Chapter 8

The old man had actually been dozing. When the voice came back over the intercom, he started, not obviously, but his assistant noticed it. He also noticed how deftly the old man hid it, and how quickly he was able to achieve maximum alertness.

"We're sending the information you requested now sir."

Even as he spoke, more of the strangely shaped computer letters began to appear on the screen.

"Excuse me," said the old man into the intercom, "but could you enlarge them a little? My eyes aren't what they used to be." The following information appeared.

PETER MORGAN

DISAPPEARED: 8/21/73

Wife initiated abandonment proceedings on behalf of herself and their two daughters.

Declared 'Legally Dead' 9/12/80

Insurance company refused to pay claim.

PRESENT STATUS: DISPUTED.

"Um hmmm," said the old man, noncommittally. "That's interesting. Photographs?"

"Not yet, sir. But we can obtain them."

"No need. I have a feeling I know what they'd look like. What about the daughters?"

"Twins, sir."

"Age at present?"

"Just one second sir ... "

Again the letters appeared.

MORGAN, RIXIE MORGAN, TRIXIE AGE: 22

Currently doing graduate work-Fenwood University.

"My God," muttered the old man, reacting visibly for the first time since his assistant had known him.

"Find out where they are. Get their address. And then get me the Sheriff on the phone. We've just encountered one of the pitfalls of relying on anonymous freelancers as much as we do. I just hope ... .. I just hope that we're not too late."

He then got up and followed his assistant out, leaving the harried computer wizards in Washington with a severe case of high blood pressure.

At last, Dennis saw him. Crouched low beside a tree, he miraculously was facing the other way. The snow was falling harder now, hard enough so that Dennis could actually hear it as it made contact with the branches and the drifts that had already accumulated on the ground. How strange, he reflected. You seldom thought about the sound of snow falling, but there it was, when ever the wind would die down and the flakes could simply drift earthward on their own weight. It was a soft crunching sound, like walking through dry leaves at a whisper.

Oh well, he figured that in this cold, he could've forgiven the bad metaphor and crooked simile.

He waited just a few minutes more, to make certain that there wasn't another guard nearby, and then, he made his move.

Fortunately, snow muffles sounds. He was able to move within inches of the man's back before he gave any hint of his presence, and then, it was too late. He locked his hands around the man's neck, not even wanting to know if he was innocent or a stooge of the Wolf. He simply turned off his brain, and applied pressure in the appropriate spot, until....

The snap was felt more than heard.

It was a feeling that he knew he would never get used to, no matter how many times he was obliged to produce it in an unsuspecting neck.

He looked towards the house, and saw that all the lights were off. No, there seemed to be a dim bulb burning in the living room.

He settled down to wait a moment or two more, to see if he'd been detected by anyone else.

Inside the house, Trixie was coming awake.

Her vision was blurred for a moment, but she was instantly aware of the intense pain in her arms and her legs.

Just as quickly, she was aware of the hot welts that seemed to ring her entire body and completely coat her naked flesh. She remembered.

He had pushed into the house, tied them up.

She looked around the dimly lit room, and recognized that it was Rixie's, that she was spread out naked on her sister's bed, her wrists and ankles painfully tied.

She heard noises.

Her brain was fogged by the pain, but she was able to focus on the forms moving across the room, partially obscured by the oblong shadows cast by the single dim bulb.

But she could see what he had done to Rixie.

He lad actually driven a large spike into the wall, about ten feet above the floor, and from it he had suspended a rope.

It was to this rope that he had secured Rixie's bound wrists. She stood, her back to the wall, her legs spread wide. From her bound position, it was a little difficult for Trixie to sit up far enough to get a good view what was going on, but she managed. It looked like he had actually driven two more spikes into the wall also, and used them to secure Rixie's ankles. Her arms Were pulled above her head and were stretched totally taut.

Her head itself was lying to one side, almost resting on her shoulder. Her eyes were closed. Trixie's first thought was that her sister was dead.

But she was unable to keep a good view of Rixie's face because their father was standing right in front of the girl, and seemed to be fucking her for all he was worth.

His trousers were dropped around his ankles in a crumpled heap, and she saw the pale cheeks of his ass, slowly rolling back and forth as he moved his hips up against Rixie's pelvis, pulled them back, pressed them again, pulled them back....

Trixie's body ached. Tey, she too had just experienced the feel of that massive cock, ramming up into her body, spreading apart all her soft membranes.

The memory was as vivid as the heat from the welt of her father's lash. It had been a revival of pain, terror, pleasure and ecstasy all at the same time. She remembered now, it had been she herself who had been most receptive to their father's strange habits. She remembered how she'd actually begun to look forward to it, even after he started to get carried away, even after he started trying to really hurt them.

She remembered, and her pussy remembered. The slow current of juice still flowing between her parted lips, stretched open by the position of her bound legs, was a continuing testimony to this. She had come.

Oh God, now she'd come! Her muscles had gone into spasms that no one had ever been able to duplicate in her. No one except him. Except this crazed figure now fucking the daylights out of Rixie. Their father.

Rixie made no sound, her eyes remained closed. But their father continued to pound her hips with his own, slamming that cock through the lips of Rixie's cunt, jamming that huge head back against the bottom wall of her cunt. Trixie could imagine exactly what her sister was experiencing. They were twins, after all, and their cunts, as well as everything else, were identical.

He was pumping faster now, and as she listened beneath the grunts and groans and the moans, she could hear a steady rhythmic slurp, as the long fleshy shaft sloshed up through the juicy tissues, splashing its way in and out, in and out....

And then, with three mighty heaves, accompanied by a soft cry, he shuddered, and was still.

He literally collapsed against Rixie, throwing his arms around her shoulders for support. He remained in that position for a moment, and then stood up. He placed his hand against Rixie's cheek, brushed her skin with .lis fingers, looked close at her face, and then, as if plagued by the same fears that seized Trixie, he put his fingers around her wnst, trying to feel for her pulse.

To Trixie's immense relief, she saw her sister's eyes flicker open at that moment.

Their father laughed. In that moment, Trixie was convinced that she would never hear such a demented, insane, crazed laugh again, no matter how long she lived.

"So, my little darling, you try to frighten your dear old dad, do you. Well, I don't know about you, but that seems like an awfully nasty thing to me."

He turned around to look at Trixie.

"What do you say about that, Trixie? Wouldn't you agree with me that that was awfully nasty of your sister? Hmmm?"

"Daddy," said Trixie, timidly, after a moment of silence, "please let us go. Please. Don't do anything more to us. Please don't"

What was that unfathomable urge between her legs screaming out to counter her words? What was it inside her that tried mightily to overrule her thoughts, her common sense, her knowledge that le might very well want to kill them both? She couldn't explain it. She only knew that even as she begged for freedom, she found the taste of his lash, the pain of his cock, the fear of the restraining bonds a sweet kind of terror, a delicious, exquisite torture. Why did she love it? Why was she unable to control herself? Why, oh why, did she want so desperately to make that mad, final plunge into the blackness of the abyss, never to return, feeling the harsh bite of his whip all the way to infinity....

He walked over to her bed.

"Let you go? Surely you jest. You never understood, did you? Neither of you did. All those years. It was just a game for you ... you never took me sjriously. Never."

He began to look off into the distance, as if watching figures dancing along some horizon Trixie knew she'd never see. He stared, his face grew more and more distant, the blankness seeming to come straight from Ids heart.

He began to mumble.

"They didn't understand in Iran either. They were fools. We had the techniques ... the resources,. .but they lacked the resolve. Damn them! They lost a country, because they were squeamish, they didn't know the exercise of power. They only knew terror. And Angola ... and Nicaragua ... all of them ... fools, they didn't understand. I tried. I wanted so much...."

Trixie couldn't follow much of what he was saying, but she understood madness when she saw it acted out before her. He kept talking about various countries, places he seemed to have been in ... kept talking about power ... and now, she saw that tears were streaming down his face, that his hands were shaking.

He turned back to her, suddenly seeming to once more be aware of her presense.

"You understand, don't you, my dear? You understand about power. About control. You know ... don't you?"

"K-k-know w-wh-what, Daddy?"

He stared at her, wordlessly, and then, slowly brought a knife out of his pocket. He opened it, and even in the dim light, she could see the blade gleaming. It was long, thin, and she had a very certain feeling that it was razor sharp.

Why couldn't she scream, she wondered. He was staring at her breasts, holding the knife in his hand, loosely, like perhaps he was getting ready to throw it.

She should scream. She should cry out, anything! But she couldn't. She was paralyzed, the sight of that terrible thin blade as it drew closer and closer, overwhelming her to the point that she could no longer act, in any way at all.

Rixie, however, was in no way paralyzed. She was just frightened out of her mind.

And when she once again opened iier eyes and saw that monster standing over Trixie's body, saw that knife, she acted without thought. She screamed.

It was a sharp, long, loud, intensely piercing scream.

Their father jumped, visibly shaken by the sound.

He turned on her.

"Shut up, you stupid bitch!"

Rixie might as well not have heard him, for she continued to scream as loudly as she possibly could.

My God, thought Trixie, now he'll kill her for sure.

And indeed, he did lunge for his daughter, but instead of plunging the blade between her breasts as Trixie had anticipated, he instead balled up his fist and struck her solidly across her face. There was a sharp snap as he connected with uer jaw, a choked scream of pain, and then, as if a balloon with the air let out of it, Rixie's body crumpled, hanging from the rope like a limp rag.

He stared at her, as if not able to comprehend what he had done, and then, looking once more at the knife in his hand, he turned back around to Trixie.

"Oh, Daddy," whimpered the bound girl, "please, don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me, Daddy."

He no longer acknowledged her voice or anything she said to him. He simply came closer and closer to the bed.

He was staring at her ... as if he'd never seen her before in his life.

The knife ... so deadly now, so close. His eyes were somewhat askew in his head, and no longer seemed to be quite focused in the same direction.

"We warned you," he mumbled.

"What?" asked Trixie.

"You shouldn't have played around with us. You really shouldn't have. We told you we weren't playing games. You should have believed us."

"Daddy, what are you talking about? It's me! It's Trixie! I'm your daughter! Remember?"

That seemed to take him by surprise. "Trixie?" he asked, slowly, as if he hadn't heard the word in years. "Trixie? Have they taken you too?"

But the question was asked of someone else, not her. He was staring off in the distance again, speaking to a different realm, a mad ventriloquist casting his voice into another dimension, one only he inhabited.

"Trixie," he said dreamily, "They've taken you too. But I'll avenge you. I promise."

Then, he turned back to the girl on the bed, and snarled, "You aren't my daughter. And you never were. You are a lie. A vicious lie. Tell me who you really are?"

Trixie felt an empty pit of black fear open in her stomach.

"Daddy," she whimpered, listening to her voice quiver, unable to stop it.

He was on the bed now. The knife drew closer and closer to her breasts. He carefully, deftly, with the grace of a surgeon, brought the point down onto her left nipple, and let it sink into her brown flesh about an eighth of an inch.

Trixie gritted her teeth and held her breath. It hurt, but not too bad. She would try not to cry out....

He dropped tie blade a bit further, and Trixie's body gave a shuddering jolt from this new blast of pain.

But still, she didn't cry out.

Once again, he pressed the blade further into her, and now, she felt the point just beginning to press its way through the surface of her nipple, not exactly cutting her yet, but leaving her balanced on the razor's edge of fear and terror, all the while with that hot pain slowly filling her entire body.

And again, she was aware of the duality of her response. It hurt. It was delicious for that very reason. She knew enough to fear him. She lacked the control to avoid wanting him to continue.

Suddenly the blade was removed, and he was again laughing at her.

"You didn't think I'd be so crude, did you?" He laughed harder. "Not a chance. Why, if I simply lopped the damn thing off, it would be over and done with. No dear, I know how to take hours, days if necessary. I'm a pro. As you shall surely discover.

And then, with a quick slice of his blade, he brought the sharp edge directly across the soft curve of her breast. Hot pain ripped through her nerves. She shrieked, and then, looking down, she saw the red' rivulets of blood begin to pour out of the slice he'd made. It wasn't deep. Just enough to trigger her pain and fear reflexes. But that was deep enough.

Dennis head Rixie's scream, and knew that it was time to act. There could be no more time wasted. If there was someone waiting for him to make his move, he'd just have to trust in his own abilities. He'd trailed this man halfway around the world. He knew that he had him cornered. He'd had no idea of the extent of the man's madness, however.

He bolted from his hiding place. The snow was falling harder now, and the drifts were thick and hard to trudge through, let alone sprint through.

The house loomed nearer and nearer. He was on the front lawn, moving up to the steps.

Suddenly from the street, two bright white lights struck him. He turned around and saw in addition, a flashing blue light. A voice sounded out of the snowy night projected through a bullhorn or some kind of loud speaker-"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE. DON'T MOVE, AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP!! "

Inside the car, the sheriff was cold and annoyed. He didn't even know what he was doing here, but if he got another call from some stranger telling him he'd better do as he was told, it was going to be the last straw. Still, he knew enough to do what he was told, particularly when the call threatened a brutal murder should he ignore it. From the looks of things, they might have been right. There wasn't supposed to be anyone going towards this house tonight.

He got out of the car and walked up the snowy banks, his gun drawn. The illuminated figure turned and ripped off the ski mask.

"Well I'll be damned!" said the Sheriff, when he saw Dennis. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm telling you, Sheriff, there's something very wrong in there."

"Is that right? Well, it looks to me like there ain't no one at home, you want my opinion."

"Sheriff--! " Dennis began. But then, Trixie's scream came from somewhere upstairs. "You satisfied now. Come on! We're going to have to break in."

Upstairs, Trixie's father stared at her spread legs. He placed his fingers at her pussy lips and pulled them apart. "You will find," he said in the same calm whisper that he'd been using for the past several minutes, "that there are numerous methods by which we can induce you to talk."

He spread her lips. Trixie felt his fingers against her warm pussy flesh, felt the fingertips rubbing over her well lubricated membranes, felt them stretching her lips wide, pulling them upwards....

There was an aching in her clitoris, that quickly turned to hot pain as her father let the point of his knife drop right on top of her stiffened bud of nerves.

He held the knife up, keeping it from doing more than scarcely graze across the surface of her clit. It was just enough to both unhinge her mind, and send her body sputtering through the first of a wave of orgasmic tremors, each one shaking her hips so that momentarily, the pressure of the blade point was increased again, and again, and again. There was a rising din, coming up from somewhere downstairs, there was the sound of voices, of footsteps running up the stairs, and through it all, the continual heat of the point, the ecstasy of her body, pushed at last beyond its limits, pushed unwillingly into a realm where there was no control, only blind, impassioned lust.

She was unaware of the men rushing into the room, heard nothing of her sister's cries, completely missed the fight between Dennis and her father, with the sheriff standing on and finally jumping in to help Dennis hold him once he was already subdued.

But Rixie was awake, alert by this time, and so overwhelmed with joy at seeing Dennis that she forgot completely her doubts of earlier in the day.

"Oh my God, oh God, oh God," was all she could say.

The sheriff rushed to her and began to untie her from the diabolical restraints that her father had fastened her to.

Dennis rushed to Trixie's side, seeing the blood.

He quickly examined the cut on her breasts, and satisfied himself that there was no permanent damage.

"Quick, call an ambulance," he told the sheriff, who obeyed without questioning his authority.

"You knew," said Rixie, rushing to him, throwing her arms around him, oblivious to the fact that she and her sister were both naked. "You knew. How did you know?"

Dennis was to stunned by the welts over her flesh to answer.

Rixie began to cry, and then, she fainted.

"Come on, hurry, we need to get these girls checked out. There's no telling what they've been through."

"Well, tell me this," said the sheriff, "who the hell is this man?"

"Depends on what you know about him. To these girls, he was their father, though I doubt they would have expected this from him. It's hard to say though. It's hard to say."

"And who the fuck are you?"

Dennis smiled. "Don't worry Sheriff, I'm one of the good guys."

"You know, I kind of don't think there are any good guys. That's what I think."

"You may be right. I can't worry about it. If you'll see that the ambulance gets these ladies, I've got a few phone calls to make."

It was still going to be a long night.