The Chosen

you to show me around.” Perhaps she could turn his confidence game inside out, and use it on him. She could play games just as well as he could.

“Great. I’ll drum you up about seven. Is that all right?”

“That’s fine,” she assured, and finished with the thought, you phony tight-jeaned asshole.

He made to leave, then, but stopped. “I almost forgot. You do have your choice of rooms. I can show you some of the others if you want.”

She paused in the question, and looked around one more time. “No,” she nearly whispered. “This is fine… This is home. ”

— | — | —

^{CHAPTER NINE}

Zyra pondered: What a beautiful night.

And it was: clear, starry, deep as heaven. The moon shone as a crisp, blazing rind of light. It summoned back many other, equally beautiful images, of blood and mayhem, of heads split apart like big ripe fruit, sharp blades sinking into random flesh, and chorales of screams—yes, such wondrous images, and many more, of times gone by. Zyra stood nude before the bedroom window. Her sex felt warm and tender in the denouement of her orgasms. Her appreciation for life felt as wide as her gaze.

What a beautiful night for murder, she thought.

She fancied the moonlight as a ghost’s caress. She could feel it on her skin; it seemed to purify her. What had nutty Mr. Buluski said earlier—earlier, that is, as in before she’d strangled him with the lamp cord? “Oh, pristine siren in radiant light. I bid thee now—be mine tonight.” What a nut. Oh, I’ll be yours, all right, she’d thought. I’ll be yours forever. At least this pair was interesting, and good for some laughs. She and Lemi had answered the personal ad they’d spotted in a magazine called The East Coast Swingers Guide: “luntville: Attractive (and endowed!) quirky couple seek same for concupiscent interlude.” Dumbass Lemi hadn’t even known what concupiscent meant. “It means they like to get it on, Lemi,” Zyra had had to explain. “And that’s just what we’re looking for.”

“Come in, come in!” Mr. Buluski had invited when they’d knocked on the door to his remote rancher which sat miles from any other dwelling along Route 154. “Why, you two are even more delectable than your photos!”

Mr. Buluski had, by the way, answered the door naked.

He was skinny, bald up top, and looked about forty, with this nutty, kinky, torqued-up enthusiasm stamped onto his face. “I do hope you’re all hungry,” he commented. “I’ve prepared a wonderful dinner!” Next, he’d introduced Mrs. Buluski, who was also naked save for pepper-red high heels. She looked about ten years younger, with poshly curled dark hair, and she was kind of cute and fat, which was fine. They didn’t all have to be high-fashion knockouts. Physical diversity was far more important. An additional point of note: her pubic hair had been quite expertly shaved into the configuration of a heart. “Please, friends, make yourselves more comfortable and join us in the dining room,” she urged.

“When in Gnome, do as the Gnomans do,” Lemi figured.

“That’s Romans, Lemi,” Zyra corrected.

Lemi shrugged. They both quickly stripped and took their seats at a long, maroon-linened table. “Oh, what beautiful young bodies,” Mr. Buluski gushed. “Such sights make my heart just sing!”

“He gets carried away sometimes,” Mrs. Buluski then informed them. “He’s a dreamer, a visionary. And he’s very, shall we say, deft of tongue.” The woman promptly winked at Zyra, who