The Storyteller (28 page)

Emily’s face reflected outraged shock.

“You fucker...”

With her bikini still halfway down, she ran to her bedroom and closed the door, pained more by the refusal than her punishment. From beyond her room, she heard the bathroom’s door close and listened to the loud cries as Van did exactly what he broadcasted.

Instinctively, she pulled her own bikini all the way off, lifted herself to her knees, and fingered herself to a climax in kind.

Such was their relationship when the truly bizarre compulsions took over.

In September, Van returned up north to the University of Akron, while Emily went to Malone in Canton. Being apart was worse misery than any spanking games, but they still managed to see each other when they could. Whenever and where ever they could get by with it, they dove into carnal knowledge of each other.

It was during Thanksgiving break Emily suggested the unthinkable to her lover.

“I know we aren’t true relatives. Let’s both leave here and get married.”

“Married?”

Van’s expression said it all and it broke her heart in an instant. “Married? Are you nuts? We can’t do that.”

The rejection was crushing, but Emily hid it from her family. There were no further spankings or secret romps throughout the days they spent together, and Van was clearly being evasive.

The truth was, Emily did want to marry her stepbrother. There was no denying it, and the fact that Van didn’t feel the same way made her all the more determined. Hotter sex? Harder spankings? A secret trip away together as lovers rather than stepfamily? There were many possibilities going through her mind.

The first light snow hit in the second weekend of December, and that was when Emily went to Akron to beg her stepbrother to reconsider her idea. He brushed her off and walked away.

“You can’t hide your feelings,” she pleaded. “We love each other!”

“I’ve already been seeing someone else up here,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be glad to spank you and fuck you. In fact, I owe you a real hard spanking for this silly idea of yours, but that’ll come later. As for the rest, get this marriage shit out of your head. It won’t work.”

Then a strange thing happened that would change everyone’s life.

Assuming his sister had headed down to Canton, crying all the way and caught up in this stupid notion, he noticed something on the tree by his car in the dorm parking lot. He had parked at the end of a row in hopes of having prevented any dings to his doors via other students with their clunkers and their carelessness.

On the tree, Emily hung the black scarf she had been wearing earlier.

“Idiot,” Van coughed out, as he took the scarf and threw it in his automobile. “Whatever you’re trying to tell me won’t work. This marriage thing’s impossible. It won’t happen.”

That night, he learned what the scarf left hanging by the tree had meant. On I-77, Emily had driven off the road. Everyone thought it an accident, but inside he knew better. She was dead.

It was at that time he realized just how callous he had been. True, the wedding idea was a farfetched dream. True, to do so would have alienated the rest of the family and many friends. True, they didn’t have the resources to run off as she suggested. True, they had a great time discovering each other, but she loved him more than he really loved her. That had become obvious.

“Damn you,” he cursed. “Damn you, you fool.”

He even cried, which he never did before. Guilt finally came as he thought not of normal times with his stepsister, but what the world would have deemed abnormal ones.

He remembered all the sex and especially the spankings. Though she had relished them at first, she had come to loathe them in the final days. Yet this was a part of him. He loved to watch her ass shake as he struck it with an assortment of objects. He loved to hear those cries. Then he realized, in his rejection of her proposal, he had delivered the greatest punishment of all.

It was at that moment, he decided he would take his own life and join her, hoping to be reunited in whatever mystical realm would embrace them.

Wrapping his sister’s scarf around his neck, he wrote a suicide note which he put in his back pocket and thought to climb to the roof of one of the many buildings, jumping off.

“Ow. Ow. Ow! Ow!”

He thought of that one great belt whipping on his stepsister, with her bikini bottom up and how red her ass was when he forced her to pull things down.

Suddenly, he was hard.

He thought of that first time where they had gotten off together.

He thought of all the other times too.

At that point, he lost his nerve.

He tried to justify his actions by convincing himself it was his stepsister’s memories he was most concerned over, but in honesty it was his own self-preservation.

Walking back to the dorm room, he removed the scarf from his neck and dropped it in a garbage can.

The better thing to do was for him to mourn his sister, but never speak to anyone about their dark tryst together. The world would consider her death a tragic accident, with a college kid speeding too fast in a new car. He would go back to New Philadelphia when he earned his degree and do something with it. He would marry and become a wonderful family man. Then the memories of his black sins would be forgotten, if not forgiven. He would join a church and become an inspirational citizen. He would hide in plain sight.

Van was no more. Troy Vanderford had replaced that stupid kid forever.

Epilogue

Vanderford opened his eyes to find himself back in the coffee house, but there were vast changes. Carla Craig was gone, having taken the shoe box and the match covers with her. What had seemed like an eternity had been less than an hour, according to his watch, but he was baffled as to precisely what had happened. Had he been sitting here all this while like a zombie and no one noticed?

“Carla?” he muttered. “Miss Craig? Storyteller?”

It was then he saw something unnerving.

Seated at the table across from him were two very familiar forms.

Julia and her extraterrestrial lover were there, drinking coffee as well. Sensing he had spotted them, they turned their heads in his direction and nodded a greeting.

Next to them, Doctor Cubis made entries in a little pad. He rose from his work and gave a slight grin at Vanderford.

“You?” Vanderford whispered.

The anxiety in his voice grew louder.

“YOU!”

At another table was Loretta, sitting with her back to him, but evidently fresh from another film, as there was a pillow on her chair, cushioning her behind.

Rising, Vanderford eyed the door, knowing he had to make an escape.

“You should set up an appointment with me,” Cubis suggested, looking straight at him. “I usually only counsel women, but when the right man comes along...”

Vanderford bolted for the door, but as he did, he collided with Blair and Tamara, who were coming in. They must have reunited and perhaps were intending to meet Darren at this spot.

“Excuse you,” Tamara blurted out indignantly, but Vanderford paid her no mind.

“Asshole,” Blair snorted, even more angrily. “Look where you’re walking.”

Vanderford tore past them, his own breath heaving, and it was not from sexual arousal. It was then, by his car, he saw yet another familiar sight.

A black scarf hung on the limb of a tree planted in a decorative vase on the sidewalk.

“No. No. No. No...”

His mouth shot out the words like machine-gun fire.

“This isn’t real.”

He found his keys and entered his car with great difficulty, as fear overruled him. He cared nothing about Carla Craig or her perversions any longer. He had no wish to make his indiscretions known. He only wanted to leave and reach the safety of his home.

“Fuck this shit!”

He hadn’t used profanity in years, caught up in his cloak of righteous lies, but now was as good a time as any to revert back to his truer self. Van had returned, replacing Vanderford in an enveloping blanket of raw terror.

He could still see the menacing black scarf on the limb as he gunned the car and backed out of the parking space, luckily avoiding any collision. The street was unnaturally vacant.

“Fuck this shit.”

Vanderford slammed his foot down on the gas and accelerated, not caring who saw. No red lights. No police. No anything. He was heading for the safety of the house and family he wished he never would have left.

It was then he saw the reflection in the mirror and noted the stranger in the back seat.

“Good evening,” Leon Rainier announced in a horribly bad Bela Lugosi impersonation. He still hadn’t mastered it.

“As I said before, people know so little about vampires. We do cast reflections after all.”

From the sidewalk a short distance away, Carla watched in satisfaction as Vanderford’s speeding car veered off and crashed into a street lamp with deadly impact. Then there was nothing.

“Do you think it was wise sending Rainier?” came a voice behind her.

Benjamin Bennett approached from nothingness to re-enter the human world once more. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, looking downward at the shoe box held in her grasp and not the fatal wreck that had just taken place.

“Don’t you think we should have sent Emily instead?”

“Emily didn’t want to come any more,” she retorted. “Emily wants nothing more to do with her stepbrother, and can anyone blame her?”

“Still, sending Rainier was a bit extreme,” Bennett protested. “That Vanderford guy...”

Carla shook her head.

“That guy was an asshole. To hell with him.”

Turning, they started back down the sidewalk away from the crashed car and into the shadows.

Behind them a siren screamed, penetrating what had once been a quiet night.

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