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Message-ID: <30992asstr$993075002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: writerzblocked@aol.com (Writerzblocked)
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
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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.
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