This chapter contains multiple references to the work of AberrantScript, including a scene from his current ongoing story "My Only Sunshine" which features a pants-shittingly terrifying depiction of Leni. His story "To Know His Sisters" also gets a nod.
Wayne DiRosario spent two fitful hours asleep in his Jeep before pulling back onto the highway, his eyes grainy and his head aching. It was just before dawn, and the highway was largely empty. He rolled the windows down and let the cool night air wash over him; it was invigorating enough that he was able to make it to a gas station off the interstate and load up on coffee and snacks, including sunflower seeds, his favorite. He also bought a pack of Kools.
The sun was beginning to rise, and he put his sunglasses on. Shoving fistfuls of seeds into his mouth, he got back onto the highway and chased the night, the sun rising behind him.
Killers. Criminals. Killers. Mommy's back. Killers. Hookers. Kill. Kill. Kill.
He turned the radio up to drown the voice out. The Beach Boys were playing "Good Vibrations," and Wayne tapped the wheel in an off-key tempo. He could feel vibrations in the air. If he squinted hard enough, he could see them like lines of static across a malfunctioning television set. At times they were faint, but at others they were so thick that he had to blink his eyes. He was getting close. Thirty miles east of Chicago, a tractor-trailer jackknifed, and traffic was backed up for nearly an hour, the police only letting one or two cars through at a time. Sighing, Wayne sat back and crossed his arms, waiting, silently waiting, always waiting.
Get them. Hurry. Criminals. Slipping away.
"I can't drive through fucking cars, now can I?" he asked impatiently.
Hurry. Mommy. Killers. Dealing drugs.
"I know what they're doing."
Cops. Watching you. Killers. Psychopaths.
Wayne swallowed hard. A cop was indeed looking at him, waving cars on. He wore an orange vest with yellow stripes and POLICE across the back. Wayne's heart stumbled in his chest, and he instinctively reached for the revolver under his left arm; simply touching it made him feel better.
After the snare, the highway opened up and he kept a steady speed, weaving in and out of traffic when someone went to slow for his liking. He stopped at a Dunkin Donuts as the snacks weren't filling him up, and bought a dozen glazed. He ate three of them before deciding they were tainted and tossing the rest out the window. A mile later, as he wondered if he was going to die or not, a silver Pontiac pulled along the passenger side of the Jeep, a man hanging out the window and gesturing angrily, his mouth moving but producing no sound. Wayne rolled down the window.
"Hey, asshole, you almost made me crash! I got fucking donuts all over my windshield now!"
"Fuck you," Wayne said.
"Hey, man, fuck you! You wanna pull over and have a word?"
Wayne pulled the gun from his shoulder rig and pointed it: The guy's face went white and he slammed on his brakes. Wayne glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled when someone rear-ended the prick, his precious little Pontiac shooting forward and angling to the right before crashing into the concrete divider between lanes.
Killer. Psycho. Bastard.
"Enjoy the donuts, killer," Wayne said, and laughed so hard he cried, bending over the wheel and shaking his head. Enjoy the donuts! Have one while you wait for the rescue squad, hell, take another for the trip to the morgue.
For a while, he listened to the radio while he drove, hoping to hear news about the crash and expecting to hear news about dead bodies being found along the turnpike. He didn't hear anything, though an ABC newsbreak did mention a shooting outside a church in Kansas City that left five people dead. Were they really that far ahead? He didn't know how. Unless of course his mother didn't need to stop and sleep like normal people. Hahahaha! Normal! She wasn't normal, like him, she was a ghost; of course she didn't have to stop and sleep. He was foolish to think she did.
He had to hurry before she and Lincoln gave him the slip. He stepped on the gas and sped forward, aggressively threading his way through traffic. He hit a jam just outside Chicago like he figured he would. City traffic was the worst. This particular snare, however, was really bad, and he wondered if his mother was using her mind to block him. Frustration rose in his chest, and he fidgeted in his seat, pounding the wheel and cursing her, her new lover, and the bleak skyline of the Windy City.
Killers. Criminals. Fourteen-year-old stepfather.
"He's not my father."
New father, new father, new father...
"He's not my father! Stop saying that!"
He's your father now, Wayne, his mother said, and we're going to have a baby.
"No you're not!" he screamed, clamping his hands over his ears. "You're dead! I killed you!"
You didn't do it right, Wayne; you never do anything right!
"Shut up!
You're a failure. And a homosexual.
"I am not!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "I'm not a failure and I'm not a h-homosexual!"
Queer, loser, queer, loser.
Wayne flashed and punched the horn; it emitted a short beep. He turned the radio up as loud as it would go, the speakers vibrating with Steely Dan. Shut up, bitch, you're dead; shut up, bitch, you're dead; shut up bitch, shut up, shut up shut up shutup shutup...
Lynn Loud came through the back door at 4:05 that afternoon, her face flush and her brow covered in sweat. She and Amber stayed later at the park than either expected to; some girls from school were playing softball and she and Amber joined. They totally trounced those bitches.
The first thing Lynn noticed when she entered the kitchen was the heavenly smell of frying hamburger meat; it caressed her nostrils and drew her forward like an animate tendril in an old cartoon. A cast iron skillet sat on the stove, unattended, grease popping and crackling. A plate laden with cheeseburgers sat on the counter next to it. Tossing a glance around, Lynn crept over to the plate and was just reaching for one of the juicy, delicious, meaty patties when a hand fell on her shoulder, and she jumped with a sharp cry.
"What are you doing?"
Lynn turned around, and Leni was there, her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. Lynn blinked. "I-uh –"
"You were going to steal a hamburger, weren't you?" Leni leaned forward, and Lynn's heart started to race.
"No, I –"
"Those aren't for you," she said, brushing past Lynn and picking up a spatula. "This one's for you!"
She lifted a burger out of the pan and sat it on the plate. It was bigger than the rest and had two strips of yummy bacon under melted cheese.
Leni turned to Lynn, her smile fading. "You look like you saw a ghost."
"You just scared me is all," Lynn stammered.
"You act like I'm going to dig my claws into your arm and threaten you with a knife." She squared her shoulders. "'You dirty rat,'" she said in a deep, faux angry voice. "'I'm gonna stock up on bleach, ammonia, and rat poison now.'"
"T-That's terrifying," Lynn said.
"Sorry. How are you?" Leni drew her into a hug, squeezing the air out of her lungs.
"I'm good," Lynn said, hugging her back. "I'm happy you're home."
"Me too. I have lots of fun stuff planned this summer. I wanna spend a lot of time with you guys. Now go wash up and we can eat."
Leni crossed to the sink and washed her hands. When she was done, she went into the dining room, but doubled back when she remembered she forgot something. Standing at the fridge, she scanned a piece of paper marked CONTACTS and held in place with a magnet shaped like a slice of watermelon. When she found the name MCBRIDE, she whipped out her phone and copied it down.
"When do you wanna do it?" Lynn asked as she and Amber walked home from the park.
"I dunno. My grandmother's going to be out of the house tomorrow, so then?"
In the dining room, her other sisters were gathering around the table. Her parents came in, her mom putting her hands on her hips and looking at the table, which was set and laid with buns, condiments, and toppings: Fresh lettuce, tomato, and onion. "Wow, Leni," she said, "I didn't expect you to make dinner."
Leni shrugged. "I wanted to."
As she ate, her siblings chattering around her, Lynn thought of the upcoming...uh...event, and her stomach clenched with nerves. Would he even be interested? She assumed he would be. She and Amber were hot and older, what more could a goofy looking fourteen-year-old boy want? Unless he was a weirdo.
Wouldn't it be awkward if they got him alone only to find out he was gay too? Sorry, ladies, she imagined him saying, but I'm strictly dickly. She couldn't help but chuckle, and some of her burger went down the wrong tube. She coughed.
"You alright?" Leni asked worriedly. She was sitting to Lynn's right.
"Yeah, I'm –"
Leni reached out and slapped her on the back. Ow. It stung.
"I'm fine, really."
"You sure?" Leni asked, her voice uncertain and her eyes muddled with concern. "I know the Heimlich Maneuverer."
"Really, I'm okay, see? I'm talking and breathing."
"Okay." Leni leaned back in her chair and picked up her burger. "So, does anybody wanna see a movie later? My treat!"
"That sounds fun," dad said, "what's playing?"
"I wanna see To Know His Sisters," Lola said without looking up from her plate.
"Barf," Lana said. "I don't wanna see some stupid romance. I wanna see a horror movie."
"There's Dark as Night," Lucy said. "That has a vampire."
"Is it a scary vampire or a sparkling fairy vampire?" Lana asked.
"Scary."
"What about a comedy?" Luna asked. "There's Butt-Munch: The Movie."
"I don't think Beaver and Butt-Munch are appropriate for children," mom said.
Luna looked at her. "How do you know?"
"It's based on a '90s show," dad said, gesturing to mom and then himself, "we were around then."
"Oh. It looks funny."
"Beaver and Butt-Munch are very funny," mom said, "but not for kids."
"Remember the one where they got their...uh...caught in a pool filter?" dad asked.
Mom laughed so hard tears streamed down her face. She slapped the table, and everyone looked at her like she was crazy. "What about the one where that girl they were going after turned out to be a man?"
"Crude and infantile humor does not appeal to me," Lisa said. "What about a trip to the museum?"
"We can do that too!" Leni said.
Lynn silently watched her sister; Leni's face glowed and her eyes shone. She looked so happy to be among her family.
They crossed into Iowa on I-80 at 5 that afternoon, fording the Mississippi River at the town of Davenport. Flat, dusty farmland fell away from either side of the highway. Lincoln saw fields, pastures, homesteads, and sky...pretty much all that there was to see; he'd heard Iowa was flat and rural, but this was insane. It made Royal Woods look like Manhattan on New Year's Eve.
He and Luan had been silently holding hands for nearly a hundred miles, the radio and A/C on. The former worked well considering the van's age. The latter, however, struggled to cool the stagnant air. At one point Lincoln said fuck it and rolled his window down. The air rushing in was dry and hot, but it was better than the stale fart wind blasting out of the vents. Luan started to tell him to close it, annoyed, but caught herself.
"You know what?" he asked at one point.
"What, love?"
"If you want...we can settle down right here." He gestured with his chin out the window. A sea of dry brown grass rolled away to a dilapidated farmhouse with peeling white paint. "Live on a farm, raise pigs and chickens..." he looked at her with a little grin. "Fuck in the hayloft."
She giggled. "I do not want to live in the middle of nowhere. Royal Woods was bad enough."
"Where exactly do you want to live?" he asked. "I mean...next door to Disneyland? L.A.? San Francisco?"
"Hmmm. I haven't really thought about it," she said. "I was thinking L.A. Lots of comedy clubs. And movie studios." She glanced at him.
He shrugged. "Yeah, that's a plus. You'll be famous within a year in L.A."
"I don't think it'll happen that quickly," she said, "but it will happen, because I am awesome." She mugged for him, and he laughed.
"I can't argue with that. You're a comedy genius." Maybe 'genius' was too strong a word, but she was funny.
At 6, they stopped at a restaurant west of Walcott called Justin's. It was shaped like a barn. Hell, maybe it was a barn at one point. Inside, everything was gleaming oak: The tables, the chairs, the walls, the ceiling, the salad bar. Lofts on either side were crammed with fake hay (at least Lincoln thought it was fake), and he nudged Luan's arm. "Up for a quickie?" he asked, pointing.
"As long as I can be on top," she said, "I'm not getting hay in my butthole."
"Aw, come on," he asked as they sat. "Where's your spirit of adventure?"
Before she could answer, a waitress in overalls and a straw hat came over and sat two menus on the table. Lincoln took one look at her and had to turn away so she wouldn't see him fighting back laughter. He'd heard of humiliating uniforms, but this was too much.
"Can I get ya'll something to drink?"
"Coffee," Luan said.
"Coke."
"Alrighty then," she said, "I'll be back to take your order."
When she was gone, Luan leaned across the table, a smile dancing in her eyes. "Did you see that stupid outfit?"
"Oh, I saw it," Lincoln said. "Wish I hadn't, though."
She glanced over her shoulder; their waitress was talking to a man dressed similarly. "I wouldn't wear that shit for a million dollars." She looked back at him and took his hands across the table. "Unless I wanted people to laugh."
"They have to play up the country angle," Lincoln said. "You know, sell it to the tourists. Doesn't look like they have much else going for them."
The pictures in the menu were of bland, generic food. Liver and onions, chicken fried steak with gravy, pulled pork sandwiches (the pork looking especially anemic this evening), and fish. Their burger selection sucked too. You had the classic (lettuce, tomato, onion) and the Pig Pen: Two patties, two strips of bacon, battered onions, American cheese, pulled pork, and BBQ sauce. It looked grody as fuck, and sloppy too.
"I don't know," Luan said, "the pulled pork looks alright."
"Looks like it's been dead and buried six months," Lincoln said, "but if you want food poisoning, be my guest."
"What about you? You getting the Pig Pen?"
Lincoln crinkled his nose. "Fuck that."
"Figures."
"What?"
She shook her head. She was going to say he was too much of a little boy to handle it, but she realized how cruel that sounded, even as a joke. Instead, she said, "You have no spirit of adventure."
"I have plenty spirit of adventure," he said.
"You know what?" she asked, leaning close.
"What?" He leaned close too.
"You're full of shit," she whispered, and pecked his lips.
He leaned back, wiping his lips, and she laughed. The waitress came back then and sat their drinks down. "Coffee for you, hun, and Coke for you. You guys ready to order?"
"I'm ready," Luan said, and looked at Lincoln.
"Yeah, me too."
She ordered a pulled pork sandwich and he got a classic burger. While they waited, Luan took a laminate booklet from a rack next to the ketchup and hot sauce, and read it. "Justin's was founded in 1969 by Dave and Justin Caldwell, father and son pit masters from Daytona Beach, Florida, who believed that BBQ is best cooked low and slow..."
As she talked, Lincoln watched a rush of people enter the nearly deserted dining room. A fat woman with a little girl about four, a man in a plaid shirt, a man in a suit and sunglasses. They spread out, the woman and the little girl sitting several tables down from Lincoln and Luan, the trucker (or was he a farmer?) sitting in the next row over, and the man in the suit taking a single table by the men's room and looking nervously around.
"...all of our meat is smoked for fifteen hours in our special smoker to give it the classic Justin's taste you've come to expect. You deserve it. Hm." She closed the booklet and replaced it. "They sure talk a big game."
"We'll see," Lincoln said, looking at her. "They're probably fuller of shit than you are."
Luan laughed. "You're a jackass."
"I'm hung like one."
"Pfffft! Please! You aren't that big."
Lincoln felt his skin crawling. He looked up. The man in the suit was staring at him, his eyes hidden behind dark lenses. The fuck are you looking at? He thought.
"I'm big enough," he said, looking back at Luan.
"Hey, I'm not complaining." She batted her eyelashes. "In fact, I could use a nice sausage Linc tonight."
Lincoln grinned and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Hayloft's that way."
"I thought you didn't want anyone to watch."
"No one will see," he said, looking over his shoulder. "We just have to get up there."
"I'd rather we do it in a bed." She leaned in with half-lidded eyes. "I plan to spend a lot of time on my knees."
The waitress returned with their food before he could reply. "Here you go," she said, putting their plates in front of them. "Can I get ya'll anything?"
"No, thank you," Luan said.
"I'm good," Lincoln replied.
"Alright. Enjoy."
She went away, and Lincoln picked up his burger, his stomach rumbling. It looked good. For that matter, Luan's sandwich looked a lot better than the one in the picture. She took a bite. "How is it?" he asked.
She nodded and held a hand up to cover her mouth. "It's alright," she said. Lincoln took a bite of his burger, flavor flooding his mouth. It wasn't the best he'd ever had, but it would get the job done.
By mutual consent, they hurriedly ate, loath to waste time. After dinner, they needed to gas up. Luan wanted to make another hundred miles before getting a room: She didn't like driving at night.
When they were done, Luan went up to the counter to pay while Lincoln made a pit stop in the bathroom. The man in the suit reaching into his coat and looking pointedly away from him. Still, Lincoln could feel his eyes on him, and he became suddenly uncomfortable.
In the bathroom, he used one of the urinals and washed his hands. In the dining room, Luan was waiting by the door with her arms crossed. "You ready?" she asked.
Lincoln glanced over his shoulder. The man in the suit was still watching him.
"Y-Yeah."
In the van, Lincoln started to tell Luan about the man, but stopped, realizing he was being paranoid. So someone stared at him in a restaurant. If he had a dollar for every time that happened, he and Luan would be set for life. Even the most innocent things seem sinister when you have a guilty conscious, he thought.
A few miles later, they stopped at a gas station, and both went in, Lincoln grabbing a soda and a bag of chips. He found Luan in a middle aisle, looking thoughtfully at a bottle. "What's that?" he asked as he walked up.
"For later." She showed him. KY.
He grinned. "What do you need that for? You make plenty of your own lube."
She was starting to walk away, but stopped and looked sexily over her shoulder. "Yeah, but my butt doesn't."
Lincoln suddenly felt very warm, and his worries about the man in the suit melted away.
What man in a suit?
Wayne DiRosario passed through Davenport, Iowa, at shortly past 5 on Sunday afternoon, his eyelids heavy and his stomach growling. He shoved a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth, but they did little more than tease him. He needed real food. And a nap. He checked his watch, saw the time, and shook his head. He was making great time; if he kept up like this, he'd catch up to them long before California. Maybe as soon as Nebraska. He yawned, and blinked rapidly. Could he afford dinner and sleep?
Killers. Criminals. Killers. Criminals.
Whether he could afford it or not, he needed it.
Decided, he waited until he saw a blue FOOD, FUEL, LODGINGS sign, and took the following exit, the off-ramp curving away and running past a restaurant shaped like a barn. JUSTIN'S the sign out front said. Looked like a rib joint. Wayne liked ribs; when he ate them, he liked pretending that they belonged to criminals he'd burned at the stake. It made them so much better.
He slid into a spot in front and cut the engine, killing The Monkees in the middle of "Daydream Believer." He rubbed his grainy eyes and got out, a bolt of pain snaking up his back. Hissing through clenched teeth, he put a hand against his spine and stretched. His butt and legs were stiff and numb as well. At 57, he was getting too old to sit in a car for long periods of time.
57. Wow. Where did the time go? Seemed like just yesterday he was in his twenties.
Feeling anicnet, he shuffled to the door, falling in behind a group of people. A fat woman. A little girl. A big man in a plaid shirt. The woman opened the door and held it for Mr. Plaid and Wayne. Wayne nodded his thanks and stepped into the dining room, throwing a cautious glance around. He didn't see killers crouched in any of the corners or in the hayloft, and relaxed a little. Just a normal roadside BBQ shack. No killers here.
A sign by the door said SEAT YOURSELVES, SEVER WILL BE WITH YOU SHORTLY. He spotted a table by the men's room and crossed to it, sitting with a sigh, his back clenching. He looked nervously around just in case he missed a killer, then started to take off his sunglasses, but froze when he saw Lincoln and Luan Loud sitting in a booth, her reading from a booklet and him staring at her with a smile on his face.
KILLERS! CRIMINALS! KILLERS! MOMMY'S BACK!
No, it can't be.
He blinked, expecting them to vanish like a windswept mirage, but they remained. Lincoln was looking at him, and Wayne's heart stopped.
I'm coming for you, those dark eyes said, son.
Wayne swallowed and looked away. When a waitress spoke at his elbow, he started.
"Sorry," she said with a little laugh, "I didn't mean to scare you."
"You're fine," Wayne said with a strained smile, his hand resting above his racing heart.
"Can I start you off with something to drink?"
Wayne looked past her. Lincoln was lost in mother's eyes, a stupid little grin on his face. He's over there right now. Watching us. "Uh...sweet tea, please."
"Alright," she said. While he waited for her to return, he opened a menu and pretended to scan it while watching Lincoln and Luan over the tops of his glasses. They were eating now, a burger for him and...a sandwich for her. He said something and she nodded, covering her mouth with her hand.
He's such a loser, huh?
"Shut up, Lincoln," Wayne growled.
The waitress came back with his tea. "You ready to order?"
Wayne hadn't even looked at the menu. "Do you have BLTs?" he asked.
She nodded. "We sure do. Best in all of Iowa."
"I'll take one. Don't toast the bread."
"Alright, I'll have that right out to you."
As Wayne drank his tea, he watched the two killers, his eyes narrowed to slits. The revolver under his left arm burned against his skin. Take me out take me out take me out. He could draw it and shoot both of them in seconds, and it would all be over. Something stopped him, though, a force that he couldn't see. He didn't have to see it to know what it was: Mother's telepathy. His hand twitched, but he could not raise it.
Take the gun out, she said, and put it in your mouth...
"No."
...pull the trigger...
"No."
They finished their food and got up to leave. When Lincoln started toward him, Wayne's stomach knotted. He looked quickly away and stuck his hand into his coat, unclipping the strap across the revolver's handle. As Lincoln drew closer, Wayne's entire body started to tinge as if in expectation of a blow. Instead of attacking him, however, the boy went into the bathroom, and Wayne let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Mother stood by the door, looking like someone else, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a thin white dress and blue tennis shoes. Her rust colored hair was in a ponytail that hung down her neck. Wayne couldn't tell if she was staring at him full on, but he could feel her hateful eyes boring into him nonetheless.
Failure. Stupid. Coming for you.
Wayne tightened his grip on the handle. All he had to do was pull it out and aim...
The bathroom door opened and Lincoln came out, walking purposely. Mother went out the door first, Lincoln following, his hand touching the small of her back in a protective gesture. The door closed behind them, and they were gone, Wayne fighting to catch his breath.
KILLERS! CRIMINALS! GETTING AWAY!
With trembling fingers, he took out he wallet, slapped a twenty on the table, and left, getting outside just as the van merged into traffic. Rushing now, he jumped into the Jeep, threw it into reverse, and followed, his tires burning against the pavement. He shot out onto the access road in front of a red Ford, which beeped its horn, and raced along the narrow lane. His chest was tight and his stomach rolling. He turned onto the on-ramp without waiting for the light to change and almost collided with a Kia Soul. They were seven car-lengths ahead of him, maintaining a slow and steady pace beside a tractor trailer.
I'm coming for you, Wayne thought, his teeth grinding. I'm coming...
At the next exit, a rush of cars pulled onto the highway, and he had to slow down to avoid hitting them. "Come on! Come on!" He accelerated and whipped in front of a blue car, switched lanes, then raced past a white car. Ahead, the interstate curved, and when he rounded the bend, Lincoln and Luan were gone.
"Goddamn it!"
They stopped at a motel a hundred miles west of Des Moines as twilight cooled to night. It was nearly identical to the previous one: L-shaped, brick, slate roof. Moths danced around the lamps outside each room like moats in sunshine. Luan went into the office, got the room, and came back out. She was walking funny. "My back is killing me," she explained when she saw him looking at her strange. "At least it's not my fault," he said.
"That comes later," she said and winked. She piloted the van into a spot outside the last room along the walkway and killed the engine. "I can't wait to get in the shower."
"Me either." Then he added: "At a different time than you."
Luan started to say something, then shrugged. "Whatever."
He carried the bags in and sat them on the table by the window. The carpet was green, an old TV from the seventies (are those rabbit ears? What the fuck?) sat in a corner, and the walls were covered in ugly floral wallpaper. There was a strange, musky smell in the air that made Lincoln's nose crinkle. He bent over the bed and sniffed the coverlet. It wasn't that, thank God. He checked under the beds, but saw nothing. Thank God for that too. He saw something one time (was it on TV or the internet?) about dead bodies being a common "overlooked item" in American hotel rooms. The maids came in, dusted, cleaned the toilets, and made the beds, but somehow managed to miss the bloated corpse rotting underneath, or in the closet. A week later a guest would go to investigate the foul, sickly sweet odor in their room and find Tarman from The Return of the Living Dead staring back at them with wide eyes, grinning teeth, and skin turned to black slime. Lincoln shuddered. He checked the little walk-in closet, but aside from an ironing board and an iron, it was empty.
While Luan used the bathroom, he took off his shoes and stretched out on the bed, turning the TV on. The picture was staticky, but he didn't care. There were only five channels: NBC, Fox, ABC, CBS, and PBS. He didn't care about that either; he left it on a Seinfeld rerun and sat the remote on his chest. Luan came out, letting her hair down and running her fingers through it, and climbed onto the bed. She took the remote, sat it aside, and curled up next to him, resting her head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her forehead.
"It's nice to be in your arms," she said lowly.
"It's nice to have you in my arms," he said, and it was. Her warmth, her presence, her bare arm under his hand and her hand over his heart – all of that was better than any of the sex they had ever had. "You know...I think this is what I missed the most when we were at home."
"Me too."
Seinfeld gave way to an episode of The Simpsons older than both of them combined. Lincoln couldn't say why, but he was reminded of his own family, and for the first time since leaving Royal Woods yesterday morning, he felt a faint sense of loss. Fuck his parents, he could do without seeing them again, but his sisters...yeah, he missed them. Already. Leni and Lori would be home for summer break by now. He wondered how they were handling them being gone, hell, how all of them were handling it. Were they mad at them? Were they upset?
"Lincoln?"
He looked down at her. "Yeah?"
"I love you," she said with a dreamy smile.
"I love you too," he replied. She scooted up and they kissed. No matter how many times they did this, Lincoln felt a jolt of electricity when his tongue touched hers, and when they moved delicately together, touching and caressing like sensuous lovers, his body tingled pleasantly. Her soft lips, her warm breath, and the taste of her mouth were intoxicating, a spirit that Lincoln could drink until drunk. When the kiss broke, she stared at him with wide, loving eyes. "You ready?"
"For?" he asked dreamily.
Instead of answering him, she got up, went over to the table, and grabbed something. She knelt on the bed and gave him a devilish smile. When Lincoln saw what she was holding, he remembered, and his member hardened.
"Come on, Linc," she pouted, "put it in my butt?"
He shrugged. "Eh...if you insist."
"You know you want it."
He sat up and pulled his pants down, his underwear clad erection replying for him. A little grin tugged at the corners of Luan's mouth. She pulled her own underwear down and kicked them off; they landed in a heap by the dresser.
"Don't lose those," Lincoln said, "you might have a conniption fit tomorrow." He was kneeling in front of her now, still in his briefs.
"It wasn't a conniption fit," she said, "I was just frustrated." She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. "Now pop my chocolate cherry."
Lincoln's brow furrowed. "That's not a very hot way to put it."
She shrugged and handed him the KY. "Use lots of it." With that, she bent over, propped now on her hands and knees, her dress still covering her rear. Lincoln admired the backs of her thighs; he ran his hand up one of them, and she shivered. "That tickles."
He did it again. "Stop!" she laughed.
He loved the sound of her laughter.
Kneeling behind her, he pulled off his briefs and pushed them off the bed. He was actually kind of nervous; he'd made love to Luan many times now (and had rough, dirty sex with her too), but this...this was new, and new things always made him a little anxious. He lifted her shirt up. She was spread, her pink, puckered butthole seeming to wink at him. He imagined it doing so, and laughed.
"What?" she asked, looking back.
"It's winking at me."
"It's trying to seduce you."
Lincoln unscrewed the cap and squeezed some of the gel onto his fingers. He massaged it into his member, then slathered some on Luan's...uh...third eye (was it blind?). "They say if you think you've used enough, use more," she said.
He squirted a massive amount of the stuff into his palm and coated himself in it until it was dripping onto the cover, then he put more on his sister. "Alright," he said, "let's do it."
He grabbed her hips and positioned himself, his tip pressing against her warm lips. He grabbed his penis with one hand, angled it up, and pushed it against her hole. She jumped. "I'm not even in yet," he laughed.
"You just surprised me."
Holding his penis firmly, he pressed against her, his head squeezing to get in and her body instinctively squeezing to keep him out. He tilted his hips back, and pushed with slightly more force. He penetrated her, and she let out a long, hissing "Ahhhhhhhh!" Lincoln himself gasped as her rear walls clamped down on him. He slowly eased the rest of himself in, then pulled back and slid forward once more, her body seeming to resign itself to its fate and unclenching.
"Go slow," she gasped. She held the blanket in handfuls, her eyes squeezed closed. The sensation was strange, almost like she had to poop. His throbbing cock pulsed against her walls, and she felt so full that she imagined she might rip in half if he went too fast. He pulled out, and came forward again, his crowned head scraping slowly against her. He found a steady rhythm, and she began to relax, each thrust sending pangs of pain and pleasure into her damp core. She reached down and rubbed her clit while slowly rocking her hips back and forth, liking the way he grazed along her walls. He was going deeper now, right to the base, and she rubbed faster, faster, furiously; her hand cramped but she didn't care. She had to cum, had to lose herself to the agony and ecstasy, had to finish with her brother deep in her ass, his balls lightly slapping the V-shaped bottom of her femininity.
As he thrusted, Lincoln fixed his eyes on the profile of his sister's face, the way her mouth moved in grunting, wordless gasps of pleasure, the way her ponytail swished with each forward slide, the way her shoulder blades flexed under the fabric of her dress. She was Cleopatra, Aphrodite, Venus, his goddess, his queen, a vision of beauty and the keeper of his heart and soul. She turned to look at him, her eyes narrowed with passion, and he felt his climax rushing toward him at full force. He grabbed her hips, thrusted as deeply into her as he could go, and filled her with his seed. She cried out and fell face-first onto the mattress, her body shaking.
Lincoln held on for dear life as wave after wave of total euphoria crashed over him. When it was over, he pulled out, his knees shaky and his back aching. He flopped down next to his sister, who faced him, her rear still in the air. Sweaty hair hung in her closed eyes.
"That was fun," she panted and smiled.
His heart overflowed with love for her, and he laid a trembling hand on her face. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "I love you," he said.
"I love you too." She took his hand and threaded her fingers through his. They stayed that way for a long time, simply staring at each other, loving each other...
Wayne DiRosario found the Loud family van in the parking lot of a motel east of Des Moines. He almost didn't see it from the highway, but at the last second, he glanced over, and there it was, the light of an arch sodium lamp falling over it like a sign from God. He took the next exit and followed an access road to the motel's entrance, his heart beginning to race. He pulled in behind it and checked the license plate number against the number Lynn Loud had given him.
They matched.
Bingo.
He backed into a spot across from the van and killed the engine. He lit a Kool and rolled down the window, the smoke like vapor in the humid June air.
Killers. Criminals.
When he was done, he got out, went around back, and took the M4 from the cargo compartment. Behind the wheel, he sat it in the passenger seat and waited. It was 10pm. At 12, he would strike, kicking their room door open and spraying them both with his righteous fury. He didn't know why 12, but it seemed appropriate.
While he waited, his eyes grew heavy. At 10:30, he fell asleep.
And slept through the night.