Faerie Tale (17 page)

Then the boy was dancing around her in a circle, all the while playing on his pipes, spinning like Pan at a bacchanal. Gabbie watched the boy’s shoulders and back while he spun, young muscles cleanly outlined under the skin. The scent of wildflowers, honey, and spices assailed her nostrils as the boy moved closer and closer to her. God, he was beautiful, she thought, as she felt his nearness. When he spun, she could see that despite the mad dance, his erection was still there, a homage to her loveliness. Gabbie was overwhelmed with desire for this boy. Her own body became a thing unto itself, alive with awareness; each fiber of muscle sought to bend and twist, to flex and release, and the dance was joined. Her skin was electric, her hair flying around her like a dark halo. Her nipples were hardened to a painful state and her stomach and groin were awash in damp heat. A distant voice deep within screamed in terror, pleading with her to flee. She dismissed that voice.

Without knowing how he had come to stand before her, Gabbie was vaguely aware of his hands unbuttoning her shirt and felt the cool air against her breasts, as his tongue lightly darted against her cheek. Her body tensed, suddenly coiling like a spring, and then he lightly touched her left breast. She exploded in a flash of wet heat, her body releasing in a wild uncontrolled spasm.

Gabbie’s knees went weak and she began to collapse, but a surprisingly powerful arm encircled her, holding her upright as if she were a child. Her skin was drenched, as perspiration coursed down her, and she gasped for air.
In a distant corner of her mind the conscious being named Gabbie suddenly cringed in terror, as her body went out of control, becoming a thing apart. She felt her fall turned into a gentle descent to the ground. She shuddered as waves of pleasure coursed through her, numbing her last shred of volition. Softly he said, “Come, young beauty, come, and let me gift thee with delights.” He bent over and kissed her. And then he drank her soul.

He deftly unbuttoned the fly of her jeans. His hand traced circles of fire across her stomach and her breath caught in her throat. He lowered his head and kissed her breasts and she felt the spring inside her groin winding tightly again. Her mind was overcome by hot wet longings and she couldn’t think. He slipped his hand below the elastic of her panties and between her legs. Gabbie shook and thrashed and bucked like a wild animal, sounds of primitive pleasure erupting from her lips.

Trapped within herself, isolated from her own body, Gabbie’s mind was smothering. And through that palpable heat she could see images, a kaleidoscope of memories, brilliant colors scattered behind her eyes, dancing like translucent colored beads swirling in blinding light. She could see every man who had ever attracted her, each remembered in detail. They stood before her, all aroused and ready, each an object of her desire, each content to wait upon her whim. From her days at school she remembered a stallion ready to mount a mare, and the laughter of the girls as they watched one of the stable men holding the stallion’s huge member and trying to guide it into the brood mare while not getting stepped on by the inflamed animal. The giggles were transformed into sighs and moans of passion as the girls suddenly shared the act with the mare. Then the girls were surrounding Gabbie, and the hated shower in the gym was transformed into a sensual arena, as firm young bodies writhed in the hot steam and glistened under the blue lights. Desires undreamed of rose inside and she lusted to caress those slender bodies, to explore their moist mystery, and to taste their lips. Red lights burned—no, fire, she could now see—and a giant of a man stood revealed
before her. His arms flexed as he pounded upon an anvil, his perfect body drenched in sweat. Wayland, she thought. Then she knew the boy was beside her, his tongue probing the soft contours of her stomach.

Through a crimson haze of her own pounding blood, she could see the youth moving to position himself over her. His face blurred and shifted and for an instant another gazed down upon her, one whose aspect was madness made solid by a demented artist. A face of cruel beauty regarded her, then that face lowered to meet hers. His hot breath was as sweet as mulled cider, his thrusting tongue hinting at peppercorn sharpness. His kiss seared her lips; his touch shocked her skin, and pleasure mounted to levels of intensity beyond her capacity to endure. The burning wet heat between her legs became electric, and as she climbed new heights of desire, the gratification of that desire remained just beyond her reach. Seeking unobtainable release, Gabbie crossed the boundary between passion and torment. Desire fled as, in that instant, pleasure turned to pain.

Gabbie knew agony. And terror engulfed her. Fear profound and uncontrolled, the knowledge that she stood poised at a point of being lost beyond redemption, swept over her, carrying her beyond concerns of flesh and passion; she verged on becoming lost in spirit. Within her own mind she screamed out in terror, but her lips only moaned in pleasure, as her body remained a thing apart from her. Trapped within herself, she knew this was nothing of love. Love was a giving thing and this was a taking, a ripping away of something precious. Gabbie screamed again in her mind, but her body only made hoarse sounds of sexual satisfaction.

The youth attacked her with animal fury, his teeth and nails leaving fire upon her white skin, each nip and scratch eliciting a yelp of pleasure. Deep within herself, Gabbie shrank away in fear, a spectator to her own body, so mindless in its grotesque lust that even this pain became a delight. Silently, inwardly, she wept in mortal terror. Gabbie felt the boy’s hands work perverted magic upon her flesh and knew he was about to take her. And
she knew that once he had her, she would never return to the world she had known. For, deep within herself, she knew that beyond this pleasure and pain lay only death.

Even as the passion and terror mounted toward climax, a sound intruded, and that distant, trapped part of Gabbie’s mind turned toward the sound. Someone called her name. It was a distant voice, but coming closer. Then she heard a familiar voice call, “Gabbie?” Searing agony passed through her groin, feeling like an electric shock applied to flesh too sensitive to endure the most gentle caress. She arched and twisted as if current passed into her body, silently gasping, unable even to scream so intense was the jolt of energy. Yet even at that instant she knew this was but a promise of the full measure of agony yet to come. She could only silently whimper as waves of heat and pain raced to consume her, and she understood that she would endure them for an eternity before death arrived.

Then the red heat vanished and the pain remained. Gabbie felt something akin to a cascade of frigid water pour over her feverish body. Her heart seized up and her breath froze within her as she went rigid. Then her heart resumed beating, and a single gasping breath drove slivers of ice into her lungs. She lay cold and sick, her ravaged body shuddering in reaction to the wrenching transition from sweltering heat to icy darkness. Something was removed from her, leaving her adrift upon a frigid jet sea, the pounding in her ears the sound of distant breakers smashing upon ebon rocks. In that lightless arctic ocean she floated. The first sensation to intrude into this blackness was a smell. Damp earth. No longer did her head reel from sweet fragrances; now she smelled the richness of loam, and the blend of wood and leaf fragrances, the odor of grasses and the musk of a distant vixen, all carried on the cool night air. In an uncoordinated, tentative way, her mind was rejoined with her body. She became aware of a trembling, a sensation somehow coming closer, until she realized it was her body shaking, her teeth chattering audibly. She moved her head, and the pain shot behind her eyes, making her
cry out. Then it was light, almost blinding. “What!” said the distant voice. “Gabbie! Oh my God!”

Gabbie felt the inky haze lifting. She blinked and shook her head. The terror had vanished, as if someone chased it away, but much of the pain and the terrible cold remained and she couldn’t stop shivering. Then Jack was standing over her.

He put down the lantern, and she turned her head away from the blinding light. “Oh God, what’s going on?” he said in a hoarse whisper. Her eyes refused to focus and she could only vaguely sense Jack’s words; their meaning slipped away before she could apprehend them. The fragments of thought began to coalesce, and she looked down. Her body was near-nude, her shirt unbuttoned and pulled back, her jeans and panties yanked down around one ankle. She was lying in the mud alongside the path toward the Troll Bridge in the woods. Her breasts were covered with teeth marks and scratches, as was her stomach. Her nipples were throbbing from the cold, and pain shot up into her groin each time she moved. Gabbie became aware of her damp hair matted on her head and face, obscuring her vision, and she feebly attempted to brush dark strands of it from her eyes. She blinked in confusion and began to cry. She weakly reached toward Jack. He said, “Oh God, Gabbie, what happened?” as he cradled her in his arms.

Finally she spoke. “Jack?” Her voice was a dry half-whisper.

Gabbie felt him quickly pick her up. As he bore her back to the house, she felt her control slip away. The last hint of the soul-shaking terror and the memory of the insane, blinding lust vanished, replaced by a revulsion so deep it caused her mind to knot in torment. She cried, deep sobs racking her body with uncontrollable trembling. Her stomach knotted a moment later and she turned her head and vomited. Between sobs she whispered, “Jack, I’m so scared.” She was still crying when he carried her into the kitchen, just before she slipped into unconsciousness.

Gabbie blinked. Her head pounded and her mouth was dry. “Water,” she said, and her voice was a dry croak. Gloria poured her a glass from a pitcher and helped her lift up to drink. Gabbie’s head reeled with the effort, as she was overcome with dizziness. The water was cool and fresh, and Gabbie drank deeply. Quickly the dizziness passed and she took in her surroundings. She was in her own bedroom.

Gloria stood beside the bed, Phil just behind her. “You okay, honey?” asked Gloria.

“Sure, I guess.” Gabbie smiled weakly. “What happened?”

Gloria glanced at Phil, who said, “We were hoping you could tell us. Don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?” Gabbie asked.

Gloria sat on a chair next to the bed. “You went into the barn about seven-thirty yesterday. Jack showed up at eight and I thought you’d come up here to your room. When I discovered you weren’t here, Jack grabbed a lantern and went to the barn. You were nowhere to be found, but he saw footprints in the muddy ground, heading across the meadow toward the woods. He followed them and found you on the path.”

Gabbie’s brow furrowed as she thought. “I … I remember going to turn the hay for the horses, and I was thinking.…” Her voice trailed off. “I can’t remember anything else.” Suddenly she was visited by dread; but she couldn’t identify the source of that feeling. It was only a nameless and numbing terror. The color drained from her cheeks and she whispered, “What happened?”

Phil said, “Honey, someone tried to rape you.”

Gabbie fell silent. Somehow that didn’t seem possible. She thought that if someone tried to rape you, you’d remember. Softly she said, “Rape?” She looked at her fa
ther and saw that his face was a mask of controlled anger. For the first time since she had come to live with him, she saw her father truly enraged. “Someone tried to rape me?”

“You were pretty beat up, honey,” said Gloria. “And you were burning up with a fever. You’d been left.…”

Gabbie looked down at herself, as if trying to see through the covers and the T-shirt she wore, as if trying to see inside her own body. “Did … ? Was …?”

Gloria took Gabbie’s hand. “The doctor will be here soon. Look, we can talk about it more later. You need your rest.”

Gabbie lay back against the pillows. “I’m not tired. Just confused.”

Phil said, “You don’t remember anything?”

Gabbie felt her fears diminish. The possibility of rape seemed somehow distant. She felt bruised and battered, but somehow not.… She didn’t know what she felt. Then she said, “Jack?”

“He’s downstairs, waiting,” said Phil. “He’s been here all night, slept on the couch, if he slept at all.”

“The boys?” Suddenly Gabbie was concerned for her brothers. If some maniac was on the loose, they might be in danger.

“They’re okay.”

“Can I see Jack?”

“Sure,” said Gloria, rising from the chair beside the bed. Phil kissed Gabbie and followed his wife from the room. Almost instantly Jack was beside Gabbie. He looked haggard, unshaven, and rumpled. He smiled down at her. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” she said, returning his smile. “Don’t I get a kiss?”

He leaned over and kissed her. “Are you all right?”

She said, “I … don’t know. Ah, I don’t remember much.” She studied his face and saw he was working hard to maintain a light manner. Behind the soft words and quick smile, he was seething and deeply troubled. “Are you okay?”

The mask broke and tears gathered in his eyes. His
voice became thick with emotion. “No, I … I’m not doing real good with this.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not a violent person, Gabbie, but I swear if I get my hands on that animal, I’ll kill him.”

The strength of his emotions startled Gabbie. “Hey! Take it easy.”

Jack’s control was lost and tears ran down his cheeks. He took her hand in his and looked at her. “I … I love you, you know?”

She smiled. “I know. I love you, too.”

He sat on the bedside and leaned over, kissing her again. “If anything happened … I’d go nuts, you know?” he whispered.

“Ya, I know,” she whispered back, holding his head so his cheek rested against hers, ignoring the rasp of his beard stubble. At that moment she felt the bond between them and knew that whatever doubts she had felt were gone. There was a long silence, then she said, “It’s funny, but I don’t feel raped.” Jack stiffened, and she said, “Hey, calm down, Jack. I’m serious. I feel … tired, and bruised, but … somehow I don’t think.…” She looked at him. “I think I’d know.” Her eyes closed as she kissed Jack. She loosed her arms from around his neck and he sat back. “Something happened,” she said softly. Her voice lowered to a near whisper as fragments of images flashed past. “But … it wasn’t what they think.”