ELIJAH
I don’t think I need to explain the symbolism behind my display of a liar and thief, of a charlatan and criminal, of a man who lured people in to his seductive web with promises of safety and security all while knowing he’d take what was good in them and expose it to the scavengers and predators that exist in this world.
It wasn’t necessary for me to spell out the hatred I held inside myself for more years that I wanted to count of a fairy tale told for centuries that, to the good man, would come peace and happiness. Because beneath the robes of those good men existed the demons, beneath the skin of their faces was the mark of the beast waiting for the moment to come out.
Being a child in an abusive household is never easy. Hearing the screams of your brother, the deafening silence of your mother, the terrible, punishing words of a father who swore his allegiance to God and Jesus.
Running out the front door, I would go in search of something that could save me, of a protector, of shelter, of one comforting hand that would promise that it hadn’t been me who caused the hatred inside those pristine walls and the small unfinished room with dirt floors. I’d found that promise, and all it cost me was my sanity.
Every day, I was overjoyed to leave my family home in route to a parish I believed was a sanctuary from the horror I lived beneath the roof of my father’s house. I would jump out of my mother’s car and race to the large wooden doors, fighting against the wind that held them shut so that I could hide inside amongst the golden crosses and jewel boxed relics. I would look up to the doves that were painted into the stained glass windows and bask in the glow of candlelight as I breathed in the incense. I would look up to the music director and the gentle priest with hope in my eyes that one day they’d notice the bruises, that one day they’d approach my father to tell him, “Enough.”
Every day I’d appear with that hope in my heart, ignoring the grumbling of my brother who didn’t see the parish in the same way. He abhorred the routine, hated the Tradition, had already grown weary of the world to which we’d been born. But not me. I had hope in a story, in a fable, in the imagery I’d conjured of a strong God sitting in the Heavens looking down at me with love in his eyes.
I’d believed in Him harder than I’d believed in anything, and when the time came that the bruises were noticed, the belief I’d held in the Almighty and his messengers had all but destroyed me behind closed doors and secret meetings, on my knees that were burning against pristine carpets, and on my stomach as I leaned over the desk of my parish priest.
For years, YEARS, those men had used me and had relied on my father’s wrath to bind my tongue.
“He’ll only beat you harder if he finds out.”
“Good luck, boy, there is nowhere you can run.”
I believed their lies just as much as I’d once believed that God would look out for me and protect me from evil. Once the illusion had been stripped away from my innocent mind, I’d never believed in another thing again.
Not God. Not good. Not evil. Not redemption.
For a boy that was only temptation, there was no absolution.
I was a filthy whore. A petulant child. A mockery of what it meant to be decent and faithful. I was only nine when the sexual abuse started, and by thirteen, those men had shaped me and formed me, beating me down with punishing fists and heavy cocks, until they’d broken me enough to create a monster.
Eight years passed that I endured the abuse while my twin somehow escaped unscathed. And at sixteen, when Jacob and I had tasted our first girl in the basement of that parish, I understood then how good it felt to be the one to punish rather than the one cowering beneath the weight of abusive men.
Their laughter had always echoed in my ear. My father’s raised voice always chased me back into their clutches, but I’d come out the stronger man in the end when I’d decided to killed them, one by one.
First the music director, but he’d already been dead by the time I got to him. Then the priest. It was interesting to find out that he too had suffered an unfortunate demise after I’d searched for months to find him. Figuring the Church had done a decent enough job of covering their crimes, I felt robbed of my opportunity for violence, but I couldn’t deny I felt a keen sense of happiness after discovering that both men had been shoved into the bowels of whatever Hell devoured them.
My father, well, his death wasn’t exactly planned, but after he’d refused to accept his part in the sexual abuse I’d suffered, after he’d failed to acknowledge that if he’d just listened he could have stopped them, he took an unfortunate tumble down the steep, winding stairs. I never intended for that to happen, but then what can be done with a man who will confess his sins to God behind closed doors and in secret while refusing to admit them to his own flesh and blood?
Churning within the mist of all the memories that crowded my head was one symbol that stuck out, one ruse, one lie, one image that was the cause of it all.
Eve’s scream tore through the sanctuary ripping at the silence, the volume of her cry like music to my ears as I stared up at that symbol to witness it brought to life.
Oh, yes, those Romans were masters of inflicting the worst of pain.
So absorbed by the sight of a man nailed to a cross, his chest shredded and bruised, his blood still dripping slowly from where he’d been attached to that thick wood, I’d failed to notice how Eve sank to her knees, her body withering at my feet as her forehead was pressed to the floor.
I was mesmerized by the image, my eyes glimmering with the same soft dance of light the candles had given the room. There he hanged in all his brilliance, suffering the same guilt, defeat and humiliation that I’d been forced to suffer for believing his lies in the first place. It didn’t matter that the poor bastard hanging wasn’t sent by Heaven itself, it meant nothing that nobody had believed him the actual Son of the Almighty, what mattered was that he represented the absolute truth about what the world was about.
Don’t believe that lies that good men exist, not in family, in politics or religion. Because, in reality, there is no such thing as a good man or father, just an interloper whispering beautiful lies while dragging you into their Hell.
There was no good in this world, only the wicked, and they were the most beautiful, the most charming, the most deceiving where they sat in their thrones of absolute power.
While staring up at a condemned man who represented everything in this world that I hated, I laughed out loud to realize that it had been me who destroyed him – that it would be me who unveiled the lie and brought His Church to the ground.
My body thrummed with excitement as I stood there staring, my eyes darting between the man slowly dying and the woman kneeling at my feet. Lifting my head so that all I could see was the dying man on his wooden cross, I pursed my lips and whistled so loudly that he could no longer ignore me.
His eyes blinked open, the life in his eyes fading until hazy, but there was still some shred of him left that would enjoy the last experience I had for him.
“Do you remember this woman on the floor in front of me? Do you remember my wife?”
He couldn’t answer back, I knew that, but still, it was fun to throw questions out. I wondered if the bastard could even see with the blood dripping down his face, the crown of nails that we manufactured since we didn’t have thorns readily available.
Eve was whimpering still, her poor little mind shocked to oblivion by the sight hanging before us. Stripped down to nothing, this man had been positioned over the cross, a white towel draped over his waist as if I gave a damn about modesty. His hair was long and he was missing the beard, but I had to ignore that slight mistake in the image.
Candlelight lit the majority of the sanctuary, but at the base of his particular cross, I’d positioned floodlights pointing up at his body to highlight every bruise, every lash mark, every cut. It was so glorious as to be holy, so implicitly wrong, but I admired my work regardless. He was the symbol of what I’d known about the men pretending to be Godly, the bastards who drag you in to their safe little webs and devour you while shredding you with sharp claws.
I grew hard just at the sight, ready and able to render my beautiful girl pure by removing this bastard’s power from her body and filling it with mine.
“Stand up, Eve. Don’t cower in the face of evil when you are strong enough to face it. This son of a bitch has no power over you. Only me. Only the one true God.”
The man’s eyes blinked, his head lulling to the side as he attempted to understand what was happening below him. I was sure he found it difficult to breathe due to the position of his body, that he was consumed by the pain of the nails hammered through his feet, and of his shoulders slowly dislocating. His weight would eventually kill him, his body sagging ever lower with each hour that passed. And here I stood, staring up at a symbol that had once held all the power, to show the world that I was stronger and smarter than their precious God.
Whimpering and sobbing, Eve attempted several times to push to her feet. Once she stood at her full height that was inches shorter than me, she faced the monstrosity I created as the symbol of the Faith she believed I belonged to, like her.
Leaning over, I pressed my mouth to her ear. “Tell me again what this monster has done to you.”
Her words tumbled over themselves without making sense. She was in too much shock to complete a simple sentence, the fear coursing through seeping out in a sticky sweat along her temple and jaw. Wrapping my hands over her shoulders I felt the way she trembled when faced with the image of a liar, rapist and thief that I created for her.
“H – He tried – tried to rape me.”
Managing to blurt out that pathetic statement, she failed to deliver the details I wanted. Leaning over, my voice was firm when I instructed her, “Tell me from the beginning, Eve, from the moment you met him to the moment I saved you from his sin.”
Still shaking like a leaf beneath my hands, she dragged in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she attempted to look away from the condemned man where he hung from his cross. Gently pushing her face back to where she couldn’t look away from the man staring down at us as he was dying, I held it there with my palm against her cheek waiting for her to speak.
“This is wrong, Elijah. He shouldn’t be hanging there like the Savior. You shouldn’t have done this in God’s house.”
God’s house. My house. Same difference. All I knew by the words she’d spoken was that she didn’t appreciate the symbolism, didn’t understand that by hanging a criminal on that cross, I was making a statement of what I thought of her Savior.
“What did he do, Eve? Tell me.”
Tears ran down her cheeks and over my fingers, her jaw trembling against my palm. Several seconds passed as she gulped in air, her body weakening against mine as she finally found the strength to voice the details of the assault.
“I was walking down the road when he pulled up blasting his music. He pulled over and asked me why I was out on the side of road so late. I told him I was going to the parish to find you and he offered to give me a ride. But he said he wouldn’t help me unless I agreed to dance with him. I thought it was innocent. I thought-“
Her voice died off into soft sobs. I gave her a few seconds to gather her strength, to allow her thoughts to travel back to a night that she’d fantasized about despite what was done to her. It would be a lie to say that the image of this man in her beautiful head hadn’t bothered me, which was why I decided to end those thoughts tonight. Now, whenever she thought of this man, she’d remember him like this. Bleeding and hanging from the cross I’d erected in my house.
“After I danced with him, he told me that he wouldn’t drive me to the parish unless I removed my clothes and let him look at my body.”
My lips curled at the memory. Whispering against her cheek, I wrapped my arms around her body. “And did you like letting him look at you?”
Body shaking harder, she admitted, “Yes.”
My smile stretched wider. “Good. I’d like for you to show him again how beautiful you are.”
She stilled against me, her breath held in her lungs. Releasing it when she couldn’t hold it any longer, she said, “No, Elijah. I can’t. That’s wrong.”
Hands sweeping up her abdomen to rest just beneath her breasts, I hugged her tighter when I said, “You need to purge this man’s sins from your system. It’s the last bit of sin infecting you. After tonight, after I purge what remains inside and sickens you, you’ll be free. You’ll be happy. You’ll never have to worry again. Trust me, Eve. Trust in your husband.”
My fingers were soaked by her tears.
Pulling against my arms, she stepped away when I released her. She wouldn’t look up at the man as she reached for the top buttons of her dress, undoing them one by one while he stared down with eyes that were dying. From where I stood, I couldn’t see the slow reveal of her body, but he could, and that’s all that mattered.
Forcing Eve to bare herself wasn’t meant as something against her, but against him. He believed he’d had the right to touch my wife, the right to see her in all her wonderful glory, and I would give him the right again, except this time, he would learn that her purity was never meant for him. She was mine alone.
The navy blue dress slipped from her shoulders, revealing her bare body beneath. The bones of her shoulders protruded more than I remembered, her ribs running in equally spaced lines across her back. Her ass had deflated with the lack of sustenance she’d taken in over the past week, but she would be beautiful again once the last of the demons were forced out.
Candlelight flickered softly at my back casting shadows against her skin. Stepping up so that my chest pressed against her, I dragged my hands up her arms, over her shoulders and back down again to palm the weight of her breasts.
“Does it excite you to know he can see you like this again? Does it remind you of what you felt on the side of the road that night?”
Her breath rattled out of her lungs, her words shaky and soft when she answered, “Yes, it does.”
“Did he touch you on the road that night?”
Body shaking against mine, she answered, “No. He touched himself.”
I wanted to touch myself just for the excitement I felt in that moment, but I decided a better use could be made of my cock. Pressing my hips against her, I asked, “Do you feel my excitement to see you like this?”
Nodding her head, she pressed back against me. “Yes.”
Pausing to allow the silence to fall over us, I finally asked, “Will you deny me anything now that I have you here in this place of lust?”
She simply shook her head.
My eyes closed, my heart racing, pumping all that glorious blood down between my legs. “On your hands and knees, Eve. I want to watch this man die while we rid your body of the last of his evil.”
Perfectly trained and obedient, my beautiful girl sank to her knees. Forcing her body down farther, she planted her hands against the floor and waited for me to take her.
Glancing up, I saw that the man was still watching. Whether he understood what was happening on the floor at his feet was anybody’s guess. It didn’t matter, either way, as long as I got what I was after.
I removed my shirt slowly, taking my time to unfasten the buttons and pull it from my chest and shoulders. It puddled on the floor where I dropped it. Unbuttoning my pants, I pulled down the zipper, allowing the material to fall to my ankles as I kicked off my shoes and stepped out of the material. Kicking it all to the side, I grinned up at the condemned, my cock hard in my hands as I stroked it. Nothing about that son of bitch turned me on, but I couldn’t say the same for Eve.
Still as a statue, she waited silently while maintaining the position I’d instructed her to take. I sunk to my knees behind her, running my hands up her back to drag my fingernails down leaving red marks against her pale skin in their path. She shivered beneath my touch, her round ass wiggling behind her, because the beautiful thing about Eve was her lack of patience in bed. She wanted it all, the pain, the pleasure, the torment, and she wasn’t willing to wait like a good little girl should. No, not this lustful vixen. Rather than playing coy about requesting a release, she used her tempting body to demand it.
I slapped her on the ass for thinking she had the right to demand anything from me, but secretly, I enjoyed it. Never in the years I watched her growing up did I think she’d be so fun in bed, but that just goes to show you never know a person until you’ve been inside them.
On my knees behind her, I trained my eyes on the condemned man hanging above us as I bent over to take a playful bite of the skin of her ass. She cried out, moisture glistening between her legs as she whimpered and begged, her hips moving slowly as I slipped a finger inside the wet heat of her body to find that she was oh so ready.
Pushing myself back up, I tilted my head to the dying man and smiled. “Don’t you wish you’d had the opportunity to taste her before I jumped you on the side of that road? I’ll let you watch as your body slowly dies, and along with it the demon of memory that has infected my wife. After tonight, you’ll be banished back to the Hell you came from while I continue enjoying her.”
He blinked down at me, but it was the only indication he’d understood a damn word I’d said. It was a pity, really, I would have liked to know the thoughts running through his mind while two people fucked on the ground while he was slowly fading.
With one hand gripped to her hip I used the other to position myself at her opening, and with my eyes still gazing at the pathetic bastard nailed to the cross, my grin stretched wider as I pushed inside. Heaven was the only way to describe the tight wet heat that welcomed my cock, gripping at it with greedy muscles as I entered her, inch by glorious inch, until our bodies were pressed together. She moaned out her pleasure, her chin tilting up and her hair falling from her head to tumble over her shoulders. My hips pulled back, pushed back in, my own mouth dropping open.
Sliding a hand up her back, I gripped my hand into the back of her thick hair, using it like reins to tilt her head further, to lift her hands from the floor and force her to look upon the symbol of her savior while I thrust inside her without concern of care. A scream erupted from her lips. Not from fear, but pleasure, and she tightened around me as her body had its first stirring of an orgasm that would rush through her.
“Confess,” I whispered, wanting to hear her thoughts, wanting to own every part of her - mind, body and soul.
Yanking harder on her hair, I felt her body tighten around me even more. I bit down on my lip and slowed my pace just to keep from coming at that moment. Her cries were like music to my ears, her need for pain a siren’s song that called out to me threatening to wreck my very soul on the jagged rocks of her shoreline. My fingers dug into the sensitive flesh of her hips, my teeth clenching together with the need to sink into the sweet tissues of her body. I couldn’t continue like this, I needed all of her.
Pulling out, I ignored her groan in complaint as I wrapped an arm around her wrist and jerked her from the floor to flip her over and throw her on her back. She laughed, her hair splaying around her in crazy waves, the dancing light of candles shimmering across her skin like the fingers of an enamored lover. Nobody would ever be able to deny that my girl was beautiful, the purity of her soul calling out to the parts of me that had once been good.
What would have happened if I’d never been turned into the monster I’d become? What could we have been if I’d been a good man when I met her? I couldn’t think of what would never be, couldn’t allow the pain of it to dilute the heat of the moment. My cock was pressed to her entrance, my eyes trained down on her face as she stared up at me with true adoration glinting behind her green eyes.
Fuck! What was wrong with me? For a split second I almost felt the skip of my heart, almost believed that it was possible for me to feel love. She wiggled her body against me, begging – always begging – and I pushed myself inside to steal that smile from her lips and force her mouth open on a guttural moan. Her chest arched up toward me, teasing me with the tight nipples of her breasts, and I took the opportunity to do what I’d wanted to do all along. Bending over her while grabbing the backs of her knees to lift her legs and drive myself deeper, I took the tip of her breast into my mouth, biting down until she cried out, and then licked away the pain with the tip of my tongue. Her hips bucked against mine, her legs bending where I held them.
Muscles rippling over my cock, she was swept away by her orgasm, and I struggled to keep from joining her, but lost that fucking battle. Thrusting my cock even deeper, I let go to my need to come, spilling my seed into her sweet body as I watched her fall apart beneath me.
Sweat dripped from my chest to her skin, the drops shimmering beneath the candlelight, and as we both came down from the high, I looked up one more time to smile at a man who endured his slow agony, his eyes still looking back at the fun he wasn’t having.
Leaning down to whisper in Eve’s ear, I demanded, “Look up at the demon and say goodbye, my love. After tonight, he’ll never be able to affect you again. You are pure, freed of the sin and evil that you carried. Wave to him and say goodbye.”
A smile spread across her face that only highlighted her beauty. Leaning her head back so that her chest arched up in the position, she smiled at the man hanging from his cross and waved a hand. “Goodbye,” she said, the peace she was feeling lacing her words. The man didn’t blink in reaction.
Laughter shook my chest just looking at the poor bastard, pride filling my heart to know that this moment was just the beginning of the end.