The Lotus Eaters

Casa Linda, Balboa, Terra Nova

"I trust the prisoner has complied with her orders," Moises Rocaberti said to the guard on Lourdes' bedroom door.

"I wouldn't know about that, sir," the guard replied. "I haven't looked. Willing to wait my turn, sir, don't you see?"

Moises nodded and unconsciously licked him lips. "Don't disturb me, then, until I send for you."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Lourdes chewed at her lip, nervously, nervous, in fact, about seeming nervous.

Don't be silly, Lourdes, she told herself. There's no sense in trying to pretend you're anything you're not. The most this swine expects is that I'll give myself to him in fear for myself and my children. For that, I should seem terrified and disgusted. If I actually am, so much the better.

She saw and heard the doorknob turn and unconsciously moved one arm across her chest to cover her nipples and the wet circles their leaking had made in the sheer and short camisole she'd donned. Below, she wore a black thong. Her doffed clothing was tossed on the desk. She had travel clothes secreted under the bed.

She caught a glimpse of a guard's short hair, his face turned away, as the door opened halfway and the chief of her captors slid in sideways. He closed the door behind him, one handed, then half turned and slid a bolt closed.

With one arm crossed across her breasts Lourdes' other hand slid down to cover her crotch.

This suited Rocaberti perfectly as he hung his submachine gun on the doorknob by its sling. With both her hands occupied she had none to defend herself when he walked to stand directly in front of her and slapped her across the face, hard enough to hurt, to bring tears to her eyes and a quiver to her lip, but not hard enough to make her cry out. However, when her hand moved of its own accord to her insulted cheek, her arm moved away from her nipples. Rocaberti's own hands then moved, insect quick, his fingers clamping painfully on both of those, then twisting. This made her cry out with pain, the more so as they were tender from nursing her youngest.

The next she knew his hand was entwined in her hair, forcing her down to her knees. His other hand fumbled with the fly of his trousers. As his penis shot out against her face he twisted her hair again, saying, "Suck it, whore."

She forced a smile to her face, looked up, and said, somewhat unconvincingly, "I like it rough, you know. And I'm really superb. 'The best,' my husband says, and he should know. You should sit. I guarantee you won't be able to stand once I start. He never can."

Moises was a little taken aback, perhaps even shocked. She's a good actress, he thought, but she can't hide that she's afraid.

Lourdes stood then and pulled his hand from her hair. She led him by that to the chair and pushed him lightly into it.

It isn't sex, she told herself, as she dropped again to her knees and began undoing her captor's trousers. It isn't sex-it isn't sex-it isn't sex . . .

She was still telling herself that as she bent her head and took him into her mouth.

* * *

But if he comes in my mouth it will be, she thought, several minutes later, her head moving on autopilot. The thought made her gag even more than the pressure on the back of her throat did. And that I'd rather die than. She pulled her head off and began to stand.

"What do you think you're doing, bitch?"

"I want to fuck," she answered, grabbing him with her left hand and placing first one knee than the other on the chair cushion. She hadn't even remotely gotten in the mood for sex with him, but she had gotten enough used to what she'd been doing that her voice sounded almost sincere.

Lourdes must have placed the right knee badly because it slipped off, causing her to fall sideways. She caught herself with that hand on the floor. She recovered after a moment and began to resume her straddle, her left hand guiding his penis as if to enter her. Her shin, in one case, and thigh, in the other, confined and restrained his arms.

"Hah! You really are a whore. I should have known." Half mad with desire to rut, Rocaberti had eyes only for the glistening head of his penis, and the nether lips approaching it.

And then the woman's right hand was full of something brassy and bright, which was the last thing young Rocaberti saw before it plunged through his eyeball, cracked the bone behind the eye, and was then spun like a pestle, Lourdes twisting the letter opener furiously to turn a good sized chunk of his brain to bloody froth.

"I belong to Patricio, you son of a bitch," she whispered into a corpse's ear. Then she looked at the blood again and proceeded to vomit on the corpse, the vile smelling puke running out through her fingers to mix with dripping blood.

* * *

Lourdes was dressed in denims and leather. She had a bottle of Thymoline mouthwash in one hand and a stubby firearm slung across her shoulder when she opened the door to the adjacent room holding Artemisia and their children. She was furiously swishing the solution as she placed one finger over her lips to command silence, before beckoning for Arti to come and bring the children. She spat the solution out onto the floor and began calling out, "Oh, God . . . oh, God . . . Faster . . . Oh, God," even while she pushed and prodded the others toward the door that led to the balcony.

Arti's eyes flew wide when she saw the corpse with the exposed penis and an onyx letter opener handle sticking straight out from under his forehead. A rivulet of blood ran down one cheek. She didn't ask about that, but did ask, in an urgent whisper, "What about Mac?"

"They sent him to the hospital," Lourdes whispered back. Plenty of time later to tell her the truth. I hope. "Oh . . . oh, Jesus . . . Fuck me, Moises, fuck me!"

"Hurry on ahead," she ordered Arti, still whispering. "Head to the boat. It's straight down hill. Follow the path."

"Can you run the boat?" Arti asked.

"I can push the button to start it and turn the wheel to steer it. Now go."

"What about you?"

"I have to ummm . . . to come . . . Ahhh . . . aiii . . . —go, dammit—aiiii . . . ahhhh . . . ahhhh . . ." Lourdes waited until she heard footsteps on the walkway behind the house before letting out a soul searing scream of utter, and utterly fake, pleasure. Then she followed. It wasn't until she had the boat well out to sea that Lourdes told Artemisia she was a widow. Indeed, they were almost far enough out that attentive people on land wouldn't hear the scream.