The sight before me was the physical manifestation of a movie villain's master plan; the idea of destroying everything normal, mundane, human. And from the ashes would arise a terrifying new world. That's what Suzanne was; a movie villain, nothing more nothing less. She was certainly not an undead demon paedophile drug dealer. I just needed to keep telling myself that, as Tomas and I drove straight into the mouth of Hell. "This is darn right creepy," I muttered.
Thankfully, Tomas was polite enough not to comment on my acute observation. Instead, he parked the metallic motorcycle in front of the decrepit wooden structure, before pausing for a moment of silence. "When you fell in love with Josh, you had no idea about his past."
His thought was more of a statement than a question, indicative of the fact that I never had the courage to learn my husband's deepest secret and hidden pain. "Is that why I'm being treated to a reenactment of House of 1000 Corpses?"
"I, myself, would have said Texas Chainsaw Massacre."
"Funny," I muttered, as I looked towards the only entrance; a moldy wooden door that at one time had been painted white. Now it looked like human skin; a burn victim peeling off layers of damage and pain. "Are you ready to see what Suzanne has in store for us?"
I got no reply but didn't bother to turn around. I knew If I looked back, I would lose what little courage I had. Josh survived this world all alone, I could certainly survive a silly little dream." As I entered the creaky, dark room, the door slammed shut. "Hello?"
I could hear a child sobbing. He appeared to be trying to hold his breath out of fear. In the darkness, I had no way of seeing where he was, so I stood in place. "My name is Carolina."
"Lina?" the little voice squeaked.
"Yeah, you can call me that." Squinting my eyes, I could see movement in a far corner. "Are you Josh?"
The shadow-child nodded. When he blinked his eyes, there was no doubt this was my husband. "Please don't hurt me.
"I would never."
"Mama says everyone will hurt me.
"Suzanne said that, not your mother." I had no idea if that was even true. For all I knew Josh's mother abused him just as badly as her drug-addicted lover.
"My real mommy is gone. Suzanne says I belong to her. But I don't want to. I just want to go home."
"I'll get you home." I tried to pick up the little boy but my hands passed right through him. "Put your arms around me."
"I can't," he replied, his little voice terrified.
"Of course, you can't," I said with tears in my eyes. What the hell was I supposed to do? "I'll stay with you."
The little boy nodded, resting his head to my chest. "Are you an angel? My mommy said she'd send me an angel. My real Mommy, not Mama Suzanne."
His body felt cold to the touch but I couldn't stop petting him like a cat. "Do you miss your daddy?"
The boy nodded, cuddling against my skin, like the hamsters I used to have as a child. "Can you help me find my daddy?"
"Of course." I leaned in close, kissing his forehead. "Be brave, I will love you through this.
A demonic laugh shook the room. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
The lights flickered, and suddenly I was in an entirely different scene. The room was a small, well-lit hotel room with pale-yellow walls. There was a single bed, tv and a desk with a laptop.
"Was that supposed to be mine?" I wondered out loud. I took a seat, to see what I could find. Like some kind of sick joke, the screen was plastered with images of a paid escort ad: my ad.
Apparently, in this reality, I was a prostitute who charged only $100 a night. "Let me guess, I'm a low-class bike-riding drug addict too?" Clearly, Suzanne was pulling the strings. I opened a web browser and went straight to yahoo. As I expected, an email account was already signed in. "Let's see what my plans are for tonight."
I couldn't help but smile as I read the latest in a series of conversations. I had been talking to a man in his sixties, an old fisherman from Vancouver named Josh. The sweet older man had found me via a public listing on a dating site. (I was listed as a massage therapist/companion, looking to meet new people.) The retiree had recently lost his husband of thirty years. And as a result, he had fallen into a deep state of depression to which there seemed to be no way out. Apparently, he considered himself to be bisexual, so I was a last-ditch attempt to slap a Band-Aid on his broken soul. That, and soliciting a male prostitute would have felt like cheating on the love of his life.
Since I had a few minutes to kill before our scheduled appointment, I read more. Josh had lost his husband five years ago. He'd tried returning to work, which went well for all of two months before he suffered a partial stroke which left his arm and leg weakened. He was forced into retirement, no wonder he was depressed.
I glanced at the in-room clock. It was nearly time for our meeting. I walked to the door, to see if I could look outside. Standing outside my door was an older man dressed like a fisherman, with full gear including a wool cap. I opened the door, causing him to jump slightly in surprise. "Take a seat, soldier."
"Soldier?" the man chuckled as he took off his hat revealing his shoulder-length dark blonde hair. "Not for a long time." In his opposite hand was a bottle of Jameson Whiskey, the kind that could be found in your average liquor store. "I thought I'd bring a gift, in case one of us needed a shot of courage."
"That's one of my favorites." There were water glasses in the bathroom, so I poured myself an eight-ounce serving. Taking a sip, my mind already started to feel cloudy.
Josh sat on the bed and started to remove his clothes, first his jacket then his shirt. his hands trembled as he struggled with the buttons.
"Let me." I placed my hand atop his, guiding him. His body was strong; thick with muscle and just the right amount of fat to make me want to cuddle. I handed him the cup of whiskey.
Instead of taking a drink, he pulled me close, on to his lap. "Can I kiss you?"
"Of course." I brushed my lips to his, tasting the sweetness of his mouth. "Just lay back" He did as he was told, letting me play with his chest hair. I walked my fingers down his pectorals to his stomach. I could already feel the heat radiating from his cock.
I removed his belt lowering his jeans just enough to examine if he was exactly like my husband. 'Hello old friend,' I giggled to myself. His shaft, was veiny, thick, and overly sensitive. His tip was already soaked with precum. I placed my palm to his shaft, rubbing his tip with my thumb. "You're really sensitive." I reached for his hand, placing it upon his member. "I'm going to take off your boots. I want you to get yourself ready for me."
