Message-ID: <30992asstr$993075002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <writerzblocked@aol.com> From: writerzblocked@aol.com (Writerzblocked) X-Original-Message-ID: <20010620102309.16033.00000229@ng-da1.aol.com> Subject: {ASSM} Harry Long, Psychic Detective 5 (mc) Date: Wed, 20 Jun 2001 18:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2001/30992> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: kelly, gill-bates Copyright by Writerzblocked, 2001. All rights, well, you know. Repost and archive to your heart's content, just don't charge anyone for it or I'll have to send Harry after you. You all know the rest of the drill by now. I'm not big on headers and/or labels, so anyone reposting may feel free to add whatever MF, MM, FF stuff they think is necessary. CHAPTER 5 "You mean they actually let you out with them?" Nancy was incredulous. "Let's just say I still have a bit of weight around the SAPD," Knox answered as she opened the door and whispered something to person or persons outside. "The Regional Director's going to expect me up in Dallas tomorrow with a report. Then it's his call whether or not for us to continue or to hand it over to the locals." I could make out a uniformed hand outside the door as it passed a rather large evidence bag over to the woman. "But that doesn't mean I can't have you two investigate in the meantime, depending on what Harry can come up with." "You sure you want to go through with this now, Harry? After the bump on the head..." Hector was looking out the window at my clouds. "Hey, I'm already in a hospital. Where better?" I shrugged. Nancy smirked and shrugged. "I can't argue with that." Division Chief Knox was unwrapping the evidence bags as we spoke. "The Bexar County DA is holding us to a pretty strict deadline as it is," she said. "Even if the brass upstairs in Dallas decide to pursue it, there's no guarantee they won't go to court locally to fight for jurisdiction. I hear the Church is lobbying fairly hard for it because they figure they have more pull with the locals." "We need to get this done ASAP, if we're going to do it at all." "I'm all for that," I interjected. "I'm ready to get back to my computer. Probably have fifteen or twenty junk e-mails I need to delete. Don't have unlimited mailbox space, you know... Might miss some important pictures..." Nancy rolled her eyes. "Oh, like you really need to make use of pheromones or lose weight or get rich quick." "Heh, I bet you don't even know what Phentermene is?" "What?" "See. That's my point. You lead such a sheltered life out here chasing after bad guys all day long." "Oh, brother." "Ahem." Hector handed me a set of plastic gloves, and I noticed Knox had unsecured the knives. They looked, at first glance, like regular kitchen carving knives, except, of course, for the dried blood on the black plastic handles. As I fumbled with the gloves, I tried my best to ignore them so as not to dilute the vision I would get from actual physical contact. I've tried to explain in detail what a typical vision "feels" like several times under clinical conditions and I've never felt like I can do it properly even under the best of circumstances, with proper meds and transcribers and tape recorders and various other medical devices, so I'm not going to do so for this one. Let's just say that they either come down easy, or they come down hard. This one came down hard. I'm not a squeamish sort, Lord knows there's no way I CAN be after all I've been through in my life, but every now and again, I can see something so, for the lack of a better word, clearly, that the simple strength, the violence, the anguished emotional resonance pierces me, body and soul, and leaves me shaken. It doesn't happen often anymore, thank God, but the times it has happened are part of the reason that I don't...well, I don't get out much anymore. Those are the ones I remember late at night, with or without meds, and those I wouldn't wish on the worst prisoners on death row in Huntsville. Even worse, certain visions trip emotional wires that trigger other, buried, REAL memories I and numerous doctors have worked hard to bury, memories and experiences and emotions I really don't wish to have haunting me. Unfortunately, for everyone involved, this was one of THOSE. Delgado thought he was waking from a bad dream, or so it seemed to me. The purple and gold bed sheets under him were covered in sweat, his purple and gold pajama top positively sticking to his pudgy body. He woke with a jolt and went to wipe the perspiration from his eyes, but found his hands secured tightly to the headboard of his rather ornate bed (it looked to be a good two-hundred years old) by several gold and purple sashes, probably some sort of uniform belt. He raised his head, obviously bewildered, and quickly looked about the room. It was then he noticed his pajama bottoms were missing and only then did begin to cry out. "Jeremy! Jeremy! Oh, Jeremy!" Several shapes at the foot of the bed began moving. A soft, feminine voice cried out in mocking response. "Jeremy? The young priest has gone, Your Holiness, gone to midnight mass to confess his sins." Soft giggling filled the room. Delgado squinted at the figures. "Sister Catherine? Is that you? What's going on?" "Gone to confess his sins, he has. We think he had too much of the Holy Seed. He's drunk with it. But surely he left enough for us." "What are you talking about?" He strained at his bonds. "What is the meaning...?" One of the figures slowly climbed on the foot of the bed and began to seemingly glide toward the stammering Archbishop. Sister Catherine was crawling on her knees, her robes parting as she made her way on her knees. "Silly man. He doesn't have the right equipment to conceive the Savior." Again, her words brought a chorus of giggles from the numerous figures still in shadows at the foot of the large bed. As if struck by lightning, Delgado's head shook vigorously back and forth. "No...no. In the name of the Father, what have I done?" The nun was to him now, staring down at his naked privates. "You two were naughty. We all saw you, Your Holiness. You know homosexuality is a sin...especially if you enjoy it," she smiled. "And you looked very much like you enjoyed it." Delgado closed his eyes and continued to tremble and mutter prayers beneath his breath.... "Oh, Lord, give me strength..." Catherine smiled as she lowered her face to his nether region, her left hand instinctively going up to make certain her habit stayed in place. "Yes, Lord, give him strength..." Again, giggles filled the room. Delgado swung his head violently from side to side and again strained at his bonds. It looked very much like he was trying to make the sign of the cross... A moment later, the nun lifted her wet lips from him, threw back her habit and positioned herself atop the struggling man. As she rocked back and forth, he seemed to be doing his best to finish a rosary in record time. In between the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh Hail Mary, however, he let out a soft, defeatist moan before quickly collecting himself. Meanwhile, the other figures in the room began to move slowly towards the two, and by the time Catherine began to buck in earnest, four other female figures in robes had surrounded the bed, all seemingly swaying back and forth with their carnal companion. And when Sister Catherine finally erupted with a fiery cry, four glints of silver flashed through the air, again and again and again and again, until the final scream, harrowing and sharp, left nothing in the bed, save purple and gold, and black and red. I'd hoped for their sakes, he finished that rosary, but somehow I knew he didn't. Their murderous orgy finished, the four fell to their knees at the sides of the bed and collapsed quickly to the floor. Sister Catherine's body slumped over the dead Archbishop's and a low laugh, primal and venomous, filled the chamber. And, Lord help me - it wasn't the first time I'd heard it. "Write what you want, how you want, and don't worry about the rest of the world. If you do it long enough, eventually they'll catch up." -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+