Chapter 4

By 11:30 that Tuesday night, two weeks later, Terri Cavan had been convinced by a past master at the art of convincing green-as-green ingenues that the prone position is by far the best from which to conduct any enlightening conversation.

And if, by chance, further diversions should present themselves.

In a word, Terri was drunk. Polluted. A pushover for anything extra-curricular the man might suggest.

Her sales resistance was completely eroded. And within the hour she'd be sold a bill of good she'd never forget. "

She'd buy eagerly. Come back for seconds.

Perhaps thirds. It all depended on just how virile a man her escort proved to be.

Luckily Pam had been out of the apartment when Lloyd had called, had asked for the date. Which invite Terri, eager to try her wings, to prove once and for all that she wasn't the starry-eyed baby everyone thought, had tremblingly accepted.

And when Pam had mentioned their drama class that night Terri had begged off, had mentioned a sick headache. She was staying in, getting to bed early.

The minute Pam left Terri leaped into the shower. At eight, when Deming buzzed downstairs, she'd been ready, a devastating creature in very flattering black chiffon.

He'd taken her to La Scala, one of L.A.'s most fabulous restaurants. Which was, in itself, enough to turn any girl's head. They'd had cocktails, he'd plied her with compliments, had pointed out countless TV and movie luminaries eating there. There was a martini during dinner, a B&B afterward. Then, at Terri's specific request-she not wanting to bump into Pam by accident on Sunset-he'd taken her to a dimly-lighted, intimate club called The Blue Dragon on La Cienega.

More drinks. Insidious, purposely chosen concoctions that went down easily, gave no warning as to the devilish, undermining work they were doing. They danced to the soft, romantic music. Deming suavely flattering her, caressing her, dancing gracefully with her, playing her like a harp.

Lloyd was a charming, debonair man, his eyes where intense, they excited her when they locked with hers, his chatter, alternately serious and humorous, ground at her intuitive defense unceasingly. Until Terri came to the conclusion that she was enjoying this man immensely, that she hadn't enjoyed any man as much as this in her whole life.

And further: She didn't want this exciting, scintillating evening to end. She wanted to go on dancing, talking, laughing forever. Even if there wasn't the casual insertion of Hollywood talks, insinuation of the help he could be to the career of a woman so lovely as Terri, a woman so fresh and original.

Only one thing was wrong. She was so tired, her words were so hard to corral, to herd into comprehensible file. But even so, she didn't want to quit, she wanted to talk and talk. They had such important things to say to each other.

If only they could be some place alone. Where they could relax, be utterly themselves. A few more drinks, more of this delicious, meaningful talk.

It was as they left the Blue Dragon, waited for the boy to bring Lloyd's car around, that she leaned heavily on his arm, shuddered from the chill, said, "Oh, Lloyd, this has been heavenly. I hate to see it end."

"End?" he laughed softly. "But why? We're just getting acquainted. I don't mean to be forward, but couldn't we stop up at my place for a nightcap? I promise to behave. I've got some records you'd love. Please, Terri? This has been a night to remember.

Don't let's end it just yet."

Terri melted. "Yes, Lloyd. I think that would be wonderful. I'd love to see your place. Some music sounds great."

"And the drinks."

"And the drinks, too."

As he'd helped Terri into the car, taken the wheel, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to put his arm around her, crowd her closer to him. And Terri couldn't remember when she'd felt so happy, so secure.

The music was lovely. Terri was especially moved by the plaintive, soulful passages. Deming's apartment was like something out, of a magazine, modern, beautifully appointed, neat as a pin, with soothing, low-key lighting. Certainly not the kind of place a man would take advantage of a woman, force her.

But as it turned out, nobody had to force anybody. Sitting next to Lloyd on his davenport, a snifter of some marvelous brandy in her hand, Terri was in seventh heaven. Suddenly she shivered, giggled to conceal her foggy condition.

"Terri?" Deming asked.

"I guess I got a chill outside. It's okay. It'll pass."

It seemed a humane, compassionate gesture when Lloyd put his arm around her again, pulled her close, let his other arm form a sheltering, warm, peaceful cove in which she could hide. Terri surrendered with no qualms whatsoever, felt an overweening affection fill her, sensed a sudden, debilitating tingling. Her nippies suddenly ached.

"There," he whispered at her ear, his lips tickling her, "there, you'll be all right. Let me warm you." And as his lips continued to slide and tease, the heady irresponsibility, the intense yearning to lean, to depend upon someone, became overpowering. Fear instantly faded, suspicion evaporated like morning fog.

It was so right in his arms, so perfect. She was such a little girl. She needed someone to take care of her. And she laughed softly, sighed. She sipped more of her brandy, brought her head back to his chest immediately, burrowed herself even deeper against his warmth.

"Lloyd," she purred, "you are so nice...."

"Not half as nice as you are, angel." With that he touched a floor switch with his toe, plunged the room into even murkier glow. He let his lips graze Terri's velvety forehead, he smiled smugly at the way she sighed, let her body go totally limp in his arms.

Things happened very swiftly after that.

As Deming tenderly adjusted Terri's head, raised it for a playful, soft kiss. His lips grazed hers, sent an electric current to the tips of her toes. And while she was startled, slightly frightened, her fears quickly melted as he raised her brandy glass to her lips, carefully held it for her while she sipped.

Another kiss. Of longer duration this time.

Terri giggled, squirmed closer, felt jittery as her nipples went taut inside her brassiere, as she pressed her breasts against Deming's chest. Peaceful, she mused muzzily. So peaceful. Lloyd won't hurt me, he won't do anything naughty. He just wants to hold me, keep me warm.

She almost drowsed off as he let his one hand slide the material of her skirt and slip against her nyloned knee. She felt so good, so wonderful. If this was what he wanted, why not? Hadn't he been awfully good to her?

She started, fought to shake off the daze that had numbed her brain. As she realized that Lloyd had unbuttoned the front of her gown, was, even now, toying with the brassiered contours of her suddenly stinging breasts.

"Lloyd," she murmured drowsily, "I thought you weren't going to try anything like that...."

"Relax, baby," he soothed, his voice incredibly gentle. "You were so lovely sleeping there. I couldn't help it. You're so beautiful. I just had to touch you. Let me, please. This is all I want. I swear...."

His eyes burned into hers, dripped with longing and sincerity. He's so sweet, so loving, she thought fuzzily. How can I say no to him? "Yes, Lloyd," she whispered. "If that's all. Promise?"

"I promise."

Again she surrendered, wondered at her helplessness before this man. She almost dozed again. But as his fingers slid and pressed. her breasts, as they converged at her tingling nipples, she came alert, broke from her torpor to better savor the maddening attention.

She shivered again, felt spearing fire, knew that if she didn't stop him now, shake herself from this stuper immediately ... Yet she felt so weak, so confused.

Terri fell back into Deming's arms, let him have his way with her.

He smiled even more demonically, became more bold by the second.

She jerked, tried to right herself as his one hand crept to her skirt, rested briefly on her knee. "Lloyd, you said you wouldn't. Please, no ... "

"I can't help myself, darling," he sighed. "You're so beautiful, so desirable...." His hands moved more arrogantly. "Please, Terri, yes...."

A long shattery sigh broke from her, a monumental shudder pierced her. "Yes, Lloyd," she said.

And sensing an absolute, body-hollowing surrender, she collapsed again, evilly and completely gave herself to the enjoyment of his maddening touch.

The brandy was gone, the lights seemed even dimmer now, a persuasive record played on Deming's hi-fi now. And Terri, her body awash with an awesome desire and aching, dully watched, marveled at how skillfully-how like a beautiful ritual-the man undressed her. She marveled at her lack of fear, at lack of guilt.

Then, she opened her eyes, saw herself naked to the waist, her gown and slip gone, dressed now in only her panties, garter belt, stockings and heels. She watched Lloyd's head lower, inch by inch to her turgid, pointing nipples.

She capitulated completely. A pinched whimper escaped her throat. I need Jhis, she thought dazedly.

Otherwise why would my body betray me like this, why wouldn't I fight him? Women have needs, this is all part of my physical well being. I need a man, this man. Medicine, that's what he is. He'll be so wonderful. It's been ages since I've known a man I'm a woman, after all.

She twisted, sighed as his lips found her nipples, as the incredible, liquid fire closed for them. Be good to Lloyd, she continued. He's been good to you. So good. Oh yes, be good to Lloyd. In voluntarily her arms came out, trapped his head, held him close.

"Lloyd, oh, Lloyd...."

Her body stiffened, arched to welcome him as she felt his hand breach the elastic of her panties, as she felt his fingers spearhead, claim her. In sign of abject, eager surrender, she steepled her knees. And as he found her, as he tickled, she clamped to his hand, dug her sharp heels into the cushions of the davenport. She was wild and dizzy, she wanted to scream, to chuckle. She ached.

"You angel," he gritted. "You ever lovin' angel...."

Terri shivered briefly as he deposited her nude body on the cold sheets. Then he whipped the covers back over her, turned in the darkness to disrobe. Terri hugged herself frenziedly, let her body warm the fine percale.

"Darling," she sighed. "Oh, please hurry."

Terri felt like a snarling, clawing tiger was prowling inside her, snarling and clawing. Please, oh please, she raged. Someone take this terrible, wild feeling from me! "Lloyd, baby. Oh, please!" she whimpered.

Lloyd chuckled arrogantly in the distance.

The bed creaked, she felt a draft as the blankets were pulled aside. Instantly she was clawing herself to Lloyd, frenziedly kissing his lips, his face, the smooth, hard flesh of his shoulder. I've never felt like this before, I've never actually wanted a man before. Lloyd, you devil, what've you done to me? She almost loosed an earthy chuckle.

He was no sooner couched there than she brought out her arms, clung to him, herded him to her. She thought she'd scream when his proud, dominating power felled her. The pain was there, but pain that was not pain, but exquisite ecstasy.

Momentarily Deming paused, let her savor his dominating forces. "Wow, baby...." he groaned huskily. "How many before me?"

Instantly Terri understood, and in her longing not to be taken as a novice, she proudly blurted: "They weren't like you. They weren't as good as you. They never made me feel like this."

"You damned well right they weren't as good as me," he boasted. "And the thrills just beginning. What a going over I'm gonna give you." His body jolted hers. "Honey, if I have to make a movie myself, put you in it ... I'll never get enough of this. Man, oh man! You're tearing me up...."

"I want to!" Terri gritted, digging her teeth into his shoulder, feeling an evilness balloon for her, threaten to explode and rip her from head to toe. "I want to give and give. Darling, I feel so strange, so wild. I want to hurt you, make you howl. ."."

"You're hurting, tiger," he laughed thickly, "really hurting. But hurt like that I can stand." His body continued with mind-stunning stamina. "The rest of my life."

"Yes, yes," Terri, transformed, completely out of her head, driven by a primitive lust, seethed. "That's right. Be an animal. Take me." Her body goaded. "More, more. Oh! You magnificent lover! Wonderful, I never thought a man could...."

Suddenly she was suffocating. Viciously she kicked the covers away. "Don't stop," she shrilled. "Never stop! I'll die if you...." Her teeth dug again, her fingers taloned his back, guided and prompted. While her own body greeted him.

She became even more heathenish; lust was everything, it transformed her to an unabashed wanton, courtesan. "More, damn you!" She punctuated each word with a wicked, constricting act of her own.

The bodies wrestled and fought, almost as if in the throes of maniacal self destruction. Deming marveled at the ingenue wildcat, while Terri did some wondering of her own, amazed at this unhinging passion that had lived so long deep in the wellsprings of her psyche without her knowing of its existence.

"More," she gasped. "Oh, more. Go, damn you. Go, darling, go!"

Suddenly a transfiguring, paralyzing thing happened for Terri. As, innocent that she still was. never having known the true glory of love before, she felt like the ganglia at the base of her skull were being pincered, she felt like a thousand watts of electricity were careening down her spine, searing, tearing, tightening. Making her ache, making her want to scream.

It was a sensation she'd never known before. What she raged, is this? What's happening to me? Oh, no. This has to stop. I'll go insane if this doesn't stop.

Her body froze, became a paralyzed, sodden lump-While the wildest, most incredible fires raged, threatened to suffocate, annihilate her. Yet she welcomed the fires, wanted them with all her heart.

She became aware of the muffled shrieks breaking from the darkness, came momentarily to her senses, realized they were snarling from her own throat.

This was magnificent! She'd never known, could never get enough of this ecstasy, of this transport!

Deming, experienced lover that he was, knowing exactly what he was doing for the lust-crazed child, didn't stop, not for an instant. The longer he held her in this blissful state, the longer he kept her adrift in that exotic limbo, the more proud, the more of a man he considered himself.

And when Terri's screams died, when she broke from her rigid torpor, began to attack him anew, he worked even harder, faster, even more proudly and dedicatedly. He blasted and rocked her.

Shortly he was rewarded. As Terri froze once more, let the guttural, sobbing cries rupture her throat.

Terri had actually discovered the true meaning of physical love for man and woman. Now she knew, once and for all, the total secret of love.

Knowing, still greedy, she sobbed, attacked Lloyd again.

Only this time she was cheated. For suddenly the man released a throaty curse, worked more swiftly, more desperately. Terri knew small fear that he would hurt her. But no. Seconds later she helping him, he groaned, went dead as he achieved his own glory. She knew the true completion.

While Terri, selfish child, frustrated beyond control, sobbed at the helplessness of woman without man, at her insane dependency. "Again, darling," she pleaded. "Please, again. Don't leave me like this...."

After a time Deming could talk. "Sure, baby again," he gasped. "But give a man a breather, will you? We've got all night." He fought for breath. "Terri, where'd you learn that? I thought I'd die...."

"Don't talk," she pleaded. "Only...."

"Only what?"

"Love me. Oh, again. Please...."

He fought her hands. As they dug and gathered him, sought to revive him. "I gotta get some more brandy for you," he laughed. "Jet fuel."

"Yes," she muttered thickly. "More jet fuel. So's we can go to the moon."

Later, the brandy gone, Terri's hoyden efforts to revitalize Lloyd proving successful, she said in a timid, shattery voice, "Darling, what was that Pam was talking about? With the pillows? Would you show me?"

"You don't know what you're asking for," Lloyd breathed, shaking his head in the dark, further amazed. Yet thinking how earthshaking that stunt would be with a delight like Terri.

"I don't care," she sighed. "Whatever it is I want to know. Show me. Lloyd. Please."

He broke from the bed, went into the living room, brought satin sofa pillows. Then half-lifting Terri, he arranged them for her. So that her body was raised from the bed, her head down.

He took her then, eagerly, held her briefly.

"Good, baby?" he chuckled lewdly.

"Good?" she choked. "Exquisite." The aboriginal fires were instantly stoked anew.

"Work, honey," she choked.

Deming laughed insolently, did exactly as she told him.

It was almost three when Lloyd Deming finally dropped a teetering, weaving Terri Cavan off before her apartment building on Larrabee Street.

Needless to say, Terri didn't go to work the next morning. Badly hungover, sick at heart to remember the previous night's debauch at Deming's apartment, she wished she was dead. Pam took one look at her upon arising, made a quick, pointed call to Great Western and announced Terri's illness, and that she'd be detained herself.

"You think I didn't know something fishy was up last night?" she accused, the sound of her voice booming inside Terri's brain. "You think I believed your note? I knew you were with some guy. And when you weren't home by two. I figured just who he was. You were with Deming, weren't you?"

Terri nodded into her pillow, the effort making thunder roll inside her brain.

"I thought I warned you about him. I told you, you'd get burned. He got what he wanted, didn't he?"

Again Terri nodded, her face a mask of misery. "I thought I could handle him. I wanted to find out for myself. I get so tired of everybody treating me like a baby."

"And did you handle him?" Pam snapped sarcastically.

"No," Terri said. "He got me drunk. It was like I had no will of my own. It was like he owned me. Anything he wanted, I wanted to."

"That rotten creep. It figures. I only hope you had sense enough to play safe. If you didn't you'll never get a second look from that parasite."

It was at that moment that Terri broke from the bed, darted toward the bathroom. Where she vomited without end. When she emerged, crawled back into bed, looking more dead than alive, Pam kept after her.

"Level with me, Terri. Once and for all. Was he your first?"

In her misery Terri didn't have the will to fabricate. "No, there were others before him."

Pam's smile was grim. "Well that's one consolation. That hound can't claim another virgin anyway." She shrugged, covered Terri anew. "It isn't the end of the world, honey. If that's the worst thing that ever happens around here, you can consider yourself damned lucky."

"I'm so ashamed," Terri sobbed. "If you could know how I acted with him, the things I did and said...."

"He has a way with women," Pam said tiredly. "I know."

"You mean ... you and Lloyd...?"

"Much as it hurts to admit it. Way back, when I still believed the blowhard could help me." Her face became wistful. "Every gal's got to surrender one time or another.' If she's gonna get ahead in this hellhole."

She braced her shoulders, forced a smile. "I gotta go, kiddo. I'm late. You sure you'll be all right? If you want me to, I'll stay home...."

"No," Terri insisted. "I'll be okay. Just give me a few hours." And as Pam went out the door: "Thanks, honey. I don't know what I'd do without you." I "You're not doing so hot with me," Pam retorted acidly.

In the long silence that followed, as Terri mentally recreated the things that had happened with Deming, when she recalled the devastating sensations that had overcome her, she wanted to sob with frustrated confusion. What happened to me? she raged inwardly. What does it mean? Why was I so easy? Drunk or not, did I have to act like a back alley tramp? How come I begged him?

Even as much as the exertion cost her in pain, she shook her head to blot out the ugly picture. Was that me shrieking and begging like that? Again and again?

The bitterness welled up, threatened to choke her.

I need sleep, she thought. Everything looks dark now. If I could just sleep. Like Pam says, there are worse things.

Her physical weakness finally overcame Terri. And she lasped, ten minutes later, into a haunted, fitful sleep.

At first when the phone rang, jarred her from her doze Terri debated not answering it. Then thinking it might be Pam calling from the office, she lifted the receiver. And instantly knew she'd made a mistake.

"Terri?" Deming's oily, gloating voice sounded, "I just took a chance on catching you at home. I hope you're feeling all right. I want to tell you how sorry I am about what happened last night. I didn't mean for things to get out of hand, really I didn't. But I was carried away. You are a maddening creature, you know. Can I make things up to you, Terri?"

It was here that Terri finally had presence of mind enough to cut him dead. Hurling a curse into the mouthpiece, she said, "Drop dead, damn you! Get lost! I never want to set eyes on you again!"

Then she slammed down the receiver.

Afterward, still breathing hard from a double dose of nausea and indignation, she was sorry she'd given him that much satisfaction. She should have strung him along, made him pay through the nose for what he'd done. She was smarter, stronger, now. She could lead him on. And when payoff time came-

How she'd love to hear him howl in frustration.

Then harking back to Pam's words, "Every gal's got to surrender one time or another...." the bitterness formed into diamond-hard resolve. There's still time. If that's the way the world's made, I can be just, as tough as the next one. If that's what those bloodsuckers want I might as well see tangible reward if I'm going to sell out.

Another disconnected thought grew in Terri's brain. Why not? Why shouldn't I give the movie and TV thing a whirl? If Pam and Mr. Pelletier at the drama school think I've got talent, that I could make it. If that leech Deming thinks I could succeed, why not? Pam'll help me, I know she will.

She became drowsy. So long's you're here, kid. What's the harm? The vultures are already moving in. Now an image of Deming's leering face returned. Your day will come, sucker. I'll find a way to get even, to use you.

And when I do-

It was in the midst of these vitriolic thoughts that Terri gradually let her weakness and queasiness take charge. Ten minutes later she finally sank into a soothing, recuperative sleep.

The woman wasn't as pretty as Kerne had hoped. She was older than the Romance Time flyer had indicated, she wasn't half as attractive as the photograph that hag at the Vermont Avenue agency had showed him. She was thirty if she was a day, her nose was too big, slightly crooked, her teeth-were overlarge, protruded unattractively. Besides, her complexion was coarse, she had a small mole on her forehead.

Helen Gould, he refrained. He got confused at times. He'd got three names for his tenspot, the other dolls' names kept getting in his way. Helen, his pretty, scared witless Helen. Damn, hadn't she yelped when he'd driven into the garage, strong-armed her?

Just the remembrance made Jarecki squirm where he stood, fanned an evil hunger in his vitals. He loved it when the bags fought, when he had to hit them, force them to do the things he wanted from them. It made him all wild inside when they bawled and gasped and begged.

And it had been so long, hadn't it? With the exception of that babe just after Christmas in the Deni-son Arboretum, there hadn't been a woman since Anita. That had been a long, long time. And now-February. He'd been very patient, forced himself to be content with his pretty photographs.

But a man can be just so patient, he growled inwardly. It's been too damned long! The world, these filthy, degenerate tramps, they owe me this.

There were compensations however. Helen's body was adequate, her legs were long, slender. She was a bit lardy in the middle, but her waist was narrow, her breasts were high and firm. Better still they were big, ripe melons, plump handfuls. He liked his women to have big boobs. That tramp in the park had been a cheater. There'd been nothing there when he'd jerked away her brassiere. Maybe that's why he'd hurt her, punished her so bad. She'd had it coming!

Granted, Helen Gould was at a decided disadvantage in showcasing herself. No woman in the world would look tempting with ten yards of rope tied around her arms and ankles, with a gag between her teeth. With terror bulging her eyes.

She lay full length on Jarecki's davenport. One of her gold pumps, pulled off in the scuffle, lay on the floor. Her skirt, a pretty, pleated thing, was high on her legs, revealed her black girdle. One of the buttons on her gown was torn loose.

Still the woman fought hysterically, animal yelps filtering through the twisted gag. Which pleased Jarecki, excited him all the more. Caused his sick stirrings to start anew.

The man hovering over his victim was small, slight, stood no more than five-six, weighed perhaps 140. His hair was reddish brown, straight from too much hair goo. His struggle with the larger, heftier woman had mussed it somewhat. His ears were large, bat-like, he had a sharp, thin nose, a receding chin. At that moment, his eyes clouded and demented, the man reminded Helen of nothing so much as a shivering, forlorn Chihuahua dog.

But there was nothing timid, nothing weak about this man. So the hapless woman had discovered, like Anita Moreno, when she'd let him drive her to his place, supposedly to pick up a forgotten wallet. Once inside the garage he'd instantly overpowered her. And laughing dementedly, he'd dragged her inside the house, had tied her with incredible speed and efficiency.

But what Mrs. Gould, a divorcee of two years, couldn't know was that this wiry squirt of a man was a construction worker, a mason by trade, that years of outdoor straining and lifting had put steel into that small frame, had given him arms like iron bars, hands like a vise.

She'd screamed once. But when he'd hit her, nearly knocked her head off her shoulders, she hadn't screamed again. Instead she'd gone limp with terror, had let him tie her with no further resistance.

But now, seeing the lunatic expression in his eyes, she reflexively fought for her life.

"I'll take that gag off," Kerne said, "if you'll promise not to scream. Scream and I'll have to hit you again. Promise?"

Her eyes staring, Helen nodded tiredly.

When the rag was pulled away, she croaked, "What are you going to do to me? You won't get away with this. The police, they'll find me, they'll...."

"Police?" he sneered. "You think I care? They can only catch me once, kill me once. And until they do I don't care about them, about their silly laws...."

Jarecki pushed his face menacingly into hers. "You be a good girl and nothing'll happen to you. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to love you, I want to take your picture."

"My picture?" she quailed. "Are you out of your mind?"

His face hardened, became cruel. "Don't say that. Don't you ever say a thing like that to me." He threatened her with his open hand. "I'm going to take your picture, whether you like it or not. With your clothes off."

The woman recoiled, sagged against the cushions. "You can't mean it. I don't understand...."

But Jarecki paid her no heed. Instead he went to a closet, began hauling out floodlight tripods, his camera tripod, he began stringing cords all over the floor. While Helen, her eyes astonished, watched him wordlessly.

He paused, regarded her coldly. "You want to undress for me? Or do you want me to take care of it for you? Either way. It doesn't matter to me."

"You can't be serious. You mean, just like that? Right here? Please, let me go. I swear I won't cause you any trouble," she became maudlin, "what did I ever do to you?"

The words touched a sensitive place in the man's brain, jarred him. It was like a coal was burning there, paralyzing him. For a moment his eyes glazed, he was lost within himself. It seemed he was a child again, back home on Ransome Street with his mother and father. Only now it was he himself, in childish self-pity, who was uttering those same words. As his mother tied his wrist with ropes, prepared to suspend him from the banister spokes of the second story landing, to let him hang in the opening of the downstairs closet.

"Mother, please don't. I won't be naughty again," the ten-year-old boy pleaded. "Don't make me hang. What did I ever do to you?"

But his mother hadn't listened, she never did. And muttering her eternal threats, she kicked the foot stool from under his feet, slapped him repeatedly across the face. "Fifteen minutes you'll hang there. Next time you won't steal, understand?"

How many nights had Kerne awakened from a sound sleep to hear his father's sibilant whisperings and whimperings in the hall. "Please, Caroline, open the door. I've got my rights, I need you. My God, I'll go crazy if I don't...."

How many nights had Kerne heard his father retreat to his own room, sobbing and cursing under his breath as his mother's door had remained closed.

At fourteen Kerne had endured his last whipping, his last spell of being hung by his wrists while his mother droningly berated him. One night he simply didn't come home from school. He wandered north, got a job in the vineyards, didn't come back to L.A. until he was twenty. He'd gone to the house on Ran-some Street. It, along with his parents, were gone.

Kerne had never looked further.

And now at the age of 26, the toll of his mother's fanaticism was making itself felt upon the world.

"Oh, please," Helen Gould's voice brought him from his reverie. "You have to let me go. Don't make me go through with this."

A maniac fury enveloped Kerne. And possessed, unthinking, moving instinctively, knowing his mission was to punish unclean tarts like this, he took two steps toward Helen. Anyone who would advertise herself, pander her body.

He slapped her twice, the sound of the blows loud, ringing in the room. "Undress, I said!" Again, revealing his mastery of rope lore, he had but to touch the bonds, and they came loose, were quickly peeled away.

"Again?" he gritted as she didn't move. She opened her mouth as if to scream. "Again?" he repeated.

Sullenly, blindly, her sobs choking her, the woman pulled herself up, began to run zippers, undo buttons. And when she pulled away her black lace slip, revealed her matching girdle, brassiere and panties, the man snickered arrogantly. "You were really expecting a big night tonight, weren't you, pig? Pretty, very pretty. Stand up, I want a picture of you like that."

Then, for the next fifteen minutes, as the terrorized female posed, as she turned and arched her body, as she peeled away garment after garment, stood finally naked before him, the camera clicked without stop, the floodlights were adjusted, the sibilent commands flicked through the still, diseased air.

With each passing minute the evil glaze in Jarecki's eyes grew, his voice became more breathy and seething, his hands trembled more uncontrollably. He was very obviously ready for the next segment of a long line of depravities he planned for his unwitting female pawn.

It had been so long since that girl in the desert-

Now he feverishly fused with his camera, adjusted the Leica's time-delay control. Then he moved toward the woman. She quailed, almost retreated. But something in the madman's eyes froze her, paralyzed her.

"Do you want to die, Helen?" his eerie voice intoned. "Or are you going to do everything I tell you?"

"Please," she gasped, "haven't you done enough?"

"Enough?" He snickered. "Hardly. The fun's only beginning." He twisted her wrist. "Answer me, dear."

"You won't kill me?" she pleaded pathetically, her eyes great and frantic in her face. "You promise?"

"I promise," he mocked her gravely.

"What do you want me to do...?" Her voice broke.

He wound his hand in her dark-brown hair. He tightened his grip. "On your knees, pig. Here, by me."

The woman's face collapsed, went gray. "No, oh no! Not that! I beg you...."

At that moment the camera clicked, caught her sick terror, recorded it for posterity. Jarecki snickered, went to the camera, adjusted it anew. He turned on Helen. "Now, do as you're told."

Then he began fumbling with his clothes.

Wallowing in depraved sensation as he was, Jarecki still maintained control enough to move from time to time, reset the camera for still another documentation of perversion. When Helen faltered, tried to pull away, gagged in insane disgust, his hands became more brutal, he almost pulled her hair out by the roots. Shrieking and sobbing, she had to, in the end, let him bring her back.

His groans, his phlegmy chuckles and slatherings, the way he swayed and bucked, would permanently be etched in her brain. For the pitiful small time her life had to run.

Finally, when the man was driven to the brink, could stand no more of the extorted homage, he tore himself away. "That's enough of that," he rasped. "I got other ideas for you." He lifted her face, laughed at her. "You can undress me now. Show me who's boss, trash. Show me who's your master. The way men were meant to be, not women."

Shuddering and whimpering, the woman crawled up, began to unbuckle his clothes. Then she untied his shoes, peeled off his socks. Then Jarecki was finally nude, revealed to her.

Even then the pervert couldn't sidestep further, new sadism. Flitting to his camera again, he adjusted the delay timer. Then he flung the unfortunate creature back, wrenched her by the legs, arranged her face down on the davenport.

Laughing, cursing, he went to her, took her in a unique and bestial way. He cackled and taunted as the female screamed, sobbingly pleaded for mercy, for surcease of abysmal pain.

"You like me, don't you, pig?" he called. "This is the way all you high-and-mighty dolls should be treated. To show you the man's the master." He attacked her more viciously, reveled further at her wails "Hurts good, like a man should. But you can take this, can't you? All you pigs can. You just have to find out once...."

Mercy an absolute unknown in the lunatic's philosophy, he went crazy, brutally. When he heard the slight click of the camera's shutter, he became even more cruel, more ruthless. He dug his fingers into the woman's flesh, pinched for all he was worth.

And brief moments later the pain was, for a time, taken from Helen. She let her broken, torturing screams of outrage die, let heartbroken wails and sobs take their place instead.

But the fiend wasn't finished yet.

Now he reloaded the camera, went to her, forced her to play, to hurry the inevitable regeneration processes.

Again he stalked the cringing, crawling woman. This time he attended her near normal fashion, delighted in torturing her breasts while he took her a second time, he bit her shoulders, her arms, her neck.

He paused only to strike her.

The night went on.

And when Helen felt she couldn't go on, when she felt she must stop or go stark raving mad she stirred from her brutalized daze, found herself dressed again. Everything except her panties. These the man kept for grisly souvenir. She moaned in disbelief to find the gag, the ropes replaced. Suddenly she died inside.

He lugged her into the garage, dropped her into the back of his car. Even then, the garage door closed, he insisted on taking a flash shot of her lying there in such agonized, abused disarray.

"We're going for a ride," he announced, backing the car from the garage. "You ever seen sunrise on the desert?"

Then he began to laugh to himself. As if he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.

Now he jammed the accelerator, drove more swiftly through the nearly deserted, indifferent night.