Deviant
"I…I loved you! I gave up everything, I gave up my life for you!"
"…and did I ask for your life, your everything? You seem to be confused about whom bears the responsibility in this situation."
"you…I…I HATE YOU!!!I WANT YOU TO DIE!!"
"so then…"
A cold, muggy morning in Los Angeles's Chinatown. Count D enjoying the morning through his many layers while he sweeps off the front step. He hears sirens in the distance. He bows his head for what must eventually come.
The man was fidgety, following D through the display cages to the silk-screened back rooms.
"Look, it's no biggie, I can just go over to world 'o pets and get a snake." What if he were seen?
"You asked for a specific snake, an embodiment of sin. I doubt the pet depot will have such a specimen."
Two thirty. He had been gone for three-quarters of a hour. If Clara started to suspect…
"Hey, they're magazine readers, they won't know the difference! I'm on-"
"-a tight schedule, Mr. Barrows, I know." Came the Count's dulcet tones from behind a vivarium. "But I can help you, if you could only…aha!"
"Ah!" he flinched away slightly as the slimmer man emerged triumphant from behind a Zang dynasty weaving.
"I believe I have found the door. If you'll walk this way." He disappeared again.
Clyde fidgeted for a further moment, hopping from foot to foot, before disappearing behind the same curtain. He was a trade photographer for several magazines, mostly family stuff, but he hoped that an upcoming spread in a fantasy zine would boost him to fashion work. Lord knows he needed a boost, what with two kids, and Clara already pregnant again…
He emerged in a cool marble hallway, tiled in moss green with cerulean borders, littered with bits of broken statuary. They resembled traditional Greek busts greatly, he found when he finished wiping off his glasses, but with an odd twist; most of them seemed to cower in fear, one girl was missing an arm that he found hadn't even been sculpted, she was made that way. The hall wound on through twists and turns, finally ending up in front of a gilt door, where the Count waited with no indication of impatience.
He beckoned Clyde forward, taking a sturdy iron key from underneath his cheongsam at the same time. He turned the key in the lock, so large it could've accommodated his hand with relative ease.
"Now Mr. Barrows, I must ask you not to make any sudden movements, as this particular creature has not seen humans for some time." He stated calmly as he gave the door a little shove open with his shoulder.
What hit his eyes was astonishing, a recreation of Dionysian meadows and sylvan glens in fresco, hued in colors so warm and bright they threatened to melt from the walls. He stepped into a tiled grotto, a small landing that led up to a heavenly rosewater pool, with the strange flavours of D's incense assaulting his nose. He barely registered D closing the door with a thump, or a moment later when he continued lecturing on the creature's history. The only thing that broke his reverie was the reverberation of sound, coming from unusually large ripples on the water.
"…in 1974. But I digress. Mr. Barrows, do you think that this would be more to your tastes?"
A flash of silky scale. A bit of hair floating dreamily on the surface. Skin like fresh milk. Eyes…
Clyde stood transfixed, staring into the pool, while d studied him carefully.
"Mr. Barrows-"
"What the hell have you done now?"
Leon screeched to a halt, nearly hitting six people, but with eyes only for D. D surveyed him resignedly, barely flinching as Leon hit him squarely on the left cheek.
"Homicide, suspected pederasty, arson?!"
"Hello to yourself, detective."
"What the hell do you mean, hello?! Damnit, this thing has your fingerprints all over it, and I swear-"
"Mr. Barrows, I presume?" D nodded solidly. "It comes as no surprise. Do you want me to show you the crime scene?"
Leon, stopped in mid-rant, could only gape.
"You haven't yet found his body, I assume, and you want information? I shall supply. Get in the car."
Leon could only sputter in indignation, first at D's damnable eternal calm stopping the rage that had been building in him all morning, second at being ordered to get into his own car. But while he did, D stepped daintily in and closed the passenger door. He wavered a moment, between looking like a fool standing on the sidewalk and feeling like a fool and following D to the car, but shame won out and he opened the driver side.
He let the silence in the car ferment until past 8th street, and which point he opened his mouth.
"Turn left when you get to J street, then continue to Mulberry."
His eyes flickered to D, who stared straight ahead.
"Detective, do you wish to stare at me or live?"
"Was that a threat?"
"Keep your eyes on the road."
Leon yelped, the car fishtailed, but miraculously no one was hurt. From then on Leon drove hunched over like a madman, keeping his hands firmly at three and nine. A smile ghosted D's lips, and he leaned back in his seat.
"You are curious, detective, as to what my connection to this suspect is. I tell it to you freely, I sold him an animal. One peculiar and rare. One that tore his family asunder and made ruin of his life."
Leon glanced at d in mild shock. "How come you're telling me all this?"
D gave a bitter, sardonic smile. "I am having…I suppose you could call it 'seller's remorse'…"
Clara knocked anxiously on the studio door. "Honey, Clyde, you haven't been out of there in two days, is something wrong?"
She worried her lip between her teeth. "Clyde?"
"I'm busy, Clara, why don't you take the kids to a movie or something?"
She flinched at his tone, his dismissiveness. She turned to go, but something froze her blood. Just after her husband's muffled comment, a sound like lapping water.
A girl's giggle.
Theresa(7) and Nathaniel(12) were sitting in the living room watching cartoons. Clara sat down heavily on an arm, holding herself.
"Hey mom." Nathan said casually. "Dad's become a real shut-in lately, huh? I knocked an hour ago and he told me to shut up and go away." He turned when she didn't answer.
"Mom, are you crying?"
"No, detective, I am not getting a 'guilty conscience' from my past sales." D explained patiently, as if to a small child. "I have some moral convictions, and one of them has been compromised."
"What, 'no blood on the front step'? You really expect me to believe-"
"I expect you to listen, detective, against my better judgment." He settled back. "This sale did not sit right with me, for one major reason."
"What was that?"
"It involved those outside the contract. I should not have let Mr. Barrows leave my store, but I did…I feel… regret."
"Oh, you feel bad you let other people get hurt, but nothing for the guy you ripped off and sent up the down escalator?"
"That is different, Leon." D's mismatched eyes met his in the rearview mirror. "Those that cage tigers must expect to get bitten."
Looking slightly ill, Clyde continued to stare at the voluptuous lady-snake sealed under glass while Count D drew up his contract. She only seemed to have eyes for him, making soft murmuring sounds, licking her lips in a way that made his want to cross his legs. Finally D stood up, exclaiming his conclusion, and Clyde tore his eyes from her with something very like deep resentment. For the first time in what seemed like hours, he spoke.
"What is she?"
D's gaze flickered up to him and back to the parchment in his hands. "A Lamia. She is from oldest Greece, her name is the moss on stones there, her hair the tides of the sea. Her lips whisper the secrets of golden time, her eyes know every pit in the earth."
Clyde gave an effortful laugh. "Those aren't real."
"She is a legend, Mr. Barrows, that is different. To a certain degree, legends exist, though this one was difficult to pin down…"
"How so?"
D took a deep breath. "There are two diverging origins to her. One goes thusly: the queen of Libya bore many children, bastards of Zeus. Hera, in her infinite jealousy, struck them down. She became a twisted, horrific monster, prowling the hills and cannibalizing the children of others. The second is no less sinister: the Lamia is of female face and torso, but with snake underparts. However she is able to disguise herself as the object of desire for any man, all for the sole purpose of wedding him so she may feast on his blood; she is an enchanting, deadly creature."
Clyde had his eyes on her again. "Pull the other one."
D bit his lip. He was beginning to doubt himself. "Mr. Barrows, would you care for a cursory examination of your contract?"
His hand waved carelessly in D's direction. "Fine, fine. Just put the pen in my hand."
D was taken aback.
"Mr. Barrows, the guidelines are very crucial, they could even mean the difference between life and death."
Clyde wrenched his gaze once more from the tank, gazing at D with almost open hostility.
"Oh yeah, so what were they?"
D gazed out his window.
"One: keep the incense burning at all times."
"Standard boilerplate, eh?" a barking laugh.
"Two: never feed it anything larger than a rat."
Leon's brow scrunched. "Okay, now we're getting weird."
"Third: he must never, ever let it anywhere near his children, a friend's children, or any children at all."
"That's…"
"Just a simple precaution."
"Simple?" Leon laughed humourlessly. "D, Satan should give you a call to write his contracts, your legalese has more twists that a Phillipino-"
"Enough!"
Silence flooded the car, Leon mortified and irked that he didn't get to finish his newest filthy analogy, D in his primness ashamed for the detective as well as disgusted with his crudeness.
"Well, old gooseberry aside, what happened then?"
"He took it home."
Clara stared at the tank, a frown creasing her forehead, but not yet her mouth. "Clyde, a snake? Honey, I don't know, Terry could get in-"
"I've solved that problem and a few others."
She looked at him, relieved. "How?"
"From now on, this studio will be locked during the daytime."
"Oh, Clyde-"
"Don't start with me Clara, you have no idea the pressure I'm under. I can't risk a chance at a better job just because reptiles give you the heebie-jeebies!"
She winced. "I know, Clyde, it's not the snake that's bothering me, it's you. You've been burying yourself in your work, barely home during the day, you're short with the children-"
"And once all of this blows over, we'll take a nice vacation, huh? Is that what you want to hear?"
"Oh Clyde-"
"Don't you 'oh Clyde' me! You've been on my ass since that fiasco seven months ago with Snap magazine!"
"When you were working with her?" Even before the words were completely out of her mouth, she knew what a mistake she'd made. Her husband's nostrils flared white, and his words came like a slap in the face.
"Just because I let you visit the set for once, you make a fool out of me, throwing around words like 'pornography' and 'social services', just because you have something against a little artistic nudity-"
"She was under eighteen!" she burst out before she could stop herself.
"And her father was right there!" he roared back. "Just because you have the morals of a Victorian-"
"You were touching her!"
She was silenced by a resounding thud, Clyde had slammed his fist into the table. She stopped, gulping for air, swallowing the words she had left unsaid. Her lips trembled, her eyes were dotted with tears of passion; infuriated, she made a gorgeous picture. But her husband jut stared back at her, like a resentful toddler.
"Get." He said. "Out."
"And after all the tension ramped up, what happened to set this whole powder keg off?"
"I can only assume at this point, but I think he broke a line of the contract."
She gazed petulantly into her pool, trailing fingers like limp petals, ruby-coloured lips pursed in a sigh. He hovered over her anxiously. The World o' Pets had rodents fresh and frozen, he had bought the widest array available, hoping to cater to her tastes. She ate, but she didn't like. He tried talking to her, but his words just rolled off like water. So far she had said nothing to him either, and he supposed it was silly to expect it; but still, it put further burden on his shoulders. His steps dragged on the way to the bathroom, and he thumped down in bed with his wife at three instead of four.
It was no good, he stroked a curl of hair now turning pale, he wasn't nurturing her enough. When she had first came they had lain for hours, entwined, him talking and her at least appearing to listen. But then he had gone to one meeting, two meetings, four, and she had eventually wilted without his constant attention. Now she turned her gaze to him sorrowfully, arms outstretched as if beseeching him.
His resolve hardened. To hell with that eastern fruit. She deserved only the finest.
"Clyde." Clara seemed pleasantly surprised. "You've come down for dinner."
"Sure, sure." He said, momentarily forgetting her name. "What- ah -what's for dinner?"
She gave the happiest smile she'd had for some time. Normally he stormed downstairs hours after everybody finished, demanding grub.
"Lamb."
"Splendid, splendid." He grinned tiredly as she put some on a plate for him. This itself was a further surprise, in the old days he would've asked acidly how much she'd paid for it, and even further into the past, so far no one could see it, he would've laughed and kissed her. But this was now, and he nodded encouragingly as she put more and more on, piling meat so high it threatened to collapse. But when she made a move for the mustard greens, he stopped her with his hand.
"I- ah-I'll come back for that. Right now I'm just craving flesh."
Instead of sitting down like she hoped he would, he went back upstairs, his steps light, never even looking back to see the disappointed faces of his family.
"I could see, when he bought it, that he was an obsessive man. A little obsession is good in the right places, but this man was nothing but a big, sucking vacuum of the substance. I knew, of course, that he was a highly skilled photographer, he was given my name from an associate. I agreed to see him because of his work."
"In what?"
"Pardon?"
"In what?"
"Cat Fancy." D looking at him in surprise. "What else?"
When Leon picked his face up from the steering wheel, Mulberry had turned into Ash, and he began looking for the sign of O'Dale street.
"He was a man obsessed, and for the most part it got the job done, but after a time it got in the way."
Leon snapped his fingers at D. "I know where I know that name from, now. It was biting me on the ass, but I couldn't remember where…he's the guy from the nudie scandal a few months ago, right?"
"He was never indicted, and that particular model is still working, but his career was put in a stranglehold. He was trying to work his was out of the rut, but to little success. He had hoped this job would help bail out his sinking ship."
"Leading him to you, owner of the most exotic animal shop in Los Angeles." Leon let out a low whistle. "Daaaamn, D."
"I should think I'm the most exotic petshop owner in the Western states, detective." D said, feathers a little ruffled.
"No, no, I won't hear it! There's a little place in San Francisco…"
"Turn detective."
Tires squealed and car horns sounded as Leon's jalopy skidded and just barely made it.
"So you think his breaking the contract made this whole mess?"
"As I said before, yes, but the situation was volatile before I came in." D grasped the back of his neck in frustration. "I shouldn't have been so careless, I knew his history, I should have surveyed his home, talked to his family, he-" D stopped, gulping breath.
Leon risked a curious glance at him. "What?"
"He had to have broken two lines of the contract simultaneously, that is the only way this situation could have blown out of proportion so quickly."
She smiled indulgently at him, sucking the meat from his fingers, lips greedily pouted out for more immediately. He fed her lavishly, no longer discouraging Clara from shopping, made trips himself sometimes. At first it frightened him; the voracity with which she ate, but then she smiled gracefully at him and all reserve was forgotten.
She loved the camera, and the camera loved her; she would pose in any position he placed her in, smiling voluptuously. He had already used up more than twenty rolls of film, but kept buying more; making the weak excuse that he wanted a few to keep. She plucked at him playfully when they were not at work, her eyes saying more than most women said in a lifetime. He had feared her lithe body would be cold, but she had such warmth from laying in sunlight her touch burned him. Some nights, he barely made it to bed. Other nights, he didn't make it at all.
One night, he flopped down earlier than usual, feeling drained. His movement disturbed Clara, who blinked awake and turned around. "Clyde?"
Her voice was like fingernails on glass, that woman in his bed. He shuddered.
"Clyde, you've been working so much, are you sure you're okay?"
He growled a response.
"Clyde? Clyde?" she shook his shoulder.
"What's the matter? What-" she saw his unclothed torso.
"Wh… Clyde! Something's bitten you!"
He turned over onto his stomach. "It's just a little bite." He chewed into the pillow.
"Oh honey, this is more than just a bite, you're bitten all over! I need to call the hospital." She stepped out of bed, and was stopped by a surprisingly firm grip on her hand.
"Clyde-"
"No."
"Clyde!"
"I'm fine."
"But you've been keeping such odd hours, you don't wake up until five sometimes-"
"I'm working very hard, Clara, and if you want to be an unsupportive bitch, go right on ahead. I don't care."
"Clyde." His words stung.
"But it you set one foot that studio, I'll tell you right here and now, I am going to break your face."
They were a silent tableau for a moment, before she shook her hand free and retreated to the corner. She stared at him a moment, this stranger sleeping on her husband's side of the bed.
"I'm going downstairs." She managed to choke out.
"So he fed her wrong, that's usually the first thing people break. But what's the second one?"
"Well…if I had to hazard a guess..."
Suddenly it was day, and Clyde barrow rubbed his eyes at the clock. Six-thirty. How had he managed to sleep so late? Oh well, time to get back to work.
He tripped downstairs, ignoring his daughter's hurt look as he sidestepped her in the hall, stopping dead when he got to the door of his studio. Was it his imagination, or…
"…yeah, I like it too." A giggle. "But then…"
A low, musical response, with words he couldn't make out. Everything in him clenched, he gripped the doorknob in white-hot fury, colors swam before his eyes. He didn't need to guess who the first voice was. He flung open the door.
"Hi, dad."
"So then he beats the kid, huh?"
"Yes, but keep in mind, this is a tenuous timeline at best. He would not have stooped to murder, not yet."
"So what did it?"
"The sweet voice of inspiration whispering in his ear."
"What?"
"I'm leaving you."
Clara sat across the table from him, one hand clasping the other. The kids were at school, she had calmly asked him to come downstairs or face the police.
"Well…"
"Don't ask why, Clyde, you know why."
"No." he glared at her darkly. "I don't."
"Well, the obvious answer would be what you did to our son, but this has been a long time in coming. It's you Clyde. You are the entire reason I'm leaving you."
He picked his teeth. "I still don't understand."
"It was cute the first four years, Clyde. Then we had the baby. You know, most fathers don't get jealous of their own sons."
"Bullshit."
"Not as much as you did. And since I told you I'm expecting again, you've been treating me like…like…like something you scrape off the bottom of a shoe!"
"Take you long to come up with that?"
"I'm leaving. You're not getting custody." She stood up. "Not that you ever wanted it in the first place."
"You expecting half my cash, you succubus?"
"I'm expecting, but not with high hopes, if you're as much of a deadbeat ex-husband as you are a father." She left the kitchen. "I'll go pack my things."
She lay supine in her pool, carelessly dangling her ringlets in. She didn't even look up when he closed the door.
"We have to talk." He said.
She gave a "hmph" of contempt.
"I know you can talk, I heard you talk to the boy, I beat it out of him. You can talk!"
"Can I?"
Those familiar with her lithe beauty and girlish giggle would've been surprised with the base rumble of her voice. He himself was a little taken aback. But not for long.
"You were my muse, everything I do now is because of you!"
"Don't blame me for your success."
"Please." He dropped to his knees. "Please, tell me what I need to do. Please help me make something that will outlast this flimsy shell. A masterpiece worthy of my name on your lips."
She gazed at him through hooded eyes, smirking in amusement. "There is one thing I desire, one thing that would please me above all else."
His eyes were only for her. "Name it. I am your humble slave."
"I desire the spring lamb, the suckling pig, tender flesh. I desire young meat."
He stared at her in astonishment, then his hands curled into fists.
"You won't have my son." He spat. She laughed a laugh that lapped at his spine.
"I wasn't talking of him."
"Oh god." Leon's eyes widened in horror. "That…thing. That we found….are you suggesting-"
"Not suggesting." The Count look tired. "I know. And I feel horrible."
Leon looked up the road; here is the house D spoke of. He would find that man here. Suddenly his grip tightened on the wheel, so hard the leather cracked and split.
Yes, he would track down the bastard. What kind of a father murders his own daughter? A flame was lit in his stomach, a fire raged behind his eyes. Yes, teach the bastard a lesson, let him rot, make him hurt for hurting something so pure, so innocent…
D gazed at Leon, now blind to all but the road ahead. He felt more than seller's guilt.
The house, a stylish structure of glass and chrome, loomed over them like a bricklayer's nightmare. A car parked at a skewed angle in front of it gave the indication that they would not be alone. Leon snapped off the engine. He tried to envision her face, her terror, but when he tried, all he could see was Chris's face. How had he done it? Had he dragged her, screaming, to her death, or had he played on her trust of her father? Scenarios ran though his mind as he yanked the front door open, he was inside before Count D had a chance to get out of the car.
Once inside, he took a breath and gagged. It was the scent in the Count's petshop, no doubt; but it was so strong, like someone had lit several sticks at once. He whipped out his piece, securing the corners of the room before thundering up the stairs. D heaved open the door.
"Leon-wait!"
No reply.
He stood, gazing after the detective with a look of concern. "Humans." He muttered.
Leon strode from room to room, busting down doors, swearing loudly with each empty room, until he came to the end of the hall. That was when he noticed the other smell. It layered over the incense, sick-sweet, like rotting flesh. With a feeling of apprehension, he touched the last door. It creaked slowly open.
The sight that met his eyes wasn't too bad, considering. If he hadn't been hardened by years of service, he might've thrown up. But as it was, he viewed the corpse with morbid curiosity, idly wondering where the eyes were. His eyes slowly traced up the wall, where
a single sentence was inscribed in something dark and sticky and rapidly drying.
It said "I'm sorrier than you can imagine."
He felt a touch on his shoulder, turning to find D glancing about with a look of determination.
"She wouldn't be here. She would need a warm place to recuperate after her meal. Somewhere with enough water."
He cocked his gun. "Let's try the bathroom."
Thump, thump, thump, all down the second hall. A closet. A boudoir. A music room with a baby grand and some horns. Finally, a door with sound behind it. Leon knew what it was even before he pressed his ear to the door. Running water.
He signaled at D to get back, heaved, and kicked it open.
She lay fully in the tub, her breasts bared to the ceiling, and inviting smile in her face. Leon lowered his gun.
"De-tec-tive." She cooed. "How are you?"
His face was blank. "Murderer."
A sharp, high-pitched giggle in stark contrast to her voice. "I gave him nothing, and he wanted more. Wasn't that foolish of him? It is the silly way of men, no more than little boys who can be led around by their swords."
"Isn't that right?" she batted her eyes at D, who regarded her grimly.
"I've done nothing at all, really. He supplied motive, crime, and cover-up all himself."
"And you digested the evidence." The barrel swung to her stomach, slightly distended in the afternoon light.
"Silly, what else was I to do? I was just a dumb animal, he fed me as he saw fit." She gave a bark of laughter. "Deal with the tiger, get the fangs, isn't that what you always say, D?"
"A tiger doesn't play on people's weaknesses, a tiger can't drive a man to the brink of insanity." Leon muttered.
"Listen." She sighed. "He was weak. He sobbed at the end, begged me not to do it, and after he had gone to all of the trouble of making such lovely cuts of meat for me. But you-" her top half came to rest on her tail, chin in one hand. "You're something. You're strong."
"I am." He said, and put a bullet in her brain.
D watched her slack corpse with detachment. "I question why I even had this animal in the first place."
Leon looked at him. "Because, D." He sighed, holstering his gun. "It's what you do."
"No." he shook his head. "This was wrong. There was danger, even if he had kept to the contract. I may have to evaluate my entire stock, now."
"Might be a good idea."
D looked around. "Feel her stomach, would you?"
"Why?..." he turned suddenly, violently. "You mean she's-"
"Might be, detective, might be. There's a chanced she didn't conceive, and an even further chance she's already laid the eggs."
"You want me to step on them for you?" Leon asked bitterly.
"Of course not. A non-employee doing store labor? The unions would have my head." D remarked with perfect seriousness.
"You're a killer, D, you're a real killer." Leon shook his head almost fondly, and stopped as he saw his cheek. "D…"
"What?" he met his questioning gaze with his own. "It doesn't hurt anymore, Leon."
They stepped through the door and out into the house in search of eggs.
Author's Note: I know what you're thinking and, no, I don't have any "problems" at home. My bowling ball and I are perfectly happy. But I kid. The inspiration for this piece came from "the Lamia" track on "The Lamb lies down on Broadway", one of Genesis's best albums ever. D's confusion reflects my own confusion on which legend to use, in the end I just used some of both, but I left out the eye thing(Myth buffs will know which one I mean). In the beginning I tried to focus on D's and Leon's relationship, but these things never go exactly how you want them, do they? Maybe I'll write another. Kyrie Eleison!