Chapter 6 – Sweet Devil

My head was spinning so fast, I had to discretely lean against the wall to keep my balance. Only a few minutes before I had been on my knees, helpless, getting ready to have my brains blow. Now, I was in Otis' freaking bedroom, having an absurd conversation about art, explaining to him invented intricacies on how I supposedly killed people and made bestial sculptures out of them.

Of course, there had been the incredibly disturbing incident of entering his room and finding a couple of naked corpses abandoned on his bed, one being the girl taken from my cage the previous night. But as the cold murderer that I pretended I was, I fought with all my might to keep the shock and revulsion out of my face.

"How the fuck did you found out about me?" he wanted to know.

"Well, you are such a master on this technique, and your art is so unique – of course these kind of news travel fast within the art community. Well, the dark art community, which is considerably small so the gossip goes around faster."

"Yeah, but nobody's supposed to know about this shit." Was he just intrigued or suspicious? "Sometimes I show it to our guests, but when they leave they cannot talk anymore. How is it possible that you heard about it?"

I shrugged, showing ignorance. "That's California to you. All I know is, I was told to come over to Ruggsville, look for a Captain Spaulding, and mention a doctor Satan legend – I have no idea what that's about – almost like a secret code. And then Spaulding would point me to the artist."

"And you traveled all the way to this hellhole, by bus, to meet me?" He was incredulous.

"But of course! You have a reputation in California, Otis, they say you are the best in what you do. I've also heard that your art has deep meanings to it, that there is something philosophical about it. I simply had to come, see if I could learn something with you. That is, if you would honor me by taking me as your student."

Otis' face was glowing with a grin. Sadistic murderer artists are no different from normal artists – or other human beings for that matter – when it comes to susceptibility to flattery. "Hey, I don't see why not. I suppose I could teach you some classes on this and that, and explain to you some of my ideas. If you could stick around for a few days."

It was my turn to grin. "Yes! I am free for a week or so, I would definitely like to stay. Thank you so much!" I looked at him with mischief. "But only if I don't have to sleep in the basement again."

He laughed. It was great to see that Otis had a sense of humor, after all – although a very dark one. "No, you ain't going there anymore. We'll find you some better accommodations." To my alarm, he walked towards me, looking serious again. I stood frozen on my place. Otis stood right in front of me, way too close for comfort. As I stared at him wide-eyed, he lifted a hand to my face, and I flinched. "I'm not gonna hurt you" he said low, softly running his fingers on my bruised skin, apparently analyzing the damage. "That was a fucking stupid thing to do," he continued in a soothing tone "coming here like that, and with a lie."

Now I was very alarmed and confused. Didn't he buy into my story? I wondered fearfully. "What do you mean?"

"You came here saying that you were looking for a place to stay the night" he explained. "You didn't say nothing about looking for me. You almost got yourself killed." He took his hand off of my face, stepping back and placing both hands on his pockets.

I forced a smile. "I know. But I didn't know how approach the subject. I mean, imagine if I had knocked on the front door and said 'Hi, I'm looking for an artist, I don't know his name but his specialty is to carve sculptures out of people; does he live here by any chance?' "

Otis laughed heartily. "No, you're right – Mama would probably have killed you at the door, dragged your body inside and done something with it. I wouldn't have even known about it."

"It's comforting to know I did the right thing."

Otis walked to the door, semi-opened it and yelled "Someone bring me some ice!", then closed it again. He changed subjects. "I want you to show me your technique."

"Sure! Like I told you, I usually get all my tools ready and I start with-"

"I know that," he interrupted "but I want you to show me, not tell me. I have a dead goat in the other room, or shall we use something else? Rufus could hunt something for us."

Oh no, oh no, oh no! I thought. Shit. He cannot ask me to do that. No way in hell.

"The- the goat will be fine. But-"

"Good!" He walked up to the bed, studying the two bodies. "You can pick one of these – come here, take a look! We also have a guy downstairs, if you'd prefer a male."

How am I supposed to reply to that? I wondered, nearly in panic, approaching the bed and forcing myself to look at the corpses while keeping my cool.

Until one of the women moved her head from one side to the other, slightly opening her eyes. I screamed in horror and surprise, jumping backwards.

Otis laughed heartily at my reaction. "You ain't dead yet?" To my complete horror, he took a large hunting knife from his belt, walking around the bed and positioning himself behind the woman. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he raised her head and sliced her throat in a swift movement. As the woman began choking on her own blood, he dropped her head back on the bed, wiped the knife on his pants, and placed it back on his belt.

You couldn't have helped her, you couldn't have helped her, I repeated to myself. She was destined to die anyway, and there was nothing you could do, it's not your fault.

"What?" he asked, obviously amused at my shock. "You look white as a ghost. I thought you said you did this kind of thing on your free time."

Trying hard to keep from fainting, as I saw the spasms coming to an end, I managed to come up with a reasonable answer. "I do the sculptures, I do all the cutting, of course, but I never said I do the killing myself. Someone does it for me. I'm still kind of new to this, you know" I said apologetically.

Otis chuckled. "Well, it's okay. You'll get use to it in no time."

As if my nerves weren't driving me to my limit yet, the door was suddenly slammed open, making me jump once again. That threatening, gigantic figure was standing there, staring at me in silence. Automatically I took a few steps backwards, drawing a hand to my chest in an unconscious gesture of protection.

"Wow, that girl is jumpy today!" Otis chuckled again. "I think she didn't like the way you treated her last night, Rufus. Look what you did to her face."

Rufus walked to the bed and dropped a small plastic bag with ice on the sheets. Although he wasn't a man of many words – heck, so far, no words at all! – his silence spoke volumes, and his presence always dominated the room. His impressive size contributed for that effect, of course, but mainly he had a strong, powerful energy surrounding him. He glanced back at me, than stared at Otis in clear disapproval.

"She is fine, she's not a cop, and she's gonna spend a few days here with us" Otis announced. "Keep an eye on her for me; make sure everybody treats her as my especial guest."

To me his face was unreadable, but Otis seemed to be satisfied with whatever silent answer he saw there. "Thanks. And Rufus, would you take these bodies outta here?"

As I cowered further back to a corner, as if trying to be invisible, I watched as the huge man grabbed each of the dead women's by the hair, pulling their heads to the extremity of the bed. Then, just as easily as one would do with two five-pound bags of rice, he tossed each body upwards, catching them by the waist under his arms, walking out of there without difficulty and wordlessly as he came.

Otis closed the door behind him. Briefly looking around, he grabbed one of his t-shirts that had been laying on the floor. Walking to the bed, then taking several ice cubes from the plastic, he deposited them on the t-shirt, closing it as an improvised bag. He came towards me, too close just like before, and saw me shaking. "You don't have to worry" he told me softly, probably attributing my nervousness exclusively to fear of his family. "You've heard me telling him that you are here as my guest. No one here will touch you."

I was starting to lose it. I couldn't stop shaking, and it was getting nearly impossible to pretend coolness. I knew that I was going to break down very soon. The fresh memory of my mistreat and helplessness; the basement with those dying and tortured people; the escape from an inglorious death by a thread; the sight of a woman being grimly killed, and the inability to do a thing about it; the pressure of assuming a false personality and inventing one lie after the other, or else; the witnessing of the grotesque handling of bodies; all the while having to act as if it was all normal. Not to mention the weirdness of being 27 years back in time, at a time where I hadn't even being born yet. I just couldn't take it anymore. Hold on, I urged myself.

As if all that wasn't enough to mess with my head, I still had to deal with a personal conflict. My enormous, undeniable attraction by the man in front of me, who was holding the shirt with ice and studying me with a concerned look.

I felt like I was insane for feeling such a thing. How could one possibly feel that way, after witnessing what that maniac was capable of? Still, the attraction was so powerful, I felt like I could touch it in the air around me.

"Hello?" Otis called me softly.

I snapped back to reality. I realized that I had been staring at nowhere, glazed-eyed, so sank in thought I had ignored him for a while. I looked at him, disoriented. "Sorry."

He walked in closer, then carefully applied the cold compress to my cheek that had been punched. As he held it there, I looked into his eyes, touched. Otis could be the Devil himself, no question about it, but he could also be sweet, I realized. His gesture was immensely comforting.

After a few seconds, I took the compress from his hand and held it in place myself, not taking my eyes off of his face. Otis did not step back this time. He stood there looking at me for a while, then reached for my hair, moving his fingers over its length in a soothing gesture. "You are really shaking" he gently stated the obvious. "Why are you so nervous?"

At that, I really broke down. My entire body was shaking heavily with my sobs, and I didn't try to hold them back. I cried so intensely as I hadn't cried in a long time. Instinctively and without giving it a second thought, I reached forward and wrapped my arms around Otis, clinging to him desperately, burying my face on his chest and continuing to cry. After a few seconds of hesitation, I felt his hands rest against my upper back.

When I was done crying, my sense of relief was immense, and I felt so protected. I slowly let go off him, and I looked into his eyes with my face all wet with tears. He gently wiped them away with his fingers, in a tender caress.

It wasn't clear who started it. In a second we were moving our faces closer, and I found his lips closing around mine. I was instantly transported to another dimension, or so it felt. Wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer, feeling his long light hair on my fingers, I lost myself on his kiss. I was electrified by the effect of his rough beard rubbing against my skin, contrasting with the feeling of his soft lips, and his warm wet tongue swirling around mine. How could a mouth that speaks so many obscenities taste so sweet, is still a mystery to me. As he kissed me almost tenderly, as if merely attempting to comfort me, I clung to him hungrily, wanting to devour him. He soon responded with a new hunger, pressing me closer to his chest and deepening his kiss. I felt my body melting like hot steel, weakly leaning on him for support.

Until an alarm sign somehow reached me on cloud nine, and reason hit me. Gathering my strength back, Lord knows how, I abruptly pulled back from his embrace. Staring at him with eyes wide open, a quick pulse and out of breath, I panicked and fled the room. He didn't attempt to stop me.