Going Home

The gray and red 1969 Camaro swerved into the right lane, nearly killing the pedestrian who had been hitchhiking along the roadside. Instead of abruptly reacting to this near brush with death, she instead, merely dropped her hand and stoically walked to the passenger side of the vintage muscle car, the door already swung open to receive her.

She entered the car rather nonchalantly, throwing her bag automatically in the footwell, never considering to check to see if her host were Presidential nominee, or cat-house strangler. Her black leather mini-skirt slid easily up her thighs, exposing just a hint of the light hair minimally covering her pubic area. Calmly closing the door, shutting out the 4 am coolness, the Oregon highway's backwoods freshness and the withering moonlight, she ran her hand seductively along the inner flank of her thighs, expecting to affect the driver with shock, desire, or at very least, tepid concupiscence.

Randii Leigh Nefarious sat quietly in the passenger seat. Green eyes peered through heavy makeup, head fixed ahead, staring straight down the road before them. Expectant. Ready for anything. A full minute passed before she finally looked over at the driver.

Randii Leigh was one of those people this world spawned every other generation or so. Bored w4th life before she was 16, she had hit the road for adventure and had found nothing at all which had excited her. Not the biker group she had traveled with before killing one of the last two to have raped her, nor the traveling skydivers; the bank robber; nor the three lesbians who had been so enchanting, until she found they were into specialized oddities. Demented stuff, like child porn and male dismemberment, snuff flicks.

Of all the Lesbians, or `bi-' women she had known for that matter and they had been more than a few in number, those three had been the most disturbed. Though few men realized how many women desired loving from another woman, so to did few women realize it. When the men did happen to find out, it was almost always through howls of fear and outraged anger. All this from something they need have no fear of competition against. Men could be so provoking. The women however, well, that was a different matter all together.

As for children, Randii Leigh loved them more than anything or anyone else, except of course, for the male member of the species. None of the things she had savored had settled her "fervidity" for adventure; none of these experiences had quelched that necessity for what she knew was something...Necessary; something...Exciting...Inflaming...Something...Something... Forever...Something...just over the top of the next rise.

By this time, Randii Leigh had needed more than this poor world seemed to have to offer. She had been threatened with everything imaginable; some things good, others--merely the end to an already boring existence. An existence which, curiously enough, she had indeed, no real wish to end.

From what she had heard of Heaven, boredom was ITS major drawback, otherwise she would have seen to it that she visited it forthwith. So she had pressed her travels into meeting the most unusual people; the dangerous, the bizarre and the twisted. And still, she was ever searching.

Karate had been too easy for her back home, chess too boring. She was a woman of action, with no proper action available to her in this aseptic world. Her unrest was both anemic trial and vapid affliction, torturing her eternally.

Frustrating her waking hours, haunting her sleeping ones. After more than a year on the road, Randii Leigh had three murders to her credit, an as yet immaculate rap sheet and 12 thousand dollars. The money, she would simply mail to a Hotel situated in the next town, in somewhat the general direction that she was then headed. Several times she had been forced to strike out in the opposite direction at the last instant, only to return later, arrogantly, for her money.

As for the Police, they didn't even know that she existed. Other than for a missing persons report that `The Guardians' had once long ago filled out on her, already long filed away and forgotten, she was a virtual unknown by the agencies of law enforcement.

She had become accustomed to calling her Guardians, `The Guards', preferring to dub them this to the few acquaintances which she had been allowed to acquire. In childbirth, she had lost her mother and then, moments later, her Father. Randii Leigh's Father and pregnant Mother had been engaged in a gunfight with the Federal Police for two and a half hours when she had finally been born. That had been exactly 18 years ago, to the minute.

Randii Leigh had a legacy unique among God's fearing peoples. For she was the daughter of Human Mutilators: a rapist for a Father, a rapist's accomplice for a Mother. And her Foster Parents had never let her hear the end of it. She was `Trash' and they were her only Salvation. Prayer and Repentance, hard work and NO pleasure.

The bedroom in the only home she had ever known had already been filled with another foster child. But she didn't care. Anything was better than working your ass off for those penny pinching bastards. They only needed her to slave for them.

Now that they had another, she had been long forgotten. This made her very happy. She knew the game. She understood: "Nothing for nothing. "

Randii Leigh raised her head slowly, gazing at the driver past her light, angelic eyebrows. Seductive, attractive, she projected something she had learned from the Lesbian trio--Enchantment. They had told her that no one harms, nor thinks ill of Enchanting Women. Unless it be someone's wife or lover. For this, they were always on guard. Men were always jealous of the affections some women shared for others of their sex. As for women, they were more jealous than any man ever could be about their women. This threesome had been women who wished no undue attentions from the people they used and threw away.

So, Randii Leigh knew how to play the Game. A ride for a blow job? If it got her taken far enough away from here, it would be a fair and proper exchange in her book. Finally, she focused full upon the driver.

Although the road had been dark, there was a full moon occasionally springing down through the trees, but the driver remained shrouded in darkness, the car's interior darker than Randii Leigh had thought that it could be. She could hear the driver breathing heavily, as if through a mask, or the suppressed desires of a repressed Minister? That thought pleased her.

Perhaps she would get her picture in the papers. She shifted in her seat noticing that there was something like sand, gritty and somewhat oily, beneath her bare thighs. When she lifted her hand, whatever it was, stuck to her skin. It smelled sweet, ripe, reminiscent of--something, but she could not quite place it. A chill commenced to sweep over her body. Still, not a word passed from driver, or passenger; their silence, the merest reflection of an unspoken covenant of mute compliance.

Randii Leigh began to grow tense, then apprehensive, her trepidation eventually blossoming into downright anger. She was not a person to ignore, nor provoke. Sensing that something was askew, she leaned over and put her hand on the driver's thigh, seeking to comfort him. Accidentally bumping the driver's overcoat, a part of the coat and sleeve fell away as if they had long been soaked in acid, the skin beneath it having a slimy texture to it. The car suddenly thundered forward, throwing her back, deep into her seat. Still, she could not see the driver's face, could not even be sure that it was actually a male. The unexpected acceleration drew an equally unexpected heat and perspiration from the excited depths of her body.

Randii Leigh looked at the speedometer...