The Chosen

They seemed to be running a fair amount of dinners that night—not exactly in the weeds, but they were busy. There was no time to take a quick break and skip over to room service to ask Kyle if he’d seen her. And he couldn’t really ask anyone else because they’d want to know why.

“Hey, Lee, what’s the matter? Your Jack-’o-matic break down?” Dan B. called out from behind the range. “How come you’re acting weird these days?”

“Weird? Me?” Lee tried to joke back. I think I’m in love with a fat woman who never talks. “Your mom dumped me for Cujo. I’m depressed.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. But look at the bright side, you’ve still got your sister, that is if you don’t mind the sloppy seconds after me. One thing I can’t figure out is that parking-garage-sized cooze on her. What’ve you been doing, sticking your whole head in?”

“Why don’t you stick your head into that pot of creek water you call Le Chabichou Sturgeon Soup? And take a deep breath.”

“I took a deep breath last night when I was going down on your grandma. About died, but fifty bucks is fifty bucks.”

Lee slid another tray of glasses into the Hobart. No point in trying to out-do Dan B. with the gross jokes. He sipped a Maibock he’d hidden behind the big dishwasher, and let his thoughts flee.

They didn’t flee far.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the housemaid.

He couldn’t stop thinking that something bad had happened.

— | — | —

^{CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT}

The food was exquisite: rich, savory, remarkable.

As remarkable as this heady reprieve. They sat and watched, stuffing their gullets on steaming ambrosia and delectible wines. A taste of the cursed world! This blasted scape of insult!

The women were splayed naked before them, dumbly following their own initial instincts. Lapping at one another upon fragrant beds of feathers as countless candles sizzled. Holy preludes drenched with ungodly designs! The acolytes stood aside in wait of their wishes: more rich foodstuffs, wines, fellatio…

Eventually they rose, their lips glossed by succulent greases, and approached the beds. A male acolyte produced wondrous little blades, while the female shrieked in cosmic enthusiasm, a most diverting creature. Her pleasure was obvious.

One blonde’s throat was delicately slit, and the warm blood allowed to sheen the soft flesh of the others, which several reveled to lave off with their tongues. Several more pried apart the blonde’s brittle skull, to feast upon the still-warm brains…

Stout members turned rigid. They each waited patiently to take their turn.

««—»»

Lee woke up past three a.m. For the third night in a row now, his lover had not shown herself. I guess she’s sick of me, his male paranoia presented. Probably in bed with Kyle right now. Or that weird fucker Feldspar.

He couldn’t sleep. The room’s dark unnerved him, aggravated him like an incessant, yapping poodle. Subtle noises cloyed at him further; he knew he must be imagining them.

Whispers, shrieks, remote thunkings…

Fuck this, he thought. I need a beer.