, hunkered on its haunches, its claws scrabbling at the ground. Pierce seemed like a man in a dream. "I just want to touch it," he said. "I want to know that it's really real..." He kept his gun trained with one hand, but with his other he reached out, fingers almost brushing that wet, scaly hide...
"Professor, no!" Dwight screamed, but it was too late; as Pierce reached out the creature jumped up and landed a clubbing blow to the side of his head. For a moment Pierce teetered and then, as if in slow motion, he fell, disappearing over the side of the pool and landing with a sickening thump a second later.
The monster turned then, and before Richard realized what he was doing the gun was raised and he was squeezing the trigger again and again. He watched the bullets tear through the monster, watched blood sprinkle the ground, heard the thing cry out, and then he saw it fall. He heard the click of the empty chambers as he continued to squeeze the trigger over and over, and only when Dwight took the gun from his hand did he stop. Richard realized he wasn't breathing and sucked air in with a gasp.
Dwight approached the fallen monster; it didn't stir. Then he dared to look into the pool. Richard found his voice: "Is he all right? Should we call...?"
Dwight shook his head, tears in his eyes. "His neck..." he said, and the rest was a sob.
Richard felt sick. He sat down, head in his hands. "My God," he said. "Dwight, what are we going to do?"
Dwight said nothing. Richard was about to repeat the question, but then he stopped. He frowned. He crawled on his hands and knees toward the body of the monster; its horrible eyes were still open and staring at nothing. Richard squinted at the corpse. "No. No, it's impossible..." he said.
"What's wrong?" said Dwight.
In answer, Richard reached out. He grabbed the sides of the creature's head. He pulled. The mask came off. Underneath was the still, unseeing face of a dead man, blood about his mouth and nose.
Richard threw up.
He didn't realized he'd blacked out until he found that Dwight had picked him up and was shaking him, trying to bring him back to his senses. "Richard, Richard! Come on, Richard. Listen to me: You didn't know, you couldn't have known."
"The police..." Richard managed to say.
"I've called them already," said Dwight. "They'll be here soon. Can you hear me?"
"Yes..." said Richard, dazed.
"When they get here we'll show them the professor and the...other one. And then we'll—"
But he stopped. He was staring again. Richard looked and then nearly fainted once more; the body with the monster costume on was gone. Though the man, whoever he was, had been shot six times at close range, and though there was still a gallon of blood spread on the cement giving witness to his mortal wounds, the dead man had vanished entirely. A ghost in the night.
Five years later:
It was a quiet night. The bar was mostly empty. Richard had been here for an hour now, drinking scotch and waiting for Dwight. When he finally showed, Richard thought he looked good for a man just out of prison, and he was so loaded by this point that he even said as much. "Well, you look like shit," Dwight said, ordering a scotch for himself. Richard laughed.
They drank in silence for a moment. Dwight had a thick manila envelope tucked under one arm, but Richard was in no hurry to ask him about it. "So how's freedom treating you?" he said after a while.
"Well enough," said Dwight.
Richard shifted on his stool. "I never thanked you for..."
"Taking the rap?"
"Yes," Richard said, looking down.
"No need," said Dwight. "If I had listened to you in the first place, none of this would have happened."
Richard held his breath. He knew what was coming.
"And for that matter," Dwight continued, "haven't you ever wondered what really did happen that Halloween night?"
"Honestly?" said Richard. "No. I try not to think about it. Besides, what's to wonder? Pierce was a fraud. The body proved that."
"But where did it go?" Dwight said. He was leaning in very close now, much too close for Richard to feel comfortable. "And the others, if they were all fakes, all accomplices, where did they go? Why were none of them apprehended? And who were they all? You can't explain that, Richard."
Richard shrugged. "I don't have to," he said.
"But I know, Richard, I know!" Dwight said. His eyes all but glowed with his enthusiasm. "I figured it out, you see, and that's why I wanted to talk to you."
"Whatever the truth is," Richard said around a mouthful of scotch, "I'm not that interested."
"Now wait a minute," said Dwight, "just look at this." He pulled a few pages out of the envelope. "Did you ever watch 'The Creature from the Black Lagoon'?"
Richard still didn't take the pages. "No," he said, "and I hardly mean to now."
"Well, a man named Ben Chapman played the monster in that movie, and he died in 2008. This is him," Dwight pointed to the papers. "Look, Richard, just look."