From wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Wed Mar 19 23:05:06 1997
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From: Hank Wyckoff <wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Mr Jeckyl-Hyde (2/4) [m/f, nc, existential, surreal]
Date: Wed, 19 Mar 1997 21:05:06 -0700
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Continued from part 1

==============================================================

Beth smiled, "Who was she?"

"Huh?" I asked in genuine confusion.

She winked, "Who did you sleep with?  I can tell, you know!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!  You're smiling, and you look like you haven't had any
sleep."  She looked oddly at me, "You also look like you've
lost a lot of weight!" The wicked grin returned, "That must
have been one hell of a night!"

"It sure was!" I muttered under my breath.  But you know, I
was happy.  I still had a hangover, but I was happy.  I didn't
feel the pain.

I think I found the cure.  I didn't need to kill, but I needed
to cause pain.  Causing others pain must somehow lessen my
own.  A cosmic balance?

                                  ***


I knew that there were definitely people watching me.  They
were everywhere, and not too subtle about it.  Did they know I
saw them?  Maybe or maybe not.  I didn't let them know that I
saw them.  Better the devil I know than the devil I don't.

Besides, it might make them get someone who actually knows
what he's doing.

I led them on a chase.  I went on an intricate bus ride, going
to a few bars getting drunk, and then taking a run through the
desert.  

Could you believe that they even followed me through the
desert?  Two guys in appropriate clothing were jogging a mile
back.  Appropriate clothes, but bad colors.  Trust me: if you
don't want to be seen, then blend in.  And don't run so fast -
- motion can be detected faster than color can.

                                  ***

They found me in the canyon, heaving my guts out.  There's
nothing like a little Bacardi 151 to eat away at that stomach
lining.  I thought they were two men, but they were in fact a
man and woman.  The man looked like a weight-lifter who had
his hair cut two times a week.  The woman looked like she was
trying to prove herself.  Had that attitude.

"Hi!" I managed to smile weakly.  "You've been looking for me,
I trust."

There must have been something in me that they once again
recognized, just like that old man did, because they started
backing away, whimpering for mercy.  The man looked more
frightened than the woman.  I didn't care all that much.

"I guess you have.  Tell me.  What do you see?  Tell me
honestly.  I want to know why you fear me.  Why you don't want
anything to do with me."

They didn't answer.  Instead, they tried to run.  Tried.  They
tripped on some loose rock, and landed on their hands.  Made a
few painful grunts as they tried to get to their feet, but I
got there first.

When I got that old man, I didn't know what hit me, but when I
went after these two people sent to watch me, I deliberately
acted.  This time, I knew that I liked this.  I needed to ease
the pain that was always there by causing it.  It felt better
already.
     
                                  ***

"Good evening," I smiled at my two captives as they opened
their eyes.  They were in my home, though they didn't know
this yet.  Maybe.  "It's been quite a while, and your friends
are looking for you, but they can't prove it was me who took
you.  In fact, they're even buying my story. 

"You see, I got drunk and took a run out in the canyon, but a
score of witnesses -- civilians as well as two of your other
friends -- say that as I was heaving out my guts, a shadowy
figure snuck in behind you and took you two captive.  I
remained behind, untouched.  This suspect is a direct match to
the bum's description."

They stared at me with wide eyes, not even trying to scream
through their ball gags as I laughed.  "I don't remember it
that way, or at least all of it that way, but apparently,
that's what the others saw."  He scratched my chin, "If you
want my speculation, I believe I can cloud the minds of those
around me.  They never saw the real me, so they don't see me. 
They see some illusion that their minds fill in.  If you
weren't gagged, I'd ask which person you see, but it doesn't
really matter, cause I know who I am now."

They were both hanging from their wrists to the beams in the
old ceiling.  I used their own cuffs on them.  For the time
being, they wore the same shirts and shorts that they came
here with, even the socks and running shoes.

Of course, I'd taken their gun and wallets, so I could gain
some knowledge of these people.

"You wonder what I am going to do with you.  Humans are
humans, and so you're going to have some level of curiosity." 
They didn't have to answer.  I answered anyway.  I would have
regardless of what they said.  "This is what will happen: you
will never leave this place alive.  You will die.  The
question is when, and in how many pieces: one or many."

                                  ***

I was getting to know the detective pretty well.  I even knew
his first name: Frank.  "Frank, I really don't know what to
tell you.  It appears that someone is after me, and your men
got in his way.  Not only can a score of impartial witnesses
vouch for that, so can the police and paramedics who came on
the scene.  Don't get me wrong: I feel as bad as you do. 
Maybe worse, cause I was there and couldn't do a damn thing
about it."

He nodded glumly, "It appears that I owe you an apology.  You
have to understand how it looked."

I nodded, "Of course I understand.  What you have to do now is
move on with things and find out whoever this is.  I can tell
you this much: I have no idea.  Until the canyon, I had no
idea that I was being hunted."

He was deep in thought.  "Maybe we better put you into
protective custody..."

I laughed, "Yeah, and risk losing whoever this is?  Why don't
you put a ring of surveillance around my place and wait for
him to strike?"

He stared at me as if I were crazy, "That's what I prefer to
do, but do you have any idea how many people want to pack
their bags and run?"

I shrugged, smiling, "I'm curious.  That's a bad trait, but I
can't let it go.  I'm probably even more curious than you
are."

The detective nodded.  "Very good.  Go about your business,
and we'll put more men on you."  He paused for a moment, "But
before you do leave, would you please stop by the front
counter to get your fingerprints taken?"

                                  ***

Mary, her name was.  Mary O'Leary.  An Irish name, but I'd say
that she looked more Italian.  Probably not surprising if her
ancestors came from New York.

She was in another room.  John hung from the ceiling in the
original room, while I had moved her into this room.  The
bathroom.  It was the only room with tile floors, and I had
but tiles on the walls and ceiling as well.  Easy to clean.

This was a pretty large room.  About twenty by ten, minus some
ground area taken up by the large tub, the sink, and the
toilet.

Mary's hands were cuffed in front of her, but that didn't
really mean that she had any more advantage than she had
before.  In fact, she had less.  Her feet were cuffed, and her
body secured by a seat-belt bolted to the wall.  It would take
about a thousand pounds to rip it out.  Even when my special
festivities were planned, she wouldn't be able to rip it out.

Of course, she was still gagged, but that would soon change. 
Not that I was worried, of course, if she made noise.  She'd
be too occupied with other sensations than the desire to get
help.

I sat on the toilet, genuinely smiling as I gazed upon her
body and her fearful eyes.  She was trying to say something. 
Scream something.  It just came out as this muffled moan.  

I let it go on for a while before I spoke, "For all of my
conscious life, I have been shunned.  I've been so lonely,
because I didn't have anything in common with anyone.  Nobody
would willingly even talk to me.  It was only out of necessity
when they did so..

I looked up to the ceiling, "I was so lonely that it was
painful.  Do you know what it's like to face nothing but
rejection, no matter what you do?  You're a woman, so you must
know how pleasurable it is to do the rejecting.  To know that
you have the power.  

"I always wondered what goes through the minds of women as
they play their games with men.  They are called 'the fairer
sex,' but I call women the 'crueler sex' for the reason that
while men are honest with their feelings, women are so full of
duplicity."

She was now confused as I drove the point home, so to speak,
"Today, and for the rest of your life, I am going to have
power over you.  You must be the sacrifice: the symbolic
repayment for anything a woman has done for me.  Whatever
crime has been committed, you must pay the price.

"John will pay the price for the crimes that men have
committed against me, but that is for another time."   

She knew it.  She knew that I was, at best, mentally
disturbed.  She knew that whatever would happen next, it was
not going to be predictable or enjoyable.

After all this time, she wore her clothes.  I did as well. 
Now, it was time for things to change.  

"I wonder what a woman feels when she wears no clothes.  Does
she feel comfortable, or exposed?"

I grabbed her hands and raised them above her head, securing
them to a chain that hung from the ceiling.  A few turns of a
crank, and her arms were stretched tightly.  Mary's breasts
were small, and the tension made them stand out just a little
bit.  Enough to make them more noticeable.  I loosened the
seat belt fastening her to the floor, and with a few more
cranks, she was partially suspended in the air.  She moaned in
pain, but this was a pain that she could tolerate.

I could feel a bulge in my pants.  My dick hurt a little
because it was too constrained.  But I didn't do anything
about that yet.

I enjoyed her fear as I attached a chain to each leg and
pulled.  She struggled as I undid the ankle cuffs, moaning
through her gag, but her struggles came to naught as I
tightened the chains that were fastened to the left and right
of her, several feet away.  Her back against the wall, and her
waist fastened to where the floor and wall met, her legs were
spread into a splitz.  A few more cranks of the chains, and
they were strained.

Continued in part 3.