Chapter Three: …And Jessica Makes Three

Rod and Todd lay on their beds. Their room, once a bright, pastel peach, was now a dark purple, with black trim. Everywhere, the wild eyes of men like beasts and women like stone peered down on them: Marilyn Manson; Ozzy and the Black Sabbath; Janet Jackson, her now-infamous nipple exposed, uncensored; and Jenna Jameson, completely nude, privates exposed with wanton abandon, leered at them from the ceiling. And shrill, evil-sounding music screamed it's bestial yawp through the dark chamber.

Rod lie half-naked on the bed, a knife in hand. He liked cutting. He had found himself unable to feel lately: the drugs, the sex, the porn, the masturbation, the loud, loud music…he was numb. He had done so much that he would have never even thought of doing before; he had become everything he had hated, and more. He had caused so much suffering, seen so much suffering, and enjoyed so much of it, that he could not connect. So he cut. The sharp, bright pain light his mind, made him feel. It was his only remaining tie to reality: his own pain.

Todd was enraptured in his reading. He had found it in the "Occult" section of the library. It was Rituale Romanum's antithesis, the book of satanic rituals. Ooh, if he could only make his father read it! He was filled with the thrill, the thrill of doing something utterly wicked, utterly taboo, and getting away with it.

He slammed the book shut.

"We need a girl!"

"Why?"

"'Cause, then we can do this stuff. We can hold a real Black Mass!"

"Sounds cool!"

"Plus, if she likes us, we can have all sorts of sinful fun!"

"But who gets her?"

"We both do, dear brother!"

Rod, the youngest, the least mature, did not understand. A few dieing embers of innocence and naïveté remained.

"Can we…can we really do that?"

"Of course stupid! Let's get to school. There are tons of chicks there!"

Rod pulled his shirt on. The bleeding should stop soon, he thought. They dressed their meanest; their baddest. Spiked hair, dyed black. Earrings. Studded belts. Leather jackets. Chains. Doc Martins boots. The Baphomet. Grade 'A' badass! thought Todd.

They had to sneak into school, because Kearney and Dolph had been appointed to guard the door. Plus, with the metal detectors, they could never get their knives and gun through. The first place that they went was the "Bad Girls'" bathroom. They opened the door and were immediately hit with a hot cloud of cigarette smoke. They strutted in.

The bathroom was filled with smoke, the nicotine mingling with the rank odor of an infrequently cleaned washroom. Graffiti covered every wall and most of the cracked mirror's surface. The two tough girls, Pink and Ritz, as they were called, sat on the sinks, puffing away. A few other girls sulked about in the corners. In one of the stalls, the girls passed about a single smoke, it's odor sweeter and more exotic than that of tobacco, back and forth amongst themselves, growing increasingly giddy.

The two boys looked at Pink and Ritz, they looked back. They gave cocky grins and nodded, the girls smiled their lopsided ruffian's smiles, and Ritz winked.

As they had discussed earlier, Todd took the initiative.

"Hey babe!"

"Hey you!" she called back.

"How's it going?"

" 'sgoin' good. Whatcha doin' in here dough? Dis is a goyle's bathroom."

"Well, that's why I came: girls."

"Ooh," purred Ritz, sliding off of the sink, "Dat's noive."

"Yeah," said Pink, hopping off her sink and standing behind Ritz, "Youze just askin' fo' trouble!"

"I love trouble," articulated Todd, leaning in on Ritz.

Ritz didn't say another word. She grabbed Todd by the lapels of his jacket, and shoved him against the wall. Rod was in shock. Todd felt quite emasculated, about to be beaten up by a woman. But then she started to kiss him. And the feelings of deflation were immediately reversed. He kissed back, sloppy, rough, and bestial.

Pink circled about Rod, toying with him. He was younger and not as handsome as his brother, but Ritz was the alpha, and she had made her pick. She took Rod and kissed him. Her kisses were softer and sweeter, and had a taste of nicotine and cherry cola. Rod was too frightened and excited to do anything but stand there shaking with excitement. The girls in the back laughed and gossiped and made cat-calls.

"Youse a cutie, ya know that?" said Pink as she played with Rod's hair.

"Wow! You make me all tingly in my pants! I hope you're not the one we sacrifice!" he blurted out.

"What?!" said Ritz, dropping Todd to the floor.

"He said we're gonna take you home and try you both out! And the worst lay is the one we sacrifice to the Dark Lord!"

Ritz looked like a rabid dog.

"What's a lay?" asked Rod blithely.

She grabbed Todd by his lapels and lifted him above her head. He smiled nervously, before he was tossed headlong into the sink and was knocked unconscious. Rod pulled out a shiv, but Pink kneed him in the groin then punched him with her studded-gloved hand. He went reeling, and when he tried to gain his feet, Ritz beaned him with a length of pipe she found on the floor. Todd came to, and tried to draw his gun. Pink saw him and sprayed his eyes with mace. He flailed about the floor like a shark on the deck of a ship, and the recovering Rod helped him out the door. Before leaving, the blinded Todd screamed at the cackling girls:

"You'll get yours! By Satan, I'll kill you filthy whores!"

Todd washed out his eyes in the boys' room, obscenities and oaths and threats bubbling out of his lips.

"Fuckin' idiot, Rod. Girls are no effin' good, Rod, never forget."

Then, there was a light, melodious laugh from a nearby stall. The door swung open, and there, clad in purple and black, was Jessica Lovejoy.

"Hail Satan!" she hissed with relish, raising a hand in a horned salute. The boys smirked and returned the salute.

"Sssso, boys, I heard you a little problems with the girls. Well, don't dismiss all of us!" she said as she hopped up on one of the sinks and sat with her legs intertwined.

"Really," said Todd, "Are you good?"

"In all senses except morally: yes! And, I know that it is you who's killed all those poor people!"

Rod and Todd reached for their knives.

"Oh boys, there's no need for that with me! Why, I'm impressed!"

Both were thunderstruck.

"Really?"

"Oh yes, your technique is good…for beginners. It's been a week and a half since your first murder and you aren't even in the top ten suspects! Plus, you committed your crime out in the open, and right in front of old 'Piggum's' house, no less!"

The boys' stomachs dropped. They raped and killed to girls…in front of the house of the chief of police…while he was home!

"While he was home nonetheless! You've got talent, raw talent, and luck. Oh ho ho, lots of luck! And you have passion and take pleasure in it! But you need me. I am a planner. I killed my first one when I was seven. Yes, and I got away with it. Almost…what, five years ago it was? Yes, it's a cold case now. That's the extent of my planning. And I've done two more since then, and burnt down a school, and haven't down a minute of juvie!"

"Wow," said Rod, "You are smart!"

"Yesss, and, I can give you both a good," she paused, pulling her skirt up her thighs, "…time…"

They left the school. They ran the streets. They went to an arcade, stole quarters, played ultra-violent video games, spilled drinks, and made noise. They were thrown out, and flipped off the manager. They went home and committed various acts of varying levels of depravity. Ned interrupted their debauchery, but left after Jessica charged him, naked, waving a Bowie knife. They then went down into the basement, and plotted how they could best have fun…and pain.

Ned was upstairs, weeping. He sat at the piano, his fingers slamming down the keys with all his anger and despair. A half-empty glass of bourbon was within his reach.

As he played, he cried, and sang softly, in a broken voice

"My Go-od…my Go-----d…my have you…abandoned me…?"