I'm not sure what it is that brought me here to this pass. I stand on the edge of the cliff, looking down. I can't see the bottom. I want to jump, but I can't.

There's nothing to keep me on the high ground, and everything to push me over the edge, but for some reason I can't.

I'm frozen. So frozen.

I can do nothing but shake my head in defeat. I can't do it.

I turn away from the metaphorical cliff and put down the knife. Though I can barely bring myself to kill a scorpion that might catch me in the middle of the night, I could probably have a better chance killing someone else than taking my own life.

"So, how's it going?" says the woman.

Her name was Beth, but you might as well call her 'Perky' if you wanted to be descriptive. I swear that she must be on some kind of intravenous espresso drip. I don't know of anyone who has more energy than her.

Maybe not. Maybe it's just cause this is a coffee place. Go figure.

"Ok, I guess," I mumble. It's a lie, of course. I'm nowhere near being all right. But why let her know? I mean, what's the point?

I don't think I saw any expression change in those happy eyes of her. I wonder if there's anything that ever caused her concern. Beth must truly be an innocent.

Innocence to match that almost pure-blond hair, so immaculate without even the faintest hint of chemical assistance.

I should know it's damn hard to have perfect long hair, cause I never had it. When I used to have long hair, it was more than long enough to keep in a ponytail, and hairs would still leak out.

Her skin was perfect. I mean, no visible blemishes of any kind. Not even signs of the hot desert climate drying her skin, and she'd been out here all of her twenty-four years.

I sipped some of my iced mocha. Espresso, milk, ice, and whipped cream. And Hershey's chocolate syrup. Why can't I taste it?

She's drinking coffee, and she can taste hers.

Why does even taste elude me?

"What's wrong?" she asks me directly. I think I notice some steel in those eyes. Did she read something in my eyes? I usually pride myself in having a blank mask.

"Nothing," I lied. "Nothing at all."

She took the hint and changed the subject. We ended up talking about nothing at all, really. Quite dull, though she seemed to find it interesting. Something about what's on tv.

Whatever. I don't really give a damn.

"Hi!" the bartender smiled. A pretty young woman, I admitted to myself. Jamie, her name was. Maybe that's why I came by for a few hours every day and drank a hell of a lot. Not her name, though it did fit her. I came because I found my heart gripping my throat every time I saw her. "Guinness?" Such a look of happiness in her face. Open happiness without judgement. She didn't judge me.

Her ancestors must have been Irish. That helped. I had a soft spot for women with a touch of Ireland. Even those with a tongue sharp enough to slice a softly-falling silk scarf gently falling through the air.

Her co-workers hated her cause they claimed that she was a... something that I just don't call women. I don't call anyone names. Let's just say that if the stereotypes about red hair were true, then they'd fit. I simply thought that her flowing red hair fit her well. I couldn't see anything 'wrong.' No. I saw someone who was just right. I sighed inside.

"Nope," I said, "I'll start off with some scotch." I looked at the bottles on the shelves. "How about some of that Glenmorangie? Haven't tried that yet." Maybe I even smiled a bit?

She pulled down the bottle and let me have a free sample. I liked it. "I'll have a doubleshot."

That was the beginning of yet another afternoon. They trusted me, cause they didn't ask me to pay for each round as it came. I was always good, even when I was really plastered. I always tipped forty percent too.

How much did I drink when it happened? Let's see... I went through five double-shots of Glenmorangie, two pints of Guinness, and an "Irish Kegbomb," which is a Black-and-Tan after you pour in two shots of Absolut vodka into a pint glass. It mixes, no matter how well you pour it. It looks like a Guinness without the foam, and is so smooth it could be a Scottish ale. Now Scottish ale... that brings back some good memories.

I could remember downing many a pint of St. Andrew's. Good ale.

But I wasn't back then, at a place that closed down. I was here, now, drinking something of my own creation, somewhere else.

"Everything all right?" Jamie asked me, her eyes full of worry.

"Of course." I was drunk, that could not be disputed. However, I was holding it quite well, which couldn't be disputed either. I could walk in a straight line, my reflexes were good, and my mind was sharp as a razor.

The one telling difference that I was drunk was because the pain was gone. My negative emotions were dead. You could have told me anything, and I wouldn't have cared.

A lot of anti-drinking and anti-drugs types wonder what it is that would make someone want to be in a perpetual haze of altered-consciousness. The lack of the pain is a good reason. If anyone tells me that I'm just thin-skinned or have a fragile ego (and they have), I'd like to teach them just what it's like to feel pain. Unless you feel the pain, you can't judge someone who does feel it. Maybe you won't be as quick to pass judgement, wearing those spotless clothes, standing in that high, white tower.

I was stumbling out of the bar. Good thing I was walking, cause I was so hammered that I wouldn't be able to open up an unlocked car door. I could walk, though. It just took a lot of effort to walk in a manner that didn't hint at my drunkenness.

I still felt pretty good, but I drank so much hard shit that the faint pre-dawn glow of a hangover was beginning to show on the horizon.

When I reached an unlit street, I heaved out the contents of my guts. It felt good when my guts emptied.

"You all right, man?" asked some old guy from behind me. His voice sounded gravelly.

A strange senation came over me. I felt angry. It was a familiar anger. All the frustrations and sorrow that I felt had always been with me, unable to escape. I suppose every pressure pot has to let out steam.

Apparently, my critical pressure had hit, but without any known reason. In the back of my mind, I knew that this was wrong and crazy, and the guy wasn't doing anything bad to me. In fact, he was putting himself out on a limb.

It didn't matter.

I needed to pound something, and no thought was too irrational at the moment. It seemed to me that the fact that he was truly innocent made things even better.

I howled wordlessly, turning around with a jolt. Something gripped me. I don't know what it was, but it felt good. It was like I was in a dream, observing something dispassionately. Though I was the actor, I felt nothing, physically or emotionally.

In the faint moonlight, I saw the fearful eyes of an old homeless man wearing a large cross around his neck. "It's cool, man!"

He'd repeat that again and again as I pounded into him into the ground with my fists. As I observed myself senselessly beating this man to death, snarling and yelling senseless gibberish, I noted mentally that I must have been pretty strong, cause the guy was no weakling himself, and I was throwing him around like a piece of popcorn caught in a popper. That was what made this scene seem really dreamlike, cause I knew I had only mediocre strength.

That's exactly what it was like. One punch, and his body would move one way. Another punch, and his body would move another. His face snapped around wildly as I hammered punches onto his jaw. Maybe I broke it. I don't know.

When it was over, he lay on the ground, bleeding in a lot of places. "Shows you right, old man. Trust in God, and he won't save you when the Beast is putting your God to the test. All that time giving your ten percent, going to church every Sunday, and evangelizing, and where the hell does it get you?"

He didn't even twitch. "ANSWER ME, GODDAMNIT!"

When he didn't answer, I kicked at his motionless body. I think he was still alive when I was done. Almost, but not enough.

Did I want to get caught? It must have been the reason, cause when I got to a payphone close by, I wrapped my hand in cloth and called 911.

"Hello?" I spoke in a convincing Irish accent. A native Irishman would have sworn I was Irish. Where in Ireland? Somewhere else in Ireland.

"911," spoke the nasally voice.

"I found a man severely beaten. Homeless. Some maniac beat him with his fists and left him for dead. I've found him, and I'm keeping him alive, but he needs help."

"Please stay on the line, sir."

"I can't! Someone has to keep him alive!" I told her where we were, and hung up.

I did stay with the old man. Why did I beat the crap out of him? I don't know. Why did I stay with him and make sure that help came? I don't know. What I did know what that in some odd way, I felt better. I was happy.

"So you were just stumbling your way home at midnight," said the detective in a flat voice. "You saw this lone guy pounding into the old man, and the lone man ran off. No robbery. Didn't finish it off. You didn't report it either."

"No," I mumbled, the hangover obvious. "There was someone else there. An Irishman who came from the other direction. He was closer to the phone, and well, your officers can testify to my drunkennes. There was no way I could have even opened a car door, let alone dial a phone. I was having a hard enough time walking straight."

The detective nodded. "That much is backed up. What happened to the Irishman?"

"I passed out, so I don't know. Maybe he moved on? The next thing I remembered was that the paramedics were shining lights in my eyes."

"That's backed up." He sighed, putting down his notepad. "I'll be honest with you. You disturb me, and I don't know why. You're right: I have no case against you, so I have to let you go, but don't be surprised if you're being watched."

I shrugged, genuinely uncaring. "If that's what you want, there's nothing I can say against it. Let your eyes and ears know that they're welcome to the coffee after I leave. By the way, how's the old man doing?"

"He's in critical condition, but he's all right. We tried to get him to id you, but he said that it was too dark. He also said that wasn't you, because he'd remember that face for the rest of his life, and he said that yours wasn't it."

He didn't say anything as I made my way home from the emergency room. Two hundred smackers that I paid with a check, since I didn't have the money on me.

I finally made it back home, and flipped on the tv. The morning news. They were talking about the beating in a bad part of town. A police sketch artist had put together a composite, and it didn't look anything at all like me. The guy had a hat that I wasn't wearing either. And a scarf over the mouth, with sunglasses.

Maybe the old man was a bit loopy? Or was he afraid of fingering me? That was two I owed him now.

Beth smiled, "Who was she?"

"Huh?" I asked in genuine confusion.

She winked, "Who did you sleep with? I can tell, you know!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! You're smiling, and you look like you haven't had any sleep." She looked oddly at me, "You also look like you've lost a lot of weight!" The wicked grin returned, "That must have been one hell of a night!"

"It sure was!" I muttered under my breath. But you know, I was happy. I still had a hangover, but I was happy. I didn't feel the pain.

I think I found the cure. I didn't need to kill, but I needed to cause pain. Causing others pain must somehow lessen my own. A cosmic balance?

I knew that there were definitely people watching me. They were everywhere, and not too subtle about it. Did they know I saw them? Maybe or maybe not. I didn't let them know that I saw them. Better the devil I know than the devil I don't.

Besides, it might make them get someone who actually knows what he's doing.

I led them on a chase. I went on an intricate bus ride, going to a few bars getting drunk, and then taking a run through the desert.

Could you believe that they even followed me through the desert? Two guys in appropriate clothing were jogging a mile back. Appropriate clothes, but bad colors. Trust me: if you don't want to be seen, then blend in. And don't run so fast - - motion can be detected faster than color can.

They found me in the canyon, heaving my guts out. There's nothing like a little Bacardi 151 to eat away at that stomach lining. I thought they were two men, but they were in fact a man and woman. The man looked like a weight-lifter who had his hair cut two times a week. The woman looked like she was trying to prove herself. Had that attitude.

"Hi!" I managed to smile weakly. "You've been looking for me, I trust."

There must have been something in me that they once again recognized, just like that old man did, because they started backing away, whimpering for mercy. The man looked more frightened than the woman. I didn't care all that much.

"I guess you have. Tell me. What do you see? Tell me honestly. I want to know why you fear me. Why you don't want anything to do with me."

They didn't answer. Instead, they tried to run. Tried. They tripped on some loose rock, and landed on their hands. Made a few painful grunts as they tried to get to their feet, but I got there first.

When I got that old man, I didn't know what hit me, but when I went after these two people sent to watch me, I deliberately acted. This time, I knew that I liked this. I needed to ease the pain that was always there by causing it. It felt better already.

"Good evening," I smiled at my two captives as they opened their eyes. They were in my home, though they didn't know this yet. Maybe. "It's been quite a while, and your friends are looking for you, but they can't prove it was me who took you. In fact, they're even buying my story.

"You see, I got drunk and took a run out in the canyon, but a score of witnesses -- civilians as well as two of your other friends -- say that as I was heaving out my guts, a shadowy figure snuck in behind you and took you two captive. I remained behind, untouched. This suspect is a direct match to the bum's description."

They stared at me with wide eyes, not even trying to scream through their ball gags as I laughed. "I don't remember it that way, or at least all of it that way, but apparently, that's what the others saw." He scratched my chin, "If you want my speculation, I believe I can cloud the minds of those around me. They never saw the real me, so they don't see me. They see some illusion that their minds fill in. If you weren't gagged, I'd ask which person you see, but it doesn't really matter, cause I know who I am now."

They were both hanging from their wrists to the beams in the old ceiling. I used their own cuffs on them. For the time being, they wore the same shirts and shorts that they came here with, even the socks and running shoes.

Of course, I'd taken their gun and wallets, so I could gain some knowledge of these people.

"You wonder what I am going to do with you. Humans are humans, and so you're going to have some level of curiosity." They didn't have to answer. I answered anyway. I would have regardless of what they said. "This is what will happen: you will never leave this place alive. You will die. The question is when, and in how many pieces: one or many."

I was getting to know the detective pretty well. I even knew his first name: Frank. "Frank, I really don't know what to tell you. It appears that someone is after me, and your men got in his way. Not only can a score of impartial witnesses vouch for that, so can the police and paramedics who came on the scene. Don't get me wrong: I feel as bad as you do. Maybe worse, cause I was there and couldn't do a damn thing about it."

He nodded glumly, "It appears that I owe you an apology. You have to understand how it looked."

I nodded, "Of course I understand. What you have to do now is move on with things and find out whoever this is. I can tell you this much: I have no idea. Until the canyon, I had no idea that I was being hunted."

He was deep in thought. "Maybe we better put you into protective custody..."

I laughed, "Yeah, and risk losing whoever this is? Why don't you put a ring of surveillance around my place and wait for him to strike?"

He stared at me as if I were crazy, "That's what I prefer to do, but do you have any idea how many people want to pack their bags and run?"

I shrugged, smiling, "I'm curious. That's a bad trait, but I can't let it go. I'm probably even more curious than you are."

The detective nodded. "Very good. Go about your business, and we'll put more men on you." He paused for a moment, "But before you do leave, would you please stop by the front counter to get your fingerprints taken?"

Mary, her name was. Mary O'Leary. An Irish name, but I'd say that she looked more Italian. Probably not surprising if her ancestors came from New York.

She was in another room. John hung from the ceiling in the original room, while I had moved her into this room. The bathroom. It was the only room with tile floors, and I had but tiles on the walls and ceiling as well. Easy to clean.

This was a pretty large room. About twenty by ten, minus some ground area taken up by the large tub, the sink, and the toilet.

Mary's hands were cuffed in front of her, but that didn't really mean that she had any more advantage than she had before. In fact, she had less. Her feet were cuffed, and her body secured by a seat-belt bolted to the wall. It would take about a thousand pounds to rip it out. Even when my special festivities were planned, she wouldn't be able to rip it out.

Of course, she was still gagged, but that would soon change. Not that I was worried, of course, if she made noise. She'd be too occupied with other sensations than the desire to get help.

I sat on the toilet, genuinely smiling as I gazed upon her body and her fearful eyes. She was trying to say something. Scream something. It just came out as this muffled moan.

I let it go on for a while before I spoke, "For all of my conscious life, I have been shunned. I've been so lonely, because I didn't have anything in common with anyone. Nobody would willingly even talk to me. It was only out of necessity when they did so..

I looked up to the ceiling, "I was so lonely that it was painful. Do you know what it's like to face nothing but rejection, no matter what you do? You're a woman, so you must know how pleasurable it is to do the rejecting. To know that you have the power.

"I always wondered what goes through the minds of women as they play their games with men. They are called 'the fairer sex,' but I call women the 'crueler sex' for the reason that while men are honest with their feelings, women are so full of duplicity."

She was now confused as I drove the point home, so to speak, "Today, and for the rest of your life, I am going to have power over you. You must be the sacrifice: the symbolic repayment for anything a woman has done for me. Whatever crime has been committed, you must pay the price.

"John will pay the price for the crimes that men have committed against me, but that is for another time."

She knew it. She knew that I was, at best, mentally disturbed. She knew that whatever would happen next, it was not going to be predictable or enjoyable.

After all this time, she wore her clothes. I did as well. Now, it was time for things to change.

"I wonder what a woman feels when she wears no clothes. Does she feel comfortable, or exposed?"

I grabbed her hands and raised them above her head, securing them to a chain that hung from the ceiling. A few turns of a crank, and her arms were stretched tightly. Mary's breasts were small, and the tension made them stand out just a little bit. Enough to make them more noticeable. I loosened the seat belt fastening her to the floor, and with a few more cranks, she was partially suspended in the air. She moaned in pain, but this was a pain that she could tolerate.

I could feel a bulge in my pants. My dick hurt a little because it was too constrained. But I didn't do anything about that yet.

I enjoyed her fear as I attached a chain to each leg and pulled. She struggled as I undid the ankle cuffs, moaning through her gag, but her struggles came to naught as I tightened the chains that were fastened to the left and right of her, several feet away. Her back against the wall, and her waist fastened to where the floor and wall met, her legs were spread into a splitz. A few more cranks of the chains, and they were strained.

By now, she was struggling wildly against her chains (and couldn't budge more than an inch in any direction) and screaming through her gag. The screaming became even louder as I gentely ran my fingers through her soft, brown, long hair.

"Mary, your hair is so sweet. I love its smell." I did smell it as I gently kissed her hair. She flinched from me. At least she could move her head. She needed some manner of freedom, even if it wasn't much.

"Mary, I think that your clothes make you look beautiful, but you would look even more beautiful without them." I gently touched her elbows with my hands, looking directly into her eyes, and I ran them softly, slowly down her arms. Her head froze as I ran them down her arms, and reached her armpits. Through her shirt, I could feel the straps of her bra. I followed them to her breasts, where I began to gently explore them with my fingers.

"In all this time," I whispered, "I have never had the opportunity to love a woman. You are my first. You should feel a great stirring of emotion in your heart. I do. Feel flattered, because today, someone notices you, and wants you."

She didn't scream as I kneaded her breasts a little, and felt a little hardness in the nipples. Through her nose, she was breathing very hard.

When I picked up the knife again, her screams renewed. Slowly, I sliced away the shirt, cutting slowly at the seams, revealing her flesh one tantalizing cut at a time. After a few minutes, the shirt was totally cut away, revealing fine- tuned muscles that rippled in her struggling.

I breathed in awe. "You are truly beautiful!" I ran my hands up the side of her chest, from kidney to armpit, kissing the side of her neck, moaning. "But this is not enough. There is even more beauty here."

The bra was the next to go. With a snip here and there, her breasts fell free. I weighed them in my hands, sighing in ecstasy as I gently rubbed and squeezed them, kissing her tear-filled eyes. Her face was shuddering with strained fear. "You have no idea how much pleasure you're giving me, and I have only just begun to take you."

I looked into her eyes. "I wish I could ungag you and hear your screams, but you understand, we can't be alerting the neighbors?"

By now, she was resigned to the fact that she had no will or freedom. But that in no way lessened the fear she felt. Or the hope.

Her shorts were the next to go, then her panties. I was getting impatient, so I cut them both away at once, and finished off with her socks and shoes. "You will no longer wear anything on your feet," I commanded her. "Those with free will wear shoes. You are mine, and I control you. That will symbolize your submission to me."

Moaning. Violent moaning.

"What I am about to do will symbolize your pleasure at what I do to you."

I ran my finger gently across the folds of her cunt, feeling the dry skin. Gently, I pushed it inside, enjoying her struggling. "What's the matter? It's only flesh. It's only a finger. Why are you scared of a finger? What is it about sex that scares you so much? I can't stop thinking about it. The idea of fucking you makes me hard. Are you trying to tell me that sex is somehow distasteful to you? Why would pleasure be distasteful?"

She stared in defiance at me.

"You won't feel such defiance after I'm done. I think it's time to take a shower."

The shower had a very special setup that I was quite proud of. Not just because of the ingenuity of my work, but the fact that nobody knew work had even been done. A pulley was set up so that Mary would ride in a very special swing. She saw the swing and didn't note its significance.

"These are the chains that you will wear for the rest of your life. They are the chains of submission. When you are not obeying my direct will, you will return here. In time, you will feel such pleasure and bliss, your legs spread in longing, your breasts begging to be touched, and your mouth begging for pleasure. When I bring you to these chains, you'll thank me and wait in anticipation for the moment."

If she could speak, I knew that she would be telling me that I was full of shit. That it would never happen. I was curious to see what she would say at the point. "I'll remove your gag now. Swear to me that you love me and will obey my every desire, and I'll let you get in the swing yourself." I took out the gag.

Immedately, she was sobbing, almost choking, "You're a monster! You can't get away with this! They'll find out about us soon enough!"

I laughed, "You don't listen well! Frank is convinced that it's someone else who is doing the work. You know what? He's right!"

I left her to ponder that statement while I slammed the gag back in her mouth and pulled out a whip. It wasn't designed to cut or rip flesh: it bruised and pummeled. If I wanted to cause pain and suffering, I would have used the normal whip. No... I wanted to quickly knock her out while installing fear and thoughts of submission into her soul.

When Mary opened up her eyes, I could tell that she was totally exhausted. It was the heat that had first made her open up her eyes, I'm sure. The shower was blasting her with hot water. Not deadly heat, but enough to make her feel uncomfortable.

She hung in the harness that she had seen earlier, streams of water coming from nine different directions, almost shrouding her vision the same way being in a waterfall might.

Her arms were crossed so that her hands couldn't move anywhere but from her breasts. All she could do was open and close her hands, but the arms couldn't move. Her legs were spread out straight in a 'v,' for easy access to her cunt and asshole, which were both exposed.

The gag was removed, but in its place was a collar that put an uncomfortable pressure on her throat without cutting off circulation. Though she could speak, it would never be above the volume of a painful moan. I could have used the collar earlier, but I wanted to slowly break her into this.

Though she was not in bliss, and fear coursed through her veins, I was in bliss. I stood naked in the shower, feeling my dick grow hard at the sight, knowing what was about to happen.

Mary looked at me. "No! Please! I'll do anything!"

I shook my head. "I am taking what is mine. All these years, you women denied me the love that I needed. Well, I'm taking it now, whether you want it or not."

She cringed at my smile as I spread her cunt lips apart with my fingers, "You have nothing to worry about!"

"No!" she moaned as I slowly pushed my dick into her cunt without any more preliminaries. "No! Aaaa!"

"Mmmm!" I moaned as the sensations of a first fuck threatened to overwhelm me. "It feels so goood! Admit it! You love it too!"

I moved her back and forth, the swing doing the rest of the work. Though she was crying and pleading for me to stop, I could feel her shudders of pleasure, and hear her panting.

Slam. Slam. Slam. She moved back and forth across the whole length of my dick, the water from the shower keeping it slick, not that it helped much. It felt like I was trying to cram my dick through something half its size.

Mary had been crying off and on, but the choking sobs returned as I started to slam in my dick even harder, the swing not bringing her back fast enough. I used my hips to push her back. She didn't move as far back now, but it was a hell of a lot faster.

Her screams were strained, and then stopped as she panted breathlessly. Then she threatened to choke herself with her own sobs.

What had I done to upset her so? All I was doing was righting the balance, and taking what was rightfully mine.

I closed the bathroom door, hearing Mary's soft and repeating moans coming from behind that door. Her next few hours would be an experience beyond her wildest imaginings. Whether it was pain beyond pain or pleasure beyond pleasure would be up to her.

It was time for me to attend to John, who was staring at me with a mixture of exhaustion and fear. Hatred too. He saw that I was wet and naked, and he came to the obvious conclusion, which I couldn't say was too wrong.

"John. You are to be a sacrifice to my own pain. There's an imbalance. I've suffered too much pain without pleasure, and you're going to offset it. I don't know what god or demon will answer, but I know that this will right the balance."

I opened a briefcase, showing him the assorted tools of torture. "This will be your fate. Do not mistake me. Sooner or later, you will die, and die painfully. Tell me this. Do you want to die now or later? If you want to die later, just nod your head. You can do that still."

He knew that I meant business, and was nodding, screaming through his gag.

I smiled, "Good. I thought we might play a little." I wasn't gay, and I certainly didn't find this man, or any man, sexually attractive, but I could feel my dick getting hard again.

I ripped down his pants and began to massage his dick, watching it get hard. It was odd how much he was aroused, despite his own fear. Was he gay, or was it is body's unconscious attempt to stay alive by not fighting my wishes?

Did he think I was going to suck his dick? He found out that wasn't so. I pulled out a knife and cut off his dick, watching the blood spurt out like a fountain.

"There's a balance in the world," I said softly as his eyes finally closed. "The balance is restored for the moment."

The blood would be easy enough to clean up. Just a hose and a few runs with some detergents, and not even a chemical sweep would find blood. A little more work, and I'd dispose of the body so thoroughly that not even bones would be found.

I looked in the mirror for the first time in weeks, and saw two men standing together. I saw myself, and I saw the shadow-man that the eyewitnesses had seen. As I examined the two faces, neither of which I directly faced in the mirror, I could see that they were both me.

On the right side, I saw the self that I had always seen. He was happy and healthy. The good side of me who knew that he could be his good self because of the other man who stood just to his left.

The man on the left was happy as well, but he had a roughened, sinister quality to him. Shadowy.

Perhaps I wasn't clouding the minds of the eyewitnesses, as I had speculated. Perhaps these were both the real me, something that had always been there, but I had not seen until now.

Something changed in the mirror. The man on the left moved a little more, until I directly faced the man on the right.

Three vibrators were fastened into each of Mary's holes: her mouth, her asshole, and her cunt. The one in her mouth was programmed to squirt life-like cum into her mouth. If she was smart, she'd swallow it. The vibrators were all on high, and I figured that after a few days of this, that she had to be reaching her limits of pleasure.

Her face was flushed, and her limbs were shaking. She was no longer straining, which was obvious, given the red marks on her wrists and ankles.

On seeing me, she began moaning. Probably begging me to stop. I undid the straps and pulled the vibrator from her mouth.

At first, she spit for a few moments. "Thank you!"

"I take it that you didn't enjoy yourself?" I roughly pulled out the other two, smiling as she gasped.

I was surprised at what she said next, but her eyes looked sincere, "I missed you. I need your cock in me!"

I didn't know what to say. I had wanted her to submit, and to love me, but it was such an impossible dream that I didn't know what to say. For a few moments, I stood motionless, not even knowing if she could see how she was affecting me.

"I'll give you the ride of your life!" I promised, taking her out of her chains (but leaving the collar on). "Tell me that you love me!"

"I love you!" she screamed as she jammed a thumb into my right eye.

"AAAAA!" I fell against the floor, holding my hands to my eye, feeling the blood, and not knowing if she had blinded me. The pain was too much.

The chain wrapped around my throat, and the next thing I knew, I was no longer feeling the pain. I didn't see anything.

Detective Frank Sor looked me. I sat in a straightjacket, the two of us separated by a clear, bulletproof wall. Not even the wires from the microphones and speakers went through the wall. There was a lot of strain in his eyes. I could see that with the one eye that I had left. I still wanted to scratch at my bad eye, if my right hand weren't restrained as well. Not much I could do with my left, since it wasn't there anymore.

"So," I said. "You've got me. What now? What do you do?"

"I'm letting you go," he said suddenly. "Like the witnesses said before, you weren't the man. You're not the man."

"I don't understand!"

He smiled, "You don't need to cover for him. He can't threaten you anymore. This psychiatric ward has a most excellent doctor, and he recognized your condition. Of course, we can't tell the news about it, since they wouldn't believe it. You see, we in the police force encounter real things in the trenches, and... well... we take it for what they're worth."

I shook my head. "You've still got me."

"Son... you were possessed, and the Beast within was exorcised."

A new man entered the room behind the detective. It was the homeless man that I beat the crap out of. Except that he wasn't homeless. He was a psychiatrist. He was smiling. He was healthy.

The detective gestured towards him negligently, "Dr. van Buren here was following you that night because he saw what you truly were, and the Beast within knew it. He emerged that night for real, because he knew that he could hide no longer. Your despair allowed him the foothold that he needed."

The Doctor continued. "In the old days, evil within us was locked away. We hid it in the sand, thinking that if we didn't see it, it was banished forever. But we have learned much. First off, we have learned that evil is a very tangible force at work, actively wearing us down, and sometimes taking us over, as you were taken over. We have also learned how to permanently deal with evil."

The Doctor held up a mirror. I saw myself, sitting by myself. The other man was gone.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't believe it... but then again, it offered some sort of explanation that fit what I had observed as the facts.

The detective stood up and smiled, "Thank you for helping us so much with this matter. You're a very brave man. Most people would have burrowed within and never resisted what was within. You have actively resisted this evil for all of your life, and when it emerged, you did your best to undermine it. If you had not acted when you did, you might have never been saved."

The straightjacket was removed by a smiling attendant, and the smiling man showed me the way out.

"This is too surreal," I repeated to myself as I entered the outside world, wearing a new set of white clothes. Civilian clothes of course, and fashionable, but all white.

I looked around, the world looking somehow... better. Happier. Less gloomy. I was greeted by someone. My heart gripped my throat in fear as I realized that it was Mary. Maybe the Doctor was right, because I faced her with a conscience, knowing what I had done, and feeling genuine guilt and pain. It may have been the man with the hat who directed the action, but it was still I who had done such things to her, wasn't it?

"Do anything you want, and I won't resist you," I said, holding my open hands out. "I'll understand. I'd be enraged too if some monster who raped me got off free."

She shook her head sharply, tears falling down her face. "You don't understand!" I was totally shocked when she gave me a sharp hug, almost lifting me up into the air. Mary laughed at my confusion, grabbing my hands when I reflexively backed away. "I don't need to forgive you, because you never did anything. I'm not mad at you either, because the monster is dead! Why would I want to hurt you because you're back in the body that the monster used to commit its own crimes?"

This was too much to take. Were they right, or had I entered yet another insane world? I didn't know what to think. She helped me think, wrapping an arm around me and walking me in the right direction. "While you were in the hospital, we moved you to a new place. It's better."

That was understandable. Make sure I didn't raise any unsavory ghosts. A gentle smile crept onto my face as I walked with her, with a certainty that I was drawn to Mary. I asked her one question. "What was it that I did? They say that I acted in time."

She nodded, leaning her head against mine, "You broke out for a moment. I even saw the change. You told me who you really were, and that I had to trick the evil one. I had to pretend that I loved him... and the rest you know."

The man watched them walk away, smiling to himself. Now he was free from that poor shlep. All these years of these horrible sensations of guilt and morality were gone.

"You're a fucking idiot! You think she loves you? You think you love her? It's just some damned hormones that'll leave your bloodstream soon enough!"

He shook his head, "If I get pulled into another fleshie, it'll be too soon!"

Suddenly, he felt himself being drawn in a distinct direction. "Son of a bitch!"

The pulling could not be disobeyed. Another hospital was nearby, except that this place took care of physical needs. A baby was pulled away from a totally exhausted mother. Within moments, he was looking out the eyes of the newborn baby.

The End