The Sins of the Father

Whats Done in the Dark

An unknown car pulls up to a fairly lit area on the side of a darken road. The woman that had garnered his attention, sashayed down the street. Her blue mini dress flicked across her hips with each seductive, oblivious stride she took.

Her quick movements jerk to a clumsy stop. A tingle travels down her spine as she couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching her. The squeaking sound of a window rolling down, seems to echo through her bloodstream as she looks from left to right, to locate the unnerving intruder. The night doesn't allow leave way for her acute vision, it only manages to suffocate it. Leaving only spurts of the outline of cars and vacant buildings.

Her vision lands on an old beat up mustang. A dark silhouette is highlighted by the flicker of a lighter then a small circular orange shape of what she makes out as a lit cigarette. Gathering closer, she bent her head down to investigate more of its interior when a deep voice spoke up.

"How much?"

The voice comes out too sure and dark. It makes her stomach ball up in knots. She falters backwards, almost tripping over the raise curb that seem to appear out of thin air.

"I said how much?" The dark figure asks again in irritation.

Her stomach clenches in nausea. She briefly lists the meals she ate earlier. Concluding, that lack of nutrition was to blame for her sudden upset stomach.

His aura stated otherwise.

She didn't really believe in s**t like that. Never really had to. Until now. His calm demeanor told the story of illegal activity being the norm. It was second nature for him. He was one with it. Breathing it in as if it were his oxygen.

For once in her life, she felt exposed. The dress she wore is now a little to short. A little to revealing. She keeps her hands at her side. Refusing to give into the feeling of being vulnerable. No matter how the feeling of unseen parasites crawled on her skin from his hooded gaze.

A voice sounds in her mind to decline the offer but her hand grazes the near to empty pockets at her side, making her rethink her decision.

She felt his eyes boring a hole into her breast and abdomen.

Ants.

The brief image of the tiny insect, reminded her of how she used a magnifying glass to direct the suns ray, ending their unsuspecting lives.

"Three Benjamin's," she stated matter-of-factually. The quicker he turned her down, the quicker she could get away from his creepy ass. She shivers with uneasiness at his quietness.

Ready to dismiss the transaction all together, she turns, not quick enough as a hand appeared, holding out three crisp bills of good old Ben. She makes to grab for the triplets, until the hand disappears back inside of the death contraption.

The bait worked.

"Get in." The words are a harsh and cold direct command.

She stepped off the curve, fingers lifting up the chilly door handle.

The first thing that hits her upon sitting down on the disgusting seats, are the smell. The cloth and atmosphere is penetrated by the stench of s*x.

Peppermint is the next smell that teased her nose hairs. The scent reminds her of how she would sneak a mint into her mouth, during the long, dry, uninteresting, three hour sermons at mass.

Looking around she noticed a few more "off" things. No radio, no rear-view mirror and no seat-belts. Why hadn't she got his license plate number and text it to her roommate? She Mentally begins kicking herself for her naivety.

The clicking of the locks and revving of the engine, alerts her to just how stupid she might have been.

She smacked at an unseen bug that landed on her neck. Rubs her perspiring hands on the aching sting. Drawing little comfort as the pain seems to morph into numbness.

"I like my women complacent. It makes them more," he pauses, as if thinking for the correct word to input, "flexible to meeting my needs."

"Oh, light bondage type man huh?" Why didn't she get the mans license plate? Its so hot in here. Why is it so hot? She reaches her hand up to rub a damp palm across her forehead. Heat radiated from within her body like a frantic pulse. Feeling feverish, she leaned her head on the window. The slight coolness eased some of the inferno she's experiencing.

The street lights became kaleidoscopic. The moving of the car accompanied by them, brings nausea to her stomach. Her numbing hands come up to grip around her waist, as pain begin shooting from one side to the other. Without warning her head pitched forward, a hand darts out, interfering, before her skull can hit the dashboard

"It will all be over soon."

Fear twists her mind in torment of what is to come. A soft hand caresses her face.

"Relax." The hand soothes, while encircling its members in her dirty blonde hair.

The sign of the cross flashes before her now drifting eyes.

How ironic. Darkness intruded upon her thoughts until consuming them within their welcoming cold fingertips.