Ellen made herself a cup of tea and a salad with fat-free dressing and took it to the study, plopping it all down on the rosewood table next to the computer desk. She sighed, staring at the blank screen. --I really have to work on the damned Surandesh brief, but I’m so motherfucking tired--. It had been a hard day. She’d had to let Petersen go, he just wasn’t pulling the hours that an associate member of the firm needed to stay with it. It wasn’t her fault, it had just fallen to her as the junior partner in charge of his section to tell him. But had he understood that? Of course not. They never did.
“You’re swimming with sharks, Glenn,” she’d told him as he looked at her that whipped-puppy expression. “You eat or get eaten. Nothing personal, just a fact of life.” She put on patented-expression six, ‘warmly concerned.’ “I really think you ought to reevaluate whether or not corporate law is for you. Maybe you’d be better suited to civil suits, or family law...”
She was trying to soften the blow with a little free advice, but it was obvious from his look of shock that he had taken it all wrong. “Family law! Jesus, Ellen, I’ve got a degree from Harvard, I’m not a damned Jacoby and Myers bottom-feeder -- you brought me in for Chrissake, you know my qualifications--”
She had cut him off coldly. “What I know is, you’ve been here nine months and you’re one of the biggest slackers in the department.” She waved away his protests. “I’ve heard it all before, Glenn, save it, ‘you’re just learning the firm, finding your stride’...the bottom line is, you refuse to put in work this job needs. That just doesn’t cut it.”
He looked at her pleadingly. “ Ellen, you know we just had a baby and my wife-“
“Yes yes, your wife was sick for a while, I know that, too.” She leaned forward, her hands flat on the glossy black desk. “The bottom line is, everyone in this firm has had to make the choice: either you have an outside life or you’re a player. You can buy all that bullshit about about ‘quality of life’ and the warm fuzzy crap losers use to justify their failure if you want. Maybe it’s true that nobody ever wished on their deathbeds that they’d spent more time at work, but I’ll can guaran-fucking-tee you none of the big boys ever died wishing they’d spent more time playing stickball with little Becky, either. They were too busy reliving every time they ripped somebody’s balls off and showed it to them.”
She had given a shake of her head. Her shining black hair swung smoothly around her face. Her dark eyes revealed nothing of her feelings. But then, they never did. “Your wife, your kid, anything you care about...they make you weak. They drag you down.” When he stared at her in open-mouthed shock, she smiled a tight little grin. “Yeah, it’s hard. You made your choices. You dove into the shark tank with a rock tied to your leg.” She used his momentary speechlessness to get try to this shit over with. “There’ll be two months severance pay waiting for you at Laura’s desk, in lieu of notice. There’s a security guard waiting outside to help you get your things. You can give your key to him when you’re done. Good luck, Glenn”
But of course he couldn’t let it end with any dignity. He called her a few choice names, threatened a bunch of meaningless nonsense, but at last her laughter stopped him cold. She hadn’t really meant to laugh, it wasn’t professional. But when he called her a bitch like it was something shocking she just couldn’t help it.
Now she picked at her arugula and shook her head as she thought about it. --Christ, does he have any idea how many times I’ve been called a bitch? That one stopped having any impact in third grade. She stared at her computer and remembered the bjillions of times she’d heard that epithet. And then she remembered the last one that really had hurt.
Tony had been standing in their bedroom. What was it, five, six years ago? She’d been trying hard to be calm, but he certainly hadn’t been.
“Christ, Ellen, we really had something, don’t you know that? Not many people get to feel the way we’ve felt, get as close to somebody, the way we did, and in only a few months--”
She barely avoided a wince. She didn’t want to be reminded of the way she’d let him get so far inside her, see so much of her, the real her. And she certainly didn’t want to give him any more weapons by showing him the truth. Not with her words, not with her expression, not any way at all. She told herself she was in control, she was blank. She didn’t feel anything for him, just cold. Cold. A white sheet of ice, featureless...
He reached out to stroke her cheek, tenderly. His grey-blue eyes were very warm, she could feel the pull deep inside her. His smile was tentative. “Ellen I know. I know you’re scared, I know you, remember? Inside and out...every bit. I know how often you run into people on the street because you’re looking for gargoyles. Or how you have to know the name of every plant you see.” His smile changed, became a little wicked. “I know you more all the time, Ellen...all the time. You know, you know the rituals we do, the things I’ve taught you. I know you better than anyone can, or ever will.” He grinned. And that’s not all… I know the noise you make when I pull your hair, your shiver when I touch that soft spot at the top of your thigh, oh darlin’…”
He cupped her face, the touch was so soft, he liked to make her push into his hand like a cat, begging with her body to make the touch firmer. Yes. Yes, he did know more all the time. She remembered Saturday, when he’d pinioned her to the bed. Then he’d lowered his mouth to her neck, nuzzling, but then going far beyond that, a growl so low she couldn’t believe it was human. And when he’d bit, it hurt, Gods how it hurt.
And Gods how she’d wanted more, she’d wondered if he could draw blood, what it would look like on his lips-oh damn she’d thought in that split second what it would look like, taste like, her blood from his lips to hers, or rubbed on her nipples…. And then she’d fucking seen herself as someone else would see her, lying here moaning, writhing, lying here not fighting him as if she were some pathetic plaything. It would prove what they all wanted to believe, that women were made for men to use, that she was nothing, no better than a slave, just like her mother, Dad beating her and then her picking herself up and cooking dinner and fucking him any way he wanted, any time, anywhere, and not protecting her daughter oh no oh no oh GODS…
--and suddenly Tony was on the floor with her screaming above him, hitting him, tearing him with her nails. And when he threw her off he didn’t attack her as she was sure he would, he’d tried to talk to her and when she’d started throwing things he’d run for the hall and his clothes had followed.
She buried all thoughts of what had happened for a week, until one night she’d curled in her her antique leather chair and saw that the last of the bruises had faded from her wrists. Before when he’d held her, or tied her, she’d smiled every time she’d seen evidence of what they’d done. Each time she’d smiled, feeling the dampness between her legs, the tingle along her spine. This night she rose and wandered to the deco mirror on the wall and looked for the fading ring of his bite, and suddenly she’d remembered with horror that she’d wanted bruises, that she’d hoped so desperately for blood
She felt her stomach clench as panic started to fill her, panic and then anger and soon she was screaming wordlessly, but knowing that she’d been hoping he’d call, and she’d have taken the call, and then she would have emptied herself of her anger, telling him the truth about why she’d reacted so, and then when she was empty of the pain he’d fill her with feelings of warmth and of submission and she’d be even less herself, even more his creation. She’d even believe that “psychic” shit he had been selling her, the powers she’d almost become convinced he had. And he’d be in her even deeper. And worse than him, the men, all the men, they’d know. A few at first, but then more and more, until they all would, they’d all smell it, or he’d tell them and he’d make sure she was nothing but his and then he’d take away everything she was and leave her empty and waiting just for him to fill her, willing to do anything to be filled again. And she’d be her Mother, or she’d be like that girl she saw downstairs sometimes, pregnant belly and bruised face.
She shook her head wildly, knowing that if she didn’t make it different this time it would never be different. Never. And she’d forever be vulnerable to him, exposed, her belly to his teeth, her psyche to that reptilian brain they all had, all the men. No, not even reptilian, older, colder. And she’d be bleeding in the water, about to be ripped apart. But she’d learned long ago what to do, how to act. The mask. Cold. Smooth. All hiding the skin that could rip flesh, the teeth that could sever bone.
After all, Tony had opened up to her, too, trying to lure her in. No, not as vulnerable as a woman, but soft enough.. Men had their unique weak spots, they only wanted easy prey. Ice queen. Let it gnaw at him. Watch his precious manhood shrivel...bitch-queen, vagina dentata, the woman they all believed in, the one who’d castrate them without even trying. All it took was the right voice. The right face, pitying and impersonal. The right words, all the clichés. Sorry, we didn’t work out. Didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn’t mean for you to think it was more than it was. Time to move on. All my fault. Contrite but impersonal, like she’d run over the neighbor’s cat.
Just a few personal flourishes of course. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for you to think that we were so much alike, so…what was it you said, ‘in tune’? That romantic stuff, the candleburning ceremonies, it was fun. But don’t you think it was a little much? I mean, we’re pretty normal grownups. And the sex. I was just experimenting, Tony. I don’t like that rough stuff we did at all, it was a great game but-“
“A…a fucking game!” Oh, yes, that had shut him down. Feelings flowed through her, triumph, relief, even an odd, brief regret that he believed her so easily. But mostly she felt contempt. He didn’t even know he’d nearly had her by the throat. Thirty seconds of method acting and a few clichés and it was over. --What an idiot--. Well, if that’s the best he can do, thank god I drove him away. Yeah, it was a little bitter but it was sustaining, it filled her.
He stared at her, leaning close, his eyes on her face. She’d never seen his eyes like that before.. He was enraged, blind with his fury. Blind with it, he couldn’t see her, not her real self, not anymore. His voice changed from a scream to nearly a whisper. “A game. That’s what it was to you, Ellen. Everything we’ve done and been to each other, all those I’ve given you, all that talking, opening up...just a fucking game. You bitch....”
Ah, that word. She grinned. There it was, complete concession of defeat. He couldn’t control her, so he put a “bitch” mask on her, so much easier to relate to the label. Well, that was fine, she was perfectly safe behind that mask and always had been. As he finished his rant, some nonsense about his psychic trick not being a game, she swam away inside her head, leaving only a trace of blood in the water behind her. Victory, Ellen.
Ellen pushed her nearly untouched salad away. She shifted, pulling her green satin nightgown down over her knees. Tonight, she decided, she wouldn’t start on that brief. Even she needed a rest, now and then....and something about Petersen today, something about his eyes, or the way he’d looked at her...it made her feel a little raw. She was still wide awake, but thrashing around for a sense of purpose. With a sigh she reviewed her options. She really didn’t want to try to find somebody to spend the evening with. Not one of her “nice” friends; she could relax around them, but their earnestness, their caring, got on her nerves. She didn’t want to call any of her workmates for a night out either. It was a good way to sharpen her skills, where smiles were intended to show teeth. She wasn’t up to that tonight. And her one true friend, Carrie, whom she’d known since college,was with her paintings on a touring show.
As for sex, she didn’t have a steady arrangement. They never seemed to understand that all she wanted was a presentable date for all the standard occasions and sex when she needed it, even when they said all they wanted was the same thing. So since getting laid meant finding someone attractive and no risk to her career or her emotions it was usually more trouble than it was worth. Besides, she didn’t care much anymore anyway. When she was a teenager she’d been oversexed, it had been all she’d thought about. And it had been more whips and chains than hearts and flowers. But she’d pushed that down nice and deep when she saw where those desires were leading her. When she’d seen with Tony what she could become. Without that, sex was boring. She could make herself come with a few porn books cadged from old lovers faster than the lovers themselves ever could. But tonight she didn’t want that either.
She realized she’d been sitting in front of her computer for a good ten minutes, now, staring at her screensaver and the plastic “monitor lizard” on top of the screen’s case. She kept the lizard, a gift from an old secretary, not for the stupid pun but because it looked like a Komodo dragon. It made her think of teeth and strong jaws and tenacious, never-ending attack. She’d never shared the private joke with anyone. But then she didn’t like to share anything she didn’t have to, usually.
Finally she connected to the internet. Might as well go out, prowl around, see what was happening. Lurk, maybe even talk to somebody. It had quickly become a good way to pass any evening when her brain was too fried for her to get anything useful done. The past couple of weeks she’d been logged onto the Internet more than she had in the entire year previous. Before, she’d used it for business email or to shop. Then Carrie had told her about the chats.
Carrie’s art was odd, to say the least. Her paintings were very Pre-Raphaelite looking, all lovely, doomed maidens or predatory snake women, the men poor seduced knights or wicked kings. Ellen had bought two of her larger canvases, a Salome kissing John the Baptist’s hideous, bloody head and an already drowned and rather green-looking Ophelia. Carrie had a flair for taking the old themes one step farther, and her paintings, with their elegant depictions of hideous subjects, appealed to Ellen’s taste for contrasts. When Carrie delivered them Ellen invited her to stay. A bottle of wine later, Ellen was as relaxed as she ever was, no reason to be reserved or careful, and Carrie was beyond relaxed and into giggly.
Carrie had just finished helping Ellen hang the canvases, the Salome in the living room and the Ophelia replacing a Klimt print here over her computer.
“There, perfect. See what I mean? I didn’t want to insist that you look at her while you worked but next to the window like that--”
Ellen nodded. “No, you’re right. I’m not sure why I like her so much but I do. Here’s the check. You should charge more, Carrie, I know how hard you work on these. You’ll get eaten alive at these prices.”
Carrie smiled and shook her head. “I make enough to keep me in paint and loft space. Hey, cute little lizard...nice system. Top of the line...you go out on the net much?”
Ellen shook her head, her eyes not really leaving Ophelia’s swollen, wet face. “No, just when I have to. I’m not into that whole “wired” thing. It’s just a tool for me, not a lifestyle.”
Carrie laughed. “Oh, I thought so too...but hey...here, you’ll get a giggle out of this at least.” Carrie sat down at Ellen’s computer and began tapping keys. “This thing’s complete, bet it has...let’s see...yep, that’ll work.” From the file manager Carrie ran a file and then deftly added an icon to Ellen’s Net Tools menu. “There, now you’ve got IRC ready to run...”
Ellen sighed. She really didn’t think she was interested in this, but she was drunk enough to be interested in just about anything. “What’s IRC?”
Carrie was still clicking. “Internet Relay Chat. A bunch of very low-tech chat rooms. Not pretty like the graphical ones, I have fun there creating things, but here you can see some of the damnedest stuff....” Carrie grinned at her wickedly and asked, “What nickname do you want, Ellen? Salome? Sally? Nah, we want to lurk, better pick something that won’t attract any interest. How about...” Carrie looked up, then typed “Ophy” in the little nickname box, and with a couple of keystrokes changed the email address to a fake. Then she hit the “connect” button. A little while later a full screen of dialogue scrolled past and a prompt appeared, asking which channel they wanted.
Ellen watched despite herself, picking up on this as quickly as she did everything else. “So now I’m logged on to some computer at Emory University, and it thinks my name is Ophy? Sounds like Mayberry. What’s a channel? What’s Funfactory? Newbies?”
Carrie grinned. “Places for geeks. A channel is like a room, each room has a topic and you open the channel if you want to talk with other people about it. Funfactory and Newbies are default channels, just general interest for people with nowhere else to go. We can do a channel list later...there are hundreds of them, but most of them only have one person in them, somebody waiting or just wanting their own topic to appear on the list. I, however, am wise in the ways of the net, and I know a couple of places...” Ellen rolled her eyes as Carrie typed “#savagelove” in the window and hit return. Another window appeared, with about eight names down the right hand side and a box for text on the left. “Ophy” was the last name on the list The other names were more provocative, Ellen noticed...”Sextoy”, “Danger”, “MasterC”. She couldn’t suppress a laugh as she saw some of the others, like “Hung4U” and “Hardenuff” Carrie smiled at her. “Get the idea”?
Ellen grinned back. “Yeah, but why bother? You’ve got a bunch of idiots you don’t know who probably are all virgins anyway or too ugly to get laid...”
Carrie laughed. “Yeah, probably, or maybe they’re artists who are getting inspiration for their work. Or lawyers who are too busy for a real relationship...”
Ellen laughed. She knew what Carrie thought of her life and liked it that way. It kept the real Ellen invisible. “Yeah, maybe. Okay, so here we are with the geekiest nickname in the channel, what now?”
Carrie watched the screen. “Well, maybe nothing, or...wait a minute. Here we go...” Ellen saw a new name appear, “DonJuan.” Immediately dialogue appeared in the box.
*Sextoy trembles as Don Juan appears, hoping against hope that he will notice her.
Ellen giggled. “Pretty dramatic...” Carrie laughed. “Yeah, she’s like that.”
A moment later Don Juan responded.
<Don Juan> Ah, my little toy, what games shall we play tonight?
By the time three more lines of text had appeared Ellen and Carrie were laughing uncontrollably. Carrie showed Ellen a few more channels before she toddled off woozily to get a taxi. Ellen found the whole game much more fun than she’d expected. Something about lurking under another name, able to watch without participating, and knowing that if she did participate it wouldn’t be her at all, was very comfortable. It felt bubbly, light, like a child’s game of let’s-pretend.
Since that night Ellen had come online almost every night for at least a little while. Once or twice she’d said something to someone, nothing more challenging than hello. Twice someone had sent her a private chat message, made a little small talk and disconnected. Usually she browsed the channels, often the more sexual ones, and watched. She had even found herself aroused at the action on the channel once or twice, but juices started flowing and parts started squishing the actors disappeared into private conversation.
Tonight, though...Ellen had toyed with the idea of changing her nickname. The geeky, androgynous Ophy was good for lurking but she was interested in what would happen if people thought she was female...and attractive. She hesitated, almost unwilling to take that step. It would mean participating. Talking to someone. They would probably be just as annoying as people in real life. Although she could just log off, leave, change her nickname. Still, she’d be making contact --But not as myself-- she thought. --Ophelia will talk to them. Not me.-- She looked down and saw she’d altered the ending of the nickname without even thinking. She shrugged, sipped her Evian and hit “connect.”
Within thirty seconds of joining #bondage her computer beeped. “Goodtime” was paging her. She opened the window and typed.
<Ophelia> Hello.
<Goodtime> Sex? Measurements? Age?
She laughed out loud. Just as pathetic as she’d expected.
<Ophelia>Yes, the metric system, and I’m trying to find a way reverse it.
She clicked the box closed and ignored his next page. The next six pages were all pretty much the same. One or two of the guys were more polite, but when the conversation went beyond “Where do you live? What do you do?” they were stumped. The ones who commanded her to join them were a little more amusing, but no more attractive. She found herself reassured by how little it affected her to have INCHARGE tell her he would give her five minutes to prove herself.
“I can do it in ten seconds...just like this....” she answered, and closed his box. She grinned at the screen and spoke out loud. “That felt great.” She considered changing her nickname, making it something powerful, dangerous, Whtshark maybe, or Ballbreaker, but then she wouldn’t get the pages. Or even worse, she probably would. No, Ophelia would do for tonight.
In another ten minutes, though, she was tired of being beeped at. This place was like an uptown singles bar on Saturday night. She had called up a channel list two days ago and tagged all the interesting ones and the weird ones. Now she scanned a few, seeing how many people were in each. This one was too crowded...too stupid...only one person....the fifth one she tried had only three people in it. #Thanatosex. Sounded interesting. The name tickled at the back of her mind. There wasn’t much of an extended topic line for it, it just said “sadomasochistic”. Well, easy in, easy out, she thought, and closed #Bondage, then clicked on #Thanatosex.
Someone named Tepes was having a conversation with a girl named juli. The other person on channel, Azrael, wasn’t saying anything at all. She didn’t get any private requests to chat, no one greeted her on-channel, and Ophelia settled down to watch.
*Tepes brings juli a glass of slivovitz
*juli accepts the plum brandy and drinks gratefully...
<juli> thank you, Vlad.
*Tepes smiles slowly.
<Tepes> You recognize me, then.
*juli laughs and looks at the long, sharp pole in Tepes’ hand...
<juli> Yes. It was pretty obvious.
*Tepes gestures to the forest of impaled bodies around him.
*Juli sinks slowly to her knees helplessly.
<Tepes> And is that what you seek here, juli? To join my other victims?
*juli shivers...she whispers...
<juli> Why else would anyone come here, Voivode?
Ellen found herself shivering a little herself. She’d recognized the word Tepes, “impaler”, almost immediately, from the books she’d read when she was a teenager. Her memories of those early sexual awakenings came unwillingly. She’d not thought of that time in so long. Back then, when she was eleven or twelve, reading about the real Vlad Dracula, Voivode of Wallachia, had produced such vivid fantasies in her, fantasies that she’d never thought anyone would share.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. Thanatosex...thanatos was Greek. For death. Her mouth went dry all at once, her muscles in her shoulders tightening. Her finger hovered over the mouse button. She wanted to disconnect, get back to her papers. She didn’t belong here. She couldn’t believe there was a here. That people actually thought about...that juli would let herself be...she watched a little more. It seemed that the very courtly Vlad was indeed going to impale the very willing juli. And that he was going to do a lot more, with her able assistance. In only a few moments he had his cock embedded deep in juli’s throat and was describing to her in loving detail exactly what would happen to her body when the stake worked its way through it. He was doing a very nice job of it, too. juli didn’t have to say much except “mmmf.” Not that she could. Ellen shook her head. This was everything she’d worked to avoid, being prey and not predator, victim and not victor, this was...
This was arousing. And it was fantasy. Her eyes widened a little and she felt her lips curve up. Her heart was still pounding but her tension was easing, her body relaxing. She was suddenly very aware of the feel of satin on her breasts, on her legs,, of the night breeze from the open window on her face. She took a deep breath and took her finger away from the mouse button. She suddenly felt the curtains had been pulled back from a window to reveal a panoramic vista a hundred stories below. She could see the possibilities here...her buried secrets released to lead lives of their own, no longer having any power to worry at her, make her afraid that they’d bring her down someday. They’d be here, in this tan box, and behind this glass screen, unable to get out. -My fantasies don’t have to be even powerful here-- she thought to herself with a growing sense of freedom --I don’t even have to live it here, I can just watch as they-- Her computer beeped and broke the thought.
Looking down at the bottom of her screen, she saw that she had a private page. From Azrael. She really only hesitated for a moment. Then she smiled. --Let Ophelia have what she wants.-- And she opened the box.
Before she could type, Azrael’s words appeared on the screen.
<Azrael> I do hope I’m not intruding, Lady Ophelia...
Ellen’s eyes flicked up to the picture above her head, to the once-lovely girl dragged down by her own madness and the schemes of others just as her dress was dragged down by the water. She saw the dead pale face beneath the water and thought herself that lovely, blond girl. She laughed to herself.
<Ophelia> Not at all...just wringing the water from my gown.
*Azrael laughs.
<Azrael> Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia...would you like a towel?
<Ophelia> Yes, please...and do you happen to have any rue?
*Azrael checks.
<Azrael> Not on me at the moment, I’m afraid. I forgot it.
Ellen remembered what Carrie showed her, how to type actions so they appeared as his laugh had.
*Ophelia checks her pockets and gives something to Azrael.
<Ophelia> Here’s some rosemary. That’ll help you to remember my rue, next time.
<Azrael> Why thank you my dear...although you may rue that...
Ellen found herself picturing him, a computer geek, perhaps, at some college someplace, in front of his computer in his dorm room perhaps, playing a role just as she was. Or was he older, maybe...what difference did it make.
*Ophelia snorts water out her nose as she laughs
<Azrael> How...charming. What brings you here, fair Ophelia...oh, look at Tepes and juli...
Ellen checked the other window. juli and Tepes, perhaps because the Channel was so empty, had stayed there to play out their scene. juli was doing a very nice job of gasping and moaning as she slid slowly down the wooden shaft of Tepes’ stake, now apparently planted upright in the ground. And what he was doing to her in the meantime, with his knife, with his teeth...Ellen shuddered a little, half sorry she’d missed the intervening action, half glad.
<Ophelia> Oh. Now that’s *got* to hurt.
*Azrael turns to Ophelia, his eyes very bright
<Azrael> Is that a complaint, fair Ophelia? And is it because he did that to her...or because he didn’t do it to you...
Ellen continued reading the unfolding story of juli’s death before her. She shook her head, unable to look away, unable to answer, unable to leave. To have come from her day, today, as Ellen, and now to watch a woman be murdered...and enjoy it...and to realize that she was putting herself in juli’s place...her finger hovered over the disconnect. No, too much. Can’t take this. Her other window beeped and she stopped to look at it.
<Azrael> Ophelia. Come away, *now*, Ophelia. Close #Thanatosex. *Right now*.
Ellen clicked the main channel box closed almost automatically. Her heart was racing but her thoughts were utterly stilled by what she’d seen. By what she’d felt.
<Azrael> Now. Good. I saw you go. I’ve left too. I’m going to make a private channel for us, no stakes, no mad impalers or bouncy little victims. Okay?
Ellen paused for a breath.
<Ophelia> Will there be towels?
<Azrael> Lots of them.
<Ophelia> Will there be chainsaws?
<Azrael> Not a one. When you get the invitation, join the channel it tells you to.
-DCC Chat Closed.
She realized that he’d gone. She’d never seen that little message appear before....she’d always closed the chat window first. Numbly she waited until her screen pinged again. Then she followed his instructions and typed /join #Dis.
<Azrael> Hello there. Have a towel. Have six. Don’t drip on the rug.
*Ophelia drops the towels, sits on them and wraps the rug around her.
*Azrael looks at Ophelia sternly.
<Azrael> Perhaps you do belong in a nunnery.
<Ophelia> Mmm...maybe....what’s Dis?
<Azrael> A place for you to rest.
*Azrael smiles slightly.
*Ophelia looks at him archly.
<Ophelia> Private joke, huh? Well fine, I’ll just take my wet daisies and my eleven herbs and spices and just go...
*Azrael leans down over her, his long dark hair falling to brush her cheeks. He kisses her wet lips, softly.
Ellen, sitting in a perfectly warm room, shivered. She could almost feel his touch. Still upset, eyes a bit damp from what she’d witnessed, she let herself accept the comfort of his touch, let herself be there, in a warm room, with him.
<Azrael> Now, my dear, allow me to apologize for assuming you were ready to witness that little scene back there.
Ellen blinked at the screen.
<Ophelia> What gave you the impression that I wasn’t, I didn’t...
Before she could type the next line his words appeared.
<Azrael> That sort of thing is not for one such as you.
*Azrael strokes Ophelia’s soft hair.
<Azrael> You’re made for finer things, aren’t you?
She paused, breathless, not sure how to respond. Then she let the tremors take her, let herself be breathless, let herself be Ophelia.
<Ophelia> Am I? I’ve never known what I was for, Azrael...
She hit “enter” just as his words came.
<Azrael> I know. Because you told me.
She stared at his statement for an instant, wondering how he replied to what she’d said before she’d written it.
<Azrael> In your hesitation as you watched.
Shaking her head and laughing a little she realized that he’d been responding to her question about his knowing her discomfort earlier. The lag had made him look prescient.
<Ophelia> Oh. You’re very perceptive then...
<Azrael> Only when there’s something to perceive, Ophelia. I get the feeling you’re very expressive. Very...open.
Ellen laughed. But Ophelia answered.
<Ophelia> I’ve never been so...not yet.
<Azrael> Of course not, dear one...you haven’t been opened properly. Remember those finer things I told you about? Shall I show you?
*Azrael draws Ophelia up off the towels and towards a black glass table, his eyes very bright.
*Ophelia goes with him, willingly
*Azrael strokes her cheek, and then picks something up off the glossy black surface.
*Ophelia looks at it quizzically and sees....
*Azrael holds up a golden-hilted knife.
This time Ellen didn’t hesitate. She wasn’t there anymore. Only Ophelia.
The next morning Ellen woke up late. What Azrael had done had surpassed even her wildest fantasies, and after he’d used that knife on her she’d become “ZombieOphelia” and they’d flirted for another hour. She’d even given him one of her “safe” email addresses and gotten his, something she’d never done before. But now she had to pay for it.
She’d meant to be in around 6:30, get a start on preparing a rough draft on the Lindon case. Fredricks wanted that and thought he’d get it, but if she could get something on Barry’s desk first she could snatch it right out from under him. But it was 6:30 when she woke up, instead, and she had just enough time to smooth over the signs of her late night, making herself look perfect as usual, before she had to dash. She paused for a second by the door, looking at her other picture, her Salome. She was a cool and glossy Salome, white and perfect, almost surreal in her perfection in contrast to the blood-covered, grizzled, tortured-looking head whose mouth she bit with her own. Ellen’s gaze was drawn to her office for an instant, just long enough to catch a glimpse of green, before she grabbed her case and left.
Ellen never did understand why so many women, and men too, complained about the subway. She’d never had any problems with crazies or the predators who shared the tunnels and the cars with her. She’d told her friend Paula, who’d been mugged twice, that it had everything to do with attitude. “They hit you because they know you’re a target, Paula. You walk like one, you talk like one.. It’s just that way in this City. Maybe you should move somewhere else, out in Connecticut, or someplace.” Paula had been furious, had yelled at her about “blaming the victim.” But that was the whole point to Ellen. If you called yourself a victim then you deserved what you got.
Ellen’s trip was as nearly as uneventful as usual, despite the fact that the car at this hour was packed with people. She found a seat, she took it, she studiously avoided looking at anyone or anything for the duration of the trip while simultaneously managing to seem unconcerned about the whole process. She found herself oddly aware of being watched, though. She didn’t look around to see who the watcher might be, and she shook the sensation off. After last night, after picturing Azrael’s gaze on her, his intent gaze...Jesus, she didn’t even know what color his eyes were. Still, she had a right to be a little bit off, this morning. It would pass.
Her office was empty, her secretary, Tammy, someplace else when Ellen finally got in at 8:30. She got right to work on Lindon and had something knocked off by 11. She walked it over to Barry’s office herself. Susan, Barry’s secretary, was sitting guard duty as usual.
Ellen smiled sweetly. “Hey Susan, Barry in?” Susan looked up, annoyed. “I didn’t hear from Tammy, Ellen, that you were coming over. Did I miss the call, perhaps?”
Ellen widened her eyes and let her smile drop. Susan hadn’t talked to her like that since Ellen’s early days with the firm. The last time she treated Ellen like some stuck-in-the-law-library associate, Ellen had dropped a few secrets about another partner in Barry’s ear, just to help him out of course, and then gently suggested that maybe Barry’s career would be better served if Susan was told whom she should treat with respect.
Apparently Susan had a faulty memory this morning. “Is Barry in, Susan, or aren’t you sure? Shall I check?”
Susan smiled tightly. “Why don’t you do that, Ellen. Go right ahead.”
Ellen didn’t bother smiling back. Susan wasn’t worth bothering with really, one way or the other. She walked to Barry’s door and opened it a couple of inches, then knocked lightly. “Barry, it’s Ellen...got a minute?”
She heard his sigh, first. “Sure Ellen, come on in, I can give you a few seconds before I have to leave for lunch.”
She walked to him and put the Lindon work in front of him, without comment. He opened the folder and glanced at it. He hadn’t looked at her yet. When he looked up, a moment or two later, she thought she saw a flicker of something, contempt? Disgust? She dismissed it as annoyance. Apparently she’d picked a bad time to drop in. She’d presumed too much on her past successes. And she should have gotten up earlier. Then his face shifted, and he smiled at her, his eyes blank. “Interesting work, Ellen. Thank you. I’ll pass it on to Fredricks for you.”
She looked at him blankly for a second before her instincts took over. “Thank you, Barry, I thought you might want to glance at it first.” She tried to keep from clenching her fists. --That wasn’t decided yet, dammit, and last week he hinted that I might get the case-- She knew better than to show anything but approval, though. She wasn’t sure what had gone wrong but something had. And there wasn’t anything to do but find out what. Later. She couldn’t do anything right now. She pasted a smile on her face. “So, how’d the golf game go yesterday?”
He smirked, clearly knowing how much the chitchat cost her. “Pretty good, I’d tell you about it but I know you don’t play.”
She gave up trying to save face as a bad bet right now. “Well, have a great lunch. I’ll see you at the staff meeting, then?” He nodded, his smile even wider. She started out, back ramrod straight.
When she reached the door his voice stopped her. “Ellen, you know, just a friendly word of advice. You really need to learn to be a team player. That’s a tough lesson for the ladies, I know, but it’s what a company like ours is all about.” She couldn’t avoid turning to look at him in shock for an instant. He smiled. “Don’t take it personally, Ellen, I think you’re a dynamite lady. You just need to learn the rules, that’s all.” She nodded blankly and walked back to her desk without seeing anything in her path.
She had no idea what the hell that had been about, had been completely blindsided. By two she’d convinced herself that Fredricks had outmaneuvered her, somehow. He’d gotten there first. She’d hated being blindsided like that, but it wasn’t the worst thing that ever had happened to her. It was a cost of doing business. He had gotten his licks in a little faster, that was all, and the way Barry expressed it didn’t mean a damned thing. She was a woman, she expected shit like that, although it had been a damned long time…she took her jacket off; it was too hot in here, the air must be broken. She’d be back at the front of the pack soon enough. She needed to concentrate, do a great job on Surandesh, keep her eyes and ears open, find out what the office was saying about Fredricks. She had time and patience and she just had to push a little harder.
And ignore the fact that her hands were shaking.
That night she’d rushed her dinner standing at the fridge and headed straight to her computer. When she’d logged on she’d done a /whois and found that Azrael wasn’t online. It shocked her how upset she was, and when she’d tried to have a talk with someone else in #Thanatosex she found it an annoying and grimy-seeming experience. Just before she went to bed, though, her email played its cheery little music and she found to her pleasure that it was from Azrael_Archangelicus@yahoo.com.
My dear damp darling,
My apologies, but I was looking for a few more flowers for you, or at the very least a life vest, and the time got away from me. Rest assured, next time you will not get away from me. I’ve been considering, that dress is so very soaked we’ll have to cut it off of you, and I’m afraid I’m rather too impatient to be careful about that porcelain skin…
Do be ready for me tomorrow night, my love. I plan to taste more than just your damp skin. And as for later, well, I know Vlad’s methods are rather extreme, but perhaps a smaller stake?
I’ll have a fire lit. Don’t bother bringing wine, I have in mind a finer vintage. Perhaps your blood will taste faintly of rosemary…
-A
She spent longer with her fantasies and her vibrator that night than she ever had, and ended with the sheets tangled, her gown strap torn, and falling into an utterly exhausted sleep.
The next day she was cleaning mud off her skirt splashed there by some jerk in a Beemer and cursing when Jerry Walston, another partner who’d joined the firm about the same time as she did, came into her office and closed her door. She looked up for a second and then back down. “Hey, Jerry.” Jerry wasn’t a threat, not really. His work was solid, dependable. He was determined enough, but unimaginative. And while he was ambitious, he never really could keep track of the other players. He’d make enough for the house in the country and the townhouse but he’d never be anything more, and he’d never know why.. Ellen could afford to be cool with him. She could also afford to be nice to him when it suited her. Now wasn’t one of those times.
He didn’t wait for her to look up again. He moved around her desk and put one hand on her arm. “Ellen, hey, long time no see.” She looked up. His eyes were warm, kindly. She looked at his hand. He didn’t take the hint. She moved her chair back, and he smiled gently, pulling his hands up and away as if he were reassuring a wild animal that he wouldn’t hit it. He moved to the side, to the couch she kept for client meetings, and sat down on the arm of it, as far back in the room as she was.
She turned to fix a steady eye on him. She didn’t say anything to him and she thought her expression was cool, unreadable, but he looked at her chidingly, like she’d bitten his head off. “Okay, Ellen, okay, don’t get so upset, I just wanted to tell you I’m here for you.” When she spoke she realized her voice was pitched too high and she brought it down a notch. She sure as shit wouldn’t want to look like she was overreacting. “What can I do for you, Jerry?”
Jerry smiled. No, he smirked. “Whatever you used to do for Barry will do just fine.” He laughed. She didn’t say anything at all. It wasn’t the first comment like that she’d heard. She hadn’t heard it in years, but she wasn’t unfamiliar with the game. Ruffle her by making her think they were gossiping about her. Drive her into protesting, into crying to Barry or to another senior partner. Then she’d look hysterical She just stared at him. “Sorry, but I bet….” he shifted his foot slightly... “I’ll bet you could use a friend or two, about now.”
She looked at him quizzically. “About now? About when, Jerry?”
He shook his head. “Oh come on, Ellen. Susan told everyone about how Barry finally got tired of your...friendship, about how it backfired on you. Don’t get mad, I don’t blame you. If I had tits I’d put ‘em in old Barry’s face myself. It worked for a while, but I thought now you might welcome a friendly face since you can’t use what you’ve got on him anymore.”
She didn’t scream. She just stared at him as if he were a rat trapped in her wastebasket and told him, coldly, to leave.. She counted that a victory. Although he was still smiling when he closed the door.
After she’d heard the same thing twice more that day, once by eavesdropping on a very senior partner, she didn’t feeling like she was winning anymore.
She reached home very late indeed. She’d stayed until almost everyone had gone home; she didn’t want to be seen as running away. Try as she might she hadn’t been able to find out where the rumor started. Susan just didn’t carry that kind of weight, and Barry didn’t gain anything out of the tale. Fredricks was a candidate, but no matter who it was she couldn’t understand how anyone would give it any credence at all. Everyone in the office knew what she was like, knew how professional she was, how she’d never, ever shit where she eat. She walked down to the street and tried to catch a taxi for a change but for some damned reason she couldn’t find one that would stop for her. And she had to walk to another subway stop after some very tall, very weird, very smelly guy came too close to her, much too close, and wouldn’t back off, even when she pulled out her mace. He was babbling something to himself, and when she reached the next stop he wasn’t following her anymore. She told herself none of this was personal, it could have happened to anyone. But it hadn’t. It had happened to her. All she wanted, all she needed, was a bath.
And her computer.
Ellen looked at her carefully-decorated room, trying very hard to see it, really see it...and then she realized suddenly that she didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be there, wherever that was, with him, whoever he was. Not the real-life him, she didn’t even know his name. But Azrael, Azrael who would love her and hurt her and pleasure her and make her die for him. Azrael who made her fourteen again, lying on her bed and rubbing her own clit, her newly erectile nipples, as she dreamed of Vlad Tepes or Gilles de Rais, of vampires and werewolves and motorcycle gangs. She felt so vulnerable, changing, slight and helpless, and she dreamed of men with bodies hard in contrast to her brand new softness.
Men who didn’t ever spend nights clutching a pillow to their chests because their breasts hurt too badly to allow sleep. Men who didn’t bleed like she did, who couldn’t have a child planted deep inside their own bodies to drain them and rip them open when they came out. Men who grew up knowing that they made the decisions and how to make them, men who could take all those hard decisions away from her. Men who would sink into her body and mind like teeth into flesh, embedding their cocks and their weapons and their thoughts deep within her, claiming her as territory, possession. Prey. Men who would take her, who would show her what she was for, that she was different from them and desirable for that difference, desirable most for how disposable she was, that they could use her and use her up at last, leaving no trace behind...
She put one hand to her mouth to stifle her own moans. Her feelings were back, they weren’t trapped in this box, they were here in her own room, with her, they were bigger, they were going to tear her apart...
She heard a beep. Azrael was pinging her, trying to get her to look at the screen.
<Azrael> Ophelia.
<Azrael> Ophelia. I know you’re there, I can see you’re still online....
<Azrael> *Ophelia* come back to me right now!
Shakily she reached for the mouse to click off. But instead she typed a reply. She couldn’t leave him, leave this. He was her anchor here, her strength. If she hung up on him she’d slump to the floor, her life, her soul, still trapped here. She needed.....him.
<Ophelia> I’m here.
<Azrael> Listen to me. You’re upset, aren’t you, you aren’t like this in the real world and you’re scared. You’re afraid.
She started to deny it but they’d passed that gate a long ways back.
<Ophelia> yes.
<Azrael> Listen to me. Picture me in front of you, look at me and listen to me.
<Ophelia> yes.
<Azrael> It’s just a game, Ophelia. It’s just part of us. It’s just here and just now and it’s not anywhere else or anything else, understand?
<Ophelia> But...but how can I feel this, here, and not...not...
<Azrael> Not want this for real? Because you’re not Ophelia. You’re whoever you are, you want other things, a life. You’re strong, I’ve always been able to sense that, very strong, aren’t you? Most people don’t know there’s an Ophelia in there, do they...
<Ophelia> No.
<Azrael> And they never have to. Ophelia is lovely, at least this one is. You chose your name well, you know. “Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, She turns to favour and to prettiness.” You do that. Quite well.
<Ophelia> But she does that because she’s mad.
<Azrael> And Azrael kills because he must. But you tell me, *you*, not Ophelia, how you’d treat a Hamlet. Hmm? What would you do if he killed your Father, fair whoever-you-are? Would that be more Shakespeare...or...
<Ophelia> More Schwartznegger, I think. Or maybe...have you ever seen “The Princess Bride...”
<Azrael> My name is Inygo Montoya...
<Ophelia> You killed my father, prepare to die.
Ellen smiled through tears, gazing at the screen. But then she thought of where she was, that she wasn’t with him, laughing with him. She was here, alone. No one loved her here. No one ever would. She didn’t want to be Ellen, or Inygo Montoya. She wanted to be his Ophelia. Forever.
<Azrael> Ophelia? Or whoever you are?
<Ophelia> No. Ophelia. I belong here, Azrael, “like a creature native and indued unto that element...” I can’t tell you how hard this is, I can’t do this, can’t break free....
<Azrael> Yes, *you* can. She stays *here*. With *me*. And you, whoever you are, go on with your life. Understand?
<Ophelia> I understand...but it’s not working, not anymore...
<Azrael> It will. It will work and you will believe me. Ophelia. Do you think I really kill women? Do you think I get up from here and go out to look for an Ophelia in real life?
<Ophelia>...No. I don’t think that of you.
<Azrael> No. And that’s because I know, that’s just *fantasy*. I keep that here. You’ll do the same. Ophelia. Believe me.
<Ophelia> I wish I...could...
<Azrael> Shit. Hang on...
*Azrael is now known as Alan
<Alan> Ophelia. Type /nick “whatever your real name is”. Without the quotes. Will you do that for me? You don’t have to, I’m asking, not telling.
*Ophelia is now known as Ellen
<Alan> Hello, my dear Ellen. Now. Listen to me. When I changed from Azrael to Alan I left *him* in *here*. Now I’m a software designer and Blake scholar with a pot belly and a smoking habit. You?
Ellen laughed.
<Ellen> I’m a dark-haired vicious bitch from hell attorney who looks a lot like a ferret. Or a weasel. The jury’s out on that one.
*Alan smiles.
<Alan> I’m glad to meet you, Ellen. But forgive me for saying so, I don’t think we’d like one another.
<Ellen> LOL. No, I think you’re right.
<Alan> And would you want to die for me? For the real me? The real Ellen?
<Ellen> Not unless you can resurrect me in real life the way you do on IRC. No. I take that back. Not even then.
As she typed it she realized it was the truth. She didn’t want that. Not now, not ever. She wanted the stillness that dying for Azrael produced in her, she wanted that haven. It was insane that it felt like a haven, like safety, but it did. And she did want that. But she wanted her life, too. All the things she’d won for herself. Everything she was. She could have that...and this. She could have them both. As long as she wanted.
Unless. Unless what the hell was happening in her life came from deep within her. She could barely let herself consider it. Unless everything going on in her everyday life related to this, the way sharks were drawn by blood in the water.
It didn’t make any sense at all.
It had no place in the real world.
It would not leave her mind…and yet she could not stop.
She sighed, got control of herself and typed a thank you to Alan.
<Alan> Excellent. I do hope that Ophelia still plans on bringing me water weeds occasionally...
*Ellen frowns.
<Ellen> Only if by occasionally you mean every night I’ve got free.
*Alan is now known as Azrael
<Azrael> Then I’ll say goodbye forever to Ellen. And goodbye until Wednesday to Ophelia.
*Ellen is now known as Ophelia
<Ophelia> Until then, Azrael. And thank Alan for me. Pat him on his little pot belly and tell him I said hi.
<Azrael> Will do, my dear. Now, sleep.
*Azrael has left IRC
The next morning Ellen got up very early and forced herself into the office. Things were certainly no better there. She’d actually lost ground with people she truly counted on, and the boys in the office had started treating her like one of the girls. She had seemed for some reason as well to be less effective with her opponents at other firms. They weren’t taking her seriously. She guessed the ugly rumor was spreading, although she couldn’t chalk it all up to that one thing. Still, she knew who she was, she knew what she was, and she would, in time, show them again, too. She skipped lunch, worked late, and felt a little better. Every time she started to feel weak she’d go in her head to Azrael’s arms and feel his strength supporting her. It comforted her, let her make it through. All the way through. Swimming around here she was bound to get nibbled. But she wasn’t a little fish with sharp teeth, she was a big fish with huge teeth.. And sharks didn’t get nibbled to death. She tried to avoid the nagging thought that she’d lost her place, that she’d been nudged aside by a still bigger fish. --Or that I’ve misjudged my species completely-- she fought that thought off. By eight o’clock she’d at least put the idea in their heads that she wasn’t about to run crying, she wasn’t going to go away, and she wasn’t going to stop. When she heard Fredrick’s voice in the hall, leaving, she sighed and called it a night herself. She knew Azrael wouldn’t be around tonight...just home, and bed. She was so tired that she thought she’d collapse when her head hit the pillow.
She made it home in one piece one more time, nothing odd this time. It went almost preternaturally smoothly, her trains arriving as she stepped onto the platform, lights changing as she walked up to them. A bag lady who’d been screeching at passerby stopped to smile sweetly at her. She was feeling her stride again, she told herself, moving with the current. She could feel it. This City, this time, was a part of her, carrying her along. She’d found her place in the food chain and she’d keep it. She let herself in and threw her case down by the door. She’d brought it home so it would look like she was working but she wouldn’t, not tonight. Her computer was on, as always, and she moved to it almost automatically. She could log on, just for a second, see if anything interesting was going on. She really wanted to learn how to record her time with Azrael so she could reread it when he wasn’t around. Like tonight. No Azrael on IRC. She sighed. She certainly didn’t want anyone else.
Restlessly she got herself a sparkling water, then a book. She turned the cd player on, then tried the television instead. She felt...she felt hollow, empty. As if she’d been opened and filled and then emptied again. She hated the feeling. She clenched her teeth. --Stay in the damned box, Ophelia. Stay in your stupid stream. Sharks don’t drown.-- She tried to comfort herself with Alan’s words. After all, he’d done this for a long time it seemed, kept this separate from his real life, left it when he left his computer. She’d damned well learn to do it too. It might be easier for him, more natural, just as so many of the things she’d learned to do seemed more natural for...for men. But she’d do it as she’d done everything else she’d wanted to do. Everything. Everything Ellen wanted, not everything Ophelia wanted.
At last she gave in and took a half of a valium, something she hadn’t done since her mother had died a year ago. It smoothed out the edges, made things look a little better, a little more bearable. She’d get through the next day. And the next. And she’d do just fine. She took her water to the bedroom with her and she didn’t even glance up at Ophelia. Not even once.
She was dreaming that Azrael was telling her to set something down. She watched him as he showed her what to do, the knife in his hand gleaming as he laid it on the table next to him. “See? Pick it up...” He did. “Put it down...” He did. “Pick it up...” The dim light gleamed on the lovely blade in his strong, hard hand. “Put it down.” His hand still looked hard, capable, even when empty of the knife. “It’s as easy as that.” She nodded, tried to imitate him, to lay down whatever it was she was holding in her hand. To let it go. She couldn’t see it, see what it was. And she couldn’t let go of it, either. It was attached. It was part of her. She couldn’t let it go. She heard his sigh. “All right. I’ll help.” She watched him pick his knife back up again. “You wait, I'll take it from you...” He grasped her hand, her arm, and put the blade to it. Hard. She realized that he would cut it, whatever it was, off of her, out of her. She wondered fuzzily how deeply it was attached. “And then afterwards... I'll set it down.”
When she finally swam up from sleep, the weight on her body holding her to the bed really didn’t come as much of a surprise, at first. She was lost in her dream, and it only seemed natural. Nor was she startled by the fact that the very real knife against her arm had cut her gown open and was now tracing a razor line down her chest. She tried to summon her strength as the man on top of her bent down over her and hissed at her with reeking breath something unintelligible, something about she was a bitch and that he was going to get her but good. She came to full consciousness in the middle of a very real nightmare. She felt like she was still thrashing through a dream, she was as powerless, as helpless. She tried to tell herself she was a shark, a fucking shark, and sharks didn’t drown. But she knew they did. They did if they stopped swimming fast enough. She couldn’t come up with a way out of this, he was too strong, he’d gotten through the security system on the apartment and he had the knife, he had the power, he sprayed spit on her cheeks as he savaged her with his words and then began to touch her. She wondered idly as she went under, as she gave in miserably to the terror and the first bloom of pain, if the bottom of a stream was really that bad a place to be.
But she wasn’t surprised to find that it was. It really was.