The Bond Between Beauty and Evil

[Published in Black Rose #3]


The future can be quite a precarious thing. Who knows what might occur in the next day, the next hour, the next second...? Like any other, Ben was unable to foresee events, and he was somehow pleased that he could not do so. He had already suffered enough terrors during his lifetime, and therefore did not wish to dwell on the horrors of his own destiny. The future shall forever remain an enigmatic mystery, for who can imagine what lies in store for them, and for us all. The next second could be one's last -- or it could last for eternity.
Ben considered it rather sad that old friends are sometimes only reacquainted in grief. This maddened him, as he quietly recalled distant memories of the pleasurable times he had spent with David in his youth. He then began to wonder why funerals seemed to attract such inclement weather, as he gazed over the proceedings through a swirl of drifting rain. It was as though the heavens sought to match the miserable occasion with its own helping of miserable weather. Black clothing was covered by the accessory of the black umbrella, an unnatural collection of thick, dark web-shapes held aloft in the gloomy sky. Ben almost chuckled at this unique sight, but then remembered the solemnity of the occasion.
"Are you all right?" Mary whispered.
Her voice interrupted his train of thought. She was standing beside him, and he attempted to sniff at the scent she was wearing, but all he could smell was rain and the increasing dew on the grass.
"Yeah," he replied, "are you?"
"I suppose," she said, her final word caught up in a choke. Ben noticed that she was sobbing quietly, a damp handkerchief dabbing at her mouth and eyes. Let it all out, he thought -- he was your brother after all.
His eyes scanned the small bunch of mourners, taking in the sadness and the grief that enveloped the whole scene. He only recognised a few -- familiar faces from the past. He hadn't really missed them during the nine years he'd been away. He admitted to himself that he would only have come back for the sake of David. Or Mary.
Suddenly he spotted a distinct, forlorn figure standing on the periphery of the crowd. It was as if she had arrived late, or was merely present as an afterthought, or she didn't wish for anyone to notice her. She was covered in a heavy cloak of black, and possessed no umbrella, and indeed no protection from the elements at all. Ben was immediately intrigued, mainly because this woman's crown was entirely devoid of hair.
"Who's that?" he asked, nudging Mary and nodding in the stranger's direction.
Mary looked, and hesitated before offering an answer. "That's Emily. She's a bit strange."
A bit strange? In what way, thought Ben. He found that he could not take his eyes off her, choosing to stare her way as if in a silent trance. Maybe it was due to her baldness that Mary viewed her as strange. Whatever it was, he considered her quite beautiful. He watched as the raindrops splashed on to her depilated head, a heavy trickle snaking down and over the crook of her nose, and her dark eyes awash with a mixture of the rain and her own tears. She resembled an empty shell of a soul -- as if she had lost something that meant more than the world to her.
He decided not to pursue his enquiries regarding this woman, for Mary was obviously far more concerned with the funereal proceedings. He watched as David was lowered into the black, wet pit, to rest with the creeping parasites that abound within the earth. He ignored the weather as he considered the horror and the pain of losing such a special friend. Officially his death certificate stated that broncho-pneumonia had claimed him, but the reviled stigma of AIDS would always linger in the memory of family, friends, and others. Mary had been vague in describing his condition to Ben, but he did remember her words, mainly the manner in which she had told him of David's tormented physical state.
A brooding silence wrapped itself around the graveyard like a colossal, invisible cloak. Ben scanned the scene once more, affixing his gaze onto the mysterious bald woman. He thought it quite peculiar that the two of them could be so different. His own precious, dark locks were getting heavily wet in the downpour, but he chose not to think too much about this. This enigmatic figure had aroused his curiosity, and as the crowd began to leave the cemetery he promised himself that he would definitely attempt to get to know her.
"I'm Emily," she whispered in response to Ben's introduction.
He sipped a minute amount of sherry, simultaneously thinking how much he detested the stuff, but was merely drinking it to be polite. His eyes wandered all over her, undressing her, stripping her totally bare, and admiring the image his brain had invented.
It was good to finally get out of the shower, and apart from the collection of dripping brollies and musky-smelling overcoats in the hallway the house was rain-free. He had immediately darted in the direction of Emily, embarrassing himself somewhat, a host of inquisitive eyes glowering at this obvious action. He tried not to care, but it wasn't easy. He could feel Mary's penetrating glare the most. It was akin to a painful stabbing of the chest, such was the ferocity it exuded. He thought she would have got over the past by now.
"Did you know David well?" he asked Emily, daring to gaze into her deep, grey eyes. Any old thing to engage her in conversation, so why not the familiar post-funeral enquiry?
"Yes," she said at once, "he developed my photos a few times. He even did me a favour by taking some on the odd occasion. He was good like that."
Ben listened intently, taking in every word. He wanted to know all about this woman. His curiosity was like a sudden disease, as if he had been destined to make contact with her. He was obviously aware that David had been involved in the photography profession, something that had begun as a pastime and had developed into a full-time occupation. Conversations took place around him, the steady and controlled drone of soft voices chatting, discussing things that they hoped did not appertain to David. As though they all wanted to leave his skeleton firmly locked inside the closet.
"How about you?" she asked. "How did you know David?"
He answered with great enthusiasm, relishing this opportunity to speak to Emily, as well as to admire the extraordinary and splendid sight of that smooth crown.
"We're old friends," he said, "or rather, we were old friends. We grew up together, and then I moved away. That was nine years ago. This is my first time back."
He was economical with the truth, believing that this was all she needed to know. He didn't tell her about his early years, and what a sick child he had been, all the times he had been frighteningly close to death. It was something he did not reveal to anyone these days, thinking that they just wouldn't comprehend nor understand. In fact he himself had been sceptical upon learning of the experts' findings, regarding their conclusions as strangely preternatural. Leaving town had given him a freedom that had proven to be both a boon and a luxury, and one that he reckoned he deserved.
"So what do you actually do?" Ben asked, partly through interest and partly to change the subject, consciously dissuading her from exploring his statement about leaving town.
"I do paintings and sculpture," said Emily, her features adopting an expression of enthusiasm, presumably because she had been given the chance to speak on a subject she adored.
She then did something that surprised Ben, and sent a pleasant tingle throughout his body. She stretched out her forefinger and lightly traced an imaginary line over his chest, her eyes staring and containing a certain weirdness that somewhat startled him. He immediately recalled Mary's words -- 'a bit strange', she had said. He started to wonder...
"The human form is my favourite subject," she cooed, displaying a smile that caused an odd thrill to pass through Ben's veins, "and I find your form most delightful."
He was rather overwhelmed by this impetuous behaviour, himself not accustomed to such intimacy from a stranger. He was proud of his physique, mainly because as a youngster he had been so weak and feeble, and so to have developed these muscles filled him with a feeling of accomplishment. Mary had already commented on the dramatic transformation in his appearance since he had left all those years ago. He had immediately joined a gym, and had embarked on a programme of physical fitness, which had proven to be so successful that he was currently employed as an instructor at that same establishment.
"Emily!" a voice called. "How are you?"
Ben returned to normality upon hearing these words, and turned to confront a nonentity with a high-pitched voice and poor dress sense, even for a funeral. This person was attempting to steal his thunder by beginning his own conversation with Emily, and much to Ben's alarm he was succeeding, as she had already started to address the fellow. However, she suddenly paused and turned to face him once more, directing her enchanting gaze his way.
"You must visit my studio, Ben," she said in that trance-like whisper he had quickly grown to adore. "Tomorrow evening. I'll be there."
With that she produced a business card from inside her pocket and casually handed it to him. He took it, and at once she resumed the new conversation she had started, dismissing him like some new toy she had become bored with. He read the card, which contained her full name and address and the nature of her profession. Then he looked up, as if by instinct, and noticed that Mary was standing by the window, alone and shooting daggers at him. He presumed that she had witnessed the entire scenario, and he felt quite guilty. She was not conscious of the truth, and this was the way he wished it to remain. If she had known about his incredulous condition, untold fame and fortune could have been hers if she had decided to tell the media. Yes, apart from those experts, he was the only one who knew that he lost all his strength after having his hair shorn.

Stepping into Emily's studio was like entering another world, for Ben knew practically nothing about the art business. The place was so spacious it amazed him. It served both as a home and a work-place, and this explained its size to some extent. From the outside it looked so small, just another apartment in an exclusive block that reeked of wealth and prosperity. Looking out of a massive picture window he was impressed by the magnificent view of the nearby harbour, the colourful array of boats nestling in still waters and the plethora of night-lights that adorned the early evening. The constant smell of incense lingered in his nostrils, as it mingled with the odour of Emily's perfume. He had never seen a place such as this.
Sleeping in Mary's spare room the previous night, he had experienced the nightmare once again. He couldn't recall a time when this blasted dream did not take place. From his earliest childhood he had dreamt of a quiet place, where darkness prevailed and a certain mysterious atmosphere caused him to tremble in fright. Slowly, from out of the black void there appeared a hideous demon-type, all ugliness and menace. This creature would vary in shape and form, but always it possessed a threat. It approached with slavouring lips and glowing eyes of yellow, in its grip a large pair of scissors or something equally terrible. The outcome was predictable, as the thing began to snip and chop at his locks until he was completely devoid of all his hair. Then it would creep off into the darkness, the sounds of a snigger evident in the gloom. Ben would be lying weakened and afraid in an untidy heap of skin and bones, the dramatic loss of hair causing him to retch violently. And death was not far away...
"What do you think of the place?" asked Emily, sweeping her slender arm across the room.
"I'm impressed," said Ben.
She was wearing bootcut trousers and a cropped chenille sweater, both in black, and her dainty, bare feet sunk into the softness of the carpet as she seemed to float around the apartment like a mysterious angel. Her dark clothing appeared to accentuate her hairless dome. Ben was mesmerised by her beauty, caught in a mad trance by this voluptuous creature.
After she had vanished into the kitchen area to prepare coffee, he took the opportunity to observe his surroundings. Evidence of her work were scattered about the room, picturesque figures of birds and animals, all in stone. Cats and dogs dominated, and he guessed that she had some unique fascination for these animals. As he studied each sculpture he was astonished at the extraordinary positions they were in. Emily seemed to have crafted each in the most unusual stance, unlike any statue he had ever come across. The typical pose did not appear to be to her liking, and this astounded and intrigued him at the same time.
"I see you're admiring my work," she said as she came into the room holding two generous mugs of steaming coffee.
Her voice startled Ben. She seemed to just glide about the place, as silently as the most gentle kitten. She handed him one of the mugs, steam invading the private space that surrounded his features. He blew on the brown surface, causing ripples to form on the hot liquid, before taking an adventurous sip. It tasted excellent. Yet had he expected anything else?
"I have some more interesting figures to show you," she said, her dark lips widening into a devilish smile, "come this way, if you want to see them."
Somehow he felt that he had no choice, her invitation being more of a command. His natural inquisitiveness made him accept the offer, as he began to follow his hostess into the adjoining room. She flicked on a light, filling the place in a glorious brilliance, and he crossed the threshold, mug in hand. Butterflies appeared to flutter around in his stomach as soon as he came face to face with the collection of sculptures that dominated the room. Emily was certainly a woman filled with the most sinister of surprises.
Dotted around the room were perhaps nine or ten stone figures, all of them life-size models of the human male. Each of them was completely naked. Ben shivered, it was so cold in there. Again, they adopted positions that were quite strange, and not the normal poses one would find in exhibitions and the like. The statues were either standing, kneeling, lying, or sitting, some of them in the most awkward situations. However, the most striking and immediately visible thing about each of them was the fact that they were all most obviously sexually aroused.
"Do you like them?" Emily asked.
"Amazing..." was all he could utter.
And then he began to recollect the conversation he had had with Mary the previous evening. He put it down to her jealousy, which was something he could not understand after all these years. She had made the most vile accusations regarding Emily, stabbing remarks that Ben considered quite undeserved and extremely harsh. He also thought them to be rather absurd.
"You've arranged to see her, haven't you?" hissed Mary.
Ben had nodded. He had no reason to hide this fact. He then noticed the expression of annoyance that had formed upon Mary's face, and was astounded. All those years ago they had enjoyed a lengthy relationship, an intense bond that had grown into something more, something that resembled genuine love. Mary had helped him through all the bad times, for which he was grateful, and they had made love regularly and with a fierce passion. But his encounters with death had taken a lot out of him. He just had to leave that place, or go insane.
"Don't trust that woman," she had told him, "she's a witch. She's evil! What woman decides to shave off all her hair? It's weird! And there's something else about her. Rumours..."
This instantly intrigued Ben, and he chose to pursue this, demanding that she tell him of these supposed rumours.
"You've heard of Medusa, haven't you?" Mary said.
Ben frowned. "Medusa? Of course I have. Why?"
"Emily has these stone figures. They're so life-like they look real. Human males cast in stone. Think about it."
"What? Medusa -- anyone who looked at her turned to stone. But, Mary, this is stupid. You don't believe this, do you? And besides, Medusa had a head full of serpents. Emily is bald, for God's sake!"
"I don't know -- I just have this feeling, that's all."
Ben wanted to dismiss the theory, but then he thought of his own unnatural gift -- losing all strength upon losing his hair. The Samson phenomenon he had been cursed with. The Medusa thing could well be true. But Emily had no hair, as he had claimed. Mary's idea just wasn't feasible. It couldn't be -- surely?
"They look almost real," Ben said to Emily, focusing once more on the eerie collection of sculptures before him.
"Everyone says that," she replied, almost nonchalantly, "I'm going to exhibit them soon. It should be quite a show."
"Yeh," muttered Ben, taking another mouthful of the coffee.
"Would you like to join them?" Emily asked suddenly.
Ben was so shocked that he spluttered on his coffee, sending an ugly spray of the liquid over his shirt.
"What?" he exclaimed.
Emily laughed. "Don't be shocked. There's nothing to worry about. It's just that you have the physique I'm looking for. I'd love to make a statue of you. If you're interested."
Ben studied her, deep in thought. He gazed at her bare head, and realised that he had not turned to stone. He then reckoned that Mary's notion must be completely ridiculous. He decided that her accusations were based purely on her insane possessiveness, and that Emily was totally harmless. He was flattered that she wanted to make a statue of him, and chose to go ahead with the idea. It also meant he had an excuse to remain in her company for a while longer, and this gave him great pleasure. She then suggested that they return to the lounge in order to discuss things, and so he followed her, and they settled in close proximity on the settee. Her scent was both exciting and alluring, and driving him wild with desire. He then decided to proceed with some enquiries of his own, if only to satisfy his aching curiosity.
"What happened to your hair?" he muttered. "Did you decide to go for the bald look?"
She chuckled slightly, and then hesitated, stroking the arm of the settee like a nervous child. "It was a conscious decision. I just decided to cut them off."
Ben smiled at her, contemplating her choice of words. Them? Why did she refer to her hair as them? A peculiar shudder passed through him.
"So what about you?" she then asked. "Why is your hair so long? To be quite honest, I've been aching to take some scissors to your head. Nothing personal..."
It was Ben's turn to chortle, and he found himself running his hand through his dark locks. If she only knew...
"Don't you dare do that!" he said -- a warning rather than a request.
She then seemed to change the subject, going back to the business of the pose. They discussed things at length, with Emily explaining all her requirements. It took quite a while, and in between she replaced the coffee with wine, and Ben found himself captured by her spell, trapped by her dark charms and the enchanting perfume she was wearing. The figures in the other room seemed so real. It was as if they were alive, and staring at him. Lost souls encased in stone. As though they had dared to gaze upon Medusa's head of serpents.
"Of course, you'll need to remove your clothes," she insisted, almost as if she were deliberately teasing him, "I want you completely naked. But remember one thing. This is strictly business. No funny ideas. Besides, I'm celibate."
Ben was dumbstruck. Such a beautiful woman -- and celibate. What a waste! He immediately imagined making love to her, the two of them together on the settee, entwined in some near-impossible position, all sweat and hot breathing. She then left the room as he started to disrobe. He took his time, not wishing to hurry things, relishing each second he was spending in that apartment. It was proving to be one of the most stimulating evenings of his life, and he didn't want it to finish. Now nude, he stretched out on the cushions, relaxing in the luxury the settee provided. Closing his eyes, he invited images of Emily, this gorgeous creature, naked as he was, displaying each and every charm she possessed. He loved the pictures his brain was inventing so much that he eventually drifted into an intoxicating sleep.
In his subconscious state he dreamt of that dark, silent place. A grotesque figure emerged from beyond, gradually appearing and brandishing a pair of scissors so large it sent a shiver right through his bones. This ghoulish thing possessed incandescent eyes and a monstrous, sinful grin, and as it approached he gasped, recognising it to be Mary, or some frightful version of her. A further exclamation left his lips when he realised that she had no hair upon her head, not one single follicle, and this in turn caused him to scream a demented scream that rang out horribly, shattering the dark silence. He was compelled to remain immobile, completely motionless, as she attacked him with the lethal instrument, cutting off his black mane in vicious, violent swipes. He awoke with a jump, his eyes exposed to a brilliant light, and through a blurred haze he realised that he was in Emily's lounge.
He knew that she was close to him, although he was unable to reach out and touch her, owing to some remarkable and outrageous weakness of the body. She was perched upon the settee, her scent stretching out to crawl into his nostrils, and he wanted to open his eyes fully so that he could see her, but it was all so foggy, as though he were still inside the nightmare, or in some alternative dream-like daze. Unknown to him, her trousers and sweater had been discarded, and as he squinted he observed the pale-pink flesh of her nakedness. To his delight he was able to briefly discern the aesthetic sight of her small breasts, and then they were gone, lost to his sight. He tried to stir his bones, but a severe exhaustion had enveloped him. Then, to his utter horror, he did see the horrid scattering of dark hairs that were strewn across the settee and carpet. He wanted to cry out, but he was too weak.
"I couldn't resist cutting it," said Emily without emotion, a strange robotic tone reminiscent of androids in space movies, "I wanted you without the hair."
Ben then felt a dreamy, pleasurable sensation occurring, and through the swirling haze he noticed her right hand wrapped around his penis, a steady motion taking place, and the blood pumping through his veins. This amazed him. It was all so weird.
"But..." he burbled in a light, distant tone, "you said... you were... celibate..."
"That's true," she replied, her voice so unreal it seemed to be coming from a million miles away, "but this is business. This is my work."
He sensed her hand leaving his erection, and he thought he was about to die, until he observed her getting to her feet and adopting a standing position in front of him. She was still wearing her briefs, and as he gazed at the whiteness of them he was horrified to notice an astonishing bulge beneath the material, something that was moving. And then she lowered the briefs on to her thighs, and he really, really wished to scream, for instead of a mass of pubic curls he saw a group of wriggling, squirming things with darting, hissing tongues and tiny eyes. And then he could not move.