Council’S Twelve

By S. A Glenn

There are hundreds of billions of galaxies in the universe.

Each galaxy contains hundreds of billions, if not, trillions of stars.

There are millions of trillions of stars.

There are tens of millions of trillions of planets.

Quadrillions of the planets are Precambrian.

Trillions of them are suitable for evolved earthlike creatures.

Billions are type O civilizations, still using fossil fuels.

Millions are type 1, harnessing their planets energy.

Hundreds of thousands are type 2, harnessing their suns energy.

Thousands are type 3, harnessing their galaxys energy.

But only twelve are type 4, manipulating time and space.

There are twelve dimensions, eleven being spatial extensions; the twelfth, love.

This is the account of the Councils Twelve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524566173

S. A Glenn

S. A. Glenn was born in Longmont, Colorado. Life has brought him many challenges; the biggest is finding out who he is. He hopes to inspire others through his writing and to let them know that anything is possible. His first book Katherine is an attribution to that. He desires for all of us to forgive each other for each of our frailties. He now lives in Colorado.

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Copyright © 2016 by S. A Glenn.

ISBN:      Softcover        978-1-5245-6618-0

                eBook            978-1-5245-6617-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/09/2016

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Contents

INTRODUCTION

PROLOGUE DECEMBER 21, 2012

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1 1985

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6 DECEMBER 21, 2012

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20 BEN-AMMI

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22 ALLELUIA

CHAPTER 23 BEN-AMMI

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27 DODIM HAUMEA

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31 DODIM HAUMEA

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33 DODIM HAUMEA

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

PART TWO

CHAPTER 38 EVOLUTION OF SINS

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

PART THREE

CHAPTER 44 AZAZEL’S DOMAIN: 666

CHAPTER 45

EPILOGUE

KATHERINE

PROLOGUE August 21, 1872

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

DEDICATION

This is for my dad, Larry Leon Glenn, who faded from this world: I hope to see him again.

INTRODUCTION

There are hundreds of billions of galaxies in the universe.

Each galaxy contains hundreds of billions, if not, trillions of stars.

There are millions of trillions of stars.

There are tens of millions of trillions of planets.

Quadrillions of the planets are Precambrian.

Trillions of them are suitable for evolved earthlike creatures.

Billions are type-O civilizations, still using fossil fuels.

Millions are type-1, harnessing their planet’s energy.

Hundreds of thousands are type-2, harnessing their sun’s energy.

Thousands are type-3, harnessing their galaxy’s energy.

But only 12 are type-4, manipulating time and space.

There are 12 dimensions, 11 being spatial extensions; the 12th, love.

This is the account of the Council’s Twelve.

Benjamin is torn between good and evil, dreams that seem to be premonitions, and fantasies of flesh and death, not sure where one begins or the other ends.

The Council’s Twelve, entities of morality and holders of the dimensions and the two universes, are in a battle with the renegade, Azazel, the Dark Angel that dwells within time and space.

Benjamin is sought by both sides to salvage what each stands for. In his explosive struggle with love and hate, lies the fate of the universe. Will he use his powers to grant the existence of everything to shine with eternal mercy, or to tumble into deadly sin?

The woman of his dreams may be the righteous solution—or the doom of it all.

PROLOGUE

DECEMBER 21, 2012

Die, you son of a bitch! Die! he growled. His hands went tight around the old man’s throat. But what the hell did he care that the old man lay lifeless in his grasp? He wanted him dead for what this maggot-of-a-human being did. His uncontrolled rage ran rapid through his veins, mind, and soul. He was at a turning point in his life, and it would lead him to the darkest of evil. And deep down in his heart, and in the pit of his stomach, that was what he ached for. This was not the first time he had done anything like this; and it would not be the last. All he knew at this very moment was that the thrill of causing death made him feel like a deity.

Benjamin grew up with conflict within himself. He was afraid a lot, being pulled at by truth and lies. He was innocent once, but his trials had slowly turned him away from goodness. And now, the only thing he desired, was to get back at the world. A great journey was about to begin for him, and he could hardly wait for it.

The victim’s protruding eyes gazed into his killer’s eyes. There was confusion in the old man’s stare, as if he couldn’t grasp the meaning behind the young man’s grudge. But there was also a trace of forgiveness for the young man, and that seemed to comfort the old man.

Such power I possess, the assailant said to the church. God giveth, I taketh. Hee hee hee, he cackled, ripping the white collar from the dead old man’s neck. You got what you deserved, you bastard!

Aaahhh! What’ve you done? an old woman dressed in black shrieked. She rushed toward the two men, her hands masking her gaping mouth as she dropped to her fragile knees next to them. Leave him be! she implored, pushing at the stranger.

You whore! he expelled in his insanity, climbing off the old man’s chest. He smacked her face with the back of his wrathful hand, knocked her to the floor. He wanted complete submission from his victims, then once he got it, he loved to watch them beg for mercy, a mercy that would never come—God that was exhilarating!

Why’re you doing this? she cried, lying on her side, curled up.

Because I can… He jumped onto her, tore off her gown and had his way with the virgin.

Jesus, help me! she prayed, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.

He won’t help you—but I will save your soul, he mocked the Son, pulling out a knife and slicing open her jugular as he spewed his sperm into her. He wiped off the sides of his blade on her sacred clothing and watched her gasp her last breath as she stretched up her arm for help. He stood, and stared down at her as he buttoned up his pants. He proceeded toward the exit. Reaching the holy threshold, he turned and drew that damned cross over his chest he’d viewed many fake religious folk do. Forgive me Father, and Sister, for I have sinned. That’s what he told his latest targets while he peered up at the enormous crucifix, giving it an ornery grin, taking a bite of his chocolate bar.

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

1985

It was 2:00 a.m., under a moonless sky that shone with a galaxy of bright stars. The crickets chirped endlessly, while a summer breeze brought a scent of pine, letting 17-year-old Benjamin know the towering foothills were across the road. He was sitting on the hood of a stolen Mustang Mach II, his back against the windshield.

A bowl of Lebanese-Blond hashish smoldered in his pipe, a pipe he’d bought from The Pipe Fitter in Boulder on The Hill a few hours ago. He was breaking it in, getting good and high. As Benjamin toked his last toke off the cooked bowl, he realized he’d been in complete isolation for hours.

Distant headlights drew near, bringing Benjamin off the cool glass of the stolen car. He was a bit nervous, sure it was a cop. He knew he should’ve left the stolen property behind and hightailed it, but he had always wanted a fire-red Mustang, and it was too hard to let go of. He thought about when he stole it, about how the keys were just sitting on the front seat, in plain view in the Kanemoto Park’s parking lot. He couldn’t resist the temptation. With no one around, he simply opened the unlocked door, crawled into the car, started the engine, and burned rubber for at least fifty feet.

The bright lights of the oncoming car stopped behind the Mustang. Benjamin hopped off the hood and shoved his pipe into his pocket, expecting to have a run-in with the law—again. (He had once set fire to a hospital when he was twelve, getting one year of probation.) He reached into his back pocket, pulled out an object and waited.

The other vehicle’s driver’s side door popped open. A leg with dark pants and a dress shoe that reflected the starlight came into view and took a step onto the darkened pavement. Benjamin held up his hand to deflect the glaring headlights—then the lights went dead, flashers twinkled on and off.

Car troubles? a man asked, flicking on his flashlight as he made his way toward Benjamin.

Uh…yeah. I think it’s the distributor.

Pop the hood, let me take a gander.

Yes, sir. Benjamin reached under the dash and released the latch. He lifted the hood with the stock ram-air and positioned the stand to hold it up.

Let me see here, the man in his late fifties said, wearing a Rockies baseball cap. He leaned over the engine and, with his flashlight in his hand, wiggled some wires. Turn ’er over, see if she starts.

Benjamin complied, but it wouldn’t run. He exited the car and made his way to the salutary man, gazing at his Rockies cap. Coming up with a new angle to the situation, he wondered if the guy got the hat from Coors Field, or just bought it at Wal-Mart.

Try ’er again, the man said, absent in his benevolence.

Benjamin brought the object from his back pocket out of its seclusion. Actually, I’m gonna just take your car.

Excuse me? the astonished man said. He came up from the engine compartment and turned toward Benjamin with his flashlight shining into the young man’s eerie grimace.

I just figured since you’re not gonna be needing it anymore…

It was in the second grade, 1975, when Benjamin had experienced his first taunting. A kid in his class, Joey Marshal, was a bully. Joey walked on his toes, it seemed like to Benjamin, and that was odd to him. One day Benjamin’s curiosity got the best of him while they were having recess. The teacher had just blown her whistle then had yelled for everyone to head back inside; there was a heavy wind blowing in from the south, bringing in black clouds and lightning. Joey began to throw a temper tantrum, because his recess was cut short and he wasn’t done shooting marbles, so he smacked Benjamin’s head.

Mrs. Hart just doesn’t want us to get blown away or hit by thunder, Joey, Benjamin had said, sporting a soft smile. Why do you walk funny? he attached.

Shut up! You’re stupid—thunder ain’t gonna hurt ya none, Joey had growled, pulling out his new pocketknife his beatnik of a father had given him for Valentine’s Day. "And mind your business…I walk fine, Benny boy."

I’m Benjamin, he had said as he pulled up his Wrangler pants to his crotch, fear in his eyes.

"You’re a dork, Benny boy. Where’s your brain? Joey had shoved his marbles and knife into his right front pocket, then he strode away on the ends of his toes, adding, That’s right—you don’t got no brain—it leaked out your ears. Don’t talk to me no more, cuz I don’t talk to people that ain’t normal. And by the way, nobody likes you," he had finished, flipping him the bird.

Benjamin had stood alone in the cold, windy afternoon, a tear chasing away his kind heart, staining it with a touch of bitterness. And for a second he thought about getting back at Joey—but just for a second; he didn’t have it in his heart to hurt anyone.

But that was just the beginning of the kids’ meanness.

They were testing him.

Nevertheless, Benjamin had tried to stay innocent.

The man’s eyes were drawn to the shiny metal blade held in front of Benjamin that caught streams of light off the flashlight. He thought about how just minutes ago he’d been in his car listening to KHOW running repeats of Hal and Charlie, laughing at their stupid jokes. But no, he had to pull over and help a stranded motorist, cutting off his pleasurable night. No…please, no…!

The sound of the razor-sharp instrument penetrating his heart made his stomach turn sour. His vision began to fade. A warm, thick wetness ran down his front. His wife and daughter were the only thoughts that flashed in his mind, like an old 8-mm movie projector in slow motion. He saw the first time he had met his wife. She was working at a gas station. He had stood in front of her at the counter, telling her he had run out of gas down the road and had to walk five miles. He was short on cash; he had twenty-seven cents. Since it was nearly 10:00, closing time, she closed early. She offered to pay for five gallons of gas and give him a ride to his car. He was very grateful. He noticed how beautiful her brown eyes were. She was kind, and her voice was gentle. After she took him to his car, she gave him her phone number. He called her the next day. They went to a drive-in movie and could not keep their hands off each other. They got married. And nine months later their daughter, Sonja, was born. She looked just like her mother. He cared for them so much.

Sonja was as sweet as honey. She loved to play hide-and-seek. She would always hide in the same place: behind the recliner in the corner of the living room. And when her daddy, who always had a hard time finding her, found her, Sonja would scream with giggles and then jump into her daddy’s arms.

Though Sonja was grown now, she was still his little girl.

Would his wife and daughter see him again? He hoped so, because he had to tell them how much he loved them.

Benjamin gave the knife he had stolen out of the Western Cutlery’s trash can (he was 11 when he climbed the chain link fence, onto private property, to get to the collection of rejected blades) a nice twist for sound effects. He watched the man’s face grow pale as his life drained from the deadly gash. Benjamin witnessed with pleasure the helpless man fall to his knees. The man glanced up with confusion, taking hold of Benjamin’s legs. Benjamin was no longer innocent.

Sorry for your discomfort, sir—just kidding, get off me, he told the dying man as he shoved him aside.

You just had a loose wire. Did you hear me, young man? Are you alright? the man asked. He wiped off his greasy hands onto his handkerchief, walked over to Benjamin, who was sitting in the idling Mustang.

Uh, oh…yes, sir. Thank you, Benjamin answered, placing his knife back into his back pocket, coming out of his much desired fantasy of killing someone, wondering what it would be like for both parties. Soon, he assured himself.

Get this looked at by a mechanic. The wiring’s old.

Yes, sir…and thanks again.

The smiling man returned to his car and drove off into the darkness, listening to his talk radio once more, heading home to his wife and daughter.

Benjamin took a bite of his soft, half-eaten milk-chocolate bar; his favorite after getting stoned (the taste was out of this world, being another of his favorite addictions). He savored the delight, then lit up a Marlboro. Gazing out his window, he saw a faint light high above the foothills, traveling at a great velocity across the star-filled sky. He was bewildered by the sight—then the thing accelerated to infinity, vanishing instantly. Without another thought of the phenomenon (he was so fucking high, his eyes and floating brain were probably playing tricks on him), he stood on the gas pedal. The tires screamed in the still of the night.

CHAPTER 2

I want this bitch. And I want her bad, Benjamin told the stolen fire-red Mustang Mach II with the stock ram-air scoop in the hood, as he watched the attractive older woman pull into the garage of her beautiful two-story brick house.

He had seen her earlier today at the grocery store, King Soopers, it was called. It was Valentine’s Day. She was at the checkout counter purchasing a gigantic red heart-shaped box of assorted chocolates. He remembered seeing her long flowing black hair. She had set down her key chain with a blue lucky rabbit’s foot attached to it onto the counter to count a handful of change she’d taken out of the front pocket of her faded 501 Levi’s.

That’ll be fifteen sixty-eight, the heavyset woman behind the checkout counter had said.

Oh, darn! I’m a dollar short. I thought I had enough, she had pouted with her lip-glossed lips—strawberry flavored, they were.

Here…I’ve got a buck you can have. Benjamin had displayed the bill in one hand, ready to buy a bar of Hershey’s chocolate he held in the other.

Oh, no…I couldn’t…

I insist. It’s your lucky day, he had said, pointing at her blue rabbit’s foot subtly.

You’re sweet. I really do need my chocolate, don’t you know. Last week I caught my boyfriend with another woman—I kicked his butt right out of my house. I’m all alone tonight, she had pouted again with those luscious strawberry-flavored lips of hers.

That’s her first mistake, letting me know she’s alone tonight, Benjamin ran through his nefarious mind.

Yet, who would expect anything bad to happen in this friendly little town of Gunbarrel?

"But I’ll be alright now that I have my chocolate. I love chocolate. Thank you so much." She had smiled big and took the money.

Benjamin grew an erection at her award-winning affection as her hand had grazed his; it was like he had a cucumber down his pants. You’re welcome, he had said.

He had watched the woman sashay away from the checkout aisle with her tight little ass, swaying it back and forth—and that was her second mistake. His boner was now as hard as a stone with flesh.

Her garage door closed, then a light in the living room flashed on in the darkened and cold windy night. Benjamin studied the house for a minute with binoculars from within the stolen fire-red Mach II Mustang with the stock ram-air scoop in the hood, sitting across from the house on the lonely street. He spied her occasionally stroll past the window, wearing a short white T-shirt and red panties with white hearts on them instead of the tight jeans and red blouse she’d had on at the store. He heard music, maybe ABBA, he wasn’t sure; but she, the lovely goddess, was gliding around in her panties like a dancing queen, with the curtains wide open. She held a bottle of wine, taking slugs from it, appearing to be singing along with the tune.

Benjamin was liked by the girls in school, but he had always thought of them as boring, a waste of his time. All they would do was run around, giggling, acting like they were in control. And when he was out of elementary school, the girls got worse with their makeup and poofy hairdos sprayed with a ton of hair spray. God, they had thought they were so fucking cool—but they were just a bunch of hard-core sluts. Whenever he would take them out on dates, they’d always give him those puppy dog eyes as they had sat in his run-down lime green Ford Pinto. Then before he knew it, their lips would be touching his, a tongue sliding into his mouth, a sloppy tongue at that—they didn’t know what the hell they were doing. And then the next step, the girls with their poofy hairdos sprayed with that nasty hair spray would be in his back seat with their pants pulled down to their ankles—and that was all they had wanted. He knew this, because at first he’d tell them no, and he’d never get another date with them, being told things wouldn’t work out between them. It’s not you, it’s me, they’d always say. That had hurt. He had wanted to get to know them, have a few dates, at least, then when the time was right—romantic—he would make love with them. Maybe even get engaged then married. Settle down with a dog and white picket fence. He had desired to have a friend. Needed a friend. But if all he could get was sex, then it was better than nothing. So eventually he started giving in every time. And when they were done doing it, he’d just take them home—and that was the way they liked it; and so did he, eventually. There was no love involved like he had wanted. But they got what they wanted: dick. That was the only way he could have some sort of a relationship with them. They were indeed in control.

All females were the same.

Tonight, however, he was going to be in control.

The house became quiet, the living room curtains were drawn shut, then the lights went black. Moments later a light flicked on above the living room window, then it went out. The two-story house became one with the dark and silent night.

Benjamin had moved in for a closer view of the thirty-something party girl. He had stood at her window, observing her graceful moves for an hour. He’d never done anything like what he was about to do; though, he had fantasized about it a thousand times. There had to be a way into this place without disturbing the woman, keeping her unaware of what lay ahead for her. He smashed out his cigarette, made his way stealthily around her house, stoned, and horny.

He opened the screen door at the front of her house, took hold of the silver doorknob of the wooden door and turned it. It was locked. His hands were sweaty in the chilled air. He strolled again around her stone brick house, lurking in the shadows of the tall pine trees, checking the windows, one by one, but the woman had been very careful to keep them secured.

He came upon a sliding glass door. 17-year-old, Benjamin J. McCormick, crept up and stood by it, gazing momentarily at his translucent figure in the large pane of glass. He admired his wicked grin that smiled back at him: it felt so, oh hell, what was the word for it—gratifying? Once in awhile his conscience had him down with guilt; but he had worked hard at that, pushing it deep into the bottomless cavity in his stomach. And soon the wretched shame would be disposed of forever, with a little work. He only needed one last thing to begin his pure evil. And when it was there for his taking, he’d be there to accept it with valor.

Benjamin grasped the handle on the glass door and pulled—it glided open, and that was her last mistake. His heart raced with adrenaline. Oh, the things I’m going to do, and she doesn’t have a clue. That was good, I’m a poet, and didn’t know it. I need to remember that for the next time, he giggled. He stepped into the warm house that smelled of potpourri and the perfume she was wearing at the store: Christian Dior’s Poison; it tasted like grapes to his nose as he drew in the enthralling scent.

Standing inside, he gently coasted the sliding glass door shut behind him. He turned, focused on the dining room table with the centerpiece comprised of plastic flowers. He noticed behind the vase, the gigantic red heart-shaped box of assorted chocolates, and the key chain with the blue lucky rabbit’s foot attached to it. With a wonderful plan, he tucked the box under his arm and dropped the lucky rabbit’s foot into his pocket.

Standing at the stairs leading up, he unbuttoned his pants, pulled out his partial erection, took it into his nervous hand. As he snuck up the first six steps, he stroked himself, getting himself ready. When he lightly landed on the seventh step it creaked. He stopped. Waited. Listened. Nothing. He proceeded until he reached the second level. To the right was the woman’s room, the woman with her long flowing black hair, tight little ass, and red panties with the white hearts. He carefully stepped toward her room, poking his head through the partly opened door and into the very dark place. He stared into the room, waiting for his eyesight to fully adjust, listening to her breathe, thinking about the fun they’d be having shortly.

Valerie Monnett slept hard, passed out from the merlot. She was having a disturbing dream as she lay in her soft, warm bed. Her sheets were made of Egyptian cotton; she liked the way it felt against her silky skin. In the vision she’d come home from work for lunch. She worked for a team of lawyers at a new law firm that had opened up in Boulder last December. Being a paralegal for Benson and Monroe, she needed to pick up legal work from the Gunbarrel Police Department about a pit bull attack on an elderly woman. The report wasn’t to be ready for an hour or so, so she decided to stop by the house for a salad; one with the coleslaw dressing she’d been craving all morning.

Valerie Monnett noticed her boyfriend’s old, run-down, blue Ford Taurus in her driveway. She had parked in the street, thinking he’d finished the chore of painting the kitchen that he’d started last week. (He was in between jobs; though, he wasn’t really looking for another one.) As she made her way into the kitchen with a smile, she found a void of human existence. Valerie passed through the kitchen, stood in the living room, full of love for her man. She discovered the shower upstairs was running. Inching up the stairs to surprise the man of her dreams, she reached the wide open doorway of the steamed-up bathroom. Sporting a naughty grin, wanting to give Kyle a quick knob job, she yanked open the shower curtain—but she was too late—and saw that some sluttish blond with double-D breasts had beaten her to it.

Benjamin studied her uneasy rest, viewing her pretty little wagging head that stuck out from the covers. Her sexy lips muttered sounds of displeasure. God, she looked so hot. He had to know what she smelled like. What she tasted like. What she felt like. But this was so very wrong. He was having second thoughts, his heart tinged with anxiety. What if he got caught? Stealing a car was one thing, but fulfilling a fantasy of taking a woman sexually against her will was insane. Benjamin took a step back from Valerie’s bedside; it wasn’t too late to turn back, to douse the evil, which desired to be born.

He couldn’t go through with it, reconsidered bringing the absolute vileness into his agenda.

The floor squeaked.

Her eyes flashed open, ending her repulsive relived reality. Gathering her thoughts, she saw a dark silhouette in her peripheral vision, the outline of someone standing just feet away. Kyle? she blurted out as she shifted her head toward the mystery, focusing hard on the figure, seeing it was a man (a naked one at that) standing there with a hardon sticking straight up, as stiff as a 2x4. She was happy to see him, she missed him so much, but at the same time, she loathed him, wanting nothing to do with him—then she realized it was not the man who was once of her pleasant dreams. Ahhh! she shrilled, now desiring Kyle more than ever. They could have worked things out, she guessed. He was very kind, after all. Valerie was a forgiving person, so why didn’t she pardon him? Maybe his affair was her fault. She was working a lot. Maybe he was lonely. God, what had she done? He could be in bed with her, but she chose to be alone.

Benjamin jumped atop her, covering her howling mouth as she squirmed about under the covers, trapped like a pig in a blanket. "Shut up, bitch…or I’ll kill you," he assured her with a gentle whisper into her ear, turned on more than ever, her struggle rubbing against his throbbing member. It’s too late to turn back now, Baby…sin is alive!

The word kill paralyzed her, bringing her to his mercy.

Do what I say. Do you understand? he said plainly.

Yes, she whispered like a scared little girl, hearing a bit of reason in his soft command. Who are you? Tell me who you are, she begged.

In time you’ll know. But first we’re going to have fun. You like to have fun, don’t you? Don’t move. He crawled off her. She was as still as petrified wood. He took hold of the box of assorted chocolates, set it onto the bed. He opened it, saw about ten pieces missing. Searching through the candy, tasting them piece by piece as he went, he found three he wanted. One had a lemon filling, one had an orange filling, and the last had a strawberry filling. Holding them in his open hand, he instructed her to take one.

Bringing her arm out from under the blanket, she heedfully complied. What do you want me to do? she asked, trying to be a brave little girl.

"We’re going to play a game, don’t you know. It’s called the Chocolate game. These are the rules: you take a bite of chocolate. If you pick lemon, I leave. If you pick orange, I rape you. But if you pick strawberry, I kill you. Do you understand?"

The bit of compassion she’d hoped he had, vanished like a shooting star in the night sky. Terror filled every inch of her body. Just moments ago she was having a bad dream, but what he’d just said had turned that nightmare into a day at Disney Land. What can I do to stop this? She asked in her mind. Will he really kill me? Of course he will—he’s a madman. I’ll play his game. I’m good at them. I’ll win and he’ll leave. Yes, she answered gallantly.

Good. And don’t lie to me, I’ll know. Whichever choice you make, you have to tell me what I must do—it’s the rules. Now take a bite.

The candy melted in her fingertips with her quickening heartbeat that brought her body temperature up. She placed the slippery blob to her quivering lips. All of this was happening so damned fast. She couldn’t think clearly. The chocolate touched her dry tongue—then she chomped down on the corner of it. She was so confused about what the flavor was. She had always been so good at telling flavors, but now she couldn’t stand the taste during her petrifaction. I hate chocolate! she screamed in her mind. What flavor is it?! What flavor is it?! she demanded of herself. What if I get it wrong? What if—then she knew what flavor it was. With great hesitation, but knowing she must abide by the rules, she said in a disappointed monotone voice: You must rape me.

Men are all the same: pigs, she thought to herself with a tear in her eye as he finished his dirty deed—it’s all about sex.

What a hard-core slut, no love was involved, he ran through his mind, crawling off the bed after his two-hour assault. That’s what you wanted—it’s all you wanted! he told her.

God, she was so fucking angry at this piece of work, and her fear wanted to place her fury in check, but it didn’t. She wanted to blow his goddamned brains out with a gun, but she had never even held one, she realized, calming herself. Or maybe a butcher knife to cut off his cock, shove it into his mouth, her anger took over again. But in reality, she just wanted him to leave. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, that wasn’t the way she was. She was the forgiving type, don’t you know? He’s going to kill me! He’s going to kill me! she ran through her mind sadly. Please…I played your game…I did what you wanted…no more. I don’t want to die.

But the game’s not finished, baby, he pouted. One more round. Here…pick another piece, he begged, holding out two assorted chocolates in his hand.

Oh my God…I can’t do this again. Who is this nonsensical bastard? She reached up, touched one of