Brian Freeman: Immoral

"Open the door, Rachel," he insisted, his voice quavering. "I promise I won't hurt you. But I need to talk to you."

His promise was a lie, and they both knew it. If she opened the door, he wouldn't be able to control himself. He needed to touch her and be inside her, whatever it took. The thought of her naked body made him sweat and tremble with longing.

"Rachel!" he shouted, anger creeping into his voice. He pounded the door with his fist, unable to restrain himself. "I need you!"

He threw his shoulder against the door with a jarring thud. He was willing to break it down to get inside. But it was a solid old house, and the oak door didn't budge.

"Let me in!" he screamed.

He laid his cheek against the door and listened. Rachel's voice, when it came, was so close it startled him. She was right on the other side of the door, separated from him by only an inch of heavy wood.

"I'll let you in if you want, Graeme," Rachel said. Her voice was like honey, without the slightest hint of emotion or venom. "If you need to rape me, you can rape me."

"I won't," he murmured.

"It's all right, Graeme. I understand. You have needs."

"Yes," he told her. "Yes, I need you so much. I want it to be like it was."

"And I'm telling you that you can have me."

He hardly dared to breathe. The thought of making love to her again overwhelmed him. "You'll let me?"

"I will. But let me tell you what will happen then."

Something in Rachel's tone made his flesh creep with unease.

"If you come inside and touch me again, I'm going to take a butcher knife to you, and I'm going to cut off your balls. Got it? And then I'm going to cut off your cock. That's a promise. Are you listening? Do you understand? You'll never sleep another night in this house without wondering when I'm going to dismember you. And don't even think about having your little darling reattached. Because once I cut it off, I'm going to flush it down the toilet where it belongs."

Graeme sank to his knees, terrified. Nausea gripped his stomach.

"Do you believe me, Graeme?" Rachel asked. "Do you believe I'll do it?"

He tried to talk but choked on the words.

"I can't hear you, Graeme."

"Yes, yes, I believe you!"

And he did.

"So tell me, do you still want to come inside?" Rachel asked.

Graeme fled without answering her. He had never felt so destroyed. She had proved once again that she was the one who held the real power. He returned downstairs and paced in the den, adrift. The trouble was that he was still enormously aroused. His penis was rock hard, and his desire for her was so strong that he wanted to go back upstairs and fuck her anyway, even knowing the consequences. But he knew Rachel wasn't lying. She would do to him exactly what she promised.

He felt himself drawn toward something ugly and familiar, like a star caught in the inexorable gravity of a black hole. He told himself that he wanted to pull away, but the truth was that he needed it, wanted it, would do anything for it. He tried to be calm, but his fingers were jittery again, and sweat gathered at his armpits and on his skin like a clammy film. He felt something stirring in his soul, a door opening, a shadowy figure awakening.

Please, no, he pleaded with the monster inside.

But it wasn't listening. It played with him like a child with a doll, making his limbs move and telling him what to do.

Rachel, this is your fault.

"Go," the monster rumbled, sounding so unlike a monster, so like himself.

Sounding so…immoral.

Graeme grabbed his keys and went out through the front door. The air was fragile. On an August night, it shouldn't have been dark so early, but the shroud of storm clouds overhead left the western sky almost black. The shifting wind made the oak branches whip angrily.

He made it almost to the detached garage before realizing the way was blocked. Rachel had parked directly across the two doors, trapping his van inside. Graeme cursed. When he glanced up at her bedroom window overhead, he saw her standing there, watching him with an icy smile. The very glimpse of her set his pulse racing. But he scowled, stretching his face muscles tight. His eyes were furious black dots. He kicked her rear fender, hard enough to leave a dent.

He stood outside, thinking furiously. Raindrops began to leave dark splotches on his clothes. Then he had an idea. The thought of it made him grin up at Rachel in the window. She frowned, reading his mind.

He stormed back into the house and panted as he ran up the stairs. In his bedroom, he rifted through Emily's dresser, dumping jewelry cases and cosmetics on the floor. He pawed to the far back of the drawers, groping through the mess. Finally, he heard a jangle as his fingers touched them. He pulled them out, his excitement growing. Emily's old spare keys.

He snatched them up and ran back outside, slamming the door shut behind him. He looked back up at Rachel's window, but she was gone. At the car, he fumbled with the keys. The rain made his fingers slippery, and he dropped them on the driveway. He bent down, grabbing the key ring, and shoved one key into the lock. It turned. The car door opened.

Nervous, Graeme looked around. He was alone.

"Drive," the monster growled. "Hunt."

He gripped the wheel so fiercely that it grew sticky from the sweat on his palms. Nuisance rain spat on his windshield, a mist that the wipers couldn't seem to wipe away. He sought out the back roads. His need was even more urgent being in the car, where the smell of Rachel was everywhere. She might as well have been seated next to him, teasing him with her cold green eyes. The memory of having sex with her was so intense he could still feel her fingers gliding over his skin.

"Hunt."

He headed uphill from Lakeside, quickly leaving the developed areas behind him as he climbed. Within five miles, he was driving through a deserted stretch bordered closely by stands of birch trees on either side of the highway. It was now pouring and completely dark, forcing him to slow down and peer through his headlights to see.

He drifted onto the right-hand shoulder. At the last second, he made out a girl jogging on the shoulder, directly ahead of him, distinct from the shadows of the trees. He braked and swerved the wheel sharply to steer around her, catching a glimpse of fear in the girl's eyes as she saw the car and dove off the road to avoid it.

Graeme pulled off and stopped, leaving the motor running. He hurried back and found the girl picking herself up and brushing dirt and mud from her skin. Her features were difficult to distinguish in the darkness, but she appeared to be about Rachel's age, with long chestnut hair tied in a ponytail. She had an athletic build and was dressed in tight shorts and a sports bra.

"I'm so sorry," Graeme said. "Are you all right?"

The girl took a few steps, favoring one ankle. "I'm okay. Probably just a sprain."

His eyes adjusted enough for him to make her out more clearly. She was young and very attractive, with a sweet vulnerability as she perched gingerly on her good ankle, strands of hair falling loose from her ponytail, her clothes and skin soaked by the rain.

"Come on, let me drive you home," Graeme said, holding out an arm to help her walk.

He smiled, reassuring her, hating himself for what he was doing. It's not me. It's the monster. There's a difference.

She took his arm, steadying herself. He was conscious of her touch. Her body was close enough to envelop him in an aroma of sweat and rain. He unlocked and opened the rear door, taking a quick glance up and down the deserted road.

"Why don't you sit in back so you can keep your ankle elevated?" he suggested.

The girl scooted inside. He leaned in, watching her get settled. The dome light illuminated her, sitting with her head propped against the opposite window. Her moist face had a rosy glow from her long run. Her eyes were bright. She stretched out her right leg on the seat and let the other dangle on the floor of the car. He saw her muscled calves and thighs and traced the Lycra where it met in a V at her crotch. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, and he watched her breasts swell. She smiled shyly.