Seductions, p.1
Seductions, page 1
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Seductions
Ray Garton
Dedicated to
My wife Dawn
Prologue
The nightmare always began like no other he’d had before: with total darkness. Then there was a feeling of rapid movement, smooth sailing through nothingness, of total freedom, touching nothing, feeling nothing, not even air, not even his own body, just the blind movement at a speed he could not even begin to fathom.
There was a tiny spot of light far ahead of him that quickly began to grow and grow until suddenly, without warning, without sound, he was surrounded by clouds, dark and puffy. He eased out of them, downward, and there appeared beneath him houses and cars and people sliding away as he silently glided over them. The street below was familiar. The houses were familiar and so were the cars parked in front of them, and the people were familiar, too. They were all hurrying toward something, all of them going in the same direction. There was a mother carrying a child, a man quickly putting on his coat, two children together, advancing toward whatever lay ahead. There were old people and young people, vaguely familiar, yet strangers, all hurrying forward.
Then he looked ahead to see where they were going. He saw something red, far in the distance. As he neared it, he saw that it was nearing him as well, flowing rapidly on the ground like a flash flood pouring down a hill. It spilled down the center of the street, branching off and sloshing against the curb, running over the sidewalk, washing over the feet of the hurried pedestrians, into the yards, up the front walks, climbing the porch steps like a film running backward, seeping under the doors and into the houses. Its smell rose into the atmosphere and he picked it up easily. Harsh, a coppery smell that seemed to stick to the air and make it moist and pungent. The tide swept the people off their feet, knocking them down; they struggled in the strengthening current, but to no avail. It continued up the front steps of houses, over children’s toys on porches and in yards, picking them up and tossing them over its undulating surface like the wind tossing autumn leaves. It made no sound as it filled the houses and began to gush out of the windows, breaking through the panes of those that were closed securely. And as he floated forward, he knew he would soon see whatever it was that had drawn the others. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Then he began to rise, to gain altitude, to leave the ugly picture and fade into the darkness above him.
It was very cold and empty, very big, hollow. There were sounds now: voices, whispers, breathing. He was not alone, but he was blind and couldn’t see the others. He could feel them, though, could feel their presence, could almost feel their shape. And he did not like it. In the soft, resonant, breathy sound, he began to make out isolated words:
“... fuck...”
“...want you...”
“... us...”
He tried to control his speed, his direction, tried to go back, but he could not.
“do it let’s do it together”
“hot and wet”
“sweeeet sex together touching and licking”
He felt a pull, a suction, and his fear began to take over completely; panic set in.
“sucking and fucking please let’s do it let’s do it together”
Then ahead of him in the blackness it was as if someone, somewhere, was slowly turning up the lights. A picture began to appear amidst the stirring sounds and floating words.
“we can make you beg and plead and want it”
“fuck me fuck”
“can make you”
“me do it to me let’s do it rubbing and sweating” “beg and plead for it”
The smell came again, and there was more of it below him. The street, while still there, was covered; only the rooftops of a few of the taller houses remained above what he now knew was blood. There was a lake of it, a whole ocean of it, churning slowly, for as far as he could see, on and on and on.
And there were things in it. Floating. Things, (oh god) (“fuck me”) Arms (“we can make you”) and legs (“let’s do it”) and heads (“we can suck and lick each other and I’ll eat you if you like”) and glistening, jiggling lumps floating in it, twisting in the whirlpools and bobbing in the small waves, and (“I’ll eat you if you like”) others were coming to the surface, bobbing, lolling, and (“eat you I’ll eat you if you like”) (oh dear god dear god) he began dropping, falling, almost as if he were being pushed down toward the mess of human bodies and parts, and (“we can suck and lick and I’ll eat you if you like I’ll eat you eat you eat you”) he screamed at the top of his lungs as he fell into the wet, thick darkness and sat up in bed, still screaming, his chest heaving...
And then he was silent. Rivulets of sweat trickled down his back and sides, over his forehead, into his eyes. His breath came thick and heavy in long, desperate drags and his mind raced frantically for the relief of total consciousness, wakefulness.
The nightmare had started three weeks ago and returned every night without fail, becoming more detailed, more realistic each time. As usual, he did not go back to sleep. He sat up in his kitchen nursing a glass of Scotch, thinking that something strong and horrible was happening. Something that could be very, very final.
He trembled until dawn.
ONE
FEARS
So on his nightmare, through the evening fog,
Flits the squat fiend o’er fen, lake and bog;
Seeks some love-wildered maid with sleep oppressed,
Alights, and grinning sits upon her breast...
Back o’er her pillow sinks her blushing head,
Her snow-white limbs hang helpless from the bed;
While with quick sighs and suffocative breath,
Her interrupted heart pulse swims in death.
—Erasmus Darwin
1
The classroom door opened a few seconds after the bell sounded, and students began to file in and take their seats. Donald Ellis sat behind his desk at the front of the classroom checking over the test he was about to hand out, looking one final time for any mistakes he might have missed. The side of his face rested in the palm of one large hand and he sucked in on his lower lip as he scanned the three-page English exam, his eyelids heavy.
“Hey, Mr. Ellis,” one of the boys greeted him.
Donald looked up and gave a slight, heavy smile. He glanced over the quickly growing group, then looked back down at the test. His already crinkled brow tightened some more and he slowly raised his head again, his tired eyes going from student to student.
An attentive audience of four girls huddled around Leslie Newell, who spoke quietly and slowly, with confidence, her eyebrows bobbing slyly, her hands moving animatedly. Her sweater was tight and the neckline was cut low: cleavage on display.
Randy Stone, considerably overweight and unbathed, had his wide eyes glued to a comic book—Iron Man, Donald saw with dismay.
Mark Shewer and Brigitt Landis were quizzing each other with determination.
Donald blinked a few times, then scanned the room again, positive that something wasn’t right.
Students were still coming in; a couple had their heads down on their desks.
Donald’s brow relaxed when his eyes came to rest on Barry Sereno. He sighed quietly and rubbed one eye with three fingers. He started to get up but decided he was too tired.
“Barry,” he said softly, with a smile.
The boy looked up from the Destroyer paperback he was reading, a bit of his dark, kinky hair hanging down over his forehead. He had chubby, rosy cheeks, but his body was lean and hard.
“Yeah?” he replied.
“Could you come here a second please?” Donald gestured to him with one hand.
Sereno stood and walked to Donald’s desk, a little cautiously. The other students continued to buzz and study, hardly noticing.
“Yeah?” he said again, leaning forward over Donald’s desk.
“I know you’re probably worried about the test,” Donald began, “but it’s not really that hard. It’s pretty straightforward. I think that, if you put your mind to it, you could do quite well on your own. I mean, without the, uh...” Donald sucked his lower lip in and sniffed once. “Do you have crib notes, Barry?”
Sereno’s mouth became a tight little Cheerio and a bit of the color left his face. “Crib notes?”
Donald raised a reassuring palm and one side of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I’m not accusing you, Barry. I mean, I’m not going to dock you or anything. I just...” This was always a problem, Donald realized as he groped for the right words. He tried to imagine the frantic thoughts going through the poor boy’s mind as he tried to figure out how the hell his crib notes had become so obvious all of a sudden. “I’m just trying to say that I don’t think you need them, Barry. That’s all. Okay?”
The look of shock on the boy’s face began to relax a little. “Okay. Whatever you say, Mr. Ellis.” His head bobbed up an d down agreeably. He backed away from Donald’s desk, then turned and walked to his seat without ever acknowledging Donald’s smile.
Donald sighed as he stood up to hand out the tests.
The coffee in the teachers’ lounge was no better than usual, and his first swallow made Donald grimace. He plopped his large but firm body down in a chair and put the stack of exams on his lap, skimming some of them briefly. One hand swiped at his short, rusty-brown hair, then trailed down the side of his weary face.
“That stuffs a slow poison, Donald.”
Donald didn’t look up from the papers. He didn’t even blink. He just said, “It must be, Charlie. I’ve been drinking it for thirty years and I’m not dead yet.” He took another sip from the Styrofoam cup.
“Well,” Charlie Montoya grunted as he dropped into the chair next to Donald, “all I’ve got to say is, you’d think that with the piddly-squat little salary they expect us to live on, they could at least supply us with coffee that doesn’t burn a hole right through the seat of your pants, know what I mean, Donald?”
Donald made a noncommittal sound without opening his mouth.
Charlie stared at Donald a bit from the side. “You growing a beard, Donald?”
This made him look up. He ran his palm over his chin and felt the prickly stubble that he had somehow overlooked. He shrugged. “Guess I just forgot to shave.”
“Forgot?” Charlie leaned toward Donald. “Look at me, Don.”
Donald turned to face the short, bullet-shaped man next to him.
“God, are you all right? You look like you dropped outta the back end of a sick dog. You lost weight?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your eyes are bloodshot and you got rings under them. You okay?”
Donald shrugged again. “Guess I haven’t been sleeping very well at night.”
“You’re even slurring your speech, for crying out loud; You know what I think you need?”
Donald turned his attention back to the tests on his lap.
“I think you need some exercise. Why don’t you come over to the weight room with me and pump a few? Usually nobody’s over there at this time. Ah, hell,” he grunted, swatting a hand through the air, “that wouldn’t matter anyway. These damned kids love to see their teachers get down and do something like that. ‘Specially you, Donald; they love you, anyway.” He paused thoughtfully, but only for a couple of seconds. “I don’t really understand why, though. I mean, they’re supposed to love me, I’m the goddamned P.E. teacher, know what I mean? I’m fun. You teach English, for crying out loud. What kinda kid likes English? I don’t know, Donald, they’re all screwed up. It’s those goddamned video games. It keeps ‘em out of the fresh air and the sunshine, know what I mean?”
Donald nodded slightly, not really knowing what it was he was nodding to. He’d learned to tune Charlie out.
“Well, whatta you say, Donald, you want to hit the iron?”
The long pause that followed startled Donald and his head shot up. “Hm? Oh, no thanks, Charlie. I just don’t feel up to it. And I’ve got another class in a while.” He smiled at his colleague and nodded once gratefully.
“Whatever you say, Donald, but I sure think it would do you a world of good.”
Charlie rattled on for a while longer, then bid Donald goodbye. Once he’d left, Donald swallowed the last of his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby wastebasket. He leaned his head back against the wall, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. His arms felt like lead pipes, and at times his legs seemed to be water balloons, incapable of holding him up. He felt sticky and dirty, even though he had showered that morning. Whenever he moved, it was like being trapped in a movie dream sequence: slow and labored. Even sucking air into his lungs had become a somewhat burdensome task.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax the tension across his shoulders, hoping to doze a little. Just a little.
If only he could get a few nights of solid, uninterrupted sleep, he knew he would feel better. Sleep had become something that Donald longed for in much the same way most men long for beautiful women. He ached for it! But, night after night, it came only long enough to whet his appetite. He’d sleep two or three hours at the most before the nightmare took over. All that blood and those haunting voices...
“fuck me”
“What?” Donald snapped, jerking in his seat so suddenly that the exams on his lap slipped to the floor and scattered in a heap.
“I said, could you jump me?”
Donald blinked his watery eyes as he looked up at Anne Cramer, feeling disoriented.
“Donald, is anything wrong?” she asked, taking a step toward him.
He breathed in deeply and stood up, trying to smile convincingly. “No, no, I’m fine. I was just nodding off. Now, what did you say?”
“I was wondering if I could get a jump from you. My car won’t start and I have a dental appointment. I’m parked right next to you,” She squinted up at him, tilting her head with concern. Her voice became a whisper: “God, Donald, you look sick.”
“So I hear.” He bent down and gathered the exams together.
“Anything I can do?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” He put the tests down on a small coffee table covered with issues of Time and Psychology Today, reached into his pocket for his car keys, and headed for the door of the lounge. “I don’t know if I even have a jumper cable in my car,” he muttered through a yawn.
Anne fell into step beside him. “Sure you’re okay, Donald?”
“Positive.” He smiled. “Want to run a race?” He went through the doorway into the corridor, car keys jangling in his hand.
They walked in silence for a few moments, Anne glancing occasionally at Donald’s profile. Finally she said, “I have an idea, Donald. Why don’t we have dinner tonight? We could drive up to St. Helena, go to St. George. Or we could just go to my place. I’ve got a roast, and I could pick up some wine. You look as if you could use a good meal. How does that sound?”
Donald slowed his pace a little and lifted one hand to massage a temple. “Oh, I don’t know, Anne. I’ve got a truckload of book reports to read and I... well, I’m very tired.”
They’d reached the glass doors that led to the parking lot, and Donald was already reaching out to push the door open when Anne lightly touched his elbow and stopped walking. He half turned to her. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible, even though there were only a few other people walking quietly about them.
“Donald... please?”
He looked down at her sharply angled face, her narrow nose, the fine crinkles around brown eyes that looked out through large, tinted glasses. The glasses had a very sexy, intelligent effect on her face. She had some gray hairs among the shiny black ones, but he thought they added dignity rather than age.
“Please, because I think we should talk. I really do. And I’d... well, I’d just like you to, you know? We haven’t gotten together for... Have I done anything, Donald?” She was moving her head back and forth nervously, something she did unconsciously, but something with which Donald had become familiar.
“No, Anne, you’ve done nothing. It’s just me. I’m very tired. I haven’t been—” He froze, glanced at his wrist, and scowled angrily when he saw that he’d left his watch at home. “God, what time is it?”
“Quarter after one.”
“Shit, I’ve got a class.” He quickly handed her his keys. “Here, take my car. I’ll be in my office when you get back. Bring the keys by.”
“Dinner?” she asked hopefully as he hurried down the hall.
“We’ll talk later,” he said over his shoulder, then disappeared around the comer.
As she went out to the parking lot, Anne thought that, even when rushed, Donald moved very slowly these days.
* * *
“This kindness will I show—
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond; and, in a merry sport
If you pay me not on such a day.
In such a place, such sum or sums as are
Express’d in the condition, let the forfeit
