Chapter 39

Back in Pickford's Meadows, life seemed perfectly normal over the weekend after their return on Saturday. The town was all abuzz with the news of Clete's latest hunting party, the wounding of one of the dogs, and how Jim Devereaux had advanced Clete several thousand dollars expense money.

Desirée had called Robyn and made an excuse for leaving her and Tanya so suddenly a few days before. Of course she withheld the story of her abduction and seduction by not one but ultimately three men. It was something she couldn't afford to tell anyone now, after telling Helen Buchanan, a mistake that led to her vile seduction in that woman's husband's study. No, those incredibly sordid stories could not be told to anyone, for the truth was mind-boggling. Desirée, by one means or other had had sexual intercourse with six different men in the matter of only two days, and she felt very unworthy of even being touched by her own wonderful husband.

She had found Robyn strangely subdued, though the grief she had vented at their last meeting seemed to have given way to a more mature attitude. Perhaps she had found a way of dealing with her uncle's demands, or perhaps she was carrying on with the affair and had changed her outlook toward the situation. Still, she was staying at the Devereaux home, though she admitted to having been at her parents', the Mitchells' home every night since Desirée's leaving suddenly for the Capital.

Rodney, on the strength of the pictures he had taken, had received a modest advance for a book, to be entitled The Devils of Pickford's Meadows, and a hefty fee for a magazine article detailing what had happened so far.

Desirée didn't know why, but the mere mention of Lobo, the dogpack leader, gave her the chills. She still had nightmares of being mounted and raped, in the way some other women in the neighborhood were claimed to have been, with two recurring scenarios: One, taken to bed by three men and then being invaded by the dog, and the other in a situation when she was forced to submit herself to save Mark from being killed by the dog. It was all the more real to her, since last night she had dreamed the first dream again, and two of the men present before the dog's arrival were those who had taken advantage of her at the Pace mansion.

Had it been rape? She had responded, in a natural way, but yes, the one with the gun had coerced her, frightened her into cooperating. What about after that, when the nice one had held her, and pleasured her with his thing inside her, and whispered softly to her? By then, she had no ill feelings toward him, and again had responded when the crazy one had entered her from behind. Oh, it was all so confusing. It just seemed that since Mark had started being cold toward her, the mere touch of a man, any man, was enough to arouse her. However, though she had been aroused several times, it had been other undue influences that had brought her to the ultimate physical acts that she now so regretted. Could Mark ever forgive her? But, no, he must never find out. It would spoil his feelings for her forever, to know what a slut she had been.

And with Clete. With Clete! A black man that she detested. Right now, the thought of having a black man's penis inside her made her sick. So why had she responded like a broody whore?

Rodney had spoken to her and he seemed very happy with his recent nibble of success. At least they had the money to pay their bills back home. And it seemed that they had been seeing quite a bit of Robyn Young lately, which made Desirée happy for she hated to see her friend lonely while she had been away so much with Mark.

After returning to town, Sunday had been quiet and she had done her usual solos with the choir at church, the choir she herself had trained. She felt like such a hypocrite even showing her face in church and letting people think, because of her presence there, that she was a good and pious person when she was actually no better, in her own eyes, than the lowest whore, and probably a bit worse.

Mark had made love to her Sunday night, finally, for the first time in a long time. Her pussy had still been a trifle sore from the drubbing it had taken by all those uninvited cocks in the previous few days, but it had felt very good, and very physically satisfying, though her pangs of conscience had stopped her short of total and complete emotional fulfillment.

Oh, would she ever feel clean again? Would she ever be the sweet and innocent girl she had been the week before, before going to meet Clete at the station and seeing that she had already committed adultery with him at a time she hadn't remembered, seduced back there in the mists of her unremembered past by Priscilla Devereaux and drugs.

Yes, that had been it. Priscilla, her enemy, had tried to corrupt and destroy her. Obviously, the motive had been jealousy, and her desire for Mark, whom she had lost before his meeting Desirée. Priscilla Devereaux, spoiled, selfish, and evil, had caused much of the hurt that Desirée was experiencing. How had she ever trusted that malicious young woman for a moment, enough to share an evening and a bottle of wine with her while she arranged a situation in which Clete could penetrate her tender body with his huge, black penis and be photographed in the act? It had been the end of her innocence and the beginning of her downfall, though she had never desired anything wrong, never sneaked away intending to do anything behind Mark's back.

She was feeling hate now for the people who had done this to her, Priscilla, Clete, those two abductors, and Buchanan and those other awful men, one whose name she did not even know. The amazing thing was that she had forgotten so much, had lived in blissful ignorance, until she had somehow recalled some horrible events, like the first time with Clete and the first time with Buchanan. How had she sublimated those things? Were there more disgusting things that she would remember some day, that perhaps had something to do with her recurring nightmares?

Now, she had learned to hate the people who had wronged her innocence. She had so much hoped to cause Buchanan difficulties with her altering of his computer files, but Mark had been on the phone with the great manipulator just this Monday morning, and no hint of a problem had there been. Probably just a minor nuisance, perhaps set right by the stock broker, Harry Wickes. Desirée was no expert on stocks, but she knew the general principles. Maybe they had seen through her alterations. As Harry had said, they didn't even add up. Who could know what they had found in the end? But she had no intention of letting Buchanan get away with what he had done. She would keep her eyes wide open, and someday, somehow, she would get even. And she vowed she would never be alone with that man ever, ever again.

It was only ten AM and she was very upset. She had never done it before so early in the day, but she felt like a glass of wine. So she poured herself one.

Billy Canning and Sam Quaid sat in the coffee shop just a few doors down and across the street from the police station. Billy was chain-smoking and Sam was beginning to get tired of the smoke. Plates of half-eaten, greasy food sat in from of them and Sam was getting tired of hanging around.

Sam was scared. Everywhere he turned, things were looking slippery. Billy was hyper, packing pistols, and Sam was sure he was going to make a move against Clete, a very badly-thought-out move that would backfire and leave them in the shit. He wanted to run, get away, and let Billy hang himself his own way. Sam figured that by now he had been loyal enough and it was time to start looking out for himself. Billy had changed completely from the school chum he had been into a paranoid-psychotic on the verge of exploding. He was obsessed with killing Clete to avenge his brother Johnny. And the more he panted and sweated and snorted coke and smoked hash and swallowed pills, the worse he got. There was no way he would ever be normal again this side of detox.

But he would never surrender himself to treatment. One needed to be at least slightly rational to do that, and he wasn't even that.

"We're gonna take him today," Billy said, and Sam read the insanity in his bloodshot eyes and knew it was true.

"You got a plan?"

Billy looked at his friend, twitching in a way that reminded him of a rat.

"Let's talk about it."

She used a silk cloth to polish the.38 special revolver, and she very carefully wiped all fingerprints from the bullet casings wearing surgical gloves as she inserted them in the cylinder. She didn't want to leave anything lying around that could be traced back to her. She had gone into the farm workshop and used the grinder to remove the registration numbers from the gun. She had been smart enough not to get a stainless steel weapon, for she hoped that a short time in the ground or in a river would make the gun completely untraceable, just in case she had missed something.

Priscilla had made her plans for the day, and top of the list was to kill Desirée in the forest and bury her body in a deep hole, which she had already dug. Priscilla's muscles were still sore from the effort, though she had been clever enough to wear gloves and avoid blistering her hands. Of course, it was not something she could give to one of the farm hands to do, and besides, it was on the Mitchell farm, in a remote corner of the property where only a psychic would think of looking.

Hate and thoughts of revenge had ruled the girl's life for over a week, and she was decided about whom to blame for her humiliation. Yes, she had set Desirée up for Clete to fuck her and be filmed in the act, though the planned blackmail had gone awry when the sheriff had stolen the video tape. But being made to have sex with a black man was nothing compared to being raped by three dogs while wallowing in one's own feces, which was what Desirée had made happen to Priscilla. Though the older girl had no concrete evidence of it, she could not think of anyone else with a motive for making the anonymous phone call that had lured her into unspeakable degradation.

Following the incident Priscilla had spent several days in a mental ward, struggling to deal with the reality of it, and of course, she had had to have surgical repairs to her vagina and anus after the bolting dogs had torn the bulge of their penises from the lock of her muscles. She had felt so humiliated, and still did, that ideas of revenge had swirled in her brain twenty- four hours a day. Since she had no way of finding the canine perpetrators except by seeing her father offer huge rewards to the mercenary sheriff, she had decided to go straight to the author of her misery. Killing violently the big-eyed, innocent, blonde piano teacher who had alienated Mark's affections was the only way Priscilla knew of exorcising the demons in her heart. To do it secretly would accomplish all her ends without jeopardizing her own existence and future with Desirée's husband.

Picking up the phone, Priscilla dialed Desirée's number. It was picked up on the fifth ring.

"Hello," came Desirée's faintly forlorn-sounding voice.

Priscilla hung up before the greeting was repeated. She knew that the blonde bitch was home. She packed the revolver, two boxes of cartridges, three speed loaders, and a pen and paper into a Gucci bag, and walked out of the house, passing the half-open door of her father's bedroom and hearing the excited moans of her cousin Robyn coming from inside.

Things have really changed lately, Priscilla thought. Though maybe not for the worse. At least Daddy's fucking someone.

It was a form of spying on her husband, Tanya knew, as she accompanied him to the sheriff's office. They had injured one of the--to her--loving animals and she and Liz considered it a smart move to quiz Rodney discreetly about Clete's activities in tracking them down. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep track of the dogs, though Tanya figured that they had a lair somewhere on a remote part of the Mitchell property--from which they made frequent visits to the reporter's lonely young wife at the house.

Tanya had insisted on coming along for this meeting and Rodney, much more concerned about her since the three occasions when he had enjoyed threesomes with her and Robyn, was happy to see her interest in his work.

Clete was standing at the front counter when they walked in. She had seen him before and detested his cockiness and his savage animal presence. It seemed as if his mammoth muscles would burst through his shirt at any moment. She had never liked black men, and couldn't stand this one. She had seen the lovely Nancy Pace a couple of times in town and she wondered that she could let this beast touch her at all, much less consent to marry him. But then, some women liked the exotic. Tanya, however, admitted that her feelings toward him could have been influenced by the knowledge that he was hunting her loving pets.

Clete eyed her briefly as they came in, and gave Rodney a brief smile.

"Thanks for showing your pictures to Devereaux," Clete said. "It secured me an advance." He lit a cigarette and motioned them to some chairs at a table near the door. "Of course, it's just expenses, but I'm thinking of renting a good bloodhound to track them."

"Good idea," Rodney said, sitting down with Tanya, toying with the SLR camera that he took everywhere with him. "I've had some pretty good advances myself lately. I dashed off the story and sent it to TIME. You're going to be the most famous lawman since J. Edgar Hoover within a few days, and I'm going to be out of debt."

"Lucky you," Clete said, taking an indolent drag on his cigarette. "But I won't be getting married until I've made at least one kill."

Lucky Nancy, Tanya thought, noticing the way his huge penis lay down against the inside of his left leg, the head delineated through the fabric of his trousers. It was huge! No woman could take that. Though when she thought of Bruno and Lobo, she admitted there was a rivalry. Funny that Clete should be chasing the other two biggest dicks in the county.

"Like a drink?" Clete asked, going to a cupboard behind the counter.

"Are you on duty?" Rodney asked.

Clete winked. "I got a duty to the man who's made me famous," he said, pouring Scotch liberally into some glasses.

Lobo ran at the head of his three younger offspring, Dusty, Sandy, and Bruno along a trail they had found a few days before. It was not a trail that a man would see, for it was a scent trail, and they were following the familiar scent of a human female, a scent they knew fairly well, harking back to the time among the big rocks near the Pace mansion where they had hurriedly enjoyed this female, and where they had also met the kind male who worked at the church. They were in rut, as usual, and the scent of the woman drew them toward what they expected would lead to gratification.

They broke suddenly into a large clearing among the trees and Lobo skipped aside to avoid falling into a deep hole beside a mound of earth. There was a shovel there, and a pair of gloves lay nearby, where the woman's scent was strongest. They sniffed and looked around, but were disappointed that there were no soft female buttocks to mount and no wet and fragrant female hole to sink their throbbing canine penises into. Their search had been tiring and they lay down there to rest. Soon it would be time to seek food, either from the young woman living down at the blonde female's house, or from Lobo's original mistress in another locale. If the doors were closed there, then they would have to hunt for a sheep or another animal. Or some carrion.

But right now they would rest.

Mark Denning drove a bit over the speed limit on his way back from Buchanan's house. He had been driving all that day, starting early in the morning, for an important meeting, but when he got there at 11:00 AM, he had found the big man in an agitated state, screaming imprecations over the phone, railing at his butler Nigel, picking up ringing phones, screaming more imprecations, slamming the receiver down, and calling for his secretary to get this or that man on the phone.

After fifteen minutes of that chaos, he had finally been nice enough to tell Mark that their appointment had been overridden by a huge crisis and that he would call him when things were sorted out.

Mark, ever responsible to his elected duties, got into his car and hurried off down the interstate, hoping to get back to Pickford's Meadows in time to deal with some things that now seemed quite mundane when compared to his new activities for the state senate. He checked his watch and calculated that at his present speed he would arrive within two hours, perhaps less. Maybe there would even be time for a late lunch with Desirée, a bit of romance, and a chance for sex this evening. Did she need him as much as he needed her?

Priscilla braked her car in front of Desirée's home and sat there, trying to dominate the rage that, if she let it show, would spoil her plans. The Denning home was nice, though just a small three-bedroom and heavily mortgaged, a state that would alter for the better if Mark was elected.

She knocked on the door and waited a long time before Desirée opened. The blonde girl's face fell when she saw her nemesis standing there on the porch, and Priscilla was smiling so sweetly that her tender heart softened and she returned the smile, though a bit half-heartedly.

"Priss, what brings you here?"

"Just a friendly visit, Dez," Priscilla replied, stepping inside the door just a foot. "I was missing you."

Desirée was puzzled. "Missing me?"

"Yes, after our last evening together, I thought we had something special."

The innocent blonde blushed deeply and looked at the floor. "I--I didn't think we should be repeating that. It's not really my nature."

Priscilla touched Desirée's arm warmly. "Sweetheart, from the way it went, I thought it was completely in your nature."

"But--but you drugged me," the blonde protested.

"Not at all," Priscilla lied. "Unless you call pouring you a glass of wine drugging you. And, if my sharp nose doesn't deceive me, you do like wine."

Desirée, confused, looked up. "Would you like a glass?"

The older girl put her arm around Desirée's shoulders and walked with her into the small living room. "Sure, and we'll talk."

Priscilla got her glass of wine, but she hardly touched it, sitting across from Desirée and bringing up the subject of their last meeting, when the older girl had seduced the younger into a lesbian embrace which later gave way to sex with Clete when he had seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"I just don't remember all that well," Desirée said in a small voice. "But I wasn't raised that way. I know I didn't want to do those things."

"Neither did I," the other girl said, her eyes filling with crocodile tears. "But--Clete was blackmailing me, yes, me too. He said he wanted to fuck you and photograph you, so he could make it a regular thing and use you against Mark. He hates Mark. He'll use anyone and anything to destroy your husband. And, he's obsessed with you. Forget Nancy, he wants you, but he can't have you until Mark is out of the picture."

"He was blackmailing you?"

"Oh, yes."

"Is he still?"

Priscilla nodded in feigned distress. "Dez, we've got to stop him."

"But I stole the video, the other day. I destroyed it."

The older girl's eyes opened wide. "But didn't you know, darling. He's also got two rolls of still shots that he made me take. Don't you remember, or were you so turned on you couldn't see. He's got pictures of you that are every bit as bad as the video. Negatives, the lot."

Desirée's face dissolved into despair, and she covered her face with her hands. "Oh, no, Priss! I don't think I can bear it! What am I going to do?"

Priscilla put her hand on the girl's shoulder in sympathy, sitting close beside her on the couch, kissing her cheek like a Judas. "What are we going to do, Dez? He's got me as well."

The young blonde looked up. "He's got to be stopped. Mark can't know about what he made me do. He just can't!"

Desirée began to cry but the other girl hushed her. "Crying isn't going to get us anywhere, Dez. We've got to stop him ourselves."

"How?"

"We've got to go to him and threaten him. Make sure he knows that if he doesn't stop blackmailing us, he's going to go down all the way. Threaten to tell Nancy."

"But you said to forget Nancy."

"Maybe he doesn't feel the same for her as he does for you, Dez, but he knows he can't have you, and she's his only chance of respectability in this community. If he loses her and Mark gets him thrown out of his job, then he's in deep shit."

Desirée cringed at the coarse language. "He's got just as much to lose as we, doesn't he?"

"That's right, but he's got to know that we mean business."

"Priss!" Desirée exclaimed, remembering what the two young men had told her. "He killed that boy. Remember, the one they found in somebody's cow field? Clete killed him."

Priscilla stopped, her eyes narrowing. "How do you know."

"Because--because his brother told me. But he was sheriff, so he could cover it up and make it look like the dogs did it. He's an evil man, Priss, and I'm afraid of him."

"Well, we've got to confront him. He's out hunting the dogs right now, for the reward. He's killed people just to get the reward raised, and my dad's put up the money."

"Yes--why?"

The older girl felt her composure cracking as her mind touched on why her father had put such a high bounty on the dogpack. Of course Desirée knew why. It was she that had arranged Priscilla's own rape and degradation by the dogs! But she brought herself back to the matter at hand; the other girl mustn't know that she knew. "He had his reasons, so never mind. We've got our own problems, like bringing Clete into line."

"I wonder if he'll ever be punished for what he's done, to you and me and that boy."

"Let's get started on it then. We'll go meet him right now. Talk to him face to face. He's up in the hills by your farm now. It's a good place to talk where no one will hear what's being said."

"Is he alone? Rodney likes to go with him."

"If he is, we'll ask him for some privacy, but I just saw Rodney in town at the café."

Desirée nodded. "That's better. Should we go now?"

"Right now, kid, while the time is right."

Desirée went and put on some jeans and a T-shirt.

Ten minutes later they were driving down Main Street. Priscilla hurried their passage, for she couldn't afford to have anyone see Desirée in her company today. She didn't want anyone asking her questions after the little blonde bitch disappeared.

"That's Clete's car there," Desirée said as they passed the police station. "He's in his office."

The older girl thought fast. "No, he goes on foot, leaves the car for the deputy."

"Oh."

Inside the station, Clete glanced out the window as he saw a car speeding by at twenty-five miles over the speed limit. Seeing it was Priscilla's vehicle, he almost forgot it, until he saw that Desirée, his sweet fucking Desirée, was riding on the passenger side. In an instant he was on his feet. "What the hell!" He ran for the door, automatically grabbing a shotgun as he went.

Rodney followed, with Tanya close behind, and as he took the wheel of his car, they jumped in with him, Tanya in back and her husband in front. Now what the hell was Desirée doing with that auburn-haired bitch of Pickford's Meadows? Knowing how evil Priscilla could be, he felt immediate concern for the innocent, big-eyed blonde.

"You're not going without me," Rodney vowed.

"This has nothing to do with the dogs."

"Like hell it doesn't."

Clete had no time to expel the pair. He didn't want to risk losing the trail, and Priscilla's car was too far down the road now for him to waste time with any delay.

The two young men in the café saw Clete go, and though the sheriff was not alone, Billy was not deterred from his purpose. While Sam protested, he fired up his car and followed at speed, though at a discreet distance.

Mark was on the road into town when he saw Priscilla Devereaux driving past him, and he thought he caught a glimpse of Desirée's river of honey-blonde hair beside her. Was it? Yes, he thought it was. And while he was still pondering the possibilities of their being together, all of them distressing, he saw Clete's four-wheel drive, off-road Blazer go by at speed.

What was going on?

After a little more thought, Mark spun his car into a U-turn and followed.

"This is my father's property," Desirée remarked, somewhat surprised.

"The dogs have been sighted up here, and this is where Clete's been tracking them."

Desirée shivered. The disgusting animals were on her father's own property. "What if we run into them? The dogs, I mean?"

"Well, from what Clete told me, you know just how to handle them."

Desirée was taken aback. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, come on, Desirée, I know about you and Lobo."

"Me... and Lobo?"

Priscilla stopped herself. Let the little bitch try to act innocent. In just a little while, it won't matter one little bit. The car reached the end of the indistinct trail it had been following and Priscilla braked and turned off the car.

"Here we are."

Priscilla got out, and Desirée followed suit.

"What did you mean by that remark about me and Lobo?"

"Never mind, darling, let's get down to business with Clete. Forget Lobo."

"Yes," Desirée said meekly, then remembered her vow to get even with the men who had used her. She had tried with Buchanan, and would try again. Now, Clete. And, someday, she would do more than just scare him. For what he had done to her, he would have to suffer somehow, and perhaps her strange friend Priscilla had started the ball rolling right now.

Her strong legs carried her athletically on up through the forest behind the older girl, bravely going to face the man who had been her lover, her tormentor, and her enemy, never thinking that the woman who guided her was the worst enemy she would ever have and was leading her to her grave.

They walked for a good fifteen minutes, and Desirée in her building rage, managed to pull ahead so that Priscilla had to lead from behind, directing her by voice. They had gone over a mile when they suddenly burst into a large clearing.

And Desirée froze. Perhaps she had been expecting to find Clete there in some classic hunter's pose, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun with his rifle cocked on his hip, but it had never crossed her mind that she would find the entire dog pack, galvanized to alertness and ranged around her like hyenas, their hackles rising and their teeth bared. Priscilla, no less shocked, was still the first to act, and went straight up the nearest tree with an agility that surprised every living thing there.

Desirée clutched her hands to her soft breasts in a panic, then followed Priscilla up the same tree, but by then, the older girl was safely established on a branch and pushed Desirée back down to the ground. The blonde tumbled back onto her bottom, legs splayed and feet in the air, and looked up uncomprehendingly into the bore of the.38. Though it wasn't necessary for firing, Priscilla theatrically thumbed by the hammer.

"A surprise for me same as you," she said. "But it just couldn't be better, now could it?" This was perfect! The dogs would eat Desirée and she herself could be ever after in the clear. But what if--? "Time for a taste of your own treachery, bitch!"

"What? Priscilla?" Desirée gasped. "What do you mean?"

The older girl's face was a snarl, bared teeth beneath flared nostrils. "What I mean, slut, is that you strip. You've got thirty seconds to get your rags off or I'm going to punch you a second navel."

For the second time in a week, Desirée found herself looking into the bore of a gun, and had she been standing, she would have collapsed. "Priscilla, please--"

"Fuck that, bitch, no pleading with me. I'm going to watch you suffer the way I suffered with these beasts. Now get those clothes off!" And to show she meant business, she loosed a shot into the dirt beside the blonde girl's hand.

Desirée felt herself shuddering violently. She looked around at the dogs, which had been startled by the shot. Perhaps the dogs wouldn't kill her, but Priscilla would if she didn't comply. Struggling to control her trembling and the jelly weakness in her knees, she got up and braced her back against the trees, fumbling with her clothes.

"Did you hear that?" Rodney asked Clete. "That sounded like a gunshot."

"No kidding," Clete responded sarcastically, his ear trying to place the location of the report. Sounds in the forest were always hard to place, and he was not sure which way to head.