2nd Visit

by Terryll Preston

To Begin... A new start to an old tale left unfinished. The castle of eternal dreams has crumbled, leaving behind visions of an unrealized enigma. One must reread what was written, forget what came before. Unlearn the past to find the future. Then...

4. Episode 4

(DISCLAIMER: The following chapter of Paranoia Agent: 2nd Visit contains mature subject matter. You have been warned...now please read on!)

---

The handcuffs around her wrists bit deeply into flesh rubbed raw by the cold metal. How long had she been suspended like this? Held up by her arms high enough that only the tips of her bare toes touched the rather warm floor. How long had she been displayed there; like a piece of meat being sold at a market?

On your knees!

A sharp crack split the air and she winced as the hard tip of a leather whip brutally caressed the marred skin on her back. The woman moaned hard against the saliva-stained ball-gag secured tightly in her mouth. Her body trembled in excitement; in anticipation of the next strike from the whip she called 'Mistress'. Just the thought of its harsh kiss quickened the beating of her heart, made her toes curl with eagerness.

Down, down!

Another crack and the whip - her 'Mistress' - kissed her naked flesh again. Her eyes rolled up into those heavy eyelids in complete ecstasy, long rivulets of saliva oozing seductively from the sides of her gagged mouth. It dropped thickly to a smooth, lacquered stage beneath her arched toes already stained with her sweat and other bodily fluids. Her feet were practically drenched in the sticky wetness. And she couldn't care less.

Beg for it!

Her 'Mistress' paused and the woman squirmed in complaint, pulling so hard against the handcuffs that they began to draw blood. Long, lazy lines of crimson trickled from the scarred flesh of her back and small beads of salty sweat dripped into the wounds bringing a barely acknowledged stinging sensation. She screamed pleadingly into the ball-gag, thrashing about wildly to draw yet another hot kiss from her 'Mistress'. But none came.

Plead for it!

The leather half-mask that adorned her face clung around her head like a python wrapped around its prey. So tight, she could hardly stand it. She felt as though she might pass out at any moment. But that didn't matter to her. In fact, it only heightened the desire burning in her heart. Only the pain mattered to her, the hard, hot kiss of her 'Mistress'. That was what she needed. That was what she craved.

Speak the words!

Without warning, a taut hand clenched a fistful of her long hair roughly. The woman felt her head being yanked back callously and a weak moan of delight escaped her gagged mouth. It wasn't her 'Mistress' this time. It was her 'Mistress's' master. The fisted hand pulled so hard at her hair that she thought it would be torn from her scalp. It made her body quiver with even more excitement; it left her eyes nearly vacant in spasms of erotic pleasure.

Know your place!

"Do you crave more, Beauty," a husky, feminine voice whispered hotly in her ear. The woman named 'Beauty' could feel the exhilaration caused by that voice running warmly and wetly down the inside of her thigh. But she couldn't answer. All she could do was moan and twist her body this way and that. The syrupy, lustful voice lashed out at her again, accompanied by another yank of her hair. "Do you want 'Mistress' to kiss you again? Do you!"

Say it, girl!

Beauty answered as best she could. A muffled plea pushed past the ball-gag. Her head instinctively pulled forward against the pressure being applied to it. Her scalp screamed in pain. Her body shuddered in delight. Her thighs rubbed together wetly, sweat and other fluids making them slick. Beauty squirmed and yanked her arms hard against the handcuffs suspending her above the stage as an answer to 'Mistress's' master's question.

Scream it!

That hard hand released her tangled hair as impassioned, breathy words touched Beauty's ear. "You writhe here like you're in fucking heat! So full of lust, that it's oozing down your legs! Your back is red and bleeding with 'Mistress's' love, yet you beg for even more? My dear Beauty, what you beg for…'Mistress' is more than willing to give!"

Yell it!

The thick voice vanished, replaced a moment later by her 'Mistress's' loud crack. Leather met flesh again, sending deep waves of burning pain lancing throughout Beauty's body. Her indigo eyes were vacant with endless pleasure. Her body shivered with delight at each crack that struck her whelped back. Loud and muted moans of sheer ecstasy poured from her ball-gagged mouth.

Beg for forgiveness!

Beauty's stifled cries of desire echoed all throughout the dim, smoke-filled club. They stretched beyond the thumping gothic music and past the enthralled fans watching her twist and wriggle with unrelenting lust. They pushed past the unseen barrier that separated late night from early morning. Beauty's shameless moans for pleasure, muffled screams for more slicing through the invisible wall between Saturday and Sunday.

Sinner!

And through all the ecstatic agony, through all of that burning pleasure caused by her 'Mistress's' kisses; a lone, shimmering tear traced an erratic path down the contours of Beauty's red-with-yearning cheeks and fell lightly to the stage beneath her clenched toes. Shame met and intermingled with sin in a widening puddle under her feet as the woman called 'Beauty' howled for more.

SINNER!

---

As the opening chant of Himekami's Kamigami no Uta begins, Maniwa comes to the end of his equation. The chant ends as he looks up with startled eyes, then everything goes white…only to start clearing up as the main music begins and the camera descends through the clouds to an overhead view of Portland, Oregon. The song picks up as we are treated to a typical busy day in downtown Portland – cars at stoplights, buses and lightrails moving to and from, children walking to school; people in general. Then the camera focuses in on a black-haired boy standing alone at a corner gazing down at a small picture in his hand. The light changes and he starts to walk across the street. Then the camera pans down to his shadow to show that it is that of Lil' Slugger. The focus is placed back on the boy as he walks past a dance studio with a Japanese girl bending and stretching inside. The focus goes to her as she continues with her exercises. Her eyes linger on a backpack in the corner, then stops as her mother comes down the stairs. The camera focuses on both their shadows to show that they are those of Lil' Slugger. As the camera pulls back to outside the dance studio, it refocuses on a gay couple as they stride by laughing and holding hands until they get to entrance of the coffee shop they were going to. The camera pans down to their shadows to show two Lil' Sluggers holding hands, then letting go and pulling them away from each other. The camera focuses back on the couple as they enter the coffee shop. The camera then pulls away in a blur of motion and slows to focus on the interior of a classroom were a nun is waving around a ruler menacingly at her students. Her shadow shows Lil' Slugger waving around his crooked bat. The camera pulls up and away from the class and goes through the window to focuses on a car going by and stays with it. Switching to an inside view, we see a woman with close-cropped blond hair talking on a cell phone as she guides the car toward the police precinct. An outside camera view shows the car pulling up in the parking lot of the station and stopping. The camera then focuses on the pavement as the car door opens and we see the shadow of Lil' Slugger as the one under the woman's feet as she gets out. As the music nears its conclusion, the camera recenters on downtown again and shows that everyone walking around has shadows of Lil' Slugger. The camera then pulls back into an overhead view of Portland. The song comes to an end as the camera pulls away even further to reveal that the entire city is covered with a giant shadow of a laughing Lil' Slugger. Everything fades to black and the Japanese Hiragana for PARANOIA AGENT appear and glow red with the words 2ND VISIT under them in English. Then they too fade to black.

This opening montage was done to the music of Himekami's excellent Kamigami no Uta (Song of the Gods) from his 'Best of…' Collection.

---

EPISODE

FOUR

---

THE TELEVISION

"…And as you can see here Kate, the gathering of Asian-Americans – mainly Japanese immigrants – continues to grow. I'm standing here in the Natural Gardens section of the Portland Japanese Garden where a statue – called a Ksitigarbha or Jizo Statue – sits. Everyone who has come here is offering silent prayers to the statue, which is supposed to 'embody a spirit which protects people'. As you know, today marks the eighth night of the two-week 'Shinjitsu no Kinen' or 'the Commemoration of Truth' event, believed to be some sort of memorial for those who were killed two years ago in the Incident in Tokyo. Yet, with the increased turn out, I can say that it seems the recent rash of street attacks has only further served to bring even more Japanese-Americans to this place of apparent solitude…"

THE RADIO

"…That was 'Twisted Transistor' from Korn. Awesome song! Even better if you see them perform it live! Remember people, you heard it here on 94.7 Alternative Portland! I'm –"

(SQUAWK)

"…The next track is from…"

(SQUEAL)

"…And they'll be playing here live at…"

(SQUAWKING FOLLOWED BY A HARD BUZZING SOUND)

"…You must not run away…"

(HEAVY STATIC)

"…A quick break and a word from our sponsors…"

(HIGH PITCH WHINE)

"…You must not turn your back on him for a second…"

(MORE STATIC WITH INTERMINGLED SOUND OF SINGING CHILDREN)

"…He comes for those who have been driven into a corner with no way out…"

(SQUEAL)

"…At Golden's Sporting Supplies, our selection of bats are second to none! We'll cater to any little slugger you might have around the house looking to…"

(SQUAWK)

"…You must not talk about him…"

(MORE STATIC INTERMINGLED WITH A GIRL'S DARK GIGGLE)

"…'Golden Shoes' opens in theaters everywhere this Friday…"

(A HARD SQUEAL FOLLOWED BY STATIC)

"…You must not think about him…"

(BROKEN VOICES SHOUTING OUT UNINTELLIGIBLY AMIDST THE STATIC)

"…Song from the Goo Goo Dolls called, 'Don't Beat My Ass (With A Baseball Bat)'…"

(CONTINUOUS SQUAWKING)

"…Rumors sustain him…"

(STATIC)

…Thing's don't look too good to me.

I'm feeling out of luck

And all because of swollen glands

And just one stupid (the 'f' censored out of the word 'fuck')…

(INTERRUPTING STATIC)

"…Imagination…"

(HEAVY SQUEALING)

…And he beat me 'bout my head with a baseball bat

Don't kick my ass

Don't kick my ass

Don't kick my ass with a baseball bat…

(WHINING AND STATIC)

"…Paranoia nurtures him…"

(HIGH-PITCHED SQUEAL)

…And aghast at what I found

The latest social disease that been going around

I'll kick your ass (I'll kick you ass)

I'll kick your ass (I'll kick you ass)

I'll kick your ass with a baseball bat bitch…

(LOWERING STATIC)

"…You…must…not…run…away…"

THE POLICE PRECINCT

"…Attacked me with a goddamned bat! Did you hear me! The little shit tried to kill me with a fucking bat!"

"Sir, screaming won't help –"

"FUCK YOU! You weren't just hit repeatedly with a goddamned bat! How do you expect me to act!"

"Sir, please calm down and try to start from the –"

"That stupid little fuck! All that goddamned TV. Those stupid, fucking cartoons and –"

"SIR!"

"WHAT!"

"Shut the HELL up! You need to be quiet and wait until I ask a damned question if you want some help! Do you understand me!"

"Y-Yeah…"

"Good! Now, first off, what's your name?"

"Joseph Bauer."

"Good. And your current residence?"

"I live at…"

THE NEWSPAPER

The Portland Mercury Headline: Recent Street Assaults Believed to be the Cause of Increased Cases of Domestic Violence…

THE COFFEE SHOP

"…Heard it was a great way to escape."

"Really?"

"Yes. And with everything that's been happening lately, Lord knows we can all use a good escape!"

"Tell me about it. Oh, did you hear the latest?"

"No, tell me!"

"You won't say I told you if anyone else asks, will you?"

"Of course not, of course not."

"Well, I've heard that the street attacker got someone in the Pearl District."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. This comes straight from my husband. From what he said, it sounds like the attacker almost beat him to death. With some sort of golden golf club, I think. Or was it a bat? I don't remember. All I know is that the poor person is supposed to be in a coma or something."

"Oh my goodness. That's terrible!"

"I know. And I also heard that…"

INTERNET CHATROOM

SERVER EXPERIENCING AN OVERLOAD.

IP TRAFFIC RESTRICTED.

PLEASE LOGOUT WHILE WE ATTEMPT TO FIX THE PROBLEM AND TRY AGAIN LATER.

THANK YOU FOUR YOUR PATIENCE.

THE MAGAZINE COVER

Is 'Japanimation' Harmful To Our Children? Do Shows Like 'Naruto' And 'My-Hime' Inspire Violent Thoughts and Acts In Our Youth Culture?

THE PORTLAND JAPANESE GARDEN

"…Man, it sucks that the chat's still down. But oh well. God, are they STILL at it?"

"Yeppers."

"Their praying won't help, will it?"

"Nope."

"Yeah man, nothing can stop it!"

"Shutup dumbass! Do you want the cops to hear us?"

"Oh…uh, sorry…"

"Jeez."

"Either way, it's still gonna happen. That's just a fuckin' given."

"Heh. Like praying is gonna make people forget, make them forget who he was."

"Yeah, they're so stupid."

"Tell me about it, especially my…"

oOo

"I can't believe it," the uniformed police officer said disdainfully. "Five people in about as many days. Who the hell is doing this? And why?"

The officer standing beside him looked up from his cup of coffee in disgust.

"Jeez," he uttered miserably. "They call this shit coffee?"

The first officer gaped at him with wide eyes.

"There's a fucking lunatic out there attacking people in broad fucking daylight, and you're worried about a goddamned cup of coffee!"

The policeman holding the small styrofoam cup cut his narrowed eyes over at his partner darkly, then replied none to kindly, "Hey, I only worry about what's in my face, what I can see in front of me. And right now, this diarrhea in a cup is the only thing I'm worried about. Besides, why the hell are we worrying about it? Didn't the bigwigs assign this case to some broad?"

The other officer shifted slightly and tried not to groan.

"Yeah, Justine Mitchell. She's been working it ever since the third attack. You know, the girl and her mom."

The man holding the cup of coffee stopped his arm in mid-lift to his mouth, a perplexed expression dawning on his wide face.

"Her? Wasn't she involved in that shit with the Jap they brought in for questioning a couple of days ago?"

The first officer nodded stiffly, saying, "Yep."

"What the fuck," the other policeman muttered as he turned to face his partner fully for the first time since the conversation had begun. "Are you telling me that Internal Affairs let that crazy bitch go? After she beat that man into unconsciousness?"

The first policeman lowered his voice considerably, taking a few seconds to look around the hallway carefully as he replied, "Actually, rumor has it that she put him in a coma. Hit the poor fucker so hard that she almost shattered his jaw. Hell, that's why we're here right now. Guarding his room. She's not allowed anywhere near him until IA finishes their investigation. As far as her still being on the force…" the officer gave a weak shrug "…well, they say they have no proof it was her or the FCC agent who was in there with her. But a lot of us around the precinct think differently. Afterall, that story about him just collapsing to the floor? Pure bullshit."

The officer holding the white cup frowned quizzically.

"Wait. Hold on. I thought it was some guy from the ATF? Rumors around the station had it that the Jap was making plans to sell guns to terrorists or some shit like that. And I heard through the rumor mill that she told the IA investigators the Jap was hit in the head with a baseball bat or something like that. Invisible of all things! Tellin' you man, that bitch is a total whackjob."

The first policeman turned away from the second and resumed his guarding stance, nose wrinkling like a bad odor had wafted up his nostrils.

"Yeah," he said after taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Been that way ever since her partner was killed in that drug sting gone wrong. And no, the rumors are wrong. It was the FCC that sent someone. Apparently, the man managed to hi-jack some major government signal or some shit like that. That's what the FCC was all pissy about and why they sent one of their agents here. From what I heard, he was recalled not too soon after the IA began their investigation. The rumors say that he wasn't even questioned. Perks of working with the government I guess. And what the fuck, man! A freakin' baseball bat? Where the hell did you here that bullshit from! And invisible on top of that! Jeez man, have you been talking to that skinny street freak selling those stupid pictures again? I told you to stay the fuck away from that guy! He's got some serious baggage in that twisted mind of his. And besides, what in the hell is someone that old doing selling pictures? Feh, his ass should be working somewhere not bothering the people who really work in this town! That or in an insane asylum somewhere! Fucking nutjob!"

The other man with the coffee cup frowned slightly at the mention of the odd street artist who sold those – sometimes disturbing – pictures, but then nodded in agreement. Then he too resumed a stiff guarding pose.

"I guess so," he mumbled. He then closed his eyes and muttered, "And yeah, I know about that freak. But my daughter saw one of those freakin' pics of his and just had to have one! What the fuck was I supposed to do? Tell her 'no'?"

The other man didn't answer his partner, just shook his head sadly for a moment and resumed his guarding composure as quickly as he could. His partner soon followed suit. The two men then stood there silently to either side of the heavy, brown hospital door that led into the room of Musen Ochiigawa, neither looking at the other. And for a long moment, that was all there was. Silence. Then the heavier of the two raised the cup of coffee to his mouth, took a brief sip and then lowered it back down in front of him.

"So," he began quietly. "Have you heard the new rumor?"

-o-

Justine Mitchell sat next to Tsukina's bed, eyes downcast and hand limp upon the girl's gauze-covered own. What in the world was going on? First the news of the two street assaults on those highschool boys, and almost immediately after that the attack on that man in his own home. Then, there was another street assault the next night – Asashi and Tsukina – only this time the both of them made it through conscious. And now, not even a day later, there was yet another attack; that doctor who had tended to Tsukina before he started to freak out over whatever the girl had said. What had she said? And why didn't anyone else but her and that doctor seem to notice Tsukina's brief brush with consciousness? Just another question in a very long line of questions with no answers. And what about that strange Japanese man, Ochiigawa? How did he fit into all of this? What piece of this twisted puzzle from hell did he represent? He had to fit in somehow. Afterall, he had made mention about a something or other 'bat', hadn't he? And that should make him part of the pattern. But what was the pattern? Everything seemed completely random.

She sighed lightly, running an uneasy hand through her short hair. There had to be something that she was missing. Ochiigawa, the two boys, the man; all of them were in varying degrees of comatose as a direct result of their attacks – well, the two boys and the man were; Ochiigawa's 'condition' was a complete mystery in and of itself. Just what had happened to the man? That FCC agent insists that he had just collapsed – passed out – from the pressure of the interrogation and whacked his head on the metal table. But that wasn't what she saw. She'd never forget what she saw on that night. Whatever it was had managed to put her on Internal Affairs' shitlist and bar her from even seeing him. Not that he'd be much help anyway. Hell, even the doctor who had been assaulted earlier in the day was now in a coma. Of course, that brought up another question. Why wasn't Tsukina's mother, Asashi Hishimoto, also in a coma? What made her different? Afterall, she had suffered the same wounds as the others. By all rights, she should also be comatose. But then, there was nothing right about the entire case. In fact, absolutely nothing made any sense!

Pulling her hand away from Tsukina's, Justine gazed down warily at the sleeping girl. And what about her? What about this girl who claimed that Asashi was not her mother? What part did she play in this? It was obvious from the moment that she had started to question her that the girl was not telling her everything that she knew. She was holding something back. But what? And what about that tirade she went on near the end of their conversation. Something about what she had said seemed to stick in Justine's mind. I don't exist!I was never born! Just like…him! But 'him' who? What in the hell had she been talking about? And why did it all seem to start when she brought up the word 'bat'?

Sighing again, Justine leaned back in her chair and pushed both hands into her bomber jacket's pockets. Her fingers brushed against something inside one of them, a very worn good luck charm given to her by a once good friend. He was gone now, struck down much to soon to be so young. It was something that she tried very hard to forget, something that she knew had been her fault. But every time she thought she pushed it away, every time she thought that she had forgotten about it, the memories of that horrible…event would come back to haunt her. Just like now.

Eyes widening frightfully, she wrapped her hand around the object in her pocket quickly. The wounds of the past slowly began to melt away like so much candlewax. A dull smile emerged on her face as she began to stroke the soft, velvety good luck charm with an idle thumb. Those bad memories always seemed to do that whenever she touched it. What was it he had told her after he'd given it to her?

"Yeah, it's a bit of a good luck charm from Japan. I got on my last trip back. But I don't need it anymore, not now. So, I'm giving it to you. You seem to need it. No, I really think you do. Just remember. If you are ever feeling bad about something or if something is worrying you, just grab hold of it and you'll feel better in no time. Trust me, it works. Now, what's good here to eat…?"

That had been the last conversation they had had before the call…before they were given their new assignment. She gripped the object even harder, almost crushing its malleable length in her balled fist. The pain eased, then subsided; and the memories vanished like fog being burned away by the afternoon sun. What had she been thinking about? It was like a half realized dream now, hazy and forgotten. Shaking her head slightly, Justine sat up straight in her chair and pulled her hands from the bomber jacket's pockets. She had to focus if she were going to have any chance of putting the pieces of this odd puzzle together.

Gazing over silently at Tsukina's slumbering form, Justine poised a finger thoughtfully under her chin. A couple of other things the girl had said also had lodged themselves in her mind. What had they been? Wait, she remembered!

"B-Bent…bent like a dog…a dog's leg… G-Gold… Just like…like his…his…his…r-rollerblades…"

And there had been something else, hadn't there? At the very end, just as she was passing out, she had uttered it. What was it that she said?

"He comes…for…those…who are…cornered…"

Justine's mind was reeling, quietly spinning around nothing that answered nothing. Bent like a dog's leg? What was bent like a dog's leg? That part she couldn't figure out if someone dropped the answer on her lap. Okay, the gold part and the rollerblades she got. Obviously, whatever was 'bent like a dog's leg' was gold just like his –

She suddenly felt a chill of realization shiver its way up her spine. And once it had gone, she almost stood up and kicked herself. It was right there all the time! The answer! Tsukina had given her part of the answer! The bat! It was the bat that was bent like a dog' leg! And it was golden, just like the perp's inline skates! And that got her…got her…absolutely nowhere! That's where it got her.

Slouching back in the chair, Justine grunted out a bitter laugh. So what did she have? A person or persons who liked to wear inline skates and bash people over the head with bent baseball bats. Oh, and the bat was gold. She couldn't leave that out. A very important clue. One that was sure to do what the IA investigation hadn't managed to do yet. Suspend her from the force, and, in all likeliness, earn her some alone time with the department's resident shrink. Like she needed to go back to him again. And just what the hell did 'he comes for those who are cornered' mean?

Draping a hand over her forehead, Justine took a deep breath and released it slowly. If she went to her captain with nonsense like that, he'd probably start to believe the rumors about her too. And that was the last thing she needed. Hell, he was the only thing even keeping her on the force right now! She couldn't go back to him with a disjointed scrap of information like that. It would only make her look even more in need of 'some time off' in his eyes. But what was she to do? She had been on the case since after the third victim. And even after interviewing the man's son – Jason, she believed his name had been – and his divorced wife, it had gotten her no closer to any answers. And now, with Asashi back on medication and her daughter on sedatives for the time being, it looked as though Justine's beleaguered investigation had hit yet another stumbling block.

oOo

The polished wooden door opened smoothly and a shadowy figure wearing a dark trenchcoat stared deeply into the nearly black interior. Hesitating for only a moment, they bowed their head pensively and entered. The darkness within swallowed them. Reaching out with a trembling pale hand, the figure grabbed hold of the thin door and pulled it closed as they seated themselves on the velvety cushion. It sealed shut with an audible click.

The person took a deep, nervous breath before gazing at the interwoven, mesh screen in front of them. To the other side of the partition was a thick, blood-red drape that obscured whatever was behind it. But the figure knew what was being held from their eyes. Absolution. An end to the guilt. Forgiveness from a power beyond their understanding, beyond their comprehension.

The slim figure raised a quivering hand to their shadowed forehead, then lowered it to the right side of their chest and then the left. Afterwards, the person bowed their head and quietly recited the words that had been burned into their mind at a very young age.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," the figure began slowly and lightly in a distinctly feminine voice. The red curtain pulled aside unhurriedly and a darkened face emerged on the other side. "It has been three weeks since my last confession."

-o-

A gangly, teenaged girl sat on the front porch of a yellow, two-story house that was surrounded by a white picket fence. Her shin-length, dull orange sundress was pulled about halfway up her thighs. A boy across the street stood there, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. But she didn't seem to notice or care. She was staring down at a large, red scrape on her pale knee. Her bright blue eyes scanned it curiously. Most girls her age would be crying from a wound like that. Or, at the very least, milking it for all it was worth. But not her.

With a small, mischievous grin poised on her ovular face, the girl reached down with a lone finger and pressed it hard against the abraised skin on her knee. A stinging, burning sensation raced throughout her body. It should have made her cry out. It should have made her scream out in pain. But it didn't.

She pushed her finger against it even harder, drawing out pinpoint beads of crimson from the torn flesh. The feeling…the feeling was…indescribable. How could anyone ever cry over something that felt…that felt so good? To her, there was nothing bad about the pain that was making her entire body shudder. Why should she stop?

"What in the name of God are you doing!"

Smile dropping quickly from her face, the girl yanked the finger away from her injured knee as fast as she could and pulled her dress down back over her legs. The sensation vanished much to her disappointment. But the shadow that loomed over her small form filled her with something to replace it. And icy, gut-clenching fear.

"I asked you a question," the stern voice from behind her called out roughly. "Now answer me. What were you doing?"

The girl turned her head slowly to face the man behind her and gave him a weak grin.

"Nothing Daddy," she lied unconvincingly, brushing aside a few strands of hair that had fallen into her face. "I wasn't doing anything bad."

The man bent down angrily and seized her by the arm in a vice-like grip. The boy across the street took the opportunity to make himself scarce as he picked up his dropped wooden baseball and hurriedly ran off.

"Don't you lie to me! You know what God does to liars and other sinners! Now what were you doing!"

The girl's eyes had widened in total fear. The thoughts of those earlier sensations washed away by her father's cruel words. Guilt was now boiling in her heart. Guilt at the lie she had told and the sin she had committed not only a few minutes before. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.

"No Daddy," she pleaded as the salty drops of liquid fell from her eyes and ran hotly down her cheeks, "I wasn't doing anything wrong!I promise! I was being a good girl! I was – "

The loud, flesh against flesh sound of his open palm striking her across the face echoed over the porch. The pain of it sent waves of that earlier sensation arching though her body. But it was lost to her. Only fear and shame dominated her mind now. That wonderful sensation was but an afterthought.

"You were sinning again, weren't you!" her father screamed as he shook her almost to the point of making her blackout. "You were sinning like your whore of a mother, weren't you! Letting that boy across the street sniff after you like a dog in heat! I told you, girl! I told you time and time again that if you kept doing disgusting things like that, you'd end up burning in Hell with her! Now, do want that? Do you want that!"

The girl looked at her father with terrified, blue eyes; her head shaking wildly at the thought.

"No Daddy," she cried pleadingly as the tears from her eyes grew heavier. "No Daddy…please, no…I don't want to…I don't want to go to… I'll be…I'll be a good girl from now on…I promise… Just…please don't…please don't make me… Please…"

Her father released her arm. And the girl, with shame heavy in her heart, leapt into his arms immediately afterwards and confessed her sins to him.

-o-

Inside the confessional, the pale woman's hands trembled as she tried to keep them still on her lap. The memories of what she had done, the shame it had caused her sent icy daggers of guilt racing into her heart. Why did she do that horrible thing? Why did it seem as if she couldn't stop herself? Why did it feel as if she had lost her way?

"I…I don't know why…I…I…"

The woman paused long enough to take a deep breath before continuing, trying as hard as she could to find a sense of balance for herself. It was about as easy as she figured it would be.

"I…I was a…a good girl…when I was growing up," she stammered uncertainly as she began to wring her hands together. "M-My father always loved me. He always…always wanted me to choose the right path; d-do what was right by him and the rest of my family. Never to grow up to be...to be like...m-my mother. And I didn't ever want to disappoint him. Afterall, he was my father. And what girl didn't want the approval of her father, what girl didn't want to be the apple of her daddy's eye?"

-o-

Bent over her desk, the girl scribbled down the complex Algebra problem from her textbook. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and refocused her dazed attention on the math homework before her. Sleep could wait. Afterall, she had worked long and hard on getting her straight 'A' average in her Catholic School's Advanced Math Class. And she wasn't about to let all that work go to waste because of a few yawns. Besides, her father would be so proud if she brought home another 'A'/'B' report card to him!

That last thought made her giggle gleefully. Her father was such a good man. A man of God. Sure he was mean to her sometimes, but that was all to ensure her ascension into Heaven when she died. She wouldn't end up like her mother! She wouldn't end up as some drunken town whore who lay down with any man for a few bucks. Her father was right! She was going to die the way she lived and ended up burning in Hell! And that was just something that she had no intention of doing! She just wouldn't!

Roughly pushing the thoughts of her mother out of her head, the girl tried to return her attention to her homework. But a low knock at her door interrupted that still-forming concentration. Sighing lightly, she set the pencil down and turned toward the door, uttering, "Come in."

The door opened slowly, and the heavily worn but smiling face of her father poked into her room. Seeing him brought a wide grin to her own. For a moment, she thought that it was going to be one of her useless classmates at school coming over for a visit. Especially that trendy witch of a girl who always seemed to be hovering around her. That one was on a one-way trip to Hell with the way she acted half the time! Why she decided to make friends with her was beyond reason! But not everyone at the school was like her. In fact, there was one who she would never mind visiting; a boy she had known since they were little. One who seemed to like her as much as she liked him. He had been the one standing across the street that day and…

"So," her father asked merrily, bringing a quick end to her blossoming daydream. "How's my pretty little bookworm doing this evening? Are you almost done? I've just made some popcorn and I know that movie you like is coming on tonight. I figured that we could watch it together, a father and daughter movie night. What do you say?"

The girl shifted joyfully in her chair, wide grin broadening into a beaming smile. Oh how she loved her father! All of the time he spent with her! Helping her with her schoolwork! Even keeping her on the right path with stern and sometimes painful punishments! It hurt when he had to discipline her, but it didn't matter. He could do no wrong in her eyes. He was a man of God! He was perfect! He was what every father should be! She was so lucky! She had the perfect life! And nothing could ever ruin it!

"Just another minute or two, Daddy," she said enthusiastically, turning back to her open textbook and picking up the pencil. "Then I'll be right down!"

-o-

A lone tear ran down from the corner of the woman's eye. The smooth skin of her face was so worry-worn and flustered that it made her countenance appear much older than her twenty-eight years would lead people to believe. Her hands clenched tautly at the heavy overcoat, pulling at the coarse fabric so hard that she could hear her knuckles creaking from the strain. She could feel the familiar feeling of heaviness in her chest that came from weeping. The tears in her eyes began to build and her mouth quivered mildly. The realization of a childhood lost and a horrid revelation to come rained nothing but sadness down upon her already overburdened heart.

"B-But," she began again after taking a deep, shuddering breath. "A-As much…as much as I loved him, I soon came to…to realize the t-true reason w-why I…I did."

The woman's bright blue eyes widened.

"Y-You see, Father, the p-pain…the pain it…it was the pain… I-I came…I came to love…to love the pain, too."

Her heart pounded loudly in her chest.

"The p-pain of my f-father's punishments…they…they filled me w-with…with such a wonderful…a w-wonderful…f-feeling…"

Her mind whirled at the thought, the woman's breath becoming heavier with each intake of air. Then realization dawned. She was losing herself again.

"And I…I…I couldn't h-help…I c-couldn't help myself. I j-just couldn't! I-I…I became…I became…a…sinner…"

Right then, the woman's shadow-shrouded face twisted up into a wounded look full of both misery and anger. "Don't you understand, Father?" she questioned in a shaky, broken voice that quickly perverted into a loud holler. "I became a sinner! A SINNER!"

-o-

The hard slap of her father echoed throughout the room. The girl fell to her knees from the force of its impact. She had sinned again. It had not been that big of a sin to her, but it was a sin nonetheless. And sin would lead her to Hell. That's what was going to happen to her mother when she finally died. That's what her father had told her. And he was always right. He was a man of God, afterall. How could he be wrong?

Almost seeming to tower over her, the girl's father glared down at her with hard eyes. "What have I told you about that boy!" he shouted roughly. "What did I tell you about any kind of boy?"

The girl stared up with pleading eyes. But the look that was in them did not represent the twisted urge that burned in her heart. Sin boiled within. Sin that was pleasure. Pleasure that was… She didn't want to go to Hell. But she could not resist, she could not turn it away. She loved her father. But she...loved what was boiling within as well.

"B-But Daddy," she began with quiet hesitation, raising a hand up to the reddened skin on the side of her face. She resisted the desire to press her fingers into that tender flesh. "H-He was…he was just w-walking me h-home. N-Nothing…nothing was going t-to happen, it was just – "

Her father's hand lashed out again, the back of it striking rudely against the left side of her face. A hot sensation of pain raced out from her reddening cheek and burned its way throughout her entire body. She tried not to shudder. She tried not to think about… But how could she not? Besides, her father had told her something; something that had made it easier for her to begin to enjoy what she had so long denied herself. He had told her that the Lord Almighty forgave ALL sins! All she had to do was confess them to Him and she would be absolved of everything she had done wrong! That was it! That was all she had to do! She wouldn't go to Hell for any of what she had done! She could sin all she wanted!

"SHUT UP!" her father had screamed as he rubbed the back of his hand angrily. "Just shut up! That boy is nothing but trouble for you! All he's doing is sniffing around, looking to put you on your back! Are you so stupid that you can't see that!Or is it that you want to be a whore…just like your damnable mother! Do you want to be a sinner! Do you want to go to Hell!"

The girl frowned up at her father with eyes that feigned fright, but deep inside…she knew the truth. She was a sinner! But that sin could be erased! That sin could be absolved! All she had to do was confess! All she had to was beg for forgiveness from her God! And all of this she knew because of her father. Because he was a good man. A man of God. A man that could do no wrong.

-o-

The woman's distraught face was streaked with tears. Memories of the realization burned into her heart ruthlessly. The lie had allowed her to justify her continuance of that foul sin. Why had she not tried to stop herself? Why did she give in so easily? The pain. It was so…powerful. The feeling…it was beyond anything that she had felt before. Even basking in the glory of her God in Heaven seemed to pale in comparison. How could she not give in?

A stern voice coming from the other side of the partition startled her.

"It sounds as though your father was a good man, my daughter. A true man of God and honorable to His Commandments. How could you disgrace him in such a vile manner?"

The woman in the trenchcoat raised a trembling hand from her lap and wiped at the tears in her eyes with the back of it. "B-Because…because I-I knew…I knew that f-forgiveness was just o-one confession away…t-that's how. A-And I also k-knew that because…that because my f-father was such a...a g-good man, that h-he would pray f-for me. I-I believed in h-him…I…I trusted i-in his wisdom, in his strength of will, in his...his f-faith…" The woman paused and then looked down into her lap vacantly. The tears forming in her eyes again blurred her vision. Truth was always a painful thing to face, even if you had already come to terms with it.

"But," the shadowy figure on the other side of the partition pushed gently.

The pale-skinned woman's hands again clenched at her dark coat, knuckles stretching tight against the thin flesh on the back of them. Memories glittered dully in her mind, memories that she didn't want to recall. Memories that she had pushed back until…until tonight. Why had everything come back tonight of all nights? She raised her head and looked through the mesh partition at the dark face on the other side of it.

"H-He…"

"Yes, he did what?"

"He…lied."

"He lied?"

"Yes."

"About what, my child?"

"About…everything…"

"Everything?"

"Yes."

"He wasn't a man of God?"

"No."

"He wasn't a good man?"

"No."

"How did it make you feel when you found out?"

"Relieved."

"Relieved?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it made me realize something."

"What?"

"That if I wanted to be saved, I had to give myself over to God completely and without question."

"Because?"

"Because He was the only truth, He was the only…good."

"Not your father? The man that you had devoted your entire life too?"

"No…not my father…"

-o-

For the second time that night, she turned her head away from the boy who had stolen her heart so long ago. He had done his job. That familiar dampness between her legs was proof enough of that. Unfortunately for her, it hadn't been enough for him.

"What's wrong," he questioned gently, running his long fingers through her hair absently.

"Nothing," she lied.

But wasn't lying a sin? Inwardly, she felt herself smile. Of course it was, but she could absolve it. She could get rid of it. All she had to do was confess and she would be free again. Beside her, she could feel the boy's hands working their way up her thigh again. She could almost hear herself sigh in exasperation. He would never learn.

"Look," she began, placing her own hand on top of his lightly. "I do like you, but I…I just can't."

The boy's hand stopped suddenly and his voice grew cold as he replied.

"Can't," he whispered with hard words. "Or won't? Dammit, what do I have to do to prove to you that I won't hurt you?"

She could feel a familiar sensation creep into her heart. Didn't want to hurt her? She almost laughed at that. She wanted him to hurt her! She had wanted him to hurt her more than he had just then! What he had done to her was only the beginning of what she truly wanted. What she truly craved. She wanted him to make her feel…feel that indescribable pleasure that she had when she was still a little girl. Afterall, it was okay for her to feel such things. She wouldn't go to Hell. Not now. All she had to do was confess her sins and she would be free! It was what her father had told her when she was younger. He was still a good man. A man of God. A man who could do no wrong.

"I know you won't," she replied, lifting herself from the hastily lain out blanket and pausing to search around for her sandals. At the same time, she pulled her dress back around her legs from its former place on her upper thighs. The skin there was marred with dull, blue-black, finger-shaped marks. "But, I just can't…not right now. It's just too…too soon for us to be doing something like that."

The boy pulled himself up from the blanket and gazed up at her with annoyed eyes. It made her want to sigh out loud. He was really making this more difficult than it already was. Perhaps her father had been right about him afterall. She heard a small voice inside her head begin to laugh. Of course he had been right about the boy sitting before her! The only thing that seemed to be on his mind was putting her on her back. Nothing more, nothing less. Sex was all he wanted. Just like her father had said so long ago! Such a good man he was! A man of God! A man who could do no wrong! A man she truly loved with all her heart!

"You weren't acting like that a few minutes ago," he pushed in a leering voice. "You were just as into it as I was! Moaning and groaning every time I bit you on the shoulder or dug my fingers into your thighs! All you could do was whisper for me to do it harder! I know that you were getting just as turned on as I was! And then, just like that, you pull this shit! What's your fucking deal?"

Finding her sandals and slipping them back on her feet with ease, she regarded the boy with a casually raised eyebrow.

"I was in the mood," she began, standing. "But then, I realized that I was supposed to be home about an hour ago. You know, that was when choir practice was supposed to end. And you know as well as I do how my Dad is going to react when I show up late. I'll…I'll have to lie to him again."

Before her, the boy's expression changed somewhat at the mention of her father. Just as she had expected it to. Afterall, she knew how he felt about her dad, how he feared the man. It was the same trump card she always played when he started to push for something that she wasn't ready for. Something that she truly had no interest in. It was the same trump card he always fell for. Besides, it was the pain she was interested in, not the boy or what he wanted to do to her. The pain was all that mattered. He was just a means to an end.

"Alright," he uttered disappointedly, pushing himself up to his feet and pausing long enough to slip them into a pair of cheap flip-flops. "Alright, I get it. You've gotta go. Because of him. Man, this really sucks! I was already and everything tonight! You know, eventually, I'm gonna get you to give in!"

She just gave him a happy grin that was nothing but a total lie. Her? Give in to him? Become a whore like her mother? Not likely! She'd rather go to Hell than end up like that woman! Wasn't she pregnant or something now? What a tramp!

"Oh," she began before rising on her toes to kiss him on the cheek lightly. "I know I will. Besides, you know that you're the one I want to be with. Right?"

The grin that emerged on the boy's face set off that rumbling laughter in the back of her head again. The poor teen just knew that some day he'd be getting in between her legs! How was she keeping a straight face? How was she keeping from laughing in his face and telling him the truth of their 'relationship'? He was only there to give her what she wanted, not the other way around! And that wasn't going to change no matter how much he wanted it to!

"Yeah," he replied with a smile as he moved away from her and stepped off the blanket. Kneeling down, he began to fold it up as neatly as he could manage. "I know. I guess I can wait a bit longer. It shouldn't hurt. Afterall, we're only juniors in school. We still have what's left of this year and all of the next. Between now and then, I'm sure you'll be ready."

The girl just nodded her head and grinned back at him. Oh yeah, she'd be ready all right. Ready to leave him and find someone else who'd be rougher with her. All she wanted was the pain. Not the sex. She could care less about the sex. The pain was all that mattered. And the boy in front of her, no matter how much she truly did love him, was too tenderhearted to do the things that she wanted done to her body. All the more reason for her to get rid of him as soon as she could.

"Yeah," she lied again. "I'm sure I will be."

With that being said, silence fell between them as they gathered the last few things that they had brought with them and returned the items to his truck. It only took a few minutes to place everything in the bed of the beaten up old vehicle. Once that was done, she hopped into the cab along with the teenager and strapped herself in with the seatbelt. In less than a minute, he had started the engine and threw the unwieldy vehicle into gear. And with that, he pulled out of the park and followed the dully-lit path that led back out onto the street.

As she gave the boy a brief smile, which of course led to a kiss on the lips from him, the girl thought quickly of the lie she had concealed from him. Her father wasn't at home. He was out with his church group. In truth, she wouldn't be late at all. He always got home late and when he did, immediately went up to his room to go to sleep. He wouldn't really check on her until he woke up the next morning. And by that time, she would have already been in her bed – just waking up with the morning sun. Much like him.

It was for that reason she could stay out late like she did and have her fun. Fun that she could easily cleanse away by confessing her sins at church. Unlike her mother, she would not be going to Hell when she died. Heaven awaited her. The untold glory of the Lord Almighty. A place for her had already been set. Her father had told her as much. Such a good man. A man of God. A man who could do no wrong.

The slight lurching of the truck broke her away from her thoughts. Turning her head to the boy and blinking uncertainly at him for a second or two, she gave him a questioning look.

"We're here," he stated abruptly, placing the idling vehicle into park. "You know, you're house. Where your father is. The man who will kick the shit out of my ass if her sees me sitting here with his daughter in my truck? Ringing any bells? Getting any hints yet?"

The girl quickly pulled herself back to awareness and gave the boy a playful expression.

"Yeah," she responded as she gripped his hand in her own and gave it a light squeeze. "I know. I'm going. Wouldn't want my Dad to think that I'm doing something unholy in here with you or anything. See you at school tomorrow?"

The boy's beaming smile was more than answer enough for her question.

"You know it."

She lied a grin back at him.

"I love you."

He softened his voice and lowered his eyes into a caring expression that looked oh so wrong on his narrow face.

"Love you too."

Pulling her hand away from his, she undid her seatbelt and opened the passenger side door. Slipping out as quickly as she could manage, she gave him another short wave and set off to the front porch of the house. Behind her, she could hear his truck grinding into gear and then quickly pull away from her house. It brought a glimmer of a smile to her face. The poor boy really had thought that her father was home, just because his car was sitting in the driveway. But she knew better. He never took the car to his church meetings, he always caught a ride with one of the members of his congregation. That's the way it had always been.

At least, it had been until tonight.

She just stood there for a moment, an odd look quirking her face. There was another car sitting in the driveway, not just his. Her heart almost leapt into her throat. He…he was home already! But why? Why tonight of all nights? Trying to calm her rapidly beating heart, the girl approached the porch of her house apprehensively. What was her father doing home so early? And who was here with him. He never brought anyone else back to the house, for conversation, coffee or otherwise. He had always been a rather solitary man in her view, especially after her whore of a mother had done all those terrible things to him. The only company he had ever needed, he had ever wanted was her – his only daughter.

Silently tipping her way onto the porch, she slowly began to fish through her purse for her house keys. As she did so, something else caught her attention. The porchlight was off. In fact, the entire house was dark for some odd reason. But why was that? If her father was entertaining guests, then wouldn't at least the living room light be on? What was going on?

Finding her keys in short order, the girl hesitantly positioned them before the doorknob. Her hand shook nervously, but not for the reason she had been expecting. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Something was not right inside, but what? What could be so wrong in the house that it had her too nervous to open the door? How could anything be that wrong? It wasn't her mother in the house, it was her father. And he was a good man. A man of God. A man who could do no wrong. So what did she truly have to be worried about?

Forcing a reassuring smile on her face, the girl push the key into the door lock and turned it confidently. Everything would be alright. He was her father, someone whom she would always be able to trust without question. What did she have to worried about? Pulling it out after unlocking the door, she pushed it open and stepped into the darkness of the house. When she did, she heard a low moan, then a heavy gasp. He must've fallen asleep waiting up for her. He was such a good man – such a good father. How could she ever think low of him? He was nothing like her mother.

"I'm sorry I'm so late Dad," she began apologetically as she turned on the living room light and pulled the door shut behind her. He mind worked quickly to prepare the lie that she had set up as a contingency in case she ever found him at home after spending the out. "But choir practice ran over a bit longer than I thought it would and…and…an –"

Her voice trailed off, then stopped abruptly when she realized what she had walked in on. Her mind refused to believe what her eyes were showing it. Her mouth was as dry as a desert. Her heart was pounding hard in both her chest and her ears. What was this? WHAT WAS THIS! Her lips tried to work out the words that seemed trapped in her throat. But all she heard was silence. Silence. All of a sudden realization dawned and it hit her like a ton of bricks.

The words in her lodged in her throat were forgotten. Instead, her piercing scream echoed out rudely into the night.

-o-

"He was having sex with some other woman?"

"Y-Yes."

"And you heard it...saw it?"

She winced inwardly, remembering how her father's sinning had been exposed to her in full after she had come home late one night. Why had he done it? Why couldn't he stay the good man she had always believed him to be? The woman's hand was clenching the trenchcoat's fabric so hard that it was beginning to hurt. A familiar feeling raced through her body. She tried to ignore it. Tried to force it away.

"Y-Yes Father, I...I did... I-I learned the t-truth...I learned the t-truth that night...about my father..."

"You learned that he wasn't as saintly as you thought he was? You found out that he was more of a sinner than you or you're mother had ever been, didn't you?"

The woman looked down at her shadow-shrouded lap. The memories of that night scratched harshly at her mind. Her hand clenched the overcoat she had on even harder than before. Her balled fist instinctively grinding into her thigh. Pain. Sin. Pleasure. Forgiveness. Which did she truly want? Which did she truly crave? That night had opened her up to all four.

"Y-Yes Father," she replied breathily. She could feel a growing...sensation throbbing hotly between her legs. She pushed it away roughly. "I...I did..."

"And it forced you into God's waiting arms, didn't it? Made you realize beyond a shadow of a doubt that He was the only good in your life. Pushed you into a life that made you live in His hallowed name, forced you to hide the truth of what you knew yourself to be. Forced you to hide away from the sin that crept along in your heart; to hide away from that aching lust for pain that granted you such pleasure...such release..."

The pale woman's eyes widened in shock. Her sweat-soaked hand that was gripping at the coat covering her thighs slackened absently. What...what had the Father said? Did... It couldn't have been... It was... It was unthinkable...

"W-What...What d-did you just...what did you say," she uttered out weakly.

The face on the other side of the partition smiled at her. A wicked, lustful smile. A demonic smile that she felt in the core of her very being.

(The face on the other side of the partition gaze at her worriedly, aged and dark eyes probing for a reason to the odd question coming from the woman's mouth.)

"You know what I just said, you stupid tramp," the voice stated bitterly, growing husky and heated at the same time. Fear raced through the woman's mind. That voice! She knew it! It haunted her from the shadows of her past. It...it reminded her of her...her father! "You forced yourself into a life that hid you from the truth of who and what you were! You sought to hide in God's Light in an effort to burn away the dark stains of your sin! You sought out His forgiveness only to continue your own debased and perverted acts! To satisfy that twisted, ungodly lust inside of you! Isn't that the truth! ISN'T IT!"

("Are you okay, my child," the elderly man questioned from behind the mesh separator in a concerned voice that the woman seemed to find distressing.)

The woman stared wide-eyed at the partition. Tears streamed down her face. Terror marred her already haggarded visage. Slowly, she could feel herself pushing deeper and deeper into the thinly cushioned seat of the confessional booth in an effort to escape the harsh words coming from the other side of the mesh screen. She could not speak. She could hardly move. What in the world was going on? Why was this happening to her? Was she...was she losing her mind?

"No...I... It w-wasn't like... I-I mean...I didn't... T-That wasn't w-why... That wasn't...t-that wasn't the reason..." she stammered in an absent murmur that could hardly be heard.

That mocking face on the other side of the partition laughed out throatily.

"Poor, misguided Sister Rachel," the voice whispered condescendingly. It seemed to be enjoying the torment it was heaping upon the dark-haired woman. "So trapped between two worlds that she is becoming lost to both. Who are you? Which one defines you? Are you the heavenly nun devoted only to the life that God lays out before you? Or are you that pain-slut who howls, moans and begs to be whipped every night at that goth club? Oh yes, I know about that. It used to happen only once a month, didn't it? But then, you found yourself going every other weekend, and then every weekend. But it didn't stop there, did it Rachel? No, it didn't. Soon, you were going almost every night other than Sunday, being beaten on a regular basis and enjoying the sin in your soul; only to come into your church to stand before the judgment of your God, and tell Him of your perversions so that He could forgive you so you could go back out and do it all again with a clear conscience. Am I right? Well, am I!"

(Father Richards wore a look of complete confusion upon his face as he moved toward the partition with an uneasy expression emerging slowly.

"Listen to me," he began calmly, trying his best to soothe the troubled woman across from him. "Take a deep breath. Relax. Try to - ")

In a flurry of frantic movement, Rachel Shelby turned from the mesh screen before her and clawed at the lock to the confessional door. Her face was the very essence of denial, fear and madness all rolled into one. She cried. She screamed. She cursed for the door to open and let her out. She just wanted to get away from the creature that was on the other side of the partition. She just wanted to be free of everything that burdened her. She just wanted to be free!

Finally, Rachel managed to slide the lock and latch aside and push the thin door open. She practically leapt out of the booth, trying to escape the mocking laughter that was following her out. In a fit of rage, she grabbed hold of the door and slammed it shut, shouting, "SHUTUP!YOU'RE WRONG! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME!"

She emphasized each word with a slam of the confessional door, until it began to break apart and splinter. Her heart was pounding loud in her ears just like on that night she had discovered her father's sin! Tears and sweat stained her face just like earlier in the evening when she was at the mercy of her 'Mistress'! She screamed and begged just like she had when 'Mistress's' master had commanded her to! She looked up at the shadow of the cross to her left just like she always did after she had confessed her sins to her Lord God Almighty. She grabbed the door again to -

Another hand grabbed her own and spun her around viciously. And Rachel came face to face with...herself.

"You're wrong," the other her laughed out as she adjusted her habit with one hand. "I know everything there is to know about you! Afterall, you've confess your sins to me often enough...Beauty!"

(Chasing after the woman, Father Richards pushed open the door to his section of the confessional and exited. When he stepped out, she was there in front of him; frantically and angrily slamming the door to her side of the booth until it began to break apart. Seized more with concern for her well being than fear, he reached out and grabbed her arm firmly and gently pulled her around to face him. And his eyes widened when that face was exposed to him.

"R-Rachel? S-Sister Rachel?" he stammered out the question rudely. "My Lord in Heaven, h-has...has it been you all this time ? Have you been the one begging for forgiveness for those...those...acts? Please tell me that it isn't. Please tell me that I'm wrong. Please Rachel, talk to me. Let me help you if I can.")

Rachel shook her head in outright fear and astonishment as she yanked her arm away from the other her's loose grip, then backpedaled away from the horrid mirror of herself in stunned disbelief. But...But how? This can't...this can't be happening!

The dark shadow of herself seemed to muse for a moment, then raised a lithe hand to her mouth and giggled out behind it.

"Oh," the other Rachel said as the laughter rode along her hard voice carelessly, "it's happening alright. And from here on out, it's just going to get worse for you, Beauty! But don't worry, as much as you get off to someone beating your ass...you're probably going to enjoy this!"

(Father Richards was too stunned to move after her. He just could not believe what he was seeing. The most loving, devoted and stable nun in his entire clergy reduced to...to...this? What had happened to her? How could he have not seen this? How could God not have given him the foresight to know the troubles that assaulted her? What was wrong with her and how could he help her if she kept running away from him?

"Listen to me Rachel," he began quietly, doing what he could to keep his own voice from shaking anymore than it already did. But his mind raced. She was the poor unfortunate soul that he prayed for every night? She was the one who felt that she was beginning to lose herself to that...how had she put it...that other side? But, what did she mean by that? "You're sick and you need help. I can't offer that if you don't calm down and give me the chance. Please..." he paused only for a second as he raised his hand toward her, "...take my hand and let the Power of the Lord Almighty guide you to the peace of mind you desire. Please, Sister Rachel. Take my hand."

Father Richards took a tenuous step forward, and then another...and another...)

Without saying another word, or giving her the chance to react, the habit-clad Rachel leapt toward the one wearing the trenchcoat. She tried to turn and run, but her dark shadow dragged her down to the floor and clawed at the overcoat viciously.

"NO...STOP...PLEASE...DON'T," Rachel screamed as she tried to knock away the other woman's hands after she'd been turned over onto her back.

But the other woman ignored her desperate pleas with laughter so cruel it made her seem to be the Devil himself.

"What, oh what are you trying to hide under this coat, dearest Beauty?" the creature shaped like her called out in sarcastic tones that made more tears well up in her blue eyes. "What, oh what indeed! Let's just have a look, shall we? Stop moving around, will you! What? Do you want me to hit you or something...oh right, wait a minute...YOU DO!"

And that was all it took for the other her to pull back her left arm and bring it down hard across the trenchcoated Rachel's face. The slap was so full, so powerful that the woman on her back saw colored spots dancing before eyes afterward. The pain that burned in her cheek sent wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through her. She tried to resist. She tried to push it away. But she couldn't. Her body was already conditioned to accept the pain from earlier in the evening. To her horror, Rachel heard herself moaning in pleasure. Her eyes widened fearfully. What was she doing! She compressed her lips tightly, doing whatever it took to keep anymore from escaping her mouth. Staring back up at her other self in a mild daze, she did what she could in an effort to slap at the habit-clad woman's hands as they tugged and pulled at her overcoat. But it was much harder to do now. The pain - the lust for it - drew the strength from her arms. Her heart raced with an icy fear edged with a hot desire to be hit again. It took what remained of her willpower to block it all from her weary mind. And above her trembling form, the expression on the woman's face was as delighted as it was hard.

"Why do you continue to lie to yourself," the other Rachel laughed out bitterly. She had finally managed to get her hands under the coat and was now rising from the ground to tear it away from her body. Was she even trying to stop her other self anymore? "Why do you continue to live a false life that you damn well know isn't real? Are you just stupid? Or did Daddy put the fear of God and just about everything else into you when you were so luvvy-duvvy with him? AH-HA! Got it!"

With that bold and joyous declaration, Rachel the Nun yanked the overcoat from the Pain-Addict's body and twirled it around in the air victoriously. Rachel the Pain-Addict did what she could to cover herself while the terror of realization was slowly dawning on her tear-streaked face. The blood seemed to drain from it and a look of utter mortification marred her less than smooth features as she gazed down at herself. Beneath the coat, she had been wearing almost nothing - a pair of expensive black stiletto heels, a leather g-string and a tight, leather corset that wasn't fully tied down and now hung loosely enough to expose the perky, pink nipples of her breasts. The fullness of her sin was not only exposed to herself, but to the Church and the eyes of the Almighty Himself. Instinctively, Rachel the Pain-Addict wrapped her arms around her body protectively and hefted herself from the floor of the church as the other Rachel pointed a stiff finger at her and laughed even louder than before.

"Well, well Beauty," the cruel version of herself mocked, "you're looking mighty slutty tonight! How about a smack across that freshly whipped back of your's for old-time's sake, huh? You know that you'd enjoy it! Why don't you just give in to it? Everything would be easier if you just accepted the truth and gave up this stupid nun-sense...ha-ha-ha-ha...get it? Nun-sense? Oh, I just have to remember that one! Hey...wait, I'm not finished with you yet! Come back here!"

(He could not believe what he was witnessing! Even though he was seeing it with his own eyes, Father Richards could not bring himself to believe it! One moment, he was taking careful steps toward the troubled Sister, the next she had turned to run away from him only to throw herself forward onto the hard, wooden floor!She actually threw herself down! He had seen it with his own eyes! But that had not been the end of it.

After she had flung herself down to the ground, she began to scream out curses at herself only to holler right back as if she were carrying on some sort of argument with someone that Father Richards could not see. If only that had been all she had done, he might not have been feeling as sick in the pit of his stomach as he was right now. Because before, during and after the mad conversation with herself, Sister Rachel - one of the kindest and most modest women that he knew - began to struggle with her overcoat; half of a mind to remove it, half of a mind to keep on her body. And all throughout, she was cursing and screaming like a drunken sailor on shore leave. He had almost opened his mouth to say something, but then it happened - something that left it hanging wide open in the beginnings of another plea to her.

In one of the strangest and most terrifying things that he had ever witnessed in his forty years as a man of God, he watched with horrified eyes as a woman he had known to be one of the most peaceful and non-violent people that he had ever met raised an arm and slapped herself so hard that it made him wince. He could not believe it!She was hitting herself! She was fighting herself! She was screaming and arguing with herself! And that was not even the worst of it!

Father Richards almost found himself gagging on non-existent vomit as he heard her moan in what could only be described as absolute and complete ecstasy. Ecstasy! She had slapped herself hard enough to leave not a welt, but a bruise...and she was...was getting excited by it! He was frozen where he stood. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to help her. Not anymore. Not with whatever demon that was possessing the poor woman in such total control. So he did the only thing he could do for her.

He began to pray.

Low at first, the words coming from his dried lips a mere whisper. But soon, he raised his voice to match the crude words and the teary pleas coming from the woman writhing on the ground before him. She begged and pleaded. He prayed to the Lord Almighty. She screamed and cursed. He intermingled the few words of exorcism that he knew into his prayers. If he couldn't help Rachel physically, he would help and strengthen her spiritually. He was a man of God. A vessel unto the Holy Light of the Lord Almighty. He had already seen the worst of it, the worst of the vicious demon that was assaulting this woman of purity and holiness. There was nothing more that -

Father Richards' praying stopped in midsentence. His mouth hung open, not moving one bit to either close it or utter more prayers. His eyes were agape in horrific astonishment that belied the sickening nausea that boiled in his stomach. Rachel, dear sweet Sister Rachel - a woman that he had schooled personally in the ways of the Lord and praised for her dedication to His will and service - had finally managed to remove her overcoat and was twirling it around in the air in one hand like a Las Vegas showgirl, while the other groped at in an effort to get it back. And what lay beneath it brought a demon of his own up from his lurching stomach and out of his trembling, still-open mouth.)

While the other her had been ranting, Rachel had kicked off her heels and turned to face down the aisle; then she rose from the floor and took off in a mad sprint for the door leading out of the church and into the darkness of North Portland. Her mind was gone. All she could feel was utter and complete fear and terror. She was crying. She was wailing into the stale air of the church. Her mind was begging for forgiveness. Her heart was pounding relentlessly in her exposed chest. And in the back of her ailing mind, a feeling - a sensation - she could hardly believe. Her body was craving more pain, aching for it! At that, she screamed and screamed.

"You can't run from me, little girl!" Rachel the Nun yelled out behind her as she folded her black-robed arms across her chest lazily and smiled wryly, stepping over the other her's discarded trenchcoat. "Just remember that! You can't ever run from me!"

-o-

The heavy, double-doors of the church flew open and Rachel ran down the steps, bare feet slapping loudly against the rough concrete. Her mind was empty of any other thought except fleeing from the church. Fleeing from her! She had to get away! She had to run! She had to escape! She had to -

Rachel cried out as her ankle twisted sharply and she fell. Striking the crude stairs hard enough to break skin, she rolled none to kindly the rest of the way down to flat pavement at its base. She landed in a heap, arms and legs bruised, scraped and bleeding. Her mind was alight with pain. Nothing but pain! It ran through every inch of her body! It caressed her like a lover in the throes of passion.

You can't run from me, little girl!

Every muscle and bone in her body ached, some hurting more than the others. But all of it brought a hot sensation of exhilaration to her battered body. She could feel her lips parting lustfully. She could feel the ecstasy growing between her legs. It frightened her. It made her want to cry again. Why could she not escape! Why could she not get away!

Just remember that! You can't ever run from me!

The snap in her over-burdened mind was almost audible. Rachel's cracked and bloody lips worked themselves into a sick and mad grin. The pain had at last consumed what remained of her will as well as her body. The sticky wetness between her legs was proof enough of that. But there was something else that had dawned on her. A realization. It forced a bitter, but sensual laugh from her broken form. She understood! At last, she understood! It all made sense to her! Everything that had happened! And even though some doubt remained within her broken mind, she was beginning to accept the truth. All of it had happened for a reason! That was the answer! It had been to make her realize that she was…was -

The muted skitching sound of approaching rollerblades made her raise her head as best she could. The pain was indescribable. It sent waves of pleasure throughout her body that she didn't even try to deny. Her vision was blurry, but she thought that she could make out the approaching form of a...a boy? Something long and golden glinted dully in his right hand; something bent like her mind and body. But what was it?

The boy on golden rollerblades smiled broadly as he skidded to a halt just in front of her and looked down curiously. Rachel gazed up into his face and saw -

He lifted his golden bat - that's what it had been! - and swung it down hard on the back of Rachel's head with a sickening crack. Pain. Glorious pain raced throughout her already agony-lit body. It cleared what little doubt remained in her mind. She was free. She was free of everything! No more voices! No more God! No more struggling with herself! She had been delivered from the lie by...by...

"...W-Why...?" she asked weakly, unconsciousness closing on her in a fading, inky light. But there was no anger or remorse in the question. Only...relief.

The boy raised a hand to the rim of his red cap and lifted it up slightly. The pale and weak light from the nearby street lamps cast his face in a dull, almost otherworldy glow. But what lie beneath the cap's shadow didn't belong to a young boy. It belonged to a young girl. A broad smile stretched across her thin lips, bared teeth dully glimmering in the faint lamplight. Her bright indigo eyes seemed to be tinged heavily with gold, an eerie and menacing glow that would have filled the woman on the ground with fear if her mind weren't already blanketed with pain and the hot pleasure it brought her. But even through the ecstatic agony that ravaged her body lovingly, Rachel knew who the girl was.

"Because," she replied in a gruff, seemingly annoyed voice as she pulled her cap back down to shadow that ovular face once again, "His scent is all over you!"

Lifting the bent bat up to rest on her shoulder, the girl allowed the sourness in her voice earlier to subside. It instead took on a merrier tone, though heavily edged with overconfidence and conceit.

"I tracked that smell all the way back here," she said boyishly. "You reek of his stench. But don't worry, when I find him he'll definitely be sharing your fate! He will pay for his crimes!"

And with that, the girl turned and skated back the way she came, a jubilant giggle echoing through the vacant streets of North Portland. Soon, she was swallowed up by the dark gloom surrounding the church and Rachel herself. But her happy giggling remained behind, as much a sign of her appearance as it was a sign of recognition to the twisted figure sprawled at the base of the staircase leading up to the church. The broken and battered woman lying haphazardly on the ground smiled once more before finally succumbing fully to the painful reality that had been offered to her. She...was...free...

The wind kicked up suddenly and a paper flyer caught in it was thrown unknowingly against Rachel's unconscious, half-naked body. It read: "Come To Where Angels Can Release Their Inner Demon! Live S & M Show featuring Beauty! Live Bands! No Cover Charge! 'On Pain Of Sin!' Come And Be Taught To Obey Your Master! Find Out Who You Really Are!"

oOo

Justine Mitchell stood next to the coffee machine, listening in utter boredom at the clicks and whirs coming from inside the archaic-looking apparatus. She heard herself sigh in resignation as the cup finally dropped and the rather thin coffee streamed hotly into it.

Great, she grunted to herself as she reached down. More diarrhea in a cup. Man, how could anything screw up making coffee? Pulling the cup from the rectangular alcove, she straightened carefully. But just before she could raise it up to her lips, a heavy voice called out her name.

"Sergeant Mitchell?"

Turning as quickly as she could without spilling the contents of the cup, Justine focused her tired eyes on the approaching unformed police officer.

"Yeah," she replied, poising the cup at the edge of her lips. "What is it?"

The uniformed officer stopped a few steps short of her and then spoke.

"Sergeant, I was told to inform you that we just got a new lead in the street assault case you've been working on."

Justine's eyes flashed open unexpectedly as she lowered the cup from her lips.

"A new lead? What new lead?"

The policeman in front of her shifted slightly as he responded.

"A man came in earlier today with the claim that his child assaulted him with a blunt object."

"So? Lot's of kids have been doing that lately. Whole world's going crazy. Where've you been?"

"The object in question was a bat that he claimed was bent at a forty-five degree angle near its end. He also claimed, when asked, that she possessed a pair of inline skates. They were gold in color."

Justine's eyes widened and the cup of coffee in her hand slipped free and fell to the floor.

---

As the opening chords of Susumu Hirasawa's Sub Usual begins, we can see the faces of all the main characters of PARANOIA AGENT: 2ND VISIT being shown in tune with the music. As the tempo and beat of the music changes, the camera pulls back to show that they are all walking around in a circle with dazed expressions on their faces. They are walking around six chairs. There are seven of them. Apparently, they are involved in a game of Musical Chairs. As the beat of the music changes, the seven of them rush for the chairs. Only one is left standing and Lil' Slugger comes out of nowhere and whacks the person a good one, knocking them out and to the ground. Then like an old movie reel, the scene seems to skip and repeats itself, only this time with five chairs and four people. The same thing keeps happening. They sit when the beat of the song changes and Lil' Slugger takes out the one who is still standing. It goes on like this until there's only one chair and two people left. As the looping musical track come to an end, the two of them are still circling the last chair with that same dazed expression while an impatient Lil' Slugger stands behind them with a big smile on his face, anxiously tapping his bat on his shoulder. The music stops and the last two characters rush for the chair. But before either of them reaches it, the screen fades to black…

This unsettling closing montage was done to the music of Susumu Hirasawa's very freaky sounding Sub Usual from the Paranoia Agent OST.

---

A television sitting in a lone circle of light flickers and comes alive with static. A moment later, the image clears to reveal a black-robed Maniwa, with tresses of white hair peeking out from under his hood, sitting behind a black-clothed table smiling. He raises his arms regally into the air and states grandly…

"…THE NEW HOROSCOPES FOR TONIGHT ARE…"

VIRGO! You fall and you dream. You dream the dream of illusions. Illusions of a life unattained. The castle of glass has fallen to enigma and you find yourself in the valley of the gods. The blue skies greet you. The green hills surround you. There you find a goat and a horse. They lead you to a field littered with dozens upon dozens of butterflies. They beckon to you. They call out to you. But why can't you see them?

SAGITTARIUS! All paths lead inevitably back to the beginning. But do not despair! No one stays lost forever! The boar's path is always littered with such oddness. And the path that can go no further suddenly can! At its end, you find a scorpion's burrow. A victim of its golden stinger lies within. In a twist of a twist, you find yourself armed with the knowledge of the tracker's scent. The hunter instincts within you awaken! And the dog helps to open your eyes…

SCORPIO! The heroic warrior who wields the sword of vengeance! A pair of twin demons lie broken at your feet. But does not the world twitch and heave around you? Who are you again? Oh yes! You know who you are! You are a hunter of demons! You track the enemy unseen by the eyes of the world around! You hunt! You attack! Many of his minions have fallen to your sword of vengeance. But now, a new underling has been dispatched to deal with you! Can your hunt for the demon-king continue? Will the arrow from an archer stop you? Havoc increases and sanity recedes. The enemy must be stopped! And the golden sword falls…

AQUARIUS! In the pictures, a hidden past is revealed. In the pictures, a future truth is foretold. Who is this? What is your purpose? You sketch the world around you on a canvas of illusion. You are delusional. In a mirror behind you, the lord of dolls laughs. You walk in his shadow. You follow his tasks. But is that path truly yours to pursue? I wonder…

PIECES! You weave a world of lost dreams around you. And in it you see the sacred corridors of the healer's home, within which you find both a virgin and a kingfish. Unseen by others, the scales balance your heart and dull your mind. Where were you again? Across the sea of tears, the crow flies over the wheel with golden spokes. It caws at you. The spokes shimmer brightly and you feel the book of one grow warm in your hand. Snap! Connection! The burning one and the dreaming zero find one another! And in the shadows of a virgin's mind, an illusion gains form. The golden shoes glimmer…

The television screen flickers once, twice and then abruptly shuts off.

---

Author's Notes & Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to the world of Satoshi Kon's excellent Paranoia Agent. But everything else, I DO own! LOL! Well, here it is. The last chapter of 2nd Visit before I had stopped writing it. As with all the others, I have effecting some changes in the story and plot progression to match in better with what I'm trying to accomplish. In truth, this chapter really didn't see that much of a change as it was perhaps one of my best written one's yet. However, there is a major change in the chapter, which anyone who read the original will notice. But it was done for a good reason and I intend on using what was removed in a later chapter anyways. I must confess, this chapter was one of my favorites. Rachel Shelby was probably one of the better-written characters in this story so far. Her crisis of faith and subsequent fall into delusion came out very well in my eyes. My only regret is that I didn't flesh her out more in the previous chapter when she was speaking with Ashe. But, oh wells! Oh yeah, please give me a little feedback on whether or not you like the 'Horoscope Prophecies'. I'm still a bit unsure as to whether or not they are doing the job I want them too. LOL! Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the rewrites and will stay with me for the never before seen chapters that will continue the story to its conclusion. Thanks for reading! And a very special thank you to my FAVORITE reviewer, TURMOIL! Glad you liked it! And, as always, I appreciate the awesome vote of confidence in my skills as a storyteller! Hey TURMOIL! Do you think the 'Horoscope Prophecies' are too easy to decipher? Drop me an email or tell me in a review, okay? See you next chapter!

Laters!

Terryll Preston