Suicide Jane

BTL: Better Than Life.  A petite short-haired, blonde girl screamed.  Her hands were tied behind her back and her ankles were shackled to the rough wooden surface of a crudely made table.  Her ankles were bleeding as she tried to escape.  A large man’s hand in a thick rubber glove; which, for the duration of the sim-sense replay was Jane’s, glided up her thigh.  The blonde girl was sitting up.  Her eyes were fixated out of view to his, Jane’s, other hand.  She was crying freely; trying to beg; trying to finish the word ‘Mercy’.  The gloved hand in view moved up past the girl’s thigh.  It went up past her slender belly, stained with dust and rust, past her small breasts where the bite marks were still fresh.  The hand clasped the girls chin and firmly lifted her head.  Jane could hear the sobs, smell her fear, and feel the chill that covered the girl in goosebumps.  The hand turned the head to make eye-contact and the terrified blue eyes looked for mercy in Jane’s.  Jane felt the other hand clench the handle of something, not yet seen.  The blonde girl’s eyes danced back and forth between Jane’s and the hidden object.  The girl’s mouth opened and her lower lip trembled.

“No! No, no…” The girl managed in a cry – so desperate and so sweet.

The strong hand at the girls chin lunged.  Powerfully it grabbed her neck.  As it choked her it slammed the girl back onto the table.  She screamed – tried to scream.  The high-pitched, choked groan lasted a split second.  The blonde girl’s eyes grew wider than before.  The clasping hand was lifted up and Jane’s head turned to see the mysterious object.  A shiny blade darted up and caught the light before it was plunged down into the exposed belly of the girl.  There it stayed.  The attacker’s, Jane’s, hand held it firm as a crimson ring appeared around it and grew thicker.  What would be Jane’s eyes for the next thirty seconds looked up at the short-haired blonde girl.  She coughed and a spurt of blood erupted from her mouth like viscous lava seeping over a volcano rim.  The girls eyes were looking up now into unknown space.  Jane’s view shifted back down to the girl’s belly.  The hand clasping the blade tried to squeeze the handle.  There was a jerk, a vicious tug, and the blade sliced upward carving the girl open from navel to sternum.  Jane caught a glimpse of the girls head jerking, then dropping to the side still.  The recording faded out to black.

The cut-away switch cycled.  Jane gasped the smoke filled air and her back spasmed.  She arched back in the chair lifting her buttocks off.  She closed her eyes tightly then blinked taking in the room.  Munda Mukul, the muscular Hindi man, who smelled of curry and cigarette butts, sat in the corner of Jane’s ‘Studio’ office.  To his side he had Jane’s cheap glass ashtray.  Its rim was lined with the cigarettes he’d chain smoked while waiting.  Jane sat up from her recliner and looked at Munda’s arms.  They were thick and stained by freckles and imperfections darker than his very brown skin; a moment ago they had been Jane’s arms as she had murdered the short haired blonde girl. 

As Jane pulled the sim-sense chip that had played the BTL recording away from her temple Munda tapped out his cigarette and leaned forward.  “You like?  You’ll buy, yes?”

Jane shook her head and shook off the sensation of living inside a murder’s head.  “I have notes”, the BTL producer in her said to the Director.

“Fuck you and your notes.  Always with the notes.”  Munda aggressively showed his open palms as his elbows came down to his knees.  “It’s not like I can do fucking re-shoots.”

“No it’s not Munda.”  Jane stood up.  Her heeled boots trotted over the carpet to the small table that housed refreshments.  She reached straight past a bottle of water to the clear vodka bottle and unscrewed the top.  “The direction was good.  You handled her like a pro.  Sikos love a slow build., But you got lucky – she could have spoken.  Called you a black pig, or a dirty Hindi”. Both terms accurately described Munda.  Jane sniffed the vodka trying to escape the smell of sweat and curry that Munda always brought to her office.  She’d have to air it for a couple of days.  She hoped none of her other clients would mind it in the meantime.

“This is quality.”  Now the back of Munda’s hand was slapping into one of his open palms.  “The girl is young and pretty; the tension is just right; smell, sight, sound, the feeling of holding the knife…”

“That part was good.”  Jane admitted nodding.  “I knew I had what she was afraid of in my hand, it was theatrical – still… If I’m actually the killer, I’d know what I was terrorizing my victim with.”  Jane sipped the vodka.  “You still haven’t cracked limbic input.”

Munda moaned angrily and wave his arms dismissively.  “Fuck-off.”

“Munda… Snuff brings a premium price, but BTL junkies don’t crack snuff until they’re so hooked they don’t have the cash left to buy it.  It’s basic economics.”  Jane turned to face Munda and leant against her heavy desk.  Her long legs held her up and her slender hands with their perfect nails danced.  “First-time users don’t really want to actually experience killing someone.  The limbic input feeds them that desire in the recording.  You want to kill the girl; therefore, they want to kill the girl.  Your user trying a snuff BTL for the first time without limbic input will get a big enough shock to rip the sim-sense record off without the cut-away switch firing – that causes code errors in their implants.  You can’t exactly take your warranty to an OS provider and say I was watching snuff porn and now my firmware needs re-writing – by the way, could you try and not wipe my education Autosoft’s; I kind of need math.”

Munda looked angry.  “Limbic recording devices cost a lot of Nuygen.  How am I supposed to purchase it when you pay me pig feed for the recordings I give you?”

Jane got angry along with him.  She straightened herself and took an aggressive stance.  Her right hand held the empty glass tight and her index finger pointing out from it.  “We offered you a franchise; you wanted to go freelance.”

“Fuck you Jane.  It’s not a franchise if you’re running an illegal studio.”  Munda’s hands clenched into fists.

“I’ll give you my usual price.” Jane said, shaking off the tension.  She shouldn’t have turned her back on him, but even Munda knew that if he physically threatened Jane, she’d have an Omerta goon flay the soles of his feet before setting them in concrete.

“Jane!”

“It is quality, Munda, but it doesn’t matter how innocent the girls is, or how pretty she is - what matters is that people want to watch it.”  Jane picked up her tablet and entered the six character code.  “I’m transferring the usual twenty-five thousand Nuygen to your account.

Munda was angry, but he could see there was no point arguing.  “Keep pissing us freelancers off,Jane, and on the day you stop getting protection from the Omerta, someone is going to make a blockbuster out of your own very slow demise.”  He stormed out, leaving his recording behind.

Jane smiled.  His latest was actually very good, and it wasn’t true what she had told him about people not wanting snuff.  Users would do almost anything to get their hands on a chance to live through killing something innocent and pretty – twenty-first century kicks.

***

Jane walked out of her office.  The tech she left behind was worth enough to pay an entire classes college education.  Sim-sense recorders; sim-sense readers with input sockets; the studios consisted of a series of sets where the more commercial, usually non-legal, pornos were filmed.  For fifty credits you could fuck a beautiful woman; for a hundred you could be the woman; and for an easy two-hundred non-refundable credits you could be a woman, with a feedback signal imprint, knowing what the man felt when he fucked her – those were popular, and about the level people started to get hooked on BTLs.

The rape, masosadism, torture, and snuff BTLs were all recorded offsite.  Perpetrators were easy to come buy… actresses, not so much.  Sometimes the abductions were part of the show.  The only real trouble came if a BTL got into the authorities’ hands.  A jury of twelve good men, not just seeing you rape and murder a woman, but actually feeling how good you felt while you were doing it… Jane had a long list of male leads put away for life.

The old brownstone she operated out of looked like just another derelict building in the Boroughs.  Three kilometres on pot-holed bitumen and you got to the magnetic plasteel roads of a mega-city.  Jane had inherited a studio far enough out of the metropolis to avoid regular Corporate police patrols, but close enough for slave-wagers to scurry out from their nine-to-five mandate to buy some sweet BTLs.  They could be a badass and commit a felony crime for a penalty on the level of a parking fine.  The BTL chips were one use only.  The cost of decrypting to unlock them was greater than buying an unlocked one, and even if you did crack it, the fine went up exponentially for having an unlocked chip.

Jane put her palm on the reader.  A blue laser criss-crossed her hand and the door clicked.  It was low-tech – relatively, but it couldn’t be hacked.  As the security door closed, she stepped onto the elevator and hit the ground floor button.  The old steel gears and cable jhissed and squealed until she hit the bottom floor.  She pulled the manual door up, and stepped out the entrance to the dimming street.  No lights were on around her, but the evaporating range of a pair down the block on the main road reached her enough.  She didn’t have to worry about junkies, or thugs.  The red plaque with the black ‘O’ told everyone who she paid a percentage to.  The desperados of her slums would probably come to her aid if attacked, just to get an ebony credstick from the Omertas.  A black, and very expensive, car waited.  Jane knew who it belonged to and she didn’t hesitate.  If one of the Omerta were watching her on a cam they would grow suspicious if she hesitated.  Old Italian power tend to get suspicious if you refused their hospitality.  She walked toward the car and the passenger door lifted upward, like a Deloraine from that old 2D films she watched as a kid.  She stepped into the car and took a seat.  The lights were on, and the door automatically started to close.  One of the flat-screens held on an offset arm illuminated her further.  Jane was acting relaxed, but internally felt a wave of relief.

“Junior?”  She tipped her head and smiled at the screen and its camera.  Junior was Tony’s, Don Tony of the Omertas, youngest.  By young Jane meant twenty-one; eight years younger than her.  He’d watched some of her ‘work’ when she first got in with the Omertas for protection against a bad boyfriend.  Apparently fifteen year old Junior had gotten a hold of a porno BTL she had starred in. She’d given the heavily Catholic boy his first taste of temptation; the indulgence of original sin.

“Holy Mary Mother – Suicide Jane! You are getting hotter with age.”  He was an expressive and charismatic little monster.  The Omertas had only one hereditive trait; sociopathy.

“Why, thank you Junior, you’re not so bad yourself.”  She bobbed from the driverless car's comfy seat.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  The car eased forward so smoothly and the windows were so dark that Jane didn’t at first notice she was moving.

“Pardon?”  Junior said.

“You sent a car?”  Jane gestured with her hands.

“Oh yeah! Sure, sure, sure.”  Junior took a sip of some brown liquor out of an expensive crystal glass.”

“I’m not in trouble, am I Junior?”  Jane pretended to be scared to make the guy who had looked at her like a fifteen year old in love for the first time come clean.

“Hell no, Suicide Jane”, Junior looked angry at the prospect.  It never hurt to have a Made Man have your back.  “I got a job for you.”

“I don’t have my gear, Junior.”

“You don’t need it.  We have everything you need for this very special, and very private, production.”  Junior was losing interest in the conversation – probably the ADHD.  Jane knew unless you had your tits in his face he’d switch off after winning you over.  She leant forward letting her sloping breasts hang magnificent in front of the camera.  It worked too well.  Junior gave her his full attention.

“Am I expected to star in this production, Junior?”

“Yeah babe, but no man will touch you I promise.  I need Suicide Jane – she goes were others won’t.”  His voice was sincere.

“Ok Junior”, Jane said, relaxing back into the seat.  “No promises, but I’ll hear you out.”  It was false bravado.  If Junior insisted, she didn’t really have a choice, and it was better to come to a compromise with Junior than to even consider having the same conversation with his father.

“All I ask, babe.” Junior winked.  “There’s some Columbian Coke and real, I mean honest to God real, melted Icecap water in the compartment.  Get high; get hydrated – I’ll catch you in a couple of hours.”  The screen went dead.  Jane clicked the compartment open and at least three vials of Columbian Charlie rolled onto the cabinet door.  Two perma-cold glass bottles of water were in back.  Jane grabbed one and twisted the top.  As she sipped it she – ‘Jesus’ - wondered if recording this sensation alone was worthy of a BTL… She’d grab the second bottle on the way home.

***

The Omertas’ Estate was a mid-twentieth Century wealth excess.  Gorgeous exterior walls brickwork led off either way, highlighted by lamps pointing up to reveal the three-storied mansion.  A man in a black suit walked behind the vehicle as Jane climbed out, but did not acknowledge her.  He looked off into the distance ahead.  His sunglasses had a white rim of yellow light: Ray Band Cat Eyes; glasses you wore at night to enhance low-light vision.  She smiled at him self-consciously, as if being nice would prevent him and the Submachinegun he carried from detaining her.  Not hesitating, she walked up the stairs to a large door, probably reinforced with – God knows what.  She stood in the entrance, hoping the so-called ‘ringing the bell’ hadn’t changed.

Jane had been to the Omertas on three occasions.  The first two she was eye-candy for parties, back when a man with an endowed phallus would drill her with a full suite of recording software on her head.  The Omertas owned pimps, but they weren’t pimps.  Jane had never been expected to entertain any of the Omertas’ associates, but she did have to give out BTLs of her work – probably how Junior had gotten a hold of a better than usual performance.  The third visit had been when the Omertas had bailed out her former employer before he turned on them - and then made sure he didn’t.  The interview was simple, Jane knew the business, she’d take over for a trial period and if she could avoid a downturn in distribution for the first month, and show an increase by the third, she could stay on – get away from dirty work and into an office.

The laser that scanned her face worked via low-intensity light reflected back to ultra-sensitive sensors.  After about thirty seconds a doorbell chimed.  Jane knew she was on camera, but the lens was perfectly hidden.  The Butler, or perhaps Junior himself, was walking to the door knowing exactly who was on the other side; and what, if any, weapons they were carrying.  The door clicked and the smiling round face of the youngest Sicilian Prince of Jane’s ruling family alleviated any sense of malice.

“I’m under dressed.”  Jane said.  The heeled black boots, skinny jeans, white singlet, and black merino cardigan were not appropriate for a meeting with her Boss’ son.  Junior’s eyes started from the boots and worked their way up, taking it in slowly.

“You look great.” he said, and there was little doubt he meant it.  He beckoned her in with a jerk of his head and started to walk across the foyer; lobby; vestibule – whatever the immense open space with dual mirrored staircases was labelled as.  Jane followed.  Junior walked off to the side into one of the adjoining rooms.  “Just out of curiosity, what would you have worn with a heads-up?”

“Something sexy, but conservative.” Jane answered.  The tone was friendly -  from Junior, and on Jane’s part.

“I want you to meet someone.”  Junior said, leading Jane through a network of rooms and halls.  Jane wondered whether, if needed, would she be able to find her way back to the entrance.  Each room, revealed behind each new door had a slightly different theme and purpose.  The opulence was not that there were so many rooms, designed for entertaining with pool; darts; music, but rather that someone unseen was lurking off behind each of these doors who would emerge and close them.

“Someone… business related?” Jane said, and glided her hand back through her jet-black, perfectly straight hair.

“No… and yes.”  Junior opened the door to a small, but well equipped kitchen.  She was in the section of the mansion gifted to Junior.  This was his kitchen.  An exquisite, northern Italian beauty stood by a stove, stirring a pot of what smelt like bolognaise.  She was naked save for a white apron.  Though shorter than Jane, her long toned legs lead up into muscular buttocks.  A gently curving waist and flat belly gave rise to two perfect hanging breasts.  The fine lines of her neck turned and auburn eyes beneath slightly off blonde hair turned to her disinterested.  She looked bored and sedated, perhaps coming off a mild marijuana fix.  The corners of her lips curled up slightly in a forced smile; the minimalest of acknowledgements to Junior and his guest.  She seemed perfectly comfortable with her nudity.  “Adrianna”, Junior said, naming his mistress.  “This is Jane, my friend.”

Jane was still taking in Adrianna.  Adrianna gave a soft, “Hmm” of disinterest and turned back to the sauce.

Junior barked at her in Italian.

The sedated Adrianna became animated and with exaggeration, flung the wooden spoon she was stirring with so it glided around the pots rim.  She turned, smiled, a superb actress, and tilted her head.  Her gaze may have been an act put on by demand, but her appraisal of Jane was certainly more prolonged than the dismissive glance she’d given her at first.  Jane could feel Adrianna calculating the contour of her breasts and belly as if 3D scanning her.  She seemed to spend a while staring at Jane’s jean zipper as if pondering the appearance of Jane’s snowflake sex.  “Stasera bella ragazza”, she said in a soft mournful wisp; smiled; and then turned back to her pot of pasta sauce.

Jane knew enough Italian to get the gist of what she thought were Junior’s intentions; with Adrianna privy to the nights activities .

“Jane and I are just going to have a little chat.”

“Hmm”, Adrianna hummed dismissively in reply.

“You may have to put that on simmer.” Junior explained.  Adrianna grew animated and annoyed, butsupressed .  Italians were hot-blooded.  Arguing came as easy as sitting down.

Junior stepped back and past Jane, who was still standing the doorway.  Before following him, Jane took another scan of Adrianna, sizing her up.  Jane turned and followed Junior out of the kitchen.  Junior was silent. Like any sociopath worth his weight he had no quandary about the coming conversation.  Jane followed like an employee, but was grateful for the pretence of familiarity at this point in time.

Junior led her to a lounge with two chairs.  A gas fireplace burned, more for atmosphere than heat.  The walls were lined with framed photographs, seemingly of no interest unless you had worked for the Omertas.  To a party new to dealings with the Omertas they would just be photographs.  Jane could recognise Junior, his brothers, and his father in the photographs.  It wasn’t the Omerta’s presence in the pictures, but rather who they were with: Tommy Two Toned; Danny C; the Russian Entrepreneur whose name Jane couldn’t recall.  All the men in the photos had crossed the Omertas, and all of them had gone missing, or only had parts of them turn up.  Jane grew mildly tense.  It was a trophy room starring those who’d defied the family in some way.  If you knew the Omertas you would heed the warning.  If you didn’t…

“This room”, Junior pointed around the room generally to the pictures.  He was at a tray filled with spirits playing with two glasses.  “It’s like a litmus test.”  He poured a splash of scotch into a wider rimmed glass before reaching to an ice bucket and pulling out a bottle of triple filtered Smirnoff, the type they don’t sell in shops, and holding it out for Jane’s approval.  Jane dipped her head and managed a smile.  Junior splashed her glass with the high priced rocket fuel.  “People who get nervous in my room, they know the Omerta mean business – know what ultimately happens if they cross us.”  Junior walked up to Jane hand extended.  The crystal glass was cold to keep the vodka crisp.  “Those who don’t, we don’t trust.”

“Well, I hope you trust me Junior.”  Jane said, still looking over the photos. ‘God, Kenny Black Jeans!’,she recalled. She’d thought he’d moved back to the continent.  She placed the glass on her lips and tasted the vodka.  As she swallowed she could tell Junior was admiring her throat.  She turned and smiled at him.

“I do trust you, Jane.” Junior was standing by her side looking over the photos.  He took a sip of his scotch.  The ice in the glass clicked and he exhaled as it warmed his throat.  “Adrianna’s a rat.”

“You certain, Junior?”  Jane turned to him and openly read him.  She looked at his shoulders and they were relaxed, then at his eyes and they didn’t seem to have doubt.  “I don’t want to make a recording of an Omerta’s girl only to find out a month down the line that she was innocent.  Your family’s honour and concept of payback, though clear, can be a source of stress for us middle management types.”  Jane referred to the stories of the Omerta hiring an outsider to wack a Mad Man, only to put a hit out on the assassin for killing one of their own.

“Caught her playing with my phone; found a bug; put word out to a pig we own – she’s dirty.”  Junior turned.  His eyes were as soft as an Omerta’s got.  “You know I’ve always had a thing for you Jane - ever since I was a kid.”  His eyes scanned her face.  “You never talked down to me when I followed you around; never tried to take advantage of it to move up.”  Junior looked her dead in the eye.  “I’d never let one of my brothers put that kind of order out on you.”

Jane let her face go soft.  “This is personal for you, Junior.  You really want this.”

“I want to know how afraid she is.  I want to know she regrets it.  I want to feel the absolute sincerity with which she would do anything, absolutely anything, to take it back – and I want to experience that over, and over again.”

Jane finished her vodka.  “When?” Jane asked, knowing the answer.

“Tonight.” Junior finished his Scotch and turned back to the spirits for a refill.  “She thinks the recording is a treat for me.”  There was anger in Junior’s voice.  He poured the Scotch is swift powerful actions.

“And you want me to?”

“We got grade A shit; probably just as good as the stuff you use.  You play kinky with her, get her helpless, and just do your thing.”  Junior didn’t sip this time - he just skulled the shot and spat out an ice-cube that tried to follow it down.

Jane was thinking.  “I can be your actress; and, I can do kinky, but I’m the director… and editing will have to be done off site.”  She held the chilled glass up to her chin thinking.  “You have Deltaware implants.”

Junior nodded holding the bottle of Scotch and tapped his thick finger to his temple.

“Sim-sense OS better than version Three point one?”

“I do love high fidelity.” Junior seemed to be instilled by confidence and removed the plug from the Scotch.  Jane walked over and set her glass down indicating she wanted another too.  Junior poured his, then took a fresh glass from the ice-cooler for Jane.  He knew how she liked her vodka.  He splashed it in her glass.  As reckless as the action was, not a drop ran over the side of the crystal.  Jane picked it up.

“I can triple encrypt the BTL with a safety on the second encryption.  Only you’ll be able to play it, and if anyone tries to crack it, it’ll wipe.”

“It’s your ass if you’re doing the deed”, Junior conceded.

“I’m saying this again; I’m the director.  You have to trust me.”  She held up her glass.

“Editor; Actress; Director – all round honey.”  They clicked glasses in salute.

***

Jane flattened the silk handkerchief on the bed.  Beneath it were two pairs of chrome-coated handcuffs.  It wasn’t her first session of this nature.  The Omerta would have never trusted Jane, very much not an Italian, to take over the brownstone studio unless there was enough dirt on her to make a deal with the District Attorney impossible.  Junior had gifted her a bedroom for the recording.  The multiple down lights permitted mood lighting, but she’d mostly utilized it to create shadows, particularly in the corner Junior would be sitting in to watch.

The knock came at the door.  Jane left things as they were and walked over to it.  She opened the door to Junior standing in his black dress pants and a white shirt.  Adrianna was by his side, stark in her lithe form, but at ease.  Jane didn’t pause.  Adrianna flinched as Jane pushed the sim-sense recorder against her temple.  Annoyed eyes blinked as Jane tapped the button.  A blinking red light turned green.  “I just need him for now, Adrianna”, Jane said and grabbed Junior by his wrist.  “Don’t touch the recorder”, she cautioned the Mafioso’s girl.  She pulled him into the room and Adrianna gave her an indignant look of silent insult.  The door closed.  Jane let go of his wrist.  “Go sit in the corner, and don’t say a word.  I mean it, not a word.  If you hear your name when you’re viewing the BTL, it’s a Logic Snap and it will break the illusion.”  Junior walked over to the chair in the corner.  Jane looked up as she pulled of her cardigan, then her singlet.  Junior was an undefinable silhouette.  The direction of his head was all she could pick.  As she hastily reached back and undid her bra she heard a deep sigh from the shadows.  Jane ignored it and moved onto the stud on her jeans.  As she slid the skinny jeans down she crouched down to not lose her balance.  She kicked her clothes under the bed.  “I’ve been working all day.  Do you want me to freshen up, or smell?”

“I like your scent.” Junior’s voice was calm, but soft.  He was excited.

“Ok.  All quiet on set starting now.”  Jane walked to the door and gently opened it.  To Junior’s view she was pressed up against the doorframe, legs slightly open, her many gifts from God on display to the caller.  “Showtime Adrianna.  I’ve got a plans for you.”  She reached out and grabbed the buxom mistress gently by the wrist.  She led her forward and closed the door behind her.  Adrianna looked around the room for Junior.  Jane’s hand came gently to the skin of her cheek, her centre finger pressing in against the supple flesh of her bottom.  “I’ve got a surprise for you.” Jane whispered in her ear.  Adrianna was facing the bed and Jane crossed behind her in reach of the handkerchief.  She pulled it away revealing the two pairs of handcuffs.

Adrianna broke the mood. “Santa Madre Maria di Dio.” Vexation filled her voice as she tensed and inhaled.  She made a ‘tisk’ sound as she exhaled and forced herself to relax.

Jane sighed, “Ok! We’ll do it your way.”  Jane picked up the first set of handcuffs.  She placed them against Adrianna’s cheek, just like she had her hand, and glided them down her shapely legs.  At her ankles she swung them out and let the heavy, cold metal tap against her ankle.  Jane felt it was important that the handcuffs not be Adrianna’s friends now.  One click; two clicks, and they were secured.  As Jane rose up her hand glided back over Adrianna’s soft olive skin.  Adrianna was a beauty, groomed to be delectable enough to get a rich husband.  At the acquisition of the knowledge that Junior would not marry a whore she must have decided to tell tales to the Attorney General in exchange for; whatever it was she was chasing.  As Jane picked up the second pair of cuffs, still behind Adrianna, the floozy turned her head.  Jane let her see the cold look in her eyes as she clasped Adrianna’s hands behind her back.  “Don’t tell them I didn’t try to be gentle about this.”  Jane firmly grasped Adrianna’s shoulders.  She twisted and as Adrianna tried to spin, she lost her balance.  Jane pushed and Adrianna toppled back onto the bed.

“Puttana cagna”, Adrianna called, trying to gain purchase.  She looked up at slender Jane.  Jane had one arm bent and resting on her waist, the other on her thigh.  Though smaller, Jane’s breasts hung perfectly; her belly was toned, and her sex smooth.  The hand on her thigh came up and her finger passed over her slit, collecting Jane’s excitement as it did.  Adrianna’s eyes caught all the deliberate action; Jane was a good director.

“Is it how you thought it would look?” Jane asked, looking down over the helpless Adrianna.  The strumpet realised her anger.

“Vaffanculo voi poveri spazzatura bianco.”  Her auburn eyes glared angrily, but were  met only by Jane’s hungry blue eyes.

Jane sauntered onto the bed and Adrianna try to roll away, but ended up on her side, in an awkward blending of legs.  Jane slapped Adrianna’s bottom.  She came up behind Adrianna.  “Ok”, she said softly in a whisper.  She reached under the pillow for the thread of velvet rope she had cut from the curtain.  “The first cut is the deepest.”  Jane wedged her knee between Adrianna’s shoulder blades.  The Italian vixen spat and cursed, but it turned to concern as Jane placed the rope over neck  Adrianna managed a gasp as Jane pulled the rope from between Adrianna’s neck and the mattress.  Jane took a firm hold, squared her knee.  “We could have had a little fun before this turned dark”, Jane said calmly twisted the velvet rope around her hand.  Her knee pushed forward; her arms pulled back; Adrianna’s gasp turned to a gurgle and the fight began.  

Jane pulled the cord tight until any more would wrench Adrianna’s head back.  Adrianna’s back arched like a tetanus spasm.  Her knees bent and straightened; bent and straightened.  Behind her back her shackled hands with her sharp nails tried to reach back.  Her fingers clawed like talons out of reach of Jane’s body thanks to Jane’s knee.  Adrianna’s eyes bulged and her face started to go red.  Behind her, chocking her, Adrianna watched the spasms for signs of the oxygen being spent.  A half suffocated girl would scratch and rage, she would shrink into Jane’s arms and yearn for every second of rest.  As the thrashing became less, Jane looked up to the sim-sense recorder on Adrianna’s temple.  The greenlight flashed red for a split second.  Jane relaxed her grip.

The cord had bit so deeply into Adrianna’s soft skin that it stayed in place despite the slacking of the tension.  She hoarsely gasped for air taking deep, whistling painful breaths through her assaulted larynx.  “Ok Adrianna – breathe.  Good girl.”  Adrianna was limp.  A moan, that was a distressed sigh, sounded from her mouth and her body collapsed like she was sleeping.  Only her chest, rising and falling heavily, gave proof of life.  Jane uncurled the velvet rope from her hands and looked at the red marks.  Indentations had formed and told of the damage done to her throat.  “You caught your breath”, Jane said softly and traced her nail over the flawless olive skin of Adrianna’s shoulder.  Adrianna moaned in another ravished sigh.  It was better she be kept wanting air for the first few minutes Jane knew and wound the velvet chord around her palms again.  “Time for round two, Adrianna.”  A gasp turned to a whimper, and then a gurgle.

Adrianna’s movements were less defensive.  Helplessness and defeat propelled her mind into panic.  Jane had visited these places so frequently that it was second nature.  She could read the twitches and spasms like a pop song, when you could just tell what is coming next and the familiarity makes it catchy.  Adrianna’s choking was very catchy – very standard fair.  Jane had a bipolar experience bought on by dying too many times play BTL’s; half her brain felt Adrianna’s struggle for life; and the other half felt arousal, power, and a hunger that was never satisfied.  The thrashing was breaking down.  Adrianna’s muscles were starved of oxygen.  Lactic acid flooded through her veins, burning, and the final spasms fractured bones and tore tendons.  Short, fast shakes of a death rattle took hold.  Jane slackened the rope and let a whisper of air prolong the excercise.  Adrianna hissed her last breath – perhaps…

As Adrianna’s body went limp, Jane pulled the rope away from around her neck and rolled her onto her back.  She checked the sim-sense recorder.  The light had just turned red.  What it was recording now were fleeting images of memories and dreams that Jane could never grab hold of.  This was the part that made the recording magic.  In about a minute the little red light would start to flash.  The flashing would become more drawn out until the electricity in the brain was so diminished that no sim-sense device could record it.  Junior’s silhouette, silent as instructed, started to rise.  Jane held out her finger for him to halt and the shadow stopped, and returned to its seat.  She placed one hand on the other over Adrianna’s sternum.  Being on the bed, the compressions had to be hard.  Her whole body shook.  Thirty compressions took two long breaths; one hundred compression a minute.  Jane did the first two breaths and then back to compressions.

Adrianna was spirited.  A gasp sounded after the first of the second round of breaths.  Jane smiled and rolled Adrianna onto her side in the recovery position.  “Good girl”, Jane said happily.  She Spooned Adrianna, feeling the feverish warmth of the revived girl.  “Good girl.”  Jane kissed Adrianna’s shoulder and then bought her upper hand around to stroke one of the exquisite breasts.  “You’re very, very good at dying Adrianna – I’m afraid you’re going to have to do it again once you’ve recovered.” Jane’s voice was seductively excited.  Her toying hand grew bored with Adrianna’s breast and traced down to her buttocks.  The teasing of Adrianna’s skin would make a nice layer to the sim-sense track – sexual confusion thrown in for good measure.

Adrianna sobbed as her breathing became more regular.  “Why?” she whimpered, but the tone was pleading and the audience was merciless.

“You know why, baby”, Jane whispered back.  “Are you sorry?”

“Yes.”  Adrianna moved her aching body slightly and Jane shushed her.  Jane’s hand moved to Adrianna’s shoulder and squeezed it with morbid affection.

“You’re young, and fit… this is going to go on for hours.”

Adrianna cried in fear and sadness.

Jane giggled and placed the cord back around Adrianna’s neck.

***

Junior had risen from his perch when Jane called it.  Adrianna was gone.  Jane had climbed off her and taken a deep breath.  As he had stepped out of the shadow the first thing Jane saw was the giant erection, and stains were the head of his penis would be.  He’d ether blown his loud or was so aroused there had been seepage.  Jane reached for the recorder and trick-switched it to disconnect it.  She stepped back and crouched down for her clothes under the bed.  Placing the recorder in her jean pocket she realised that she need a shower.  Adrianna had required more, and more, time to recover after each death.  Her larynx had crumbled and the last two times Jane didn’t even need the handcuffs or cord.  She’d straddled Adrianna and choked her with a hand, easily resisting the soft push of her failing muscles.  Adrianna’s eyes had been wide as Jane choked her, but repeated, unpreventable, defeat had sedated them and the girl had finally found peace and the red light had gone out on the sim-sense.  It was not, by any means, a bad piece of work.  Jane hadn’t killed anyone personally for several years.  As she stepped into the steamy shower of the guest bedroom she allowed herself a smile.  “I got to take a shower”, she said to the still silent Junior.

Junior was staring down at Adrianna mesmerised.  His eyes blinked and he snapped out of the spell. “Of course”, he said and gestured to the side door.

“Thanks.”  As Jane turned to leave Junior’s eyes danced a furious ballet over her glistening body.  She smiled and popped her eyebrows teasingly.  She stepped into the shower and closed the door.  Jane was on a power trip, the kind having the power of life and death gave.  She reached into the shower and turned the hot water on before stepping to the vanity.  She looked at herself in the mirror, checking her pupils.  The endorphin kick from committing the right kind of murder could dilate your pupils like you were high.  She stared at herself and tried to recall the contents of her fridge at home to check she was clean; sober; straight.  “I could use another shot of vodka after this show…” The door opened behind her and then closed.

She could see Junior in the misting up mirror; naked; heaving like a beast.  Apprehension shot up Jane’s spine and she felt herself tense.  Junior’s eyes were wide and still, like he had just been in a firefight.  Jane closed her eyes for a second and collected herself.  This was the trouble with Sociopaths.  She turned and leant back on the vanity.  “You can have me this once Junior”, she said calmly.  His blood was up; after release the urges would be gone.  Junior walked towards looking starved and hungry. 

***

They were back in the room with photographs, this time sitting.  Junior had blown his load – not in the sense you would be embarrassed about.  Years of fantasising and anticipation over Jane had been realised.  Jane was perfectly comfortable with the exchange, she’d played it just right.  When Junior finally came inside her she kissed him passionately and for as long as the moment lasted, not cheapening the experience. 

Junior had just had his girlfriend murdered and slept with the person responsible.  Jane allowed the silent sipping of the spirits to go on for a while longer before saying, “When I’m done with editing I’ll let you know.”

Junior looked up at her hopefully, still like that fifteen year old boy who asked his Dad if he could go on the rounds with him to catch a glimpse of the girl from the BTL.  “Do you think you could bring it around when it’s done?”

“Sure Junior.”  Jane said and smiled.

“Great.  I’ll cook us something for dinner.”

“No.”  Jane shook her head.

“What do you mean no?” Junior looked hurt.

Jane leant forward and placed her hand on his.  “I mean we just recorded me murdering your girlfriend on your request – what part of that says date me?”

“No.”  Junior shrugged off the logic.  “I mean like see each other serious.”

Jane put her glass down and stood up.  She walked forward and kissed the sitting Junior on the cheek.  “Your Dad would never let you be serious with a pornstar turned BTL dealer.  She ruffled up his hair.  “I like you plenty, Junior. Let’s be friends.”  Jane walked away and closed the door behind her.  She had successfully pulled of her perfect exit when she looked at the room she was in now and realised she had no idea how to get to mansion’s front door.