The Sisters of Mercy.

-inspired by the Leonard Cohen song of the same name

*

The thin line of asphalt stretched into the distance, disappearing at the horizon but still stretching, unseen, into what could possibly be an eternity of dry, dusty desolation. The sun was going down. Soon, he would have to turn off, find a place where he could park, invisible to the cracked, virtually abandoned stretch of road down which he fled, to catch a couple of hours of sleep before resuming his desperate flight. He had only seen a couple of cars along this stretch, but he couldn't be careful enough. He could not be caught sleeping. If he was, he would never know it had happened, and no one would ever find his body.

His eyelids fluttered. How long had it been since he slept? He couldn't even remember. Maybe fifty hours, probably more. Running on adrenaline and amphetamines. Dangerous to be driving. Better to sleep. He blinked repeatedly, searching the horizon. No hills or depressions, no billboards, no abandoned diners, certainly no trees. The white noise of the motor was lulling him away to oblivion. Got to stay awake a little while longer.

Something in the distance, moving at the side of the road. No contrasting color, just movement. Probably the heat coming off the road. It's nothing.

No, it's there. Something tall, moving along the right shoulder. A person. Slim, long blond hair, female. Naked? No, not out here. Not exposed to the elements. Tight clothes, flesh tones. She couldn't be naked out here.

But she was. She was walking as if she had not a care in the world, naked and completely unselfconscious. Shapely, petite, tawny blond hair. Young, certainly no older than twenty-five, by the shape of that butt. Pert. Cute. He slowed down without thinking about it. All the fear, the life-preserving terror, was forgotten.

He pulled alongside the seductive mirage and slowed to keep her pace. She didn't acknowledge him, just kept walking. Full, perky breasts bounced slightly with her step, above her firm, trim belly. He leaned into the passenger seat to see her face. It was a sight that took his breath away. Perfect structure, a goddess and a whore and a princess and a biker chick and a makeup model and a heroine from some feminist folk tale all rolled into one. She wore a hint of a smile on her perfect lips, as if she knew a secret that would shock the whole world and she could barely contain herself from telling it.

"Hey," was all he could think to say to her. He was not surprised that this vision did not acknowledge such a pedestrian response. He had to think of something more inviting. His imagination was addled, though, by exhaustion and by the breathtaking beauty walking naked mere feet away from him. "Hey, lady, do you need some help?"

Without breaking stride, she turned her radiant face toward him and replied simply, "No." The smile remained, but she held his gaze.

"Look, it's a long way to the next town and I've got decent air conditioning. I could probably find a blanket or something for you to cover up with. Let me give you a ride."

At this, she stopped. He had to slam on the brakes, skidded a bit on the loose gravel at the edge of the worn road. She took a couple of steps and leaned down to look at him through the window, still with that strange smile. "Are you the one who is lost?" She sounded hopeful, like a child asking if she could have some ice cream. Her eyes were difficult to look into, they were so frank and innocent. His eyes began to evade hers.

"Look, uh..." Before he could complete his thought, she stepped forward and reached in the open passenger window. Her hand stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A tingling washed over him, a delicious chill. When it passed, he was relaxed, calmer.

"You are the one who is lost. I am Erato. I am the one who was sent for you. You must come with me." She opened the door and quickly hopped in, bumping him out of the way. He watched, stunned, as she closed the door and folded her hands in her lap, making no move to cover her nakedness. It was as if she didn't even realize she was nude, alone in a car with a strange man. "You must turn and go back. It's not far." She smiled, broader this time, and he automatically did as she told him.

After a minute, he began to regain his senses. "Are you cold? I could find a blanket."

"No, I'm fine." She sat still, but somehow bubbling with energy, as if she were a spring, coiled and ready to burst into action. Her inscrutable smile returned, but now there was a look of anticipation in her eyes. He wondered if he might have made a mistake stopping for her. She was obviously hopped up on something.

"Where are we going?" He asked, after another couple of minutes of silence.

"It's not far," she repeated. "You'll see it after this bend."

Sure enough, it wasn't far. A couple more minutes of silence, and a turnoff appeared. It wasn't there before, he was certain. He would have seen it. Maybe he had dozed momentarily along this stretch. But no, he remembered seeing this curve before. This turnoff had appeared out of thin air. Maybe he was dozing now.

"Here," she said, pointing at the phantom trail. He slowed and turned the wheel.

The trail was nothing more than two worn tire tracks through the dry scrub of the desert, rough and uneven. It curved gradually back in the direction he had originally come, and led off down an incline. They drove silently, her smile unwavering, as the terrain grew rougher and the slope grew steeper. He could make out a low outcropping of rock in the fading daylight, far in the distance. He switched on the headlamps. "No, turn them off. You can see by the moon." He looked at her and began to protest, but her lack of concern and the overall absurdity of the situation made him think better of it. He switched the lights back off.

As they neared the outcropping, he found that the rising moon was indeed providing enough light to navigate. Erato pointed again. "Park there, just past the rocks." He could see a glow coming from behind the rocks, flickering yellow light like a campfire. He did as he was told.

As soon as the car was stopped, Erato opened the door and jumped out. While he put the car in park and shut off the engine, she ran around the front of the car and opened his door. He could see the source of the light now. There was a small cave in the rocks, the opening facing away from the direction of their approach. Small fires burned on either side of the mouth of the cave, illuminating several feet inside. What he saw inside the cave made him certain that he was dreaming.

There was a bed in the cave, an old-fashioned brass frame bed with a fluffy mattress covered in sparkling white linens. Flanking the bed were two women, both as naked as Erato. To his left, a Japanese woman, very short and petite, probably around forty, with silken black hair trailing down past her knees. Tiny breasts, wiry frame, huge dark pools of eyes. Her skin glowed in the firelight with a satiny sheen. On his right, a black woman around 30, tall and athletic, wide shoulders and muscular thighs, a proud chin. Her limbs, her hands, her fingers, all long and elegant. She could be a model, he thought. They both wore the same small smile as Erato.

But what really got his attention was the woman on the bed. Nude, resplendent, glorious. Her hair was red flame, her skin pale, nearly translucent. In her mid-twenties, gorgeous emerald eyes set in a heart-shaped face, perfect delicate bow of a mouth drawn up in a mischievous grin, dimpling the porcelain skin of her cheeks. Ample breasts with perfect, erect nipples. She was plump, not quite Rubenesque, but full-hipped and soft, supple, moist with perspiration. She was staring him directly in the eye, with her legs spread, one small hand working beneath the curly orange thatch of her sex, the other squeezing her breast, working her nipple between her fingers. She was squirming and panting, obviously on the verge of bringing herself to climax. "This is Calliope." He nearly jumped out of his skin as Erato's voice behind him broke his reverie. "Clio and Thalia have prepared her for your coming. It was foretold that she would be the one most pleasing to you."

If this was a dream, he hoped he would never wake.

He heard a voice he knew to be Calliope's, though he could swear her lips did not shape them. "Come to me. Come and let me give you my warmth." He needed no further invitation. He stepped toward the bed. Clio and Thalia met him at the foot of the bed, as Erato stood behind him, and the three of them began slowly undressing him. The Japanese woman reached up and unbuttoned his shirt with expert movements, while the black woman went down on one knee to remove his shoes, and Erato reached around his waist and unbuckled his belt. Their light fingers caressed his body with feather touches as they went about their work, while Calliope continued to squirm rhythmically to the movements of her hand between her luscious thighs. Her eyelids fluttered as she bit her lower lip. The Japanese woman kneeled then, removing his pants and shorts from his now bare feet, as the black woman's hands caressed his chest, and Erato reached around him to stroke his hardening manhood, her bare breasts pressed against his back, her full lips kissing the nape of his neck.

Finally, the three women pulled back from him in one orchestrated movement, staring at him with their strange smiles. He climbed onto the foot of the bed and between Calliope's legs, pausing a moment to smell the sweet aroma of her sex. She pulled her hand away from her swollen pink lips, and he opened wide for her to slip a warm, wet finger into his mouth. He sucked at her delicious essence until she pulled her finger back and cupped her delicate hand under his chin, pulling his face up to look at hers. "You may drink at my fountain if you desire," she said, again without forming the words with her mouth. She moved her hand and he lowered his head, pushing his face into her hungrily, lapping greedily at the flowing juices. She spread her thighs wider and laced her fingers into his hair, pulling him tighter against her. His hands slipped under her thighs and he marveled at the exquisite texture of her flesh, firm yet yielding, as he held her hips tightly. The other women approached and began stroking him with their hands, caressing his shoulders, his back, his thighs, his buttocks, his cock, as he feasted on Calliope.

She moaned, squealed, began to buck against his clutching hands and his searching tongue. He found her clit with his tongue and worked the tip up and down on it, slowly and lightly at first, then increasing his pace and his pressure. Her rhythms began to match his. He pulled his right hand down and slipped his middle finger inside her, sliding it in and out with the rhythm of her body. Her entire body clenched and she screamed, fluids coating his face and filling his mouth with her flavor. She quivered, and that sensation filled him with joy. He looked up at her face and her smile was gone. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were filled with a desperate need, a silent pleading. The other hands disappeared from his body, and he moved forward, ready to fill that need he saw in her eyes.

He leaned down and grabbed a breast, taking the nipple in his mouth and sucking on it. He was pleased to hear another squeal of pleasure as he tasted her salty sweat, then she began whimpering in anticipation. He rose up, and her hands clutched at him, desperately trying to draw him into her. He obliged, slowly, relishing the sensation of her tight, warm flesh parting to accommodate his manhood. When he was finally buried fully inside her, her hands went to her head, fingers laced into her fiery locks, and she pushed her head backward into the soft mattress. He could not resist the temptation of her throat, and he leaned forward, placing his open mouth on the glistening skin, licking greedily at the moist flesh. Automatically he began to thrust into her, scraping his teeth on her throat, sliding his hands under her back to pull himself closer to her, further into her. He could feel the climax building in his loins, so he forced himself to stop, to relish the moment. She gasped in frustration and whimpered again, now in his ear, as she gripped his head to her chest. Her hot breath on his skin was almost enough by itself to send him over the edge. He had to change something or he was going to finish too soon.

As if reading his mind, Calliope rolled on her side, pulling him down onto the mattress beside her. She lifted herself up and away from him, as the other three women gripped him by the arms and legs and pulled him into the middle of the bed. Calliope climbed onto him then, straddling him, pinning his arms over his head. The heat of her sex on top of him was almost painful, as if her passion would blister his skin. Then, with an effortless motion, she engulfed him, impaling herself on him with a fluid motion that could not possibly be executed by a human woman. The other women's hands were on him again, massaging and caressing. Calliope released her hold on his arms, to be replaced by the others, while she stroked his face with one hand and his belly with the other. He could not control it. He began to spasm. Calliope threw her head back, and her red hair in the firelight looked as though an inferno had spouted from her shoulders. She screamed again, her muscles clenching against him as he released into her. His screams mingled with hers. The other women's mouths were on his body now, kissing and sucking on the skin of his arm, his leg, his chest, as he filled Calliope's womb with his seed. He felt as though he was going to burst with the intensity of his climax. He screamed again, Calliope screamed, the other women moaned, their hot breath against his flesh as their nails clenched against his skin, scraping wounds in him that he would not feel until later, as he experienced an ecstasy that far surpassed all pleasure that he had ever experienced before.

Finally, Calliope collapsed atop him. The other women released him, and he wrapped his arms around the redheaded angel that panted, utterly spent, against his chest. He floated, weightless, in the warmth of her embrace, into the most welcoming darkness he had ever known.

He woke at daybreak. He had never known that muscles could ache so deliciously. Calliope lay peacefully at his side, facing him, watching him. She was now wearing that inscrutable smile the others had cultivated so diligently.

"What?" he asked. She replied with a blink and a shake of her head.

He looked around the cave. The others were nowhere to be found. The fires had burned out, and the embers smoked fitfully in the growing light of dawn.

He climbed out of the bed and stepped groggily out of the mouth of the cave. He walked around the rock and relieved himself privately. As he finished, it suddenly occurred to him that his car was no longer parked where he had left it.

He hurried back into the cave. "Where is my car?" he demanded. "Where are my clothes? Where are the other girls?"

Calliope was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a simple white nightgown. This time, she spoke with her mouth. "You have to tell me what happened."

"What do you mean? Where is my damned car?"

"You have to tell me what happened in Thousand Oaks."

He was stunned. "What?" was all he could manage.

She was patient, speaking as a kind parent would speak to a child, still wearing that damned smile. "You have to tell me. It is the only way."

"How do you know about Thousand Oaks?"

"I know many things. But you must tell me. I am not your judge. I will not reprimand, and I will not punish. But you must tell me. What happened in Thousand Oaks?"

He stepped into the cave and sat down, harder than he intended, back against the hard rock wall of the cave. She stared at him, waiting patiently.

"I didn't know she was his daughter. I thought she was just another whore, like all the others he brought around." He couldn't believe he was telling her this, but he felt like he needed to tell her. He felt a little bit better with every word.

"Start at the beginning." She sat silently and listened.

"I took a job as a bodyguard for this rich guy. He collected rare guns, and he sold guns at gun shows and things. I didn't know at first that he was doing anything illegal, I swear. It was only after I worked for him for almost a year that I had any idea. But the money was good, I mean, amazing good, and I couldn't quit. He was dealing guns to drug dealers and street gangs, black market stuff. He had this big house in Thousand Oaks, with a big swimming pool in back, and days when we weren't working, he'd go out to the swimming pool and hang out out there with all us bodyguards, there were four of us, and he'd have women come over and sunbathe nude. We all knew they were whores, and every now and then he'd take one inside for a while. We would get friendly with them, too, but nothing ever happened, you know. Sometimes they'd just be there once, sometimes they'd come back a few times in a row. And it was nice, you know, you talk to a pretty girl, she seems like she takes an interest in you, you know it's not real, it's just for the money, but it's still nice.

"Well, a few weeks ago, there was this real stunning girl out there. She kept her swimsuit on, but sometimes the girls did that, you know? I didn't think anything of it. Our boss, he was on the phone, making deals, not paying any attention to her. So I start talking to her. She talks back. It was all casual and innocent at first, you know. Then I get sent out to pick up a package. She's gone when I get back. No big deal.

"Next day, the boss is out of town on a personal trip. He wants us to keep an eye on the house, like a security detail, 'cause he's got a bunch of cash on hand, so we take shifts. I get the evening shift. And the girl is there, swimming. I ask her what she's doing there, and she gets playful with me. Well, I don't know, I think maybe she's like a gift or something. So I play back, and one thing leads to another. We..."

For some reason, he feels strange telling Calliope that he fucked another woman. But she's still sitting there, staring at him, smiling.

"We, you know, there in the living room. I'm not paying attention to the time. The guy with the night shift walks in on us. He asks me if I'm crazy, tells me that's the boss' daughter, she's on summer break from college, visiting. Says the boss is gonna kill me. And he means for real. The girl, she runs off upstairs. I ask the guy not to tell, but he's a real prick. We get into it, he pulls his piece on me. I try to grab it, we fight, the gun goes off and..."

He paused. He wasn't sure why he was telling this to a stranger, even though she wasn't a normal stranger. He pressed on.

"There was blood everywhere. I couldn't get out of this one. I couldn't even think how to begin. So I just left him there, I grabbed the money and I got out of there. I hit the road and didn't look back."

Calliope stared at him. The smile was the same, but different somehow. Like she felt proud of him for having the courage to admit what he'd done. There was kindness in her eyes. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

She stood and walked to him. She bent down and kissed him on the lips. Strange that it was the first time, that it hadn't happened during all the intensity of the night before. Her lips were perfect, soft, warm, welcoming. They didn't demand from him, they didn't entreat him. They told a tale, in that kiss, a tale of forgiveness and acceptance, of absolution. The kiss lingered, but he still hungered for more when it was done.

She took his hand and led him to the bed. They sat on the edge of the bed, and she embraced him. He laid his head on her bosom and wept.