Richard Matheson - Hunted Past Reason

Doug didn’t reply and Bob reacted with a gasp of alarm as Doug began to run the thin rope around his back, then around the tree.

“For Christ’s sake, Doug, what are you doing?”

“Shut up , Bobby,” Doug answered in a singsong voice.

“Doug, please. We’re grown-up men, we’re not—”

He broke off with a gasping cry as Doug flat-handed the back of his head, making him jerk forward, his forehead hitting the rough bark of the tree. “Jesus!” he cried, grimacing in pain.

He said no more, trying to restore his breathing as Doug kept wrapping the thin rope around his back and around the tree. How could this be happening? he kept on thinking. How could Doug have hidden all these years the hatred he was showing now? He wanted to try to reason with Doug, try to bring him back to his senses but he hurt too much in too many places, he didn’t dare speak again.

Doug finished tying him to the tree, tightening the rope so much that his breath was cut off again. “I can’t breathe,” he said in a wheezing voice.

“Oh, sorry,” Doug said as though he really was.

Bob cried out weakly as Doug pulled the rope even tighter.

“All right, kill me then!” Bob cried hoarsely.

“I will, big boy,” Doug told him. “But not right away.”

Bob sucked in a choking breath as Doug loosened the ropes, then used the ends to tie Bob’s hands together by the wrists. “There we go,” he said. He sounded pleased.

Bob leaned his forehead against the tree and closed his eyes. What now? he thought. Oh, God, what now? For a few moments, he had a vision of Marian standing in the clearing, staring at Doug, aghast at what he’d done.

“All right, Bobby boy,” Doug said. “It’s time to clear out the bullshit.”

Bob stiffened as Doug pulled down his pants a few inches and lifted up the bottom of his jacket. “Now,” he said.

Bob’s breath cut off with a gasp as he felt something sharp pressing at his back. “I guess you know what that is,” Doug said. “My trusty ol’ golak. One hard shove and you’re a dead pussy. So tell me, Bobby boy, you think you’ll just be fast-forwarded to paradise? Or only be a corpse hanging off this tree?”

Bob drew in shaking breath. “What do you want me to say?” he asked.

“The truth, baby, the truth. You’re as scared of dying as the rest of us. Your goddamn stupid philosophy doesn’t mean doodley-squat to you right now with the point of my golak right at your back.” Bob hissed as he felt the sharp point of the blade breaking his skin. “ Does it, Bobby boy?”

Bob closed his eyes, teeth clenched. “You’re wrong,” he said. “You—”

He cried out faintly as Doug jabbed the blade end into his flesh. The flare of pain made him press his teeth together tightly.

“You’re wrong,” he said in a sudden blind rage. “You want me to renege—”

“Want you to what?” Doug demanded. He hitched the blade to the right. Bob sobbed at the pain and felt a trickle of blood down his back.

I won’t, he thought. He wasn’t going to give Doug satisfaction.

“Killing me won’t change what I believe,” he said in a tense, guttural voice. “I’ll go to afterlife, I still believe that. You’re the one who’ll really suffer in the long run.” He could barely finish as Doug turned the blade tip again, making him groan at the pain. “Go on!” he cried, mindless with fury. “Do it! Murder me! I’ll still believe what I believe! I won’t be dead, but you’ll be damned!”

He waited for the final thrust, the burst of pain, the darkness of death.

It didn’t come.

“Well, well, well,” Doug said. “I must say I’m impressed. You really do believe in afterlife. I admire your conviction, Bobby boy.”

Bob felt the tip of the golak blade removed. The pain decreased but he could still feel warm blood dribbling down his back.

“So you’re not afraid of dying,” Doug went on. “Well, I can understand that. Even if you didn’t believe in afterlife, dying would end the pain.”

Bob felt himself tightening. What was Doug talking about now?

He knew immediately as Doug said, “Maybe living is something you’d rather not do. Maybe I was offering you an easy way out by threatening to impale you on my golak. Maybe staying alive is worse than dying. Right, Bobby boy? Maybe living… but with pain .”

Bob braced himself for the beating he was sure Doug was about to inflict on him. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together tightly. Maybe—if the beating was severe—he’d pass out. It was all he could hope for. And Doug was wrong if he thought he could just keep beating him and not end up by killing him.

He twitched as Doug jerked down his pants until they were bunched around his ankles.

“I forgot to mention,” Doug said—was he smiling cruelly as he spoke—“pain and humiliation .”

No , Bob thought. Doug couldn’t mean what he thought he did.

“Then maybe not,” Doug said. Bob heard a rustling of clothes behind him. “Maybe it wouldn’t be humiliation at all. Maybe you’d enjoy it. Maybe it’s exactly what you’ve been dying for ever since we started out.”

The rustling of clothes ended. Bob heard Doug making tiny sensual noises behind him. “Gotta get it ready for you, baby. Hot and ready.”

“Doug, for Christ’s sake…”

“No, no, not him,” Doug said with amusement. “He was straight.” He chuckled. “I think .” He laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass to the Church if they found out that their Son of God liked to take it up the ass.”

“Doug, you are destroying your life!” Bob cried.

“Oh, no, babe, I’m destroying yours,” Doug answered.

Bob turned his head as Doug moved into view. He made a feeble noise of disbelief, grimacing at the sight of Doug. Except for his boots, he was completely naked, gripping his erected penis with his left hand. Bob felt a chill at the size of it, knowing now what Doug intended to do.

“I saw the way you looked at me the other night when I was naked,” Doug told him. “I used to see the way you looked at my bathing suit when Nicole and I were swimming at your house. As though you were dying to jerk it down and put my cock in your mouth.”

“Oh, God, Doug, God.” Bob shook his head.

“He isn’t here, I keep telling you, babe,” Doug said.

He moved out of sight now, Bob saw as he opened his eyes.

“Doug, for Christ’s sake, don’t do this,” he said.

“Looking forward to it, are you, Bobby boy?” Doug said. “I know I am. I’m going to shove my cock all the way up your hot, virginal asshole and I’m gonna love it. Once I’m in there, let’s see what your damn spiritual insight can do to comfort you. Nothing, I suspect. It’s just gonna hurt like hell. And the hornier I get, the more it’s gonna hurt. Mmm, I can hardly wait.”

“Doug, for Christ’s sake, don’t do this!” Bob cried.

“Oh, now it’s for his sake,” Doug said; he sounded amused. “You’re regressing, Bobby. Did you just become a born-again Christian? Give yourself to Jesus and all will be hunky-dory? I don’t think so,” he finished in a singsong voice.

“By the way,” he added. “If there’s no such thing as an accident, that must mean I intended to fuck your asshole right from the start.”

“Doug, don’t. Please .” His voice sounded weak and pitiable, now.

He heard Doug doing something behind him. Then Doug came back. “Gonna make it easy for you, babe,” he said.

Bob jerked, gasping, as he felt Doug’s fingers start to probe into his rectum; there was something wet on his fingers. “Just a spoonful of olive oil makes the dicky-wick go in, the dicky-wick go in, the dicky-wick go in,” Bob sang, paraphrasing Mary Poppins’s song. He’s gone insane, he really has, Bob thought in horror, gritting his teeth as Doug continued probing with his fingers, moving them deeper into Bob. “Just a little preview, Bobby. A coming attraction.”