Fantasy, Part Two: Richard is to Cat as Henry is to Mouse


"The little present you sent arrived. So you enjoyed seducing my wife.
But you told me she was a bitch. Is that what made it so much fun, you
fucker? Are you going to cut her loose now that you've had your fun? I
want to talk to her. Now, you asshole!"

A message to Richard, sent to voice mail again. Words sent out to
nowhere.

God, he was good. So goddamned good. Jesus fucking Christ. So good. How
could a man born of woman turn her in those few minutes on the phone,
turn a woman who despised him? He was the fucking Antichrist. Maybe I
should be worshipping him, our malevolent God.

What was Alice thinking by the end of the call? What was she thinking
when I came home? What about when we were in bed together and I was
eating her? Was she busy counting the hours until Thursday afternoon,
when she'd be home alone again, when he could talk about his tongue?
Was she telling herself she was stupid, reassuring herself with me,
trying to convince herself sex with me could be as good as the dream he
was weaving. Was she trying to keep from thinking about him? Or was she
fantasizing that my mouth was his? 

And what about the second call? Did her heart stop when the phone rang?
She'd hoped he wouldn't call, and she was desperate for it. I could
imagine the whole sequence, her startled pause at the first ring, her
intake of breath, her hesitant walk toward the phone, her hand hanging
above it, the sudden grab before voice mail would click in, an almost
breathless "Hello?"

"Hello dear Alice. I knew you would answer."

Was she afraid to pick it up? Something in her changed before the call
ended, maybe before it began. Maybe I would hear it one day, too.

* * * * *

I got a call, but it wasn't from Richard this time. It was my PI,
returning his call, wanting to meet but not offering hope. I think back
on it and know my mind was torn in halves. I was a loser. Alice was
gone. But she would return if only I could talk with her alone. She
must! I drifted toward whatever I'd heard most recently, and at this
particular moment Mickey was talking. It was time to plan a strategy.
He wanted to do it in the parking lot at the Liberace museum. "Is there
any particular reason for that?" It was convenient. So, okay, that's
where we met.

"Why couldn't we just talk on the phone, Mickey?"

He might be listening in."

"Listening?"

"He has a lot of money, and he's using a lot of manpower to keep you
away. It's a logical step, and it's good to be a little paranoid in my
business."

Something else to consider.

"Anyway, Henry, getting to any of Moriarty's places seems to be out of
the picture, unless you're willing to do some seriously illegal stuff
with some seriously dangerous people for seriously big bucks. And you
still might not succeed, or you might even land in jail."

"Yeah."

"So if you want to have someone see Alice, I'd suggest you call the
police."

"For an adult runaway?"

"Yes, because no one has actually heard from her, not really, and if
you accuse him of kidnapping someone they might feel they actually have
to look in on her. And he isn't going to stiff them if he doesn't have
to. I don't think. Probably not. Well, I don't know, but it can't
hurt."

I almost laughed, for the first time since Alice left.

"Who should I call?"

"I have a friend. He'll want a photo. Other than that, I can keep a
tail if you want, but it's expensive. I can keep looking for more
residences. And I'll let you know if I find they're out and about."

When I got home I found Richard had called me back.

"Yes, Henry, I enjoyed seducing little Alice. It was great fun sucking
her down my rabbit hole. The fall into Wonderland was great fun for
her, too. Isn't seduction always like that? And, yes, her being a bitch
made it all the better. But she won't ever be a bitch again. No, she's
completely docile. You wouldn't believe the transformation! I intend to
continue enjoying her in all sorts of ways. Ciao."

* * * * *

That night I dreamed of Alice. She was lying on the bed, naked, her
pale chest and neck covered in ecstatic splotches, writhing sexually,
her eyes almost closed, her mouth open in an O. I was so swollen I
thought I would explode, but I couldn't get to her. I was on the floor
and I couldn't crawl to her. I could see her, but in the dream I was
blind. I could hear her grunting little sex sounds while I tried and
tried to crawl to her, but I couldn't get to her.

* * * * *

Nothing happened. The days passed and Alice fell ever further distant.
I wondered, how has she changed? What does she look like now? Does she
ever think of me at all?

The next week there was another voice mail from Richard. "Hello, Henry.
So you had to bring in the police, did you? Do you realize how much
trouble this could cause you? We'll be polite, of course, once we let
the officers actually visit, but I may have to punish Alice for it."

I called right back. "You fucker! What have you done to her? Have you
hurt her?"

He picked up the call. 

"Henry, Henry, Henry. What makes you think I'd harm sweet Alice?" He
laughed his warm laugh.

"Let her tell me that herself!"

"Trust me, she's fine, just fine, but she can't talk right now. I
suppose I should say she's indisposed." That laugh again.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. She's just in the pit of despair for a
bit, being disciplined."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Oh you can read about it. I didn't make it up. It came from that old
monkey researcher. Harry Harlow. For the sake of science he tied up
monkeys down in little featureless pits. He made them stay there for
ages, to see what the effect would be. It quite destroyed them
mentally, I'm afraid."

"What the hell have you done to my wife?"

"Nothing, Henry. Really nothing. Don't you go worrying yourself.
Anyway, she's not in a real pit. I substituted some simple sensory
deprivation and movement restriction."

"You what?"

"Not to worry, Hen..."

"You fucking what!?"

"Oh, she's happy as a lark. Stop worrying so. Well, not exactly happy,
not right at this moment. Pit of despair, you know. She's probably as
miserable as a person can be..."

"Richard!"

"...probably crying and talking to herself and begging for me to let
her out."

"God damn it!"

"But I'll end it in a while and make her happy. A little change of
position. A few caresses. Some touching of the genitals. She'll be
completely grateful to me before the night is over. You should see her,
Henry. She goes off like a Roman candle. And, it makes her so
compliant! Well, have a nice evening."

He hung up. I called over and again that evening, but he didn't pick up
the phone or call back. No, he did whatever he wanted with her while I
called uselessly.

* * * * *

My other calls were to the police officer Mickey mentioned. I called
every day. I left messages about Richard's claims of punishment. The
officer was very polite. I thought they must all go to the same
politeness workshops. I actually bought a phone recorder while I
waited, to give me something to do.

It was another week before the cop came by. Oh, inscrutable officer,
standing at the door, what do you have to tell me? Are there wives who
want to go back to their husbands? Do they want help escaping a
mistake? I knew the answer. The bell had rung, so I knew the news had
to be bad.

"Dr. Jekyll, I followed up on your calls. I went by Mr. Moriarty's
house and talked with Richard Moriarty and Alice Jekyll. At this time
that's all I can do, and I suggest you drop the matter."

"What do you mean?"

"I went there as a courtesy to Mickey Edwards. He's an old friend. But
there's no criminal issue here. Your wife is living with Mr. Moriarty
voluntarily and she doesn't intend to return. That's the end of my
investigation."

"How is she?"

"What do you mean?"

"How is she?"

"She's fine. She was fine."

"And you're sure it was her?"

"Doc," he handed me her photo, "it was her. She's thinner than in this
pic and her hair is shorter. She looked fine."

"Did you talk with her alone?"

"No. They were together, but I talked with her fine. There was nothing
screwy, no more than things usually are with him."

"How are things screwy with him?"

He stared at me with that blank cop look I always find so spooky. Then
he sighed.

"Look. This isn't relevant, but a couple of years back a showgirl who
was living with him came by to file a complaint. She said he'd hurt
her, locked her in closets, tied her up. BDSM stuff. She had bruises
and such. We followed it up. Well, suddenly his lawyer has a talk with
the girl's lawyer and she drops the charges. Says it was a
misunderstanding. They're great friends. She won't testify against him.
There's a non-disclosure clause in the settlement, but apparently he
paid her off well. She got married and moved out of town. End of
story."

"I never heard of that."

"It never even made the papers. If it weren't for that case I wouldn't
have looked into this even for Mickey. And it turns out there's no
crime here."

"She didn't have marks? Bruises?"

"No. None that were visible. Look, doc. You can't see everything. She
had on a long sleeve shirt, buttoned at the wrists. Buttoned at the
neck." A strange expression passed across his face and disappeared.
"Anyway I'm not going to ask her to show me everything. I can't do
that. And it wouldn't have made any difference if she had bruises, and
if I could prove he made them."

"Why not?"

"Because they're adults! This is Las Vegas. There's an enormous S-and-M
scene here. There are thousands of women in it, and probably half of
them are soccer moms during the day. People can do what they want,
doc."

"And that's it?"

"That's it. There was one thing that bothered me. He was controlling.
You run across that a lot in this line of work, and you get an eye for
it. He held one of her hands and kept his other arm around her shoulder
the whole time. He kept jumping in to answer her questions for her.
That's all. It wasn't all that odd, and she wasn't acting scared. She
said she was happy there. Take my advice. Drop it. If I were you, I'd
file for divorce."

* * * * *

How long had it been since Alice dropped from my life? How many weeks?
What do you do when your love becomes obsession? How long since I slept
through the night? I was having dreams about her, really just the one
dream, and waking over and again, thinking I heard her. Chasing
phantoms. Trying to work. I was always tired. It was time to drop the
whole thing and find myself again. It was a last effort when I asked
Mickey to find the showgirl.

And then Mickey couldn't find her. "What do you mean you can't find
her? You said anyone can be found!"

"I exaggerated. Anyway it doesn't mean I'll never find her, but her
tracks are pretty well covered and I'm still trying to get her real
name."

"Her real name?"

"I only have her stage name so far..."

"Which is?"

"Oh boy. Bambi McPherson."

"No."

"Yes."

"Bambi."

"Yeah."

"A stripper."

"A show girl."

"Who's disappeared. Let me ask you something. Are you sure she's even
still alive?"

What difference would finding her make? So Richard had abused another
woman? So what? He was rich. He probably abused a lot of them, and he
seemed to pony up when called on it. This woman would tell us what? He
tied me up in a dark room. He controlled me. Maybe he whipped her too,
who knows? But she left him and got a settlement.

Alice could always leave when she got tired of the treatment. Unless.
Unless. Unless his appetites increased over time. Yes, there was that.
What if hurting women, and abusing them, and then letting them go
wasn't enough for him anymore? What if Alice was the one he decided to
go over the top with? Would anyone ever know? Would someone, someday,
find parts of a desiccated body out in the desert?

When Mickey found Bambi, I jumped on it. He had her name and an
address, and more. She lived in Sacramento, she was married to an
anesthesiologist, and her name was now Eleanor Freedman. Mickey even
got her home phone number. But she wouldn't talk to me. When I called
and told her I needed to talk about Richard she cut me off. She didn't
know him. Then, click.

I flew to Sacramento. Two steps forward, one step back. Tired. Oh
Jesus. What would it be like to sleep forever, without the dreams? Give
up on this. Alice was gone for her own reasons.

Still.

The guard at the gate put a call in to Mrs. Freedman's house. Same old
story. When he gave my name the response was that she wasn't in. I
asked him to call again, and to say it had to do with my wife, and that
I was desperate. He was an older guy, friendly and chatty and probably
not too hard to get past if I wanted to, if I had had any energy left.
I waited for a response while we talked, then gave him my cell phone
number and the name of my motel and left. I slept away the rest of the
morning and long into the afternoon, and it was in my sleep that I
found Alice. I was looking for her and found her. Suddenly she was
there, standing in front of a strange building I knew intimately,
waiting for me. We kissed and I held her and I cried, and cried, and
cried. I couldn't stop sobbing while I held her tightly, so she
wouldn't disappear. Then something started knocking and we both looked
to see what it was. That's when I awoke enough to realize it was the
door. Who was it? Probably some of Richard's people, come to kick me
out of town. Hold on. I'm coming. I was wiping my eyes as I went to the
door.

It was Eleanor Freedman's attorney. Of course. A very polite older man.
He told me she, unfortunately, could not see me and I should cease and
desist and all that. I was wiping my face as he told me all this.
Finish up, sir, so I can go back to sleep, back into the dream where I
found my Alice. You're part of the world that's determined to do
anything but let me see my wife. Blah, blah, blah, go back home. Then,
as he was leaving, he passed me a note with instructions to walk down
to the coffee shop and out the back door, to a car that would be
waiting. I got a chill. What had Mickey said about being paranoid?

In the car was Eleanor Freedman, of course. After the fact, everything
was "of course." It was all as I should have expected it to be. Here
was Eleanor Freedman, a real woman I could actually see. Even sitting
in the driver's seat she was tall, and it was easy to imagine her as a
showgirl, in her legs and breasts and complexion, but she didn't look
at all like a Bambi. No, she looked serious and focused and high class,
like Eleanor-the-doctor's-wife might, the sort of woman who chairs
community boards. She began talking right away.

"Dr. Jekyll, I have to be quick. I can't tell you anything about
Richard Moriarty. I have a legal settlement that forbids any
disclosures. And there's another thing. He already told me you were
coming here, so he's watching you."

Another chill.

"His minions get around."

"I can't know for sure. He called personally. He let me know my past is
still in my present, as he says, and that it would be a shame for it to
mar my future." She shook her head. "He used to be so silver-tongued
with me. Now he talks like someone from a Raymond Chandler novel."

"So he'll blackmail you forever?"

"It's not exactly like that. My husband knows I was a dancer, and so do
some friends. It's not like I was a prostitute. I just wouldn't want
the details to get out to the whole medical community or the synagogue.
Anyway I simply can't be found to have talked with you."

"Can't you tell me anything?"

"I'm sorry for you. I'm especially sorry for your wife."

* * * * *

It was past time to give up. I would have. Really, I would have, but
Mickey called a couple of days later. "Quick, Henry. The two of them
are going to the opening reception of The Barracuda casino."

"Why couldn't you get me earlier warning?"

"You have about 45 minutes."

I was there right as his limo stopped, working my way through the
crowd, working my way toward the red carpet. Working, working. Then
there they were. Oh God, she was beautiful. She wore a sleek, black,
long dress, off one shoulder, with long black gloves gleaming with
rhinestones. God, she was thin. That was obvious from a distance. She
marched up the steps with Richard, leaning right up against him, her
head almost on his shoulder. He held her waist.

"Alice! Alice!"

She raised her head and hesitated. She looked out toward me, but I was
too far back, God damn it! I tried to push my way through and suddenly
I was surrounded by casino security personnel, led by Richard's polite
young men. "I'm afraid we'll have to ask you come with us, sir."
Everyone was looking at me. I was a crazed and dangerous person, no
doubt. I felt crazed. I tried to look back toward Alice, but by now
they were entering the casino and then they were gone.

"Alice!"

They pulled me far back. They held me an hour in a small room while I
yelled at them. Then they let me go. No warnings, no lecture, nothing.
Just let me go. That was it.

* * * * *

Richard had called again. There was a long voice mail when I got home.

"Henry, Henry, Henry. I must say I'm impressed by your perseverance.
Tracking us. Going all the way to Sacramento. Most men would have cut
their losses by now. You know she's only a woman." I could hear the
casino crowd in the background. The bastard had called from inside
while I was being held in that little room. 

"Alice is fixing herself for me right now, powdering her nose, as they
say. She always stays lovely for me. Did you notice? Did you enjoy your
little peek? I set a new regimen for her. She has to make herself
beautiful every day. Remember how sometimes when you'd caress her leg,
she'd have some stubble? She couldn't be bothered with her appearance,
not too much, now could she? 

"Oh, that wasn't any special insight, Henry. My little joke. Sorry if
it startled you. It was just an easy guess. Married ten or twelve
years? Of course she gets careless and uninspired.

"But I never feel stubble. Why? Because she shaves every morning. Her
vag, too. With a new blade every day. Not everywhere. Her arm pits A
little around her ass. Anywhere there's unsightly hair. She has to get
up an hour early to prepare herself. I let her know it's for the cause,
by telling her how lovely she is, and letting her know I mean it. I set
strict rules for her, but there are rewards for complying. And of
course costs if she disobeys." He chuckled again. The bastard was so
pleased with himself. "She loves me for having rules for her, and
enforcing them.

"And did you notice how thin and fit she is? She eats right and works
out, Henry. She doesn't have that little tummy any more, and her thighs
are smooth. I arrange her diet and watch her closely, or have her
watched. She's on a strict thousand calories a day, low on carbs. It's
inevitable that she sneaks food." He laughed indulgently. Even today
Richard's laugh echoes inside my head. I hate the fucking thing. I
fucking hate it! "Then I have my excuse to use discipline. We'll talk
later!"

*****

I called him back. Even though. It had sunk in. His game was with me as
much as with Alice. He would torment me as much as he could, and he'd
probably enjoy it as much. What a game! The rules were simple. Even
though I knew, I couldn't not respond. 

"Richard, you brutal son of a bitch, so you keep her through fear. It's
what I thought."

He picked up the call. Again. This was third time he'd done that. He
knew exactly how I'd respond.

The first thing he said was: "Brutal? Henry, have you learned nothing?
You think you lost your wife because I'm brutal? If you want to use
discipline to good effect you'd best not be brutal, or you lower your
chances of success. I admit I could be brutal now and keep her love,
because -- as you know -- she chose me. But no. One isn't brutal and
chastisement isn't random. One knows the limits, and makes sure the
target knows this is for the greater good, for the plan. It fits into
the story you're creating, and after a while she accepts it. It never
challenges her commitment. It even makes her love you more."

"You're fucking crazy! You admit you hurt her!"

"Henry, you don't want to know these things. Of course I hurt her. It's
part of the joy, you know? No, I guess you don't." 

"What are you doing to her?"

"I'm completing her re-education."

"Fucker! Shit, you fucker! Fuck you! I'm playing this tape for the
police. This is kidnapping and battery. You think up all these twisted
things..."

"Henry, Henry, Henry. Oh, I'm such an evil guy." He was mocking me. "I
do these terrible things. Well, I do a lot of things. But you know,
they're all just fantasy. They're what people want. Or they find out
they want them. Everything. And I don't even have to think them up."

"You think things up pretty well." I was trying to sound sarcastic.

"Hah! You poor, dear boy. Don't you know where these come from? Don't
you know of all those rape fantasies in romance novels? And all those
millions of well-educated, professional women who read them and get
hot? I find more on Internet sites than I could possibly ever practice,
much worse things..."

"That's not real life."

"Let me finish. Even though from their vocabulary most Webmasters don't
seem to have more than an eighth grade education. Anyway. I get more
than enough from real life." 

"Let me talk with her!"

He seemed a little exasperated again. "Let's take a different tack. You
could use a nice lecture. Your folks were English, if I remember right.
Didn't they love old Queen Elizabeth? The first one? The so-called
Virgin Queen? Good Queen Bess? Role model for women who rule? I believe
that's why they named your sister Elizabeth, and you Henry.

"What's your point?"

"You know what sweet Lizzy had her people do with troublesome types?
She had them racked, had needles pushed under their nails, had them
cut, lashed, burned, and mutilated. She had them thrown down dry wells
and locked up in boxes. Have you ever heard of me plucking off a nipple
with white-hot tongs?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"And then how she killed them!"

"Shut up!"

"She had them hanged, drawn, and quartered. Know what that means? First
you're hung for a while, to choke and struggle. Then they take you down
and stretch you out. Naked, of course. This is all in front of throngs
of cheering crowds, you know." Richard was getting wound up as he
talked, excited. "They cut off your privy parts, as they would call
them. Your dick and balls. Sliced off slowly. To maximize the shock and
pain and screaming. Then, when you're only moaning again, they butcher
you, cut you open down the front and pull out your guts. You'd better
be mostly dead by then, because they burn your intestines in front of
your eyes. And then they finally cut out your heart and hold it up for
the crowd!"

"Fucker..."

"But they aren't done! Your body is cut up. Your head goes on a stake
and your quarters are hung wherever they want to make a point, so the
people there will see them rot, and smell them, and know it could be
them. That's what good Queen Bess did to people!"

"That's crap!"

"It's true, it's true, dear Henry!" Now he was shouting into the phone,
but he caught himself and took a breath. "One thing you should know
about me is I'm truthful. In fact, Bessie wanted to make the executions
worse, and more drawn out, and even more terrible. Probably because she
was a red head. Unfortunately, her advisors convinced her that hanging,
drawing and quartering were sufficient, if done right. The pussies."

This time I didn't say anything at all.

"You think she didn't watch it and get hot? You know? Peek from a
hiding spot, maybe inside a cloaked carriage, and frig herself? Good
Queen Bess. I'm sure that got her cunt good and wet for her lovers. I
imagine she got especially hot. Maybe not. But, you see, I don't have
to make up anything at all. I just read other people's fantasies. And
their realities. People desire things far more than I provide."

"What are you doing to Alice?"

"Just so you know, I'm not hanging and drawing and quartering the
lovely Alice. What I'm doing to her now is taking her to Cannes, and
then to my resort island for a brief stay. I do hope you won't try to
track us there."

* * * * *

He wasn't done with me. Ten days later he sent me an email with several
jpeg attachments. They were all photos of Alice. They were identified
by name and number. I opened them in order, beginning with Alice1.jpg.

She was walking with Richard on a beach, topless. She wore a dog collar
and he held the leash and she was laughing. 

They were having dinner in a large hall in which everyone was topless.
Some people were naked. 

Still in the hall, Alice was dipping a breast into a glass of what
looked like port. In the next picture Richard was sucking the breast,
dribbles of red stuff running down her front and down his chin. In this
one she looked excited, staring down as he sucked and licked her breast
in front of the throngs of diners. 

There were a couple of photos of them after the meal was finished,
before the plates had been cleared. There was some kind of sex show on
a platform in the near background. Three men were fucking a woman's
vagina, anus, and mouth all at the same time, while she held on to two
other men's boners. Another pair of women were tied to chintzy-looking
torture contraptions. Alice was looking at them in one of the photos,
while Richard talked to her.

It got more personal. 

Alice was in what looked to be a tropical hut, with her arms stretched
over her head. Her arms may have been tied. It seemed so, though I
couldn't see above her elbows. She had a blank look on her face. This
was followed by a close-up of her torso. You could tell she did shave
her pubis. You could also see several pink lines, like whip marks, on
her belly.

The pictures grew progressively worse, all the rest taken in the hut.
There was Alice on her knees pulling down a pair of pants, smiling up
at the owner. Next she was pulling a penis out of his underwear. Then
she was holding his erection to her mouth and looking up to the face of
whomever she was sucking. I guess it was Richard. I hoped it was
Richard. It would be even harder to take if the penis were someone
else's, if she would suck anyone at all for the camera, instead of just
her lover. 

I didn't want to look at the last one. Richard would have held the best
for last, wouldn't he? I actually thought, for a moment, you can erase
all of these. Dump them. The thought passed, though, and I clicked on
it.

Yes, it was the worst of them. Alice was tied naked to a bed or
something, inside the hut, completely spread out. You could see the
same stripes on her body as before. I know they were the same because I
went back to compare them. Surrounding the bed were six men, none of
them Richard. All six were masturbating over her, six men leaning over
her, six dicks stretched over her by six hands, a mini bukkake show.
One had been caught precisely in the act of coming onto her chest. A
little puddle was on her body already, right above her left breast, and
another spurt floated between the two of them.

What did Alice think of all this? Her eyes were wide, her head was
pulled back, and her lips were open as though she were saying
something. I couldn't tell how she was responding. I just couldn't
tell. 

There was one other thing. Someone had written something across her
breasts, a special, intimate message in red marker: "Hello, Henry. Wish
you were here."

* * * * *

Afterward it was natural to have the dream again, but it changed. For a
couple of nights I hadn't dreamed of her at all. Maybe I was on the
verge of letting go. Who knows? Then after the pictures the dream came
back. I couldn't... couldn't what? Couldn't collect myself. Couldn't let
go. Couldn't not think of Alice fucking a succession of faceless men,
becoming Richard's complete sex slave. The pictures appeared when I'd
turn a corner, or blink, or look into the refrigerator. So that night I
had the dream again, and for nights afterward. Only this time a circle
of men were spewing on her. The room smelled of spunk, but I couldn't
get to her. The stench was overwhelming because the men went through an
endless cycle of coming, and Alice was laughing with delight at each
splash of semen, reaching her mouth to it, reaching her tongue to it.
My loving wife.