Rachaels Event Horizon

This is an erotic love story. And, it's true. It is about being so utterly and insanely in love that you would do anything. Even if it means losing yourself.

Anything to remain in orbit. In the orbit of the one you love.

But, It is also a murder mystery. A homicide. A slow brutal tragedy. Of Rachael. The girl I loved.

It culminated on Valentine's day. The day of love. The day that my Rachael was brutally struck down. Not by an arrow, but with a bullet.

But, love can come from strange places. When we least expect it. Cupid can save us. At times, he can save us from ourselves.

What information is on Rachael's "event horizon" to discover who killed her? In finding the truth, can I save myself in the process?

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Act 1:

The Crime Scene and Love Affair

Chapter 1: The apartment

This side of town is not for everyone. If you can help it, try and avoid it.

The cops just arrived.

Christ, it is a damn bloody fucking mess. I knew something like this was bound to happen down here, but I didn't expect... Well.... Damn it to hell. I feel so destroyed. So empty. A part of me is gone.

I am still recovering from the shock. And still shaking.

I just... I mean, ... Well, I didn't expect it would happen to her. Sure, now it seems that all the clues were there. But then again, it could have been any of them. The bastards. Any one of them could have done this!

Now she is there. Sprawled out. Naked. Contorted.

A bullet through her temple. Her brains -- splattered all over the room. Poor Rachael. Poor lovely Rachael. My beloved Rachael.

Even like this, Rachael's body is strangely erotic, strangely beautiful. Even as a corpse, Rachael still attracted everyone and everything. It was Valentine's day. I had bought roses for her and they are now scattered all over the floor with her body. My note is splattered in blood. We had just made love this morning. My pussy was still tingling from her tongue.

Who was it that did this to her? The door was closed. She is completely naked. Her hair is still wet from the shower. Her towel is draped over her chair, now soaked with blood. The gun is on the floor next to her head. They left it to look like it was her. To throw off the trail. Typical.

An apparent cover-up. Faked suicide. But, that won't fly. Nah, the cops won't believe it. The door looks forced. There are cigarette buts in the ashtray, with its rising smoke still lingering high in the room like clenched fists. Maybe there is white dust -- not sure. There is a glass of whisky. Perhaps, telltale signs of struggle. There will be DNA. There will be lots of semen in every orifice of her body -- tons of it. They will find the bastard that did this. It could have been Franny, or Kingsley, or that fat son-of-a-bitch, Curly. Maybe it was an organized hit from the fucking Femdoms. Or it could be the other girls in the joint. But why? Well, there were lots of reasons. Lots.

Besides, she was too beautiful. Too happy in life. She had it all. Everybody knew that.

And, she had me. She loved me. She knew I needed her. She wouldn't do it to me.

Lots of the scumbags down here on the Eastside tried to take from Rachael. Take this, take that, a bit of ass, take some tits. And, definitely take her sweet pussy. Everyone wanted a piece of the action. Take her soul. There was a pack of them. Yeah, she was the type of person that everybody wanted a piece.

For her at first, this was just an extra gig until the next thing. Some extra cash. Some extra danger. The risk. Everyone could use an extra score every once in a while. Right? But the others didn't see it that way. For them, she was the score. Rachael was the center of it all, and the other chicks didn't like it.

We were lovers. When she wasn't "doing trix". Or, when I wasn't off "doing trix" or doing them together.

Yeah, that's what we called it. "Doing trix," we would laugh and giggle together, like two schoolgirls. But schoolgirls don't do trix. At least not good and decent schoolgirls. Not schoolgirls that have common-sense.

I have to admit in the past few months, the "trix" started to get weirder, kinkier, more extreme. More dangerous. The "johns" were more often doms with huge cocks that fucked hard -- sticking it in quickly, not concerned about being gentle. But the "janes" were far worse -- they were nasty femdom bitches into heavy bondage, pain, whipping, and torture, as well as other weird shit. I did these "trix" together with Rachael. I did it for her.

"Com'on Nicola, please come along, they want to do it with two girls. This way we can be together too.... please say yes and help me out."

I would do whatever she asked of me. I did lots of them with her. She told me that these types of "johns" and "janes" wanted the two of us. They were really hard "trix". I hated it. But, I never told her. I was always in tons of pain during and afterward. I was always scared as hell, especially from the femdoms. But, Rachael came to like it. The degradation. The humiliation. The danger. The risk. She craved these "trix". She needed them. Far too much!

----

Ballistics experts and special forensics were swarming around the room in a frenzy. For me, it is all so hazy. I am dizzy. I can only see her bloody figure, now covered with a thin police crime scene cloth. And the blood. Christ! The fucking blood.

----

"Nicola, are you sure you are alright," the lieutenant said.

"Yeah, I'll be ok," I said as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

Yeah, he called me by my first name. He knew me. O'Malley. Lt. O'Malley from down in the 5th precinct, now promoted to homicide. I had been down there a few times. Ya' know, to the station. The typical. Suspected prostitution. O'Malley was a good guy. He knew I wasn't like the others. He saw in me a person that was trapped and just trying to get out. That's why he called me by my first name -- ya' know, like we were friends. He was trying to help. He knew that I didn't.... Well, maybe he wished sometimes that I did... Oh, dammit! you know what I mean.

"Nicola, you're a good kid. Why don't you just get out of all of this? You don't need all this," he said to me trying to soothe me with his arm around my shoulder. "Tell Franny, you had enough, and leave."

Yeah, O'Malley was a good guy.

For a cop.

And he was right. Good looking too. In a cop kind of way. Large, wide shoulders, muscular, square jaw, blondish thinning hair, Irish looking, mid-40-ish, divorced, a pint of Jacky D's on the weekend, sleepless and chronic PTSD nights from the fucking Afgan thing -- ya' know, the typical bloke on the force. But, ya, kinda good looking. He was giving me good advice to try to save me.

Yeah, you heard me right. To try to save my tight sexy fuckable ass and not end up like Rachael. Not end up taking a fucking bullet through my temple.

"Who would do this, Mac?" I said between my tears.

-------

I called him Mac. I don't know why. I called him Mac the first time they detained me down at the station. Ya' know, down there in the 5th. He looked like his name should be Mac. So there it is. I started calling him that and it made him smile. He liked me. He liked me without looking at my body -- and trying to get into the slit between my skinny legs. From then on, I always called him Mac.

I liked him too. For a cop.

He was good to me. He didn't look at me like all the assholes in this section of town that wreak of scumbags. He wasn't always trying to touch me up. I think he actually cared for me. I think he saw through my outside, confused, naive self, and saw something that was good in me. Maybe -- even then -- he saw potential in me, that I didn't even know or was too scared and dependent on others to realize.

Did I mention that he is a cop? Oh yeah, I did. But, I kinda like him. Really. It's strange. Even if he was a cop.

----

"I don't know who did it, Nicola. Com'on," he said in a caring manner. "Me and the guys will take care of all this. You just need to get some rest and you gotta get out of this joint. You can stay at my place for a few days, or for as long as you want. You'll be safe there."

Maybe I will take him up on his offer. I can't think straight now. Not with Rachael like this. Not with her brains splattered all over the room. And, I can't stay here in this dump of an apartment above Franny's "casino club" -- so close to all of them. Maybe I need to trust this cop. Just this once.

As tears streamed down my face, I tucked my head into his wide muscular chest. He hugged me with his large arms. I let him hold me. I needed it.

"Mac?" I whispered through my sniffling.

"Yeah?"

"Will you promise me you will find out who did this to Rachael?"

"Yeah. We will find out, Nik," he said softly. "But don't think about this now. You can trust me. Com'on, I'll get one of the guys to bring you to my place, and then I'll be there soon."

"Promise me Mac", I implored. "Please find them. Promise me you will find them."

"Yeah kid," he said as if detached, looking off into the distance. "I promise."

Chapter 2: Meeting Rachael

So where did all this begin? How did we get here -- at the crime scene? At the homicide.

First, I know what you are thinking. You never saw me here before. In the train wreck of a joint down here on the Eastside. This part of town that wreaks failure. This street where everybody has the red-eye from not sleeping. Nobody here really sleeps. You are either too busy fucking or too busy getting fucked. And most people here are simply fucked.

You probably don't recognize me because I'm normally completely naked with short black hair with lots of makeup. It makes a big difference, doesn't it? That's the idea.

Now, I look like a normal 20 something girl. Right?

Not at all clear what a normal-looking girl is doing down here. I have to admit, seen this way, I kind of agree. I mean, I lucked out in life with my looks -- cherry-blond hair, kind of pretty face, grey-blue eyes, a sexy skinny body, small tits, and a cute hairless pussy (I never really had much hair down there, so I never needed to shave.... a question of lucky genes, I guess). I never tried drugs, don't drink or smoke. I even went to college -- at least at first.

Until I started "doing trix".

I can imagine my mother's stern voice. I can imagine being scolded by my big brother.

"So, Nicola, why are you here in this joint? Here in the East End Casino Club. Naked. Dancing around on stage and showing your fuckable naked body to a bunch of slobbering losers. And why are you doing trix? Why, Nicola?"

But they don't know the truth, of course. They think I work for a small boutique store down in the Village preparing wedding invitations or some shit like that.

Yeah, well it's a long story. You'll see. When you get some information. A bit of context.

----

We all need "information". We all need to increase our entropy. With more information, there is more disorder in the universe. But even still, it clarifies. It defines time's arrow.

At first, Rachael was like a massive neutron star. Pure gravity. Spinning out of control. Pulling and dragging along space-time with her. A vortex. Capturing everyone and everything in her grip. Like the gravity of a massive black hole in the center of a galaxy. Everyone in her life was on her accretion disk, sucked into her by the intense force.

The information too was there. To understand her death, we need to examine the entropy on her event horizon. All the information ever produced is accumulated in the event horizon of a black hole. We need to sort out all the information.

And Christ, we always need more. Yeah, we need more "Information". Always.

-----

I started working here at the East End Casino club -- a strip joint -- when I turned 19. But, it's not like you think. You'll see.

I was still a kid, for Christ's sake! l still wore flannel pajamas to bed and slept with a teddy bear. Who doesn't at that age? I was still afraid of the dark. Now, three years later, I am not afraid of the dark, I am absolutely terrified of who's in it. But I am getting ahead of myself.

-----

I met Rachael at college. She was my roommate in the dorms. We were both studying English Lit. Well, I don't know if "studying" is the right word. We were there. At first, quite a bit, but then Rachael discovered the concept of "trix". And yours truly --- the naive and ever dependent, Nicola -- followed.

Anyway, Rachael was always up for anything new and exciting. She was anxious for life and had a voracious appetite and energy for more. But, it's not like you think. I would later learn that there was something darker and hidden deep inside her. She was involved in an inner struggle. She refused to be trapped. This endless energy was her counterbalance, to break out.

But, to all those around her, she was "gravity" personified. Her very self was like the gravity of a black hole. Everything in her orbit was attracted to Rachael. I was attracted to Rachael.

I was in Rachael's accretion disk.

-----

The first day at the dorm uptown, all the other girls were moving in. There was a tremendous amount of commotion in the hallways. Suitcases, boxes, plants. Parents. Well, normal parents -- not like mine. Reunions of last year's students.

When I arrived to my assigned room, it was already open and my to-be room-mate was already installed. She was sitting on her bed listening to music on her phone. As I entered she looked up with a friendly smile. She had a t-shirt that stopped right above her belly button, that was pierced with a gold pin with what looked like a precious stone. Then I noticed that she just had thin transparent panties. The door was open, and all she had on were panties. If she stood up, her slit would be clearly visible.

Her nearly transparent t-shirt was also quite revealing. Underneath she didn't have a bra, and her small areolas with pointy nipples were visible.

"Hi, I'm Nicola. I guess we're roommates," I said extending my hand to the girl that would be sharing my dorm room.

"Rachael," she said with a fresh smile as she took my hand. "Nice to meet you roomy. What's your major?"

"English Lit, and you?"

"Me too! That is so cool. Wow, looks like we will be sharing more than just a room."

"Cool," was all I could muster.

She must have noticed that I was immediately taken in by her at first-site. I never took notice of another girl. But, she seemed to cast a spell over me.

"You are so pretty, I hope we will soon be sharing much more than classes and this room," she said as she stood up. "Here, let me help you with your bags.

When she stood up, her sexy semi-naked body came into full view. I was taken aback at how open she was. Rachael was exceptionally beautiful. I mean, I'm not ugly (in fact, some say I'm kinda cute), but she was on an entirely different plane. She was like a goddess. Her face was chiseled to perfection. She had full black hair, large pouting and flushed lips that looked like she had been sucking a cock all day long, a small slightly pointed nose, and the most beautiful green-blue eyes, that looked like pools in a tropical garden.

Her body was made for sex. She had breasts that were full but firm. Her limbs were long, slender, but athletic. From behind, her long legs seemed to climb to heaven, culminating in a pelvis that evoked sensuality and fertility to be fucked into oblivion.

And she was here practically naked in front of me. Bending down, lifting my boxes, basically performing aerobics in front of me in her tiny transparent panties. Her cute hairless slit was clearly visible. I was glued to her movements. To this wanton display. And, I noticed a tingle down there in my private area.

She saw me looking at her. She smiled as if she knew the effect it was having.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind," she said looking down at her scantly clad body. "It's just so hot."

No, it was Rachael that was hot. Rachael was burning like a thousand suns.

------

During the start of the semester, I would later realize that Rachael was not some floozy. No, she was the most intelligent person I knew. She could read Dostoievski in one sitting and give you a full critique. In English Lit class, she helped me through frustratingly depressive Jude the Obscure, by the always cheery and optimistic Hardy. Or the damn futility of it all from Dickens' Bleak House to Great expectations. She could recite T.S. Eliot's Wasteland as if it were a pop song. And, holy shit, where the hell did she ascertain the depth of the allegorical allusions to greek mythology and contemporary works?

And she knew something about physics. I don't know how, but Christ, she knew about the most important thing in our universe -- supernovae. How could I ever know that it was for a reason? How could I ever know that she would eventually go supernova?

Yes, for me, Rachael was a supreme genius. But, at the same time, she was an utter slut. A complete dichotomy. Two apparent extremes of the forces in the universe. She always had men (and women) willing and ready to fuck her. And when she chose, she let them. And that was often. Every day. Sometimes more than once.

Apart from all of them, she also had me. She let me love her. But, I had to share her. I was just one of many bodies in her galaxy. Oh, how I loved and needed her. With all my soul.

But Rachael had an epic flaw. It was the intoxication of the worst substance of all. Life itself. Burning it way too fast. High octane. Those that run, because they need to escape from what is in the furthest recesses of their minds.

These are the people that have gone so far, there is no longer anyplace to explore. Then they must face that which is the most terrifying -- Themselves.

It was as if she wanted to experience life to its fullest because it would be over soon. She needed it. At all hours.

Normal life could never be fast enough for Rachael. It could never be full enough. I didn't see that. I was blind with love. Others were blind with jealousy. Something would happen.

Forces were coalescing.

The universe is not still. It lurches forward. Violently. Consuming. It expands nothingness at the speed of light.

Yes, something was bound to happen.

-----

When I had arrived at college, I never had thought about girls. I didn't have a steady boyfriend but always had some boy or other to mess around with. OK, I guess I am not bad-looking either, because I normally had my pick.

And, I loved it when their cocks got hard for me. But I was still a virgin and I didn't let them fuck me.

----

"Nicola, you are so hot," Ryan said. "I love how you look in these jeans. Your ass is so tight and the gap between your skinny legs is sexy as hell. I want to rip them off."

He would then start rubbing his hand all over me. His hand would rub my ass and slip between my legs from behind. Just thinking about makes me aroused.

"That's ticklish," I said, acting to push him away giggling.

Ryan knew better. He was what you could call my boyfriend at that moment. The thing was, I liked him, but I was not in love with him. But, I liked teasing him, and I liked the thought of his cock. I fantasized about it. I masturbated at night thinking about his cock.

When we kissed, I could feel his hard manhood pressing against me. It was so hot. I would love to grab it right there. The reality was I would love it to enter me. But, I was afraid.

I loved how the boys touched me as if I would say no in the next moment.

"Umm, not now Ryan," I would tease him.

He would grab me knowing that I was only being playful. He knew that I really did want him to touch me. He knew that I would love it if he entered me. But he was so gentle.

"I want you so much Nicola," he would whisper.