The Killing Vision by Will Overby Page A

He could almost see it, like a
shimmering, pulsating web extending from his center outward.
    Shelley was watching him, smiling.  “How ya feel?”
    He nodded.  “Fantastic.”
    She grinned wider.  “You keep laughing.”
    “I do?”
    “Isn’t it great?” Abby said.
    Abby’s slender body seemed to move in slow motion,
writhing with the beat.  He wondered what she looked like naked, and then it
seemed as though he could see through her clothes, watching her breasts sway,
her sleek flat stomach undulate.
    Suddenly, he wanted her.  He wanted Shelley, too. 
He wanted both of them, and they wanted him.  The three of them were pressed
together, moving together with the music, their arms wrapped around each other,
and he was kissing them both.  He was hard as a stone.
    How or when they left the Capitol he could not
recall.  The next thing he remembered was rolling around in a bed between the
two of them.  They were all three kissing, licking, moving, flowing.  He tasted
one, then the other, and he didn’t know which.  The three of them were one huge
writhing, sweating, slippery, fucking mass.  He was deep inside Shelley,
thrusting powerfully, then he withdrew and plunged into Abby.  Something,
either a dildo or a vibrator, slipped inside him and began moving in and out.   Really
pushing the old envelope now, he thought.  And suddenly he was coming, an
orgasm that erupted from his very soul.  White sparks of light flashed before
him, and then he drifted away to a plane where the pleasure was so painfully
intense that his mind could not fathom it.  His whole being, even his skin was caught up in it; each hair on his body seemed to be firing off its own
explosive synapse.
    And then in the next instant he was in the truck,
heading out of town in the pre-dawn darkness.  He was completely naked, and the
gas pedal was strange and foreign beneath his bare foot.  His heart was
pounding—no, hammering —in his chest.  Sweat was pouring down his face,
his back, his stomach.  How did he get here?  Where were his clothes?  The
clock on the bank sign said it was a little after four; where in the hell had
he been the past few hours?  Had he and the girls fallen asleep?  Why couldn’t
he remember?
    He realized he was almost home.  He managed to pull
into the driveway and stop the truck.  He killed the ignition and sat there in
the dark for a moment.  His heart felt like it would burst out of him any
second.  He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, but it seemed
futile. 
    Then he remembered those little green tablets.  The
ones with the dolphins on them.  What the hell had they been?  It was both
wonderful and terrifying at the same time.  If Shelley had told him what they
were, he couldn’t remember.  He just knew they had knocked him flat on his ass
and he had lost complete control of everything, including his memory.
    He took a few more deep breaths, then crawled out of
the truck.  The house was dark, and he wondered briefly if he should wake Marla
to take him to the emergency room. 
    He let himself in the back door and felt his way through
the pitch black to the bedroom.  Marla was sleeping, her breathing heavy and
steady.  Suddenly, he was afraid.  What if he died right here on the floor next
to the bed?
    It’s just that his heart was racing.  On and on. 
Why wouldn’t it stop?  What was in those pills?  Were they some kind of
uppers?  Maybe he needed a sedative, something to counteract it.
    He pulled on a pair of shorts from the bureau and
quietly made his way back outside to the barn.  He switched on the lights, and
the sudden brightness stabbed painfully into his head, blinding him
momentarily.  As his eyes adjusted, he squinted at the tarp-covered Mustang,
remembering he had promised Derek they would work on it this weekend.  Fuck
that, he thought.
    Behind his workbench in a little niche of the barn
wall was an old cigar box.  Inside the box was a small plastic