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"Jerry," Beatrice began, cozying into a large, velvet padded chair,
"how is it that you came to creating such masterpieces as these?"
"It's a long story, my dear," Jerry replied.
"Jerry, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ted Dunhill. I must say that I am as curious as Beatrice about your skills, education and how you came to do what you do. Couldn't you entreat us with a bit about yourself?"
Jerry smiled, seeing the curiosity in the eyes of Francis' guests. "I am afraid that my past, indeed my beginnings and education are of little consequence. More importantly, I wish to leave the past where it is; in the firm grasp of historians and scholars."
"A man of mystery, I see," Beatrice mused. "I think we can all respect that. After all, we all have some rather dark secrets of our own."
Chuckles and nodded agreements filled the room. Finally, as the moment died down, Francis stood up to gather the attention of his guests.
"Friends," Francis began, "I've a surprise for you. One I think you will find quite interesting, especially as it pertains to a new form of entertainment."
"Do tell, Francis," said Eric, a middle aged man with close-cropped hair. "Your entertainments are always quite enjoyable, but I find it hard to believe it could be any more entertaining than any of your previous entertainments."
"Desk," Francis said, "Please bring in the girl."
Desk immediately scampered to action. A few moments of anticipatory silence passed before Desk returned, pushing a rolling platform on which rested an "X" shaped crucifix adorned with a gagged and naked girl.
"Exquisite," Beatrice said. "What tortures have you planned for her? Or are we free to torture her as we like?"
"Ah, I have something far different in mind," Francis replied. "You see, this creature is to be my next piece of living art. Unfortunately, I find that my imagination is a bit lacking. I thought you all might provide me with some ideas."
The girl on the crucifix was clearly frightened. Tears, long dried, stained her perfect, white skin. Her breathing was quick and shallow, occasionally shuddering within the throws of her recent crying.
"Let me introduce you to everyone, my dear," Francis said to the girl. Then, gesturing to each guest, he introduced the girl to his company. "First, our guest of honor. His name is Jerry O'Connell. You will come to know him quite well. To your immediate left is Benjamin, and sitting beside him is Beatrice. To your right is Ted, Frank, Roger, Mia, Donald, Terrence, James and, finally, Eric."
The girl's eyes met each of his guest's eyes, fearing their intent, yet hopeful one might aid in her release. When, finally, the introductions were complete, her eyes came to rest on the creature trapped within the web of metal on Francis' wall. Eyes wide, she stared, wondering if the creature was real.
"Ah, so you admire her too?" Francis said, noticing her fascination. "She was once a girl, just as you are now. Her name is 'Art', though it was once Lindsey."
Turning her to the left, he introduced her to the apparent statue. "The nymph was once a girl named Adriana. She is now called 'Statue'. Quite beautiful, isn't she?"
Turning the girl again, he pointed to a tall marble colored girl. "That is 'Coatrack'. You may notice the hooks jutting from her breasts. Otherwise she would just be another statue."
Tears began anew as Francis turned the frightened girl to face the crowd again.
"Sweetheart, I am going to remove your gag, I know it is uncomfortable. I do hope you will have the courtesy not to scream," Francis said. "I don't want to gag you again."
"They aren't real are they?" the girl asked, after the gag's removal. "It isn't possible. Is it?"
"Desk," Francis commanded. "Secure the door, please.
Again, Desk scampered to fulfill her orders, locking the heavy door before bringing the key to Francis.
"I will let you see for yourself," he told her as he freed her from the crucifix.
Upon release the girl bolted for the door. Finding it locked, she struggled; refusing to believe it was so. Finally, understanding the futility of her situation, she stopped and looked back at the observant crowd. Her blue eyes burned out beneath her jet-black hair as she stared, terrible fear and hatred apparent to all.
Amused and excited, each of the club's members's watched the frightened girl, intently studying her every motion, waiting for her to discover what she must. Finally, after crossing eyes with each member of the sadistic crowd, she approached the coat rack. Briefly, her hands moved to cover her suddenly remembered nakedness, only to reach out as she neared the terrible object before her.
"It's not real," she said, refusing to believe the truth of Francis' words. "It's not."
None replied to the girl, entranced in the moment. Instead, they watched the girl, focusing on her trembling body, as she came to stand before the living coat rack.
"I don't know what you're trying to pull, but it's not real!" she exclaimed, her voice nasal from crying.
Turning back to the thing before her, she reached out to touch it. It was warm, not cold as she imagined it would be. A quick glance back at her captor brought more defiant words. "I told you," she said, before looking back to see the coat racks bright green eyes staring back at her.
"Oh God," she muttered, backing away from the coat rack. "No, no, no, no no."
Eyes wide and mouth agape, she turned to Francis' guests, unable to voice more than she had. Her breath became ragged and shallow and she sank to the floor, staring at nothing. Finally, she quieted and pulled her knees to her chest, silently rocking back and forth. For the next several minutes she sat, oblivious to all, trembling in fear and horror.
Wet faced and wide eyed, she looked to Francis, focusing on something beyond the room's walls. "They're real…all of them, aren't they?" she said. "You weren't lying. They're real. All real."
Francis smiled, walking slowly to where she sat. He knelt down and stroked her long hair. She looked at him, still dazed.
"Why?" she asked. "Why would you do that?"
"Your name is Monique, isn't it?" Francis asked the girl. "Come with me, Monique. Let me show you true beauty."
Taking her hand, Francis helped her gain her feet. Weak of knee, she allowed him to guide her to where the girl hung on the wall.
"Please," Monique whispered, pulling weakly, to free herself from Francis' grasp.
"You see, this is more than she would ever be," Francis whispered. "Touch her."
"She looks like a manikin; like something at a wax museum," Monique breathed, her eyes taking in the entirety of the piece before her. "She can't be real. But she is, isn't she?"
"So she is," Francis said. "Now, touch her."
Monique looked to Francis and then to the girl on the wall. Nodding her head, she whispered, "I can't. I don't want to."
"That's all right, Monique. Watch," he told her.
Francis reached out to the girl on the wall and quickly trailed his finger along her rib cage. She jerked from the startling stimulation, a whispered scream escaping her lips.
"Oh God!" Monique cried out, struggling against Francis' firm grip. "Please, please, please. Let me go. Just let me go. I won't tell anyone. Please…"
The eyes of the on looking crowd never wavered. The terror and emotional strain on the girl was far too great to pry their eyes from. So they sat, silent and watchful, breathing in shallow and controlled breaths, not wanting to disturb the fascinating scene that played out before them.
"It's all right, Monique," Francis cooed. "You'll pass out if you keep this up. Take a breath. Don't worry, sweetheart, there is only one more piece to show you.
"No," she screamed. "I don't want to see it. I don't! Please, please, let me go. Please. Just leave me alone. Please…"
Pulling the girl against him, he held her in his strong arms, cooing gentle words of comfort in her ear. Finally, her struggles and pleas subsided and she was led, softly sobbing to the feared and horrible statue.
"Please, please, please," she whispered as they neared the statue. "I don't want to see it. Don't make me. I can't."
"You see, I wanted a statue that was hideous and beautiful, pornographic and erotic," he told her, forcing to the girl to kneel beside the statue with him. "I wanted it to be a study in contrasts. What could fit those better than a nymph making love to monstrous creatures?"
Monique said nothing, her eyes locked unknowingly on the contrasting textures of the statue. The nymph, lovely and pleasing to the eye, appeared to be of polished marble, while the satyrs ghastly appearance seemed more roughly hewn.
"Finally," Francis continued, "I wanted to find a contrast between the fanciful and the horrifying. I think I have accomplished that here."
As his last word left his lips, he leaned towards the nymph's ear. Expected as it was, Monique recoiled at the statue's opened eyes. After a moment of speechless and wide eyed fright, she passed out.
"It seems she is a bit of a delicate sort," Francis muttered, as he lifted the small girl into his arms.
"Astonishingly awful."
"I assume you meant that in a positive way, Mia," Francis said as he placed his charge at the room's center.
"Beyond positive, Francis," Mia responded, her voice breathy. "Already, you have surpassed…I've never seen suffering quite like this."
Francis winked at the woman, pleased to have her approval. Then, looking around the room, he observed his comrades discussing the events they had just witnessed, their words of excitement filling him with pride.
Hideous. Wonderful, Erotic, Sadist. Those are just some of the words I can describe this night with, Francis," Beatrice gushed. "I know you have more planned, my boy. Don't keep us waiting too long."
"Worry not. The night's activities
have just begun," he told her.
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