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Subject: {ASSM} TxM6 Novel Chapters 1-4  Kidnap and Captivity of Laurie Fallon
Date: Thu, 21 Sep 2000 12:10:15 -0400
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As promised First Publication of TxM6 Chapters 1-4 

Comments appreciated. Sean Farragher 
seanfarragher@msn.com

Also From TxM6 Hyperfiction
http://www.txm6.com (updated 9/16/00)
http://www.txm6.com/enfer (updated 9/17/00)
http://www.txm6.com/lcfallon
http://www.farragher.com  (Poetry updated 9/20/00)

TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher.


Chapters 1-4 of Novel
TxM6: Genesis Murders 

Friday, April 10, 1992
TxM6 Chapter One:

Laurie Fallon raised the intelligent alarm. Her 
whole being bore down double sharp notes peeling 
glass with her shriek. Just like the movies 
Laurie thought afterwards, remembering how Peter 
Lorre's character had murdered Myrna Loy in the 
never finished 1933 movie "Taxi Murders 
Express." 

The director Josef Von Sternberg had stopped 
production when Myrna Loy stand-in stunt double 
was strangled on the movie set. No one was ever 
charged with the crime although some suspected 
Lorre. 

It was another Hollywood murder that left scars 
for fifty-nine years.


ABDUCTION: "The Struggle for Righteousness"

11:20 PM -- Friday, April 10, 1992

Outside the Gables Bar set almost on the curb 
the music inside blasted along River Road 
Edgewater, New Jersey almost to the Hudson River 
edge.  It was an old not too fancy but popular 
bar that featured live rock music and Wednesday 
through Saturday night female and once a month 
Friday night male strippers. It was a pick up 
joint and a place for lovers. 

Six foot tall, seven months pregnant, twenty-six 
year old Laurie Fallon dressed in a modest too 
large dress walked slowly from the bar to her 
car swinging the keys. A one time exotic dancer 
and barmaid at the Gables, she often returned to 
chat with the affable owner Lilly and several of 
the regulars. 

Laurie was sad that night. Having fought with 
her man Henry who was now out of town, she 
didn't want to return to their empty apartment. 
Not even the swagger of the male strippers 
lifted her spirits.

As she stood on the curb she looked back at the 
Gables as if she might return. Laurie hated 
being indecisive. Getting ready to cross to the 
other side, she waited for a lone truck to pass, 
and then stepped slowly between the parked cars 
to cross. 

Suddenly a strong young man wearing a black ski 
mask grabbed her from behind by her neck and 
mouth. 

Stalking her from the drab spaces between his 
van and the cab of a truck, he had missed her 
mouth with his gag. When she screamed, biting 
his fingers, he pulled back, almost frightened. 
Using that moment Laurie caught his face with 
her nails driving furrows from cheek to chest. 

His scream was pity by comparison to hers, but 
often those who are abused as children stammer 
when failure accompanies a crime. 

By her reaction Laurie captured the man's ski 
mask pulling it quickly over his head while 
suffering his kicks and shrieking curses. 
Falling down against the curb between the street 
and the parked cars, she scraped her knees and 
elbows, and her easy dress twisted by her legs, 
split wide, rode up exposing her neatly trimmed 
and shaved auburn pubic hair. 

Pushing the wool mask between her legs, Laurie 
hid it there. As the short but solid man beat 
and kicked her with his boot, she refused to 
release it. Turning her back to the man, 
twisting her body, leaning into the curb, 
protecting the child she carried from the blows, 
Laurie drove that fetid disguise deeply against 
her bare sex. 

As the earthquake continued inside, outside the 
man had stopped wondering what he could do next 
now that the gag and ether were discarded. 

In that second pause, Laurie reached for his 
balls. Holding them in her palm, she squeezed 
and in the next instant bent over, he caught her 
mouth square with his boot. On impact Laurie 
released him. 

Kicking her endlessly in the back, grit under 
her nails, the man's blood on her mouth, Laurie 
realized how much she wanted to live to save her 
child. At that turn in the battle, she submitted 
wondering why no one had helped her. 

Losing the fight, Laurie's belly seven months 
fat with child stopped her short of escape. She 
fell back short of victory breathless, sabotaged 
by a gentler instinct.     

Quickly, taping arms, legs, and mouth he 
gathered the almost unconscious woman into his 
dirty white van. Leaving quickly, the man later 
identified as one of the infamous  "Genesis 
Killers" did not notice that his ski mask had 
dropped from between Laurie's legs to the 
street. 


THE DIRTY WHITE VAN

Inside the van, bound and gagged, Laurie could 
not watch the neon lights of the Gables exotic 
dance club shimmer in yellow and blue slivers 
against the cloud of the river and New York 
City's skyline. 

Just before man pulled out into the traffic, a 
dazzled movie clouded her eyes: captured by 
rough tape, she refused to concede. 

Laurie did remember that she had screamed 
silently "No" as he shot her full of shit to 
make her ass collapse. He didn't hear, "don't 
hurt her." 

As ends are often not righteous, Laurie slept. 
Not dead, living in transition for the next ten 
months, Laurie suspended her life within an odd 
assortment of dreams and neurotic fixations 
conjured to keep her sane.

Later, when Laurie looked again at that two-
minute skirmish, she marveled at the failed 
strength she had struck into the earth. 

No meager Joan of Arc burned at the stake - 
Laurie Fallon would survive.



NEXT MORNING

At 0932, Edgewater police reported that an 
eyewitness had come forward, known only as Rose, 
to describe that crime outside the Gables the 
previous night. 

Without that account no one would have 
immediately known Laurie was missing.




TxM6 Chapter Two
Saturday, April 11, 1992, 18:03:41

Yesterday, Antonio Corvino abducted Laurie 
Catherine Fallon, seven months pregnant.

Abel Wrote:
"Nothing terrible was expected. No spring 
fireworks, sky jinx, portends in gray occurred. 
No signs-truly, but the deadly thrust of 
Laurie's hips full pregnant, lascivious mouth 
painted red against the concrete floor left my 
heart beating faster. My sister Lilith became 
very wet watching the girl's performance.

I could tell. When Lilith opens her mouth and 
spreads her legs when she observes, there is a 
slight tension in the air. You know that moment 
before lightning strikes. At the end before I 
got into the girl's face, her fists were pushing 
deep into her own belly, leaning over, watching 
pain carve its own demon in the black painted 
cement of the garage floor. 

I knew no matter how hard I tried to clean her 
stain off the floor, it would remain as part of 
the shout of pain made fact in the atoms of 
silica, magnesium, calcium, oxygen and hydrogen. 
No one would ever break the bonds. Blood stains 
leaked from the mouth as spittle are cruel that 
way."

Abel claims justification. He says she enticed 
had seduced him. How absurd. He says his 
stalking compares to the feeding frenzy of the 
white shark. Meanwhile, Lilith, at home, the 
dutiful housewife salivates imagining the tit 
and the blood spectacle when the woman was 
taken.

Later that night, at about 2 AM on the 11th of 
April Laurie dumped without ceremony on the 
hidden garage floor at 1090 River Road, 
Edgewater, NJ slithered out of the tarp that 
bound her inside. First her head appeared. Her 
arms reached out. Tied, her arms bound banged 
against several empty boxes thrown near the 
garbage can. As she moved, and Lilith and Abel 
observed, commenting on her inability to move 
well, Laurie freed her mouth from the gag and 
screamed again. 

Lilith calmly walked over to the frightened 
woman and kicked her full in the cunt with boot 
telling Laurie the next kick will hit the child.

Doubled up in pain, Laurie held back, shook 
uncontrollably clutching her sex.

As she shrieked silently on the cement, Lilith 
leaned on her body picking on it like a huge 
bird, her talons and beak snapping at tits, 
cunt, ass and especially her pregnant belly. 
Laurie, blindfolded, felt it all, and as she 
squirmed, crying out once, twice, and then 
silent when Abel tired of the suffering. It made 
him uncomfortable. He shot Laurie up with just 
enough morphine for her body weight plus a bit 
for being an ex drug addict. 

Abel always researched the medical history of 
his victims. Had full medical charts stolen from 
her Dr's office?

Lilith annoyed at Abel for putting Laurie to 
sleep screamed at her brother. "This one you 
will not let go as that blond Parker bitch last 
year. They will find us this time if you are 
that fucken stupid. 

"Don't get attached to her. As soon as she 
delivers, I will slowly suffocate the bitch and 
you help. Until then, have your fun, as I will. 
Don't cross me, I can kill you just as easily as 
anyone."

End Day One: "Captivity of Laurie Fallon"



FIVE YEARS EARLIER

TxM6 Chapter Three
Gargoyles: The Herrig Estate
Journal of Henry Whitman
Friday April 17, 1987

HENRY WHITMAN

Henry Ezra Whitman, 49 years old, bespectacled
with an easy smile and cleft chin, understood
acceptance and rejection. A tall, muscular and
artistic man, he labored for 70 to 80 hours a week
driving a taxi for Hudson Street Cab Fleets. 

In the remainder of his daily life, he wrote poetry,
loved his many children, and madly drove his life
beyond the memory of limitations. 

Isn't that what we all do?



TAXI YARD: 6 AM:

Before Henry left the taxi yard, he clipped his 
watch to the sun visor, stepped back out of the 
cab, and inspected it for spare, jack, tire 
iron, dents, dings and cum stains on the back seat. 

Adjusting the mirrors, then looking back at the 
rows of yellow and beige cabs lined up evenly 
almost as if a ruler had been used on both sides 
of the narrow parking spaces, Henry pulled 
straight back, breaking clear. 

Riding the circles of the steering wheel, he 
begat his day with the clean taste of burnt 
coffee and a change box, maps and one stale 
buttered roll. On the floor in a cloth bag, 
Henry carried a camera, tape recorder, two 
books of poetry, a novel and a notebook for
those scribbled images digested on the taxi
stand and saved for some distant other day
when things are better.

At 6:04 AM Henry passed the taxi stand on his
way to the time call.

Smiling at his the long faces of the drivers, he 
passed them knowing he would be there on the 
stand tomorrow wondering how much the driver had 
paid off the dispatcher for that morning time call.

Don't have to be there until 8:00. Take the easy
way to make sure. Morristown, NJ is about an hour
from Fort Lee. Anything can happen on Friday. 

Henry decided not to stop at the diner for an egg
and bacon sandwich. Driving one handed, he ate the
stale buttered roll that tasted like taxi.

Henry usually left Fort Lee by the back roads to 
avoid the terror of morning traffic around the 
GW Bridge. Falling down Central Blvd. in Palisade
Park, he turned left on Broad and right at Route 46,
and not surprised that broken down Route #46 had
the same bumps as it did in 1929 when it opened.

Looking at his watch side ways and at the 
merging traffic, Henry relaxed. Today, that
congestion, for some reason, wasn't that bad.

Taking Route #80 west off 46, Henry intending
to get off 80 and back on 46 before I-287 traffic
stopped up like traffic outside the Meadowlands
after the Jet's.

Forty minutes early, Henry pulled up to the gate 
of the Herrig Estate. One solitary guard stepped 
out to meet him at the checkpoint. Raising his 
hands in a grand gesture the guard frowned when 
Henry intentionally stopped just before the 
closed gate almost touching it.

Annoyed, Henry thought, what if I had just ran 
this son of a bitch mother fucking border guard 
down. Sometimes, when driving in New York City, 
He imagined losing the brakes and then plowing 
into fifty pedestrians at the cross walk. Just a 
flight of misery can make the inanimate move, 
Henry often said. Driving a fucken cab plays 
havoc with your head. 

Henry never fully reasonable or predictable was, 
however, peaceful. Worn down from Nam, He did
create the unthinkable, but why he make 
fun of fear and the unexpected seemed contrary 
to his past. Why Henry mocked death and 
suffering as empty complaint can be best 
understood if you understood why a man who had 
earned a doctorate in Irish studies drove 
a cab for sixty hours a week. 

Every taxi drivers hoards his mysteries. Henry's 
was public. In 1986, just a year before, Henry 
had been caught fucking an eighteen-year-old 
college freshman. Not so bad you say. She was 18 
after all. She was also his student, and she 
claimed when caught that although she loved him, 
she had fucked him for good grades. Henry simply 
said she had earned it by her writing. Read it. 

No one really cared why he did it, Henry knew he 
would pay for his weakness and stupidity. Stupid
for getting caught, he always said. Weak because
she wasn't worth it. No body will believe, he
said, I did it partially because I liked her poems.

Despite the lunacy of sex, war and the failure 
of profit in a cab, Hudson Street taxi drivers 
generally respected Henry. Elected President of 
the union one year, Henry lost that post the 
next when he won the union held lottery and kept 
the prize. Some members claimed he had fixed it. 
He had not. The charge was never proven, but 
Henry lost his free ride job as union President. 
Henry was that good man except when in one of 
his moods.

As a combat medic in Vietnam for fourteen 
months, Henry knew death. "I stuck it, I cleaned 
it, and I bagged death almost every day," he 
said.

Looking at the guard talking on the phone 
presumably to the fare, Henry hoped he had not 
made this fucked up trip for nothing. Using the 
double speak of cab drivers, Henry thought, Shit 
I will wait. I don't really care how long it 
takes. I am here on time. Even if they 
cancelled, I would get paid, but at the same 
time he was pissed and complained every few 
minutes hitting the steering wheel but not 
hitting the horn. 

Using this blank time, Henry filled himself with 
these flights of insanity. As they were 
sometimes violent, Henry called them 
"walkabouts." What has kept me sane Henry 
thought as he waited?

Certainly not this fucked up job. I know. It's 
my equal desire to be left alone and involved 
with what ever shit is happening. Perhaps giving 
evil and goodness the same space in headlines 
kept you in balance. When has thinking mayhem 
ever hurt anyone? If I only imagine murder or 
harm, that is enough. Being pissed off is fine. 
Losing your life for anger, or doing hard time 
taking it up the ass just isn't worth the pain.

At stop, stalled, immediately in front of the 
gate of the Herrig Estate, almost at zero time, 
suddenly the gatekeeper leaned too far into 
Henry's driver side window to tell him he could 
go inside to the front door. "About two miles," 
he said, "as the crow flies." 

"Get the fuck out of here, your breath stinks," 
Henry rolling up the window mocked the old man 
half laughing, and then waved him off.

The stout retired cop had no sense of humor. He 
mumbled to Henry that he had to wait.

No shit, Henry laughed back and pulled through 
the gate that suddenly banged down too soon into 
the rear deck of Henry's taxi. Henry didn't stop 
right away.


THE PROMISED LAND

As Henry looked back at the guard stand, after 
feeling the thud of the gate, he almost stopped. 
Shit, if that fucker dented the deck, I will get 
shit. Looking back, he finally stopped, paused 
and then moved forward.

Knowing he would arrive too early, and not sure 
what the guard had set up with his fares, Henry 
crept along the road as a peaceful horse and 
rider might as he searched for easy ground. Yes, 
they might be out early, and I could save some 
time, he thought. Yes, they might be annoyed 
that I arrived early. In any case the tip could 
be fucked up. 

No, I do not, Henry concluded, want to leave 
this place yet. Gathered it all in breathing the 
scent of rare flowers and happy insects, Henry 
knew he must spend five minutes outside without 
any steel or refracted mirror. He needed to just 
drink some clean water from a pond and not suck 
it up from a bathroom faucet in a gas station.

Henry laughed at that last thought. Who says that
fucken water is clean. See the Headlines now.
Poet Cab Driver dies after drinking water from
sylvan pools.

Living within the plastic taxi, pines crossed 
and the images flickered. Henry marched back to 
the late 1940s English movies of Alfred 
Hitchcock. Rebecca and Notorious were the fare 
that made you think and want to fuck almost at 
once. These movies unlike the Herrig mansion 
seemed a misplaced metaphor that passion for 
wealth and dark sexual obsession.

If I walked inside too long, Henry laughed, I 
might discover the year 1887. It could just as 
easily been 2088. Inside anything, you never 
seem to understand all of it at once.

What did I expect? Should I have imagined foxes 
running after hounds? Might be wonderful if I 
could make what I do in these next few moments 
last longer than good sex or a bad movie.

Far beyond the gate, Henry rode for what seemed 
like miles without change. Turning around, he 
backtracked. Everything old inside the foliage 
seemed new again. Realizing he was lost in 
variegated greens, he stepped out of the cab, 
amazed that he could get lost on a road without 
turns. Sitting there beside his cab, Henry
looked the American tourist. Sucking on long grass
and rubbing his stocking feet, Henry's head
high up in the air asked for more, and that didn't
include the rain that started to fall.

Jumping up, running back to the cab, that is why
I allow extra time, he thought.

Swallowed by the formal landscape and the 
complexity of the curves, Henry knew he had 
entered a forbidden zone and that adventure 
might be more of a challenge than any call. 

Not having been to the Herrig estate, Henry 
amazed by the sensation, returned to his first 
day in Vietnam. 

Why does this place remind me of death? Why do I 
think of myself falling under the thunder of 
horses? There is that gasp of fraud I felt in 
Nam. Something here is also a lie. When I jumped 
off the transport plane, dropping easily on to 
the tarmac, I thought I was already dead. 

Knowing that lead heat, Henry felt the rot 
within death before dying. Perhaps if I die, I 
will not die, he told one SGT who laughed at
the medic philosopher as Henry was called. 

Opposite I know, but that could be the way out
of becoming another blind statistic

Some wag started calling Henry Plato until Henry
smacked the fuck alongside the head and they
rumbled in the usual fist up your ass army kick
em in the balls street fight.

Fear never stopped Henry. He stepped into it. 
Death is that moment when you have no thought. 
You are there pissing and moaning and in the 
next breath you are spit stains and a hand 
full of paperwork sent back to Headquarters.

Riding easy, slow, Henry felt his bowels wretch. 
He knew the Herrig estate was like a showgirl 
whore. Too beautiful and not cheap; you cannot 
imagine fucking her, but at that moment sucking 
your cock, you have your fingers wrapped around a tit. 

As nothing was perfect, when you wake up, you 
have no mind. You realize the bitch had slipped 
you a Mickey and you didn't have a pot to piss 
in. That's the way of fucking beautiful women. 
Call it the cost of getting laid.

This funny farm, Henry rolled his eyes, catching 
as much as he could, was magnificent. This 
landscape is a great broad. She is just too 
fucken beautiful. Imagine a glorious green 
private wilderness just off a major Interstate 
Highway where every square foot had been 
planned. Each tree and shrub, each weed had been 
bought, nurtured and stroked. What an obsession. 
It had to be mad and dangerous.

Turing the wheel like an intricate circle 
decomposed, Henry rode the "peaceful loops" 
inside towards the main house like a captured 
serpent thrown into a large fish tank. He felt 
every eye measure his slither. He wandered into 
the landscaped spiral highway step-by-step drunk 
on multiple colors of green and red, umber and sienna.


UNTESTED DOMAIN

Henry drove slowly into questionable domains. 
This forest hidden from two major suburban 
highways drove him slower. Captured by the 
unkempt foliage, Henry smiled at that improbable 
irony. Imagine living in a world so peaceful? 
Would it ever become ordinary? Answering 
himself, he thought. It is good that we have 
islands like this to set us apart from the 
tedium of watching the enfolding and revival
all in one long playing record. 

What if, Henry thought, magical fountains, 
sprites, and fairies emerged from beneath the 
grass carpets. Alice in wonderland would be 
tame. Just like Lewis Carroll, Henry understood 
that this place like Alice's was not of this 
world. I do not feel invited and yet I have 
absolute privacy. Why am I not lonely here? 


GARGOYLES

Driving up to the stables set back from the 
road, Henry memorized the carved wood gargoyles 
that decorated the window frames. Henry saved 
the images. I want those subtle textures that 
make light into film and words for display. 
Henry shivered. Death lurks out about that tree 
line there, and pointed it out to himself, where 
he felt the danger

In this place of mind, Henry accepted that he 
might never know more about it what he would 
experience in the next few minutes. I don't want 
to leave before I have one chance to at least 
know it from the inside. I don't want to be a 
cab driver here. I don't want to serve these folks
and their palace guard. I want to live here and keep
it all for myself inside this fortress. 

The year is 1887 not 1987. I can't write this 
down, Henry thought. I would have to stop the 
cab. Would I reverse the spell if I stopped even 
for a moment? Henry reasoned that he could never 
understand this place from the outside. Pulling
his tape recorder out of his bag, flipping it on,
tape always at ready, Henry wrote his mind on
the audio tape. He recorded his life there,
and later when he suffered more, he replayed it 
keeping his mind full and lean and perfectly perverse.

Henry accepted the Herrig Estate phenomenon left
him full and expectant. But of what? Something
important would happen here. Later, when that turned
out to be true, he was even more incredulous and 
amazed.

Yes, I want a cascade of trumpets and a flourish 
of drums as I enter. Henry smiled and started to 
sing the Stars Spangle Banner in full voice 
laughing at the way the ground and horizon waved 
him unsteady. Under his breath, in his thoughts, 
he said to himself, please sacred father, let me 
live again what I feel right now. Just like 
Vietnam, Henry thought, I am lost and found in 
the same instant.

Suddenly jerking the cab easily around three-
construction backhoes, avoiding them as the 
expert driver. I never step in shit like this, 
Henry thought as moved in slow motion down the 
driveway. He knew he was moving faster, but he 
saw the spectacle of this call in all its parts 
at once and almost stopped thinking, if that 
were possible.

Yes, I know I was fucken lucky. I would tell 
anyone that. This is how I get through my life, 
he said finally, turning away to run home to the 
winding stairs of Coole and Yeats, driving his 
mind deeper into the Herrig maze he would 
rediscovered with his Darwinian and pagan 
architect not the origin of the species but 
rather a future tense imperfect passion for 
indescribable disorder, incest and abuse.

How did Henry know any of this before it happened?
He did. There are no other explanations. Accept 
that one, Henry did.

What is anyone's origin after all, Henry 
thought. How is this seemingly perfect order, 
disorder or stew for robins and their vermin? 

Taxi drivers are great with the canned lines, 
yes sir, Henry laughed as he continued to drive 
down the rich man's driveway expecting to find 
some old couple arguing about a diseased heart 
monitor that would need its batteries changed. 
He wondered as he counted the number of cars 
outside the garage, maybe there is a party here, 
no probably all four of those cars belong to 
them. Hope they are not stiffs, Henry thought 
finally, coming back full circle to settle down 
for the millennium wait.

Stopping the cab fifty feet from the main gate, 
Henry took one look back to watch for magical 
tree lines and claymores in the boughs of maples 
and oaks. If the fare had noticed him lurking, 
they might think he was having trouble with the 
cab and call the company. Henry moved forward 
and lurked closer to the LZ. 

Henry always said he never cared what people 
thought about him. He decided just before pulling
up to the front door of the main house that he liked 
being there in itself and didn't want to be a taxi
driver with little control over when he could leave
and where and how far he could travel. 

Finally, when Henry moved up, took his place at 
the front door, Henry thought, this place is 
uncorrupted, authentic, and not something fake. 

It also did not fit any model of the world 
outside. Yes, it is not a collection of objects 
but form and force compressed into one scheme 
with multiple plots and infinite varieties of 
color and value. Like Matisse, Henry recalled, 
the impossible in art that which is before and 
after the mark on the margin that was an accident
and not fully intended.

Am I always at the accidents of creation, Henry 
asked? I sure know how death tastes. Copper blood
and Iron masks wrap around my forearm while I
fought off death and lost too many rounds by
default. The man was already dead but I was too
stupid to know the difference. There are degrees
to death. Knowing them all is sometimes too 
difficult for one person to decipher. Sometimes,
it takes two. 

In 1987, Henry was alone. He was mad and alone.
Today, could change that. It could and then 
perhaps not.

Genius may be the chance recognition of that 
accident. When we select a word or a hue and 
place it in a frame and note its combinations 
and layers, perhaps that is like the selection 
of people in our lives. We never know who we 
will find inside where we dream touching the 
edges of where we were before and how it will be 
later. Henry did not know he would meet his old 
friend Laurie Fallon. She was the reason Henry 
got the call. She had requested him. She also 
knew that he thought she was much too young and
had avoided her in the past.

When she came out of the Herrig estate, Henry 
was startled by her presence. The land bewitched
him. That was what it was. Laurie lost no time
and gathered him into her care. It was five years
before she would be kidnapped by Abel. It took her
five years to convince Henry that she was flesh
and bones and not fully a miracle. Henry called
Laurie God at times, said she spoke in tongues.
When they were both stoned, he would call out
to Laurie, call her Christ Tina, say she was
the fourth daughter of God and then refuse to
name the other three when Laurie challenged him.

Henry loved Laurie's poetry. He would teach her
what all the others had missed. Standing next
to her, out of time, Henry's hand reached up
for what he was missing. Laurie is not here,
he will say. No man felt more alone when Henry
learned she was missing five years later.








TxM6: Chapter Four

Abel and Lilith

Half brother and sister, Maria Corvino seven 
years older than Antonio had always dominated 
her younger brother. The incestuous pair had 
slept with their mother Victoria in the same bed 
from Antonio's infancy. 

In 1986, one year before Antonio left to study 
medicine in England, Victoria married Maria and 
Antonio in a secret rite. While Abel was gone, 
once a year, Maria and her mother enticed men 
and one woman to their bed. After sex with 
mother and daughter, the man or woman was 
murdered while he or she slept. No one ever 
missed them. All the male victims were empty 
souls without roots or address. The lone woman 
had been a runaway teenager Maria had 
befriended. When the girl got pregnant Maria 
murdered her jealous that after a self induced 
abortion she could not have a child herself. 

In 1989, Antonio returned from the UK without 
winning a diploma. Victoria knew she was dying 
of cancer and had summoned her son home. Once 
there, Antonio promised his mother he would 
start a family with his sister. Maria had 
recently had an operation to open up her one 
remaining tube.  

Just ordinary folks Victoria made Maria promise 
to always protect her brother. Victoria insisted 
that Antonio promise to obey his sister.  

With Antonio present, Maria murdered her mother 
while she slept. They buried her in a crypt 
under the Palisades. After her mother's death, 
Antonio and Maria took the names Abel and 
Lilith.

In January 1990 Abel kidnap his first pregnant 
woman. He brought her home to his sister as a 
bound captive. After the woman gave birth, 
Lilith butchered the mother and set all but one 
of the children free. 

Eleven women had died before Laurie abducted by 
Abel in 1992 had turned the tables on Lilith, 
murdering the Genesis killer, and setting 
Lilith's child by Abel free. 

The man, Antonio, self-named Abel, an almost 
doctor of some malignant Faustian will, knew how 
to drug her. In June Laurie's daughter Molly 
would be part of the spoils that he and his 
sister Lilith schemed to free. Lilith believed 
that once the mother was dead, the child was 
safe. She told Abel that story when he was 
nineteen.  When Abel was nine, she sucked his 
cock. When he was twelve she fucked him while 
their mother shouted out suggestions for 
positions having taken her own turn.

Years later, fucking, rocking back and forth, 
Abel held his dear half sister, seven year 
older, upon his unfit young prick that reached 
into her sex. While he fucked, Abel imagined 
their children gathered about him. Lilith, on a 
different page, imagined the mothers tortured 
and mutilated and the children invisible.  

Within minutes after the attack, Abel drove the 
fan to "the Factory," as he and Lilith called 
it. Married by their own mother the genesis pair 
wallowed in their extravagant cave. Lilith's 
great grandfather had erected it in 1929 with 
blue stones he had carved from the Palisades. 
This was three years before the George 
Washington Bridge opened to traffic. 

The edifice, hide out, holding pen, had been 
further adapted to protect another maniac 
relative paranoid delusions of a nuclear blast 
derived from a 1960s Dr. Strange Love charm. 

Abel's Uncle surrendered to the hysteria until 
being arrested for the lewd fondling of children 
the Bradford family tree had unfurled. The 
Uncle, one of Victoria's lovers had left it to 
his favorite niece when he was murdered in 
prison.

Dug into the palisades, ventilated and 
provisioned, Able and his sister took over the 
building after their mother's murder. 

No one could have possibly imagined the quiet 
house and blue stones held life in contempt. No 
one could imagine that the place of death was 
well within sight of a police station barely a 
football field down the road. 

Fifteen murders were committed there and no one 
suspected the crypt behind the house set into 
the palisades held the hearts and sexual parts 
of the victims pickled like old Lenin in the 
Kremlin.

Inside the far end of the cave, deep inside the 
factory, Able and Lilith spent their minds 
plotting the death of women and freedom for the 
children using their masks and totems to 
preserve their self centered "paradise." 

As the great prince and queen of prurience, they 
filled septic tanks with moldy green body parts 
that their pain and anger had surveyed.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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