Trifecta (80 page)

"In 1608 William Perkins viewed witchcraft as a covenant
with Satan and urged the execution of all witches.  It was believed that the witch
owed her magical powers to having made a deliberate pact with the devil.  In return
she could wreck supernatural vengeance upon her enemies.  So witchcraft became the
greatest of all sins, because it involved the renunciation of God."

Suzanne cited the damage done by witches in medieval times,
before 1500.  There were reported to be two or three deaths, a broken leg, a withered
arm, several destructive tempests and some bewitched genitals.  Even the great philosopher,
Aristotle, had believed that a glance from a menstruating woman could tarnish a
mirror.

The witches were believed to have physical peculiarities;
the witch's mark, hair that could not be cut off, the inability to leave a shadow
or to shed tears.  A witch's eyes had a special power of fascination.  A man believed
to be a witch in 1646, Cherrie of Thrapston, died in jail because he wished his
neighbor's tongue might rot off.  And so it had.

But in truth, records of old revealed two facts about accused
witches.  They were poor and usually women.  And they were believed to have made
a pact with the devil, who promised them riches.  There were so many women tortured
and killed that the persecution is now called the 'Woman's Holocaust.'

Vincent didn't remember much about her description of the
difference between sorcery and witchcraft, but it was clear that Omar was not a
witch.  He fit the description of Sorcerer; a person who deliberately uses maleficent
magic, the division of destructive black magic. 

Vincent knew that voodoo curses could have a dramatic and
even fatal effect, because he had personally witnessed it in Haiti.  Actually, the
shock of being cursed could cause a decrease in blood pressure and produce dehydration
and ultimately death.  There were rational explanations for all of the beliefs in
black magic.  A person might think he had been possessed by an evil spirit.  This
belief could cause the hysterical fits and the obscene blasphemous ravings they
seemed prone to.  Vincent believed that the priest simply de-programmed the victim
during an exorcism.

Even while Vincent was providing his own rational explanations
for maleficent magic, he found himself induced into a paralytic state while he listened
to Suzanne.  He felt himself too dulled to care when she began taking off her clothes. 
Vincent watched her as she stood up to take off the long skirt with the slit up
the front.  Some part of his mind was saying that he should at least protest.  Another
part said it did not matter.  So he watched with an incurious gaze until she was
totally naked.

Suzanne seemed enormously strong when she led him to the
bed and pushed him down on it.  The whole situation had a dreamlike quality, as
if he was in a state suspended between wakefulness and sleep.  He did not seem capable
of movement and did not care in the least when she unclothed him rapidly and lay
down beside him.

His trance-like state seemed matched by Suzanne, who was
behaving as though she had been programmed to operate like a mechanical creature. 
She was definitely the aggressor in the improbable scene.  She manipulated his body
parts until he had the required erection and then she got on top of him.  A part
of his mind knew she was not aroused, but she enclosed him easily, as though she
had been sexually stirred.  She made the correct movements until Vincent achieved
a release.  It was not the least bit erotic or tender. 

Then she got up, put on her cloths and left.  He felt like
crying in some deep part of his mind as he watched her go, right before he passed
out.

Now Vincent felt something much worse than the blinding
headache which had awakened him that morning.  It was a pain so deep and traumatic
he desired oblivion.  Ambushed by severe depression he retreated to the bed, pulling
the covers over his head.

A fetal position with the covers over him induced sleep
for a few minutes, and then Vincent had the horrible and alarming thought that if
he felt this bad, how might Suzanne be feeling?  He had no doubt that she had somehow
been induced to perform sexually with him.

He had been so involved in misery that he hadn't even thought
of her.  He was extremely worried about his professional reputation, thinking that
he didn't even like young women for sex.  He had never desired them.  He enjoyed
them intellectually, and truthfully loved to look at their fresh complexions and
taut young bodies, but the thought of bedding one was repugnant.  Suzanne was young
enough to be his own grown-up daughter.  Vincent liked sex with older women who
desired him for his intellectual capacity more than his, he had to admit, rather
pathetic body.

During the time it took him to dress, he remembered with
shame that he had met Suzanne's parents before the trip.  After an evening with
him they had been reassured that Suzanne would be safe.  Even then Vincent had felt
a little ashamed because he knew he would be using Suzanne's sweet appearance and
innocence to lure a man whom he had heard was a real devil with women.

Vincent went out on the balcony.  He walked softly to Suzanne's
room.  Her door was unlatched, but the curtains were drawn so he pushed through
them to get into her room.  Suzanne was lying on the bed, totally naked, as if she
had never awakened from the night before.  She was lying on her back with arms and
legs flung randomly.  He suddenly became alarmed, she was so quiet, and ran over
and put his fingers over her carotid artery to make sure she was alive.  He had
drunk only a little of the tea and it had produced a profound effect.  She had drunk
many cups.  He tried not to look at her body, but recognized that it was her naked
parts which he had seen visions of upon awakening.  He covered her with a sheet.

Vincent ran back to his own room and ordered two pots of
coffee, drumming his fingers until it arrived. 

The scalding coffee sloshed on his bare feet as he ran
back to Suzanne's room, but he hardly noticed the pain.  He knew he should call
the hotel doctor, but wanted to wake her up and get her dressed first.

Suzanne lay in the same position.  She was breathing steadily
and very slowly.  He poured the coffee and sat on the edge of the bed.  He tapped
her lightly on her cheek and murmured her name over and over again.  It seemed hours
before she frowned irritably and told him to stop it.  Then she went back to sleep.

Vincent made sure she was covered as he pulled her by her
shoulders to a sitting position.  She opened her eyes, finally, and he held out
the cup of coffee.  She took the cup and drank it all, murmuring how thirsty she
was, so Vincent lowered her to the bed again and ran to get her water.  When he
returned she was asleep.

It took over an hour to wake her up and get her dressed,
which she did under the covers, as he handed her articles of clothing.

"What happened?  Why am I so tired?" Suzanne
kept saying.  She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, and she was
as cold as he remembered being when he had awakened.  She shivered and drank a whole
pot of coffee.  She didn't remember the night before, but Vincent was afraid she
would soon.

By that time it was black outside.  Night had fallen over
the island.  He opened the draperies and saw a moon that was almost full lighting
up the beach.  The tropical palm trees were etched black against the ocean in front
of the window, outlined by moonlight on the sea.

Vincent took Suzanne outside and they walked along the
path behind the hotel to the beach.  He wanted to give her some food, neither of
them had eaten the entire day, but first he had to get her moving so she wouldn't
fall asleep in the restaurant.  She kept saying that all she wanted to do was take
a little nap.

As they walked on the empty beach, Vincent told Suzanne
that she had done nothing wrong.  She had been bewitched, probably hypnotized, and
had also been given some powerful drugs.  He kept emphasizing that she had done
nothing to be ashamed of.  She looked at him like he was crazy.  They walked rapidly
for about fifteen minutes.  Then they went into the coffee shop to have a late meal.

It was when Suzanne was finishing her Mahi-Mahi sandwich
that her eyes opened very wide and she looked straight at him, frowning, "Oh,
my God.  I just had the strangest idea that I did do something horrible, Vincent."

"No, you didn't."

"The strangest dream."

"Tell me."

"No."  Suzanne spoke loudly.  It was obvious
she was at least partially remembering what had happened.  She was also trying to
repress it and probably felt too embarrassed to say anything.

"That man, Omar, tricked you.  He gave you drugs. 
I'm going to have to deprogram you.  Hypnotize you myself.  Do you trust me?"

"We just talked."

"No.  Much more went on than talking with Omar.  You
told me some of it yourself.  Do you trust me to hypnotize you?"

"Of course, Vincent.  But nothing happened."

"You know, deep down, that he did some vile things
to you.  I'll help you get it in perspective.  Then I have to get those tea bags
to a lab.  Oh my God!"

"What?"

"I have to run upstairs.  I'll be right back."

Vincent took off at a fast trot, but when he got to his
room he was too late.  The room service staff noticed he had finally left the room
and had cleaned it.  The tea bags were gone.

T
wo continuous years of virginity was much too
long.  Tonight was the night.  Michelle wondered why she had to talk herself into
it.  She should want to.  Then she brushed the thought away.  It was too late anyway,
Omar expected her at his apartment right now.  She looked in the mirror.  The flowered
silk pants suit was beautiful.  Her hair was up in its usual bun on top of her head. 
She told herself she looked sophisticated.

She told herself she was not shaking, although the tremor
was perceptible in her mirror.  Her light skin seemed whiter than usual and she
used lipstick so she wouldn't appear so pale.

Michelle took a deep breath when she got to his door. 
This felt like a dentist visit for root canal work.  Running back to her apartment
and making an excuse not to see him would be cowardly.  She had already reneged
on their lunch date earlier, calling him from the office, saying she was tied up. 
She knocked firmly.

When Omar opened the door a blast of cold air hit her. 
She was fascinated and vaguely repelled as she stepped inside.  There was a fire
in a large marble fireplace, but that was the only warmth.  The color scheme of
his apartment, white and black was starkly modern.  The splendidly composed, elegant
atmosphere reminded her of a morgue.  She shivered because the grandeur was physically
cold, even with the warmth from the fire.  It was at least twenty degrees cooler
than the balmy, tropical temperature outside.  The living room was enclosed entirely
by windows,  which showcased a spectacular panorama of the Waikiki area and the
blue ocean beyond.

"Come in.  Come in." Omar had on his devastating. 
"You'd like a Bloody Mary without the vodka?"

Michelle forced her frozen face to smile.  He had remembered
her choice in the bar at the Ilikai Hotel.  "Maybe something a little warmer."

"My choice exactly.  How about some herbal tea?" 
He was rubbing his hands together and smiling.  "It is rather chilly.  I'll
turn up the heat."

Michelle watched him adjust the thermostat.  Omar was debonair
in a casual black sweater and dark pants.  She wondered what was wrong with her. 
He was a nice man.  He was handsome as hell.  Why were her hands clammy cold and
her mouth so dry?  A panic attack would ruin her plans.

He had already made the tea, Michelle realized, when he
came out of the kitchen almost immediately with the pot and cups on a silver tray.

"There now, we can sit in front of the fire.  You'll
be toasty warm in a minute."

Omar indicated a couch on a white fluffy rug by the fire
and they sat down.  Michelle looked at his face in the firelight.  The dark eyebrows
were arched expressively and he was looking at her expectantly.  His eyes were exceedingly
black.  She felt again that he could see into her very soul.  It was not a nice
feeling.

The tea had a spicy taste of cinnamon and nutmeg, with
a touch of lemon, and Michelle felt the welcome warmth moving all the way down to
her stomach.  She felt she had to explain why she had her boss, Nakamura, at her
apartment the night before.  She didn't want him to think she was promiscuous.

As she was explaining about Nakamura, Michelle could hear
a telephone ringing from behind a closed door off of the living room.  Someone must
have picked it up, or an answering machine did.  Then the enormous, scary looking
giant, Samson Stoker, came from that room.  He stood in the doorway, appearing apologetic. 
Behind Samson, Michelle could see that the room was filled with business equipment,
computers, faxes and file cabinets.  She wondered what Omar did for a living as
he apologized, saying he had to take care of a business matter. 

When Omar disappeared inside the home office, she wondered
how the two men communicated.  Samson had just looked at Omar and he seemed to understand
immediately that there was business to attend to.

Michelle could hear what sounded like a garbled argument
from inside the office.  Since Samson was unable to speak, she knew it was Omar
yelling at someone on the phone.  It sounded like he was talking in rapid Spanish
for a long time.  When his voice softened, the sound was menacing.

Omar opened the door to the living room.  He was faced
away from her, talking softly to Samson, but Michelle could hear him.  "If
they're late again on a shipment from Columbia, we'll close down their business. 
He must have used it all himself, if he can't pay.  And he knows the consequences. 
You can travel to Bogota, if it becomes necessary."

Michelle felt a sharp tingle of alarm zip down her spine. 
Omar had momentarily demonstrated an icy demeanor she had never seen before, because
he had now closed the door to his office and was coming toward her, smiling charmingly. 
She wondered if Samson was his muscle.  It almost sounded like Omar had made a death
threat.  Maybe he was a drug dealer, if he was receiving shipments from Columbia. 

If the man Omar had been speaking to on the telephone had
used the shipment himself, he must have ingested it or cheated Omar by selling it
himself.  How else could he use it? 

Michelle decided she was out of her mind, planning to let
Omar touch her intimately.  She was totally uninformed about him.  It would be crazy
to go through with her plan tonight.  With that thought came a feeling of complete,
profound relief.  Of course, the next thought was that she must really be mentally
imbalanced because Omar was such a beautiful and charming man.

Omar took her arm and pulled her up from the couch, smiling,
and said he wanted to show her his Whirlybird.  He led her outside the condominium,
through sliding glass doors, and to the platform where he kept the fragile looking
machine.  She had never even been close to a helicopter before.  It looked like
a high-tech insect, and totally incapable of flight. 

"Shall we take a ride?"

Michelle was unaware that she was grinning as he helped
her climb in.

Omar explained how the machine worked as he took off, pulling
up on the collective pitch stick with his right hand.  He demonstrated how he could
hover, move forward, backwards and sideways by controlling the angle of the rotor
blades. 

It was such a fun, exhilarating experience, listening to
the whirling thump move faster and faster and then the smooth liftoff, watching
Omar fly that machine, sitting beside him and zipping around the beautiful island
of Oahu, that she decided she was going to let him seduce her.  That was that. 

As they reentered the apartment there was a discrete knock
on the front door.  Omar ushered in two men wearing spotless white uniforms.  They
carried enough silver covered dishes to feed a large crowd in white gloved hands. 
Wonderful aromas wafted into the room as the caterers placed the covered platters
on the table, lit the candles, and then left.

"I hope you like Chinese food," Omar said.  "It's
a combination of Szechuan and Mandarin, prepared by one of the finest restaurants
in the islands."  Omar seated her at the formal candle-lit table in the dining
room.  "I do this at least once a week instead of going out to eat."

Omar served her a portion from each bowl and handed her
ivory chopsticks.  He handled the beautifully carved utensils expertly, like he
had been doing it all his life.  The food was delicious and Michelle could feel
herself relaxing.  When she discreetly tried to find out Omar's occupation he kept
changing the subject, putting more food in her plate or asking her questions about
her own work.  She still didn't know anything about him. 

The food had warmed Michelle up some more, but the air
temperature seemed even more chilly.  Goose-bumps were sprouting on her arms but
she put it down to her own psychosomatic problems.  She was feeling cold because
she was apprehensive.  Omar suggested she try another tea after dinner.  At least
he hadn't had the bad taste to suggest anything alcoholic. 

They moved to the couch in front of the fire again.  Michelle
knew the seduction would start in a few minutes.  She fiercely longed to be out
of there, afraid she couldn't go through with it.  Her heart was thumping much too
fast and she wanted to run, screaming out the door.  She would live a virginal life
forever.  It was an okay way to exist.  She would never get a horrible venereal
disease and she could adopt pets to keep her company in her old age.  She couldn't
have children anyway.  Yes, abstinence was the intelligent way to go.

Michelle sat perfectly still and concentrated on making
air go in and out of her nose.  Omar handed her a cup of tea and she had that to
concentrate on too; she could stir it, swirl it and sip, putting off the inevitable,
but when she tasted the tea it was distinctly licorice and she almost spit it back
into the cup reflexively.  She had hated licorice ever since Bobby, her brother,
had dared her to eat an entire package of Licorice Twists when she was ten years
old.  She remembered her mother holding her head over the toilet, later, when she
had regurgitated the entire thick black mess.  Ever since that incident she couldn't
even stand the smell.  To be polite, she went through the motions of pretending
to drink.

Oh shit, Michelle thought, as she saw him deliberately
put down his cup.  He said she didn't seem to be enjoying her tea and she said,
yes she was, it was delicious, and took a tiny sip.  She felt like throwing up. 
Really, if he didn't hurry up, do it and get it over with, she might really throw
up all over him.  The tea made her nauseous.

Oh God, he was sliding nearer.  This felt so alien, his
hands giving her electric shocks on her arms as he pulled her next to him.  Jolts
went zipping down her arms, a nasty buzzing feeling that jangled nerve endings. 
She tried to pull away, but he was oblivious and started stroking the back of her
neck.  She could hear tiny electrical sizzles in her hair.

Michelle gritted her teeth and remembered she had made
a solemn promise to herself.  To both of them, because Omar was certainly aware
that this would happen tonight.  Of course, she had to expect the first time, after
such a long abstinence, would be scary.  The problem was, she was repulsed by the
whole situation.  She was uncomfortable and nervous and her brain repeatedly, annoyingly
reminded her that she didn't know this man at all.

Omar was being gentle and she repeated to herself, like
a litany, that he was a nice man who didn't want to hurt her.  She forced herself
to slide closer to him.  His hands were moving up to her shoulders.  The electrical
charges were not shocking her anymore.  It must have been the cool air that had
caused the phenomenon.

Michelle forced herself to put her arms around his neck. 
His hair felt crispy and alive when she touched it.  The back of his neck was warm,
but the hands on her back were freezing, making her shiver.

Omar must have felt the shiver.  He murmured something
about her being very responsive.  Michelle was so surprised she made the mistake
of opening her eyes.  She could see his face inches from hers, his eyes appeared
to be the whole universe.  The impression that his eyes could suck the soul out
of her was a little exaggerated, she chided herself, but they were black and exotic
up close.  And wide open.  She again had the impression that there were no pupils. 
The total eyeball, from inches away, appeared consistently black.

She closed her eyes and willed herself relaxed again, telling
herself she was a pathetic chicken-shit, a lily-livered coward.  Every time Omar
took his hand away from a physical part, and then replaced it, she got an electrical
jolt.  Finally she had to mention it.

"Yin and Yang," Omar said, kissing the side of
her neck.  His lips were freezing, too.

"Pardon?"

"It means we are truly opposites."

Michelle pushed him away and sat up.  "I don't understand."

"It's natural.  Nothing to be alarmed about.  You
are truly a good, sweet person." 

Then he started the assault again.

Did he mean he wasn't a nice person, or that he was male
and she was female and that was the yin and the yang?  Michelle didn't know much
about Oriental philosophy, but she tried to remember as his hands drifted over her. 
It was a distancing ploy, her mind trying to analyze when it should be turning off
and concentrating on physical sensation.

This whole thing was taking much too long, Michelle decided
finally.  She wanted it over and done with.  She had to stop being so scared.  Gently
disengaging from Omar, she took the pins out of her hair and let it fall softly
down her back.  Then she started taking off her blouse, telling Omar that she had
been injured with a knife.  She had a scar.  He nodded, but didn't say anything.

Michelle's fingers were trembling.  Something about the
whole thing seemed unnatural, even inhuman.  She had a deep feeling that she should
not be doing this, which had nothing to do with old-fashioned guilt.  She was a
mature woman with several affairs in her past.  But there was something wrong. 
Something alien and evil.

Omar was helping her, the tiny slippery pearl buttons on
her silk blouse no mystery to him.  His fingers were long as a spider's, but they
were nimble.  He was helping her out of her  silk lounging pants.

Omar reached over and pulled her against him again.  She
felt totally unresponsive, like a wooden doll he was manipulating.  Now she was
shaking and could feel tears running down her cheeks.  She couldn't understand why
she felt so sad, but knew that she had to get out of there.

"I'm truly sorry.  I just can't do this," Michelle
said.  He still held her, looking down into her eyes.  She thought she saw worms
wiggling in the reflection from his eyes.  She thought she saw swarms of insects
within the depths. 

"Give yourself a little time.  Have some more tea."

Michelle shook her head and wiped away the tears on her
cheeks.