Bad Men

She walked across the bar as if nothing around her mattered, the multitude just petals at a Goddess’ feet. Slipping past him like a forgotten, hidden piece of art falling through his hands. Her gaze shifted in his direction and he hid, behind anything but his shame. She greeted the small congress of men there for her disposal. Delicate hands grasping, touching until she reached him. The furor of jealousy exploded inside him without hesitation. Tall, sandy blond hair. Chiseled jawline. His skin tight and tanned. Pecs and biceps and everything a woman wants wrapped in designer jeans and a tailored shiny black shirt. Probably a millionaire too. And her, a mere glimmer in the constellation of women lost in his stone grey eyes. He would have her that night. She reeked of demeaning consent.

How could she? Did she not have a heart? A simple mediocre soul? Did she not care the dozens of times he held the door open for her as she glided into the building? All the times he whispered “hi” as they rode the elevator? He’d managed to keep the rest of them away. They were bad. Bad men. They’d bother her no more. Never again. He kept her vigil in the night. Hidden in the walls. Her door locks arcane, easy to pick. The temperature in her flat always cool. The refrigerator stocked with organic this and that and the hip water the movie stars all drank. He never hurt her. Never even touched her as he listened to her sleep. He loved her. But this one, this surfer dream boy, he’d proved a difficult foe. Caught him unprepared and reached her and now she packed her things and was leaving with him. Almost in his arms. Leaving him forever. Forever.

He felt the crowd around him. Like an octopus attacking him, dragging him to the deep. Like so many times before, but not this time. He would save her. Keep her safe from that bad man. He pulled his knife from his boot. The bone handle broke from the last time he used it. The blade sharp and bloody. He never bothered to clean it afterwards. No one saw him approach the couple in the glimmer and the dark of the club. The spray of blood landed soft and angelic across her face. Like a bubble bursting at her face. He stared at her eyes as he continued to saw at the surfer dream boy’s throat. Would she notice him now?

Curious

“Oh God! Oh God! Please...please...stop. Spank me. Oh God!”

Damn it. Three nights in a row now they’ve been going at it like monkeys. Couldn’t they at least be quiet? Danny thought. I’m trying to sleep down here! Danny’s wife slept soundly beside him, oblivious to the thumps on their ceiling, the slaps against flesh, the pleas to God. Danny placed his pillow over his face but could still hear her. Please, oh God, please. Begging Him to do...what? And Him! Spewing orders at her. Do it now, do it now, yes baby yes, that’s it. If things became quiet briefly, Danny could even hear His breathing. Slow and calm. Deep methodical breaths which seemed to absorb her along with all the air in the room each time. Each breath taking something away from her.

As the screaming, hitting and thumps on the floor continued, Danny wondered what exactly was happening above him. Sometimes the woman’s cries aimed at passion, false passion. Veiled underneath Danny heard pain in the woman’s voice. Sometimes she’d remain quiet for several minutes then inexplicably begin screaming again. And who was she? Only a single Hispanic man lived upstairs and Danny never saw any women with him or heard anything before this past few nights. Maybe she was  a prostitute ... for three nights in a row? The monkeys continued above and Danny became keen to every scream and whisper, hoping to gain a clue to the mystery above.

Danny heard steel clash against steel, more moaning and squealing. He heard flesh striking flesh, hard. Then Danny heard Him, his voice such a low, delicate whisper it was almost inaudible. Danny laid motionless in bed.

“Say it.” Danny heard another slap, this one harder.

“Yes Daddy, What do you want me to do Daddy?” Her voice sounded weak and beaten. “Kneel in front of me.” Danny heard her moving, each movement sounded hesitant as she crawled towards Him. Danny heard her adjust her knees, they were now directly above him.

“Bow your head.”

“Please no, I’ll do anything, please.”

“DO IT NOW!” It was the first time Danny heard Him raise his voice. Danny thought he heard the girl crying but he wasn’t sure. He imagined teardrops clinging desperately to her cheeks and lips. Then he heard something hit the floor followed by something heavier crashing down. Then nothing.

Danny didn’t sleep the rest of the night worried what might have happened.

The stereo alarm kicked his wife awake. She turned to hug Danny and found him intently staring at the ceiling. Danny never woke up before her. But Danny was waiting, quietly, patiently. Waiting as he had all through the night, waiting for a sound from above. He wanted to hear a moan, a scream, a good morning, something to tell him everything was fine. Anything. His wife dressed, ate breakfast and left for work. Danny remained in bed feigning sickness. Danny laid there, holding his breath at intervals, scared to make a noise that would force him to miss a sound from above. He waited to hear her voice. Say good morning, say it. Nothing.