Alan-Michael is with Mara-Joy, laughing. He is dreaming, and everywhere he looks, blood covers everything. He looks down on Mara-Joy as she laughs hysterically, arms stretched out. She is dripping with blood from head to toe.
Alan-Michael looks down at his own body. He is naked and blanketed in blood also. A knife is clasped in his right hand. Blood drips lazily from the pointed tip of the razor sharp edge.
“Mara-Joy,” he says dreamily. She veers from him in slow motion, hair flowing out behind her. A blood-soaked hand motions him to follow.
He does. It feels like he is floating. Floating on a wave of red. He can hear her tinkling laugh through his deep breathing as she gets farther and farther away from him.
Alan-Michael hurries his pace, bent on catching up to her. He turns a scarlet-drenched corner and stops dead in his tracks.
She stands still above a blood-sodden mass.
He moves slowly to her, his heart racing as he floats toward his goal with each step.
She smiles at him and giggles, looking down at the bloody pulp at her feet.
Alan-Michael gazes down at what Mara-Joy is concentrating on.
Joanna lies in a heap of blood and gore. Her eyes are blank and staring. The life has gone from them. Her tongue rolls from her mouth grotesquely. A large gaping wound pumps blood slowly from her neck.
His head snaps back up to Mara-Joy.
She is naked, blood sprinkled all over her exposed torso.
“You’ve done it, Alan-Michael. I told you, you could do it,” she says in a faraway voice. Her hands lift from beside her hips and extend out toward him. She pulls his nude body to her, undisturbed by the corpse of Joanna lying between them.
“You did it, my love,” she says, leaning in and kissing his wet lips. Drops begin to fall onto their locked faces. Suddenly rain begins to pour on top of their naked bodies.
Alan-Michael opens his eyes to the sudden rain falling inside the blood-drenched room.
It is not rain. It is blood.
Joanna’s blood.
Mara-Joy tilts back her head and raises her arms high, squealing with delight.
Drops of blood race down her naked form, leaving red streaks.
Alan-Michael lifts his head to the downpour of blood and laughs out loud too.
“Alan-Michael, Mikey,” Mara-Joy says softly, pulling his head down to her waiting lips. “I am yours.” She plunges her cool wet tongue into his mouth, hungrily searching for his waiting one. She finds it and sucks on it thirstily.
He grasps her shoulders tightly, pulling her small frame onto his. His desire prods her with full force. She tosses back her head and moans, grasping his stiff shaft. He groans with heated passion, pulling her down to the bloody floor.
He is on top of her in a flash. Mara-Joy squirms like a wild beast beneath him, blood sloshing under her back.
“Now, Mikey, now!” she gasps, forcefully guiding him into her. “Now!” She arches her back, displaying her jutting breasts soaked with blood.
He pounces on her forcefully, pounding on her harder and harder. She cries out, cackling, raking her painted fingers down his bloody back.
His pleasure is mounting higher and higher. His desire building stronger and stronger. He feels his buttocks tighten in anticipation of his climax.
Something wet and slimy wraps firmly around his ankle. He ignores it and continues to enjoy himself on the withering creature, wailing beneath him.
Mara-Joy calls out his name, gripping her hands firmly on his pumping rump.
His head falls back, purely enthralled in his work at hand. Eyes closed, he feels something moist and sticky touching his face gently. He opens his eyes, not wanting to miss seeing Mara-Joy bloom. He looks down to see her startled face, gazing past him. Her hands clasped to her mouth. She looks green with fright.
“Mara-Joy?” he says, confused with her behavior.
She points behind him and begins to scream. Alan-Michael turns around, sensing the sickly-sweet smell of putrid waste.
To his horror, Joanna is crouched behind him, her body arched perfectly to his. Blood oozes from the open gape in her neck. Her vacant green eyes stare blankly out at him. Deep from within her extended mouth, her voice bubbles through.
“Why brother? Why?” the inhuman voice filters out.
Alan-Michael sat straight up in bed, heart pounding in his throat. He was soaking wet with his own perspiration.
“It was just a dream,” he panted, half relieved. He looked at the clock on the bed stand. It was three thirteen in the morning. He lay back down on his damp pillow, dropping his head gently into the soft folds of feathers.
It had been such a vivid dream. So life-like. He closed his eyes and visualized how Mara-Joy had looked in the dream. His lips couldn’t help curving into an evil smile, his last memory of Joanna already forgotten.
Chapter 44 —