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Subject: {ASSM} TxM6 Novel Chapters 1-4 Kidnap and Captivity of Laurie Fallon
Date: Thu, 21 Sep 2000 12:10:15 -0400
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As promised First Publication of TxM6 Chapters 1-4
Comments appreciated. Sean Farragher
seanfarragher@msn.com
Also From TxM6 Hyperfiction
http://www.txm6.com (updated 9/16/00)
http://www.txm6.com/enfer (updated 9/17/00)
http://www.txm6.com/lcfallon
http://www.farragher.com (Poetry updated 9/20/00)
TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher.
Chapters 1-4 of Novel
TxM6: Genesis Murders
Friday, April 10, 1992
TxM6 Chapter One:
Laurie Fallon raised the intelligent alarm. Her
whole being bore down double sharp notes peeling
glass with her shriek. Just like the movies
Laurie thought afterwards, remembering how Peter
Lorre's character had murdered Myrna Loy in the
never finished 1933 movie "Taxi Murders
Express."
The director Josef Von Sternberg had stopped
production when Myrna Loy stand-in stunt double
was strangled on the movie set. No one was ever
charged with the crime although some suspected
Lorre.
It was another Hollywood murder that left scars
for fifty-nine years.
ABDUCTION: "The Struggle for Righteousness"
11:20 PM -- Friday, April 10, 1992
Outside the Gables Bar set almost on the curb
the music inside blasted along River Road
Edgewater, New Jersey almost to the Hudson River
edge. It was an old not too fancy but popular
bar that featured live rock music and Wednesday
through Saturday night female and once a month
Friday night male strippers. It was a pick up
joint and a place for lovers.
Six foot tall, seven months pregnant, twenty-six
year old Laurie Fallon dressed in a modest too
large dress walked slowly from the bar to her
car swinging the keys. A one time exotic dancer
and barmaid at the Gables, she often returned to
chat with the affable owner Lilly and several of
the regulars.
Laurie was sad that night. Having fought with
her man Henry who was now out of town, she
didn't want to return to their empty apartment.
Not even the swagger of the male strippers
lifted her spirits.
As she stood on the curb she looked back at the
Gables as if she might return. Laurie hated
being indecisive. Getting ready to cross to the
other side, she waited for a lone truck to pass,
and then stepped slowly between the parked cars
to cross.
Suddenly a strong young man wearing a black ski
mask grabbed her from behind by her neck and
mouth.
Stalking her from the drab spaces between his
van and the cab of a truck, he had missed her
mouth with his gag. When she screamed, biting
his fingers, he pulled back, almost frightened.
Using that moment Laurie caught his face with
her nails driving furrows from cheek to chest.
His scream was pity by comparison to hers, but
often those who are abused as children stammer
when failure accompanies a crime.
By her reaction Laurie captured the man's ski
mask pulling it quickly over his head while
suffering his kicks and shrieking curses.
Falling down against the curb between the street
and the parked cars, she scraped her knees and
elbows, and her easy dress twisted by her legs,
split wide, rode up exposing her neatly trimmed
and shaved auburn pubic hair.
Pushing the wool mask between her legs, Laurie
hid it there. As the short but solid man beat
and kicked her with his boot, she refused to
release it. Turning her back to the man,
twisting her body, leaning into the curb,
protecting the child she carried from the blows,
Laurie drove that fetid disguise deeply against
her bare sex.
As the earthquake continued inside, outside the
man had stopped wondering what he could do next
now that the gag and ether were discarded.
In that second pause, Laurie reached for his
balls. Holding them in her palm, she squeezed
and in the next instant bent over, he caught her
mouth square with his boot. On impact Laurie
released him.
Kicking her endlessly in the back, grit under
her nails, the man's blood on her mouth, Laurie
realized how much she wanted to live to save her
child. At that turn in the battle, she submitted
wondering why no one had helped her.
Losing the fight, Laurie's belly seven months
fat with child stopped her short of escape. She
fell back short of victory breathless, sabotaged
by a gentler instinct.
Quickly, taping arms, legs, and mouth he
gathered the almost unconscious woman into his
dirty white van. Leaving quickly, the man later
identified as one of the infamous "Genesis
Killers" did not notice that his ski mask had
dropped from between Laurie's legs to the
street.
THE DIRTY WHITE VAN
Inside the van, bound and gagged, Laurie could
not watch the neon lights of the Gables exotic
dance club shimmer in yellow and blue slivers
against the cloud of the river and New York
City's skyline.
Just before man pulled out into the traffic, a
dazzled movie clouded her eyes: captured by
rough tape, she refused to concede.
Laurie did remember that she had screamed
silently "No" as he shot her full of shit to
make her ass collapse. He didn't hear, "don't
hurt her."
As ends are often not righteous, Laurie slept.
Not dead, living in transition for the next ten
months, Laurie suspended her life within an odd
assortment of dreams and neurotic fixations
conjured to keep her sane.
Later, when Laurie looked again at that two-
minute skirmish, she marveled at the failed
strength she had struck into the earth.
No meager Joan of Arc burned at the stake -
Laurie Fallon would survive.
NEXT MORNING
At 0932, Edgewater police reported that an
eyewitness had come forward, known only as Rose,
to describe that crime outside the Gables the
previous night.
Without that account no one would have
immediately known Laurie was missing.
TxM6 Chapter Two
Saturday, April 11, 1992, 18:03:41
Yesterday, Antonio Corvino abducted Laurie
Catherine Fallon, seven months pregnant.
Abel Wrote:
"Nothing terrible was expected. No spring
fireworks, sky jinx, portends in gray occurred.
No signs-truly, but the deadly thrust of
Laurie's hips full pregnant, lascivious mouth
painted red against the concrete floor left my
heart beating faster. My sister Lilith became
very wet watching the girl's performance.
I could tell. When Lilith opens her mouth and
spreads her legs when she observes, there is a
slight tension in the air. You know that moment
before lightning strikes. At the end before I
got into the girl's face, her fists were pushing
deep into her own belly, leaning over, watching
pain carve its own demon in the black painted
cement of the garage floor.
I knew no matter how hard I tried to clean her
stain off the floor, it would remain as part of
the shout of pain made fact in the atoms of
silica, magnesium, calcium, oxygen and hydrogen.
No one would ever break the bonds. Blood stains
leaked from the mouth as spittle are cruel that
way."
Abel claims justification. He says she enticed
had seduced him. How absurd. He says his
stalking compares to the feeding frenzy of the
white shark. Meanwhile, Lilith, at home, the
dutiful housewife salivates imagining the tit
and the blood spectacle when the woman was
taken.
Later that night, at about 2 AM on the 11th of
April Laurie dumped without ceremony on the
hidden garage floor at 1090 River Road,
Edgewater, NJ slithered out of the tarp that
bound her inside. First her head appeared. Her
arms reached out. Tied, her arms bound banged
against several empty boxes thrown near the
garbage can. As she moved, and Lilith and Abel
observed, commenting on her inability to move
well, Laurie freed her mouth from the gag and
screamed again.
Lilith calmly walked over to the frightened
woman and kicked her full in the cunt with boot
telling Laurie the next kick will hit the child.
Doubled up in pain, Laurie held back, shook
uncontrollably clutching her sex.
As she shrieked silently on the cement, Lilith
leaned on her body picking on it like a huge
bird, her talons and beak snapping at tits,
cunt, ass and especially her pregnant belly.
Laurie, blindfolded, felt it all, and as she
squirmed, crying out once, twice, and then
silent when Abel tired of the suffering. It made
him uncomfortable. He shot Laurie up with just
enough morphine for her body weight plus a bit
for being an ex drug addict.
Abel always researched the medical history of
his victims. Had full medical charts stolen from
her Dr's office?
Lilith annoyed at Abel for putting Laurie to
sleep screamed at her brother. "This one you
will not let go as that blond Parker bitch last
year. They will find us this time if you are
that fucken stupid.
"Don't get attached to her. As soon as she
delivers, I will slowly suffocate the bitch and
you help. Until then, have your fun, as I will.
Don't cross me, I can kill you just as easily as
anyone."
End Day One: "Captivity of Laurie Fallon"
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
TxM6 Chapter Three
Gargoyles: The Herrig Estate
Journal of Henry Whitman
Friday April 17, 1987
HENRY WHITMAN
Henry Ezra Whitman, 49 years old, bespectacled
with an easy smile and cleft chin, understood
acceptance and rejection. A tall, muscular and
artistic man, he labored for 70 to 80 hours a week
driving a taxi for Hudson Street Cab Fleets.
In the remainder of his daily life, he wrote poetry,
loved his many children, and madly drove his life
beyond the memory of limitations.
Isn't that what we all do?
TAXI YARD: 6 AM:
Before Henry left the taxi yard, he clipped his
watch to the sun visor, stepped back out of the
cab, and inspected it for spare, jack, tire
iron, dents, dings and cum stains on the back seat.
Adjusting the mirrors, then looking back at the
rows of yellow and beige cabs lined up evenly
almost as if a ruler had been used on both sides
of the narrow parking spaces, Henry pulled
straight back, breaking clear.
Riding the circles of the steering wheel, he
begat his day with the clean taste of burnt
coffee and a change box, maps and one stale
buttered roll. On the floor in a cloth bag,
Henry carried a camera, tape recorder, two
books of poetry, a novel and a notebook for
those scribbled images digested on the taxi
stand and saved for some distant other day
when things are better.
At 6:04 AM Henry passed the taxi stand on his
way to the time call.
Smiling at his the long faces of the drivers, he
passed them knowing he would be there on the
stand tomorrow wondering how much the driver had
paid off the dispatcher for that morning time call.
Don't have to be there until 8:00. Take the easy
way to make sure. Morristown, NJ is about an hour
from Fort Lee. Anything can happen on Friday.
Henry decided not to stop at the diner for an egg
and bacon sandwich. Driving one handed, he ate the
stale buttered roll that tasted like taxi.
Henry usually left Fort Lee by the back roads to
avoid the terror of morning traffic around the
GW Bridge. Falling down Central Blvd. in Palisade
Park, he turned left on Broad and right at Route 46,
and not surprised that broken down Route #46 had
the same bumps as it did in 1929 when it opened.
Looking at his watch side ways and at the
merging traffic, Henry relaxed. Today, that
congestion, for some reason, wasn't that bad.
Taking Route #80 west off 46, Henry intending
to get off 80 and back on 46 before I-287 traffic
stopped up like traffic outside the Meadowlands
after the Jet's.
Forty minutes early, Henry pulled up to the gate
of the Herrig Estate. One solitary guard stepped
out to meet him at the checkpoint. Raising his
hands in a grand gesture the guard frowned when
Henry intentionally stopped just before the
closed gate almost touching it.
Annoyed, Henry thought, what if I had just ran
this son of a bitch mother fucking border guard
down. Sometimes, when driving in New York City,
He imagined losing the brakes and then plowing
into fifty pedestrians at the cross walk. Just a
flight of misery can make the inanimate move,
Henry often said. Driving a fucken cab plays
havoc with your head.
Henry never fully reasonable or predictable was,
however, peaceful. Worn down from Nam, He did
create the unthinkable, but why he make
fun of fear and the unexpected seemed contrary
to his past. Why Henry mocked death and
suffering as empty complaint can be best
understood if you understood why a man who had
earned a doctorate in Irish studies drove
a cab for sixty hours a week.
Every taxi drivers hoards his mysteries. Henry's
was public. In 1986, just a year before, Henry
had been caught fucking an eighteen-year-old
college freshman. Not so bad you say. She was 18
after all. She was also his student, and she
claimed when caught that although she loved him,
she had fucked him for good grades. Henry simply
said she had earned it by her writing. Read it.
No one really cared why he did it, Henry knew he
would pay for his weakness and stupidity. Stupid
for getting caught, he always said. Weak because
she wasn't worth it. No body will believe, he
said, I did it partially because I liked her poems.
Despite the lunacy of sex, war and the failure
of profit in a cab, Hudson Street taxi drivers
generally respected Henry. Elected President of
the union one year, Henry lost that post the
next when he won the union held lottery and kept
the prize. Some members claimed he had fixed it.
He had not. The charge was never proven, but
Henry lost his free ride job as union President.
Henry was that good man except when in one of
his moods.
As a combat medic in Vietnam for fourteen
months, Henry knew death. "I stuck it, I cleaned
it, and I bagged death almost every day," he
said.
Looking at the guard talking on the phone
presumably to the fare, Henry hoped he had not
made this fucked up trip for nothing. Using the
double speak of cab drivers, Henry thought, Shit
I will wait. I don't really care how long it
takes. I am here on time. Even if they
cancelled, I would get paid, but at the same
time he was pissed and complained every few
minutes hitting the steering wheel but not
hitting the horn.
Using this blank time, Henry filled himself with
these flights of insanity. As they were
sometimes violent, Henry called them
"walkabouts." What has kept me sane Henry
thought as he waited?
Certainly not this fucked up job. I know. It's
my equal desire to be left alone and involved
with what ever shit is happening. Perhaps giving
evil and goodness the same space in headlines
kept you in balance. When has thinking mayhem
ever hurt anyone? If I only imagine murder or
harm, that is enough. Being pissed off is fine.
Losing your life for anger, or doing hard time
taking it up the ass just isn't worth the pain.
At stop, stalled, immediately in front of the
gate of the Herrig Estate, almost at zero time,
suddenly the gatekeeper leaned too far into
Henry's driver side window to tell him he could
go inside to the front door. "About two miles,"
he said, "as the crow flies."
"Get the fuck out of here, your breath stinks,"
Henry rolling up the window mocked the old man
half laughing, and then waved him off.
The stout retired cop had no sense of humor. He
mumbled to Henry that he had to wait.
No shit, Henry laughed back and pulled through
the gate that suddenly banged down too soon into
the rear deck of Henry's taxi. Henry didn't stop
right away.
THE PROMISED LAND
As Henry looked back at the guard stand, after
feeling the thud of the gate, he almost stopped.
Shit, if that fucker dented the deck, I will get
shit. Looking back, he finally stopped, paused
and then moved forward.
Knowing he would arrive too early, and not sure
what the guard had set up with his fares, Henry
crept along the road as a peaceful horse and
rider might as he searched for easy ground. Yes,
they might be out early, and I could save some
time, he thought. Yes, they might be annoyed
that I arrived early. In any case the tip could
be fucked up.
No, I do not, Henry concluded, want to leave
this place yet. Gathered it all in breathing the
scent of rare flowers and happy insects, Henry
knew he must spend five minutes outside without
any steel or refracted mirror. He needed to just
drink some clean water from a pond and not suck
it up from a bathroom faucet in a gas station.
Henry laughed at that last thought. Who says that
fucken water is clean. See the Headlines now.
Poet Cab Driver dies after drinking water from
sylvan pools.
Living within the plastic taxi, pines crossed
and the images flickered. Henry marched back to
the late 1940s English movies of Alfred
Hitchcock. Rebecca and Notorious were the fare
that made you think and want to fuck almost at
once. These movies unlike the Herrig mansion
seemed a misplaced metaphor that passion for
wealth and dark sexual obsession.
If I walked inside too long, Henry laughed, I
might discover the year 1887. It could just as
easily been 2088. Inside anything, you never
seem to understand all of it at once.
What did I expect? Should I have imagined foxes
running after hounds? Might be wonderful if I
could make what I do in these next few moments
last longer than good sex or a bad movie.
Far beyond the gate, Henry rode for what seemed
like miles without change. Turning around, he
backtracked. Everything old inside the foliage
seemed new again. Realizing he was lost in
variegated greens, he stepped out of the cab,
amazed that he could get lost on a road without
turns. Sitting there beside his cab, Henry
looked the American tourist. Sucking on long grass
and rubbing his stocking feet, Henry's head
high up in the air asked for more, and that didn't
include the rain that started to fall.
Jumping up, running back to the cab, that is why
I allow extra time, he thought.
Swallowed by the formal landscape and the
complexity of the curves, Henry knew he had
entered a forbidden zone and that adventure
might be more of a challenge than any call.
Not having been to the Herrig estate, Henry
amazed by the sensation, returned to his first
day in Vietnam.
Why does this place remind me of death? Why do I
think of myself falling under the thunder of
horses? There is that gasp of fraud I felt in
Nam. Something here is also a lie. When I jumped
off the transport plane, dropping easily on to
the tarmac, I thought I was already dead.
Knowing that lead heat, Henry felt the rot
within death before dying. Perhaps if I die, I
will not die, he told one SGT who laughed at
the medic philosopher as Henry was called.
Opposite I know, but that could be the way out
of becoming another blind statistic
Some wag started calling Henry Plato until Henry
smacked the fuck alongside the head and they
rumbled in the usual fist up your ass army kick
em in the balls street fight.
Fear never stopped Henry. He stepped into it.
Death is that moment when you have no thought.
You are there pissing and moaning and in the
next breath you are spit stains and a hand
full of paperwork sent back to Headquarters.
Riding easy, slow, Henry felt his bowels wretch.
He knew the Herrig estate was like a showgirl
whore. Too beautiful and not cheap; you cannot
imagine fucking her, but at that moment sucking
your cock, you have your fingers wrapped around a tit.
As nothing was perfect, when you wake up, you
have no mind. You realize the bitch had slipped
you a Mickey and you didn't have a pot to piss
in. That's the way of fucking beautiful women.
Call it the cost of getting laid.
This funny farm, Henry rolled his eyes, catching
as much as he could, was magnificent. This
landscape is a great broad. She is just too
fucken beautiful. Imagine a glorious green
private wilderness just off a major Interstate
Highway where every square foot had been
planned. Each tree and shrub, each weed had been
bought, nurtured and stroked. What an obsession.
It had to be mad and dangerous.
Turing the wheel like an intricate circle
decomposed, Henry rode the "peaceful loops"
inside towards the main house like a captured
serpent thrown into a large fish tank. He felt
every eye measure his slither. He wandered into
the landscaped spiral highway step-by-step drunk
on multiple colors of green and red, umber and sienna.
UNTESTED DOMAIN
Henry drove slowly into questionable domains.
This forest hidden from two major suburban
highways drove him slower. Captured by the
unkempt foliage, Henry smiled at that improbable
irony. Imagine living in a world so peaceful?
Would it ever become ordinary? Answering
himself, he thought. It is good that we have
islands like this to set us apart from the
tedium of watching the enfolding and revival
all in one long playing record.
What if, Henry thought, magical fountains,
sprites, and fairies emerged from beneath the
grass carpets. Alice in wonderland would be
tame. Just like Lewis Carroll, Henry understood
that this place like Alice's was not of this
world. I do not feel invited and yet I have
absolute privacy. Why am I not lonely here?
GARGOYLES
Driving up to the stables set back from the
road, Henry memorized the carved wood gargoyles
that decorated the window frames. Henry saved
the images. I want those subtle textures that
make light into film and words for display.
Henry shivered. Death lurks out about that tree
line there, and pointed it out to himself, where
he felt the danger
In this place of mind, Henry accepted that he
might never know more about it what he would
experience in the next few minutes. I don't want
to leave before I have one chance to at least
know it from the inside. I don't want to be a
cab driver here. I don't want to serve these folks
and their palace guard. I want to live here and keep
it all for myself inside this fortress.
The year is 1887 not 1987. I can't write this
down, Henry thought. I would have to stop the
cab. Would I reverse the spell if I stopped even
for a moment? Henry reasoned that he could never
understand this place from the outside. Pulling
his tape recorder out of his bag, flipping it on,
tape always at ready, Henry wrote his mind on
the audio tape. He recorded his life there,
and later when he suffered more, he replayed it
keeping his mind full and lean and perfectly perverse.
Henry accepted the Herrig Estate phenomenon left
him full and expectant. But of what? Something
important would happen here. Later, when that turned
out to be true, he was even more incredulous and
amazed.
Yes, I want a cascade of trumpets and a flourish
of drums as I enter. Henry smiled and started to
sing the Stars Spangle Banner in full voice
laughing at the way the ground and horizon waved
him unsteady. Under his breath, in his thoughts,
he said to himself, please sacred father, let me
live again what I feel right now. Just like
Vietnam, Henry thought, I am lost and found in
the same instant.
Suddenly jerking the cab easily around three-
construction backhoes, avoiding them as the
expert driver. I never step in shit like this,
Henry thought as moved in slow motion down the
driveway. He knew he was moving faster, but he
saw the spectacle of this call in all its parts
at once and almost stopped thinking, if that
were possible.
Yes, I know I was fucken lucky. I would tell
anyone that. This is how I get through my life,
he said finally, turning away to run home to the
winding stairs of Coole and Yeats, driving his
mind deeper into the Herrig maze he would
rediscovered with his Darwinian and pagan
architect not the origin of the species but
rather a future tense imperfect passion for
indescribable disorder, incest and abuse.
How did Henry know any of this before it happened?
He did. There are no other explanations. Accept
that one, Henry did.
What is anyone's origin after all, Henry
thought. How is this seemingly perfect order,
disorder or stew for robins and their vermin?
Taxi drivers are great with the canned lines,
yes sir, Henry laughed as he continued to drive
down the rich man's driveway expecting to find
some old couple arguing about a diseased heart
monitor that would need its batteries changed.
He wondered as he counted the number of cars
outside the garage, maybe there is a party here,
no probably all four of those cars belong to
them. Hope they are not stiffs, Henry thought
finally, coming back full circle to settle down
for the millennium wait.
Stopping the cab fifty feet from the main gate,
Henry took one look back to watch for magical
tree lines and claymores in the boughs of maples
and oaks. If the fare had noticed him lurking,
they might think he was having trouble with the
cab and call the company. Henry moved forward
and lurked closer to the LZ.
Henry always said he never cared what people
thought about him. He decided just before pulling
up to the front door of the main house that he liked
being there in itself and didn't want to be a taxi
driver with little control over when he could leave
and where and how far he could travel.
Finally, when Henry moved up, took his place at
the front door, Henry thought, this place is
uncorrupted, authentic, and not something fake.
It also did not fit any model of the world
outside. Yes, it is not a collection of objects
but form and force compressed into one scheme
with multiple plots and infinite varieties of
color and value. Like Matisse, Henry recalled,
the impossible in art that which is before and
after the mark on the margin that was an accident
and not fully intended.
Am I always at the accidents of creation, Henry
asked? I sure know how death tastes. Copper blood
and Iron masks wrap around my forearm while I
fought off death and lost too many rounds by
default. The man was already dead but I was too
stupid to know the difference. There are degrees
to death. Knowing them all is sometimes too
difficult for one person to decipher. Sometimes,
it takes two.
In 1987, Henry was alone. He was mad and alone.
Today, could change that. It could and then
perhaps not.
Genius may be the chance recognition of that
accident. When we select a word or a hue and
place it in a frame and note its combinations
and layers, perhaps that is like the selection
of people in our lives. We never know who we
will find inside where we dream touching the
edges of where we were before and how it will be
later. Henry did not know he would meet his old
friend Laurie Fallon. She was the reason Henry
got the call. She had requested him. She also
knew that he thought she was much too young and
had avoided her in the past.
When she came out of the Herrig estate, Henry
was startled by her presence. The land bewitched
him. That was what it was. Laurie lost no time
and gathered him into her care. It was five years
before she would be kidnapped by Abel. It took her
five years to convince Henry that she was flesh
and bones and not fully a miracle. Henry called
Laurie God at times, said she spoke in tongues.
When they were both stoned, he would call out
to Laurie, call her Christ Tina, say she was
the fourth daughter of God and then refuse to
name the other three when Laurie challenged him.
Henry loved Laurie's poetry. He would teach her
what all the others had missed. Standing next
to her, out of time, Henry's hand reached up
for what he was missing. Laurie is not here,
he will say. No man felt more alone when Henry
learned she was missing five years later.
TxM6: Chapter Four
Abel and Lilith
Half brother and sister, Maria Corvino seven
years older than Antonio had always dominated
her younger brother. The incestuous pair had
slept with their mother Victoria in the same bed
from Antonio's infancy.
In 1986, one year before Antonio left to study
medicine in England, Victoria married Maria and
Antonio in a secret rite. While Abel was gone,
once a year, Maria and her mother enticed men
and one woman to their bed. After sex with
mother and daughter, the man or woman was
murdered while he or she slept. No one ever
missed them. All the male victims were empty
souls without roots or address. The lone woman
had been a runaway teenager Maria had
befriended. When the girl got pregnant Maria
murdered her jealous that after a self induced
abortion she could not have a child herself.
In 1989, Antonio returned from the UK without
winning a diploma. Victoria knew she was dying
of cancer and had summoned her son home. Once
there, Antonio promised his mother he would
start a family with his sister. Maria had
recently had an operation to open up her one
remaining tube.
Just ordinary folks Victoria made Maria promise
to always protect her brother. Victoria insisted
that Antonio promise to obey his sister.
With Antonio present, Maria murdered her mother
while she slept. They buried her in a crypt
under the Palisades. After her mother's death,
Antonio and Maria took the names Abel and
Lilith.
In January 1990 Abel kidnap his first pregnant
woman. He brought her home to his sister as a
bound captive. After the woman gave birth,
Lilith butchered the mother and set all but one
of the children free.
Eleven women had died before Laurie abducted by
Abel in 1992 had turned the tables on Lilith,
murdering the Genesis killer, and setting
Lilith's child by Abel free.
The man, Antonio, self-named Abel, an almost
doctor of some malignant Faustian will, knew how
to drug her. In June Laurie's daughter Molly
would be part of the spoils that he and his
sister Lilith schemed to free. Lilith believed
that once the mother was dead, the child was
safe. She told Abel that story when he was
nineteen. When Abel was nine, she sucked his
cock. When he was twelve she fucked him while
their mother shouted out suggestions for
positions having taken her own turn.
Years later, fucking, rocking back and forth,
Abel held his dear half sister, seven year
older, upon his unfit young prick that reached
into her sex. While he fucked, Abel imagined
their children gathered about him. Lilith, on a
different page, imagined the mothers tortured
and mutilated and the children invisible.
Within minutes after the attack, Abel drove the
fan to "the Factory," as he and Lilith called
it. Married by their own mother the genesis pair
wallowed in their extravagant cave. Lilith's
great grandfather had erected it in 1929 with
blue stones he had carved from the Palisades.
This was three years before the George
Washington Bridge opened to traffic.
The edifice, hide out, holding pen, had been
further adapted to protect another maniac
relative paranoid delusions of a nuclear blast
derived from a 1960s Dr. Strange Love charm.
Abel's Uncle surrendered to the hysteria until
being arrested for the lewd fondling of children
the Bradford family tree had unfurled. The
Uncle, one of Victoria's lovers had left it to
his favorite niece when he was murdered in
prison.
Dug into the palisades, ventilated and
provisioned, Able and his sister took over the
building after their mother's murder.
No one could have possibly imagined the quiet
house and blue stones held life in contempt. No
one could imagine that the place of death was
well within sight of a police station barely a
football field down the road.
Fifteen murders were committed there and no one
suspected the crypt behind the house set into
the palisades held the hearts and sexual parts
of the victims pickled like old Lenin in the
Kremlin.
Inside the far end of the cave, deep inside the
factory, Able and Lilith spent their minds
plotting the death of women and freedom for the
children using their masks and totems to
preserve their self centered "paradise."
As the great prince and queen of prurience, they
filled septic tanks with moldy green body parts
that their pain and anger had surveyed.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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