The Devil Next Door

Thinking this way, she began to realize that she liked him in a way that was not strictly platonic. It was stupid and she knew it. Really, really stupid. She was sixteen for godsake and he was like forty or something. He was married to Michelle and she was gorgeous, tall and leggy with long dark hair sweeping down her back. Carried herself with that stature, that poise that was simply beyond Macy. Louis would never even consider for a moment, he would never think?

But what if he did, Macy? she asked herself. What if he did? What if they were still together and he put an arm around her…what then?

And she knew. She could feel the heat inside her that she’d only felt once or twice before and never for boys in school, always for older men. The boys at school were gangly and silly and immature. They were not men. Not like Louis was. Sure, if he tried something, she would melt in his arms. She would let him lay her down. She would let him inside her. She knew that now. Maybe she’d tried to pretend otherwise ever since this afternoon when they’d hooked up, but she didn’t doubt it anymore. She felt it building in her, that blaze, ever since they’d sat on his porch and he had looked at her with that…that hunger.

She’d thought it then. There had been precious few boys at school that interested her, but often older men intrigued her. And Louis intrigued her like no other. She wanted her first time to be with him. Not a sweaty, groping, inexperienced boy…but a man. An older man.

Get a grip!

Yes, yes, she had to. Where was all this nonsense coming from? It had to be all the stress and weirdness and fear. That had to be it. Because this wasn’t the way she thought. This was how Chelsea or Shannon or one of the slutty cheerleaders thought. They fantasized about things like this, about having sex with older men and spreading their legs and feeling someone pushing into them with a slow and deliberate rhythm that would speed up and speed up until you couldn’t take it anymore. The feel of flesh against flesh, tongues mating with tongues?

Macy was breathing hard now, her flesh hot to the touch. If Louis had been there, she would have blushed.

Or maybe you’d just go down on your knees…

Oh, good God, it was happening again.

It was taking control of her again. She’d been worried all day since she’d attacked Chelsea that it would return, that it would come back and claim her…that boiling darkness. That whatever iniquitous flower that bloomed in her head and closed back up, would bloom anew and take her back to that awful place. That primal and destructive place where you acted on any and all urges with sinister delight. She could remember it now. How it had felt, how it had

(excited) offended her. How all the dirty and dark desires in the pit of her mind had jumped to the fore and she had no control, had not honestly wanted control or even understood what control was. Was it happening again? Was it taking her over again? If it was, she was only glad that Louis was not here, because if he was, she would want him. She would put her mouth on his and her hands on him and demand that he put his on her, do things to her, use her and use her again.

Still breathing hard and trembling now, too, Macy realized that it was not happening to her. At least, not how it had happened before. Though she would never have admitted it, she’d felt free when the madness had taken her. She was feeling that way now. But not in a dangerous way. She was just feeling the stirrings of who and what she was. She was feeling desire and lust and she was not honestly uncomfortable with it. The woman in her was making herself known and although it scared her to a certain extent, she felt liberated by it. Because she had been expecting it for a long time and now it was here.

But she had to be realistic here.

But if Louis is not dead and we find each other, then…then…

She only hoped that if he was dead it had been quick, relatively painless. Something that would take him fast. She had been dehumanized to the point now that she was becoming almost desensitized to everything. She didn’t care what they did to her, she just hoped that Louis Shears died quickly.

The girl who was leading her stopped.

Macy realized she had been stumbling along for a long time now, totally disconnected from reality. She knew Greenlawn well. But in the darkness, she could not say exactly where they were. The man did not seem to be sure either. He was standing there, looking around. He said something to the woman and she went down on her hands and knees, crawling through the grass of somebody’s yard and sniffing. Sniffing like a dog. She jumped up excitedly, started making grunting sounds and gesticulating madly. The man seemed to understand what she was saying. Macy couldn’t. That grunting and snorting…like the guttural language of wild hogs.