The Key to Midnight

balance. Punishment was what she wanted. It was why she had come.
        'Pick up your drink,' he said ominously. 'I made it for you.'
        'You make me sick.'
        'Then why do you come?'
        'Slumming.'
        'Pick up your drink,' he said sternly.
        She spat in his face.
        This time he did knock her down. She sat on the floor, stunned. Carrera quickly pulled her to her feet. With one big hand on her throat, he pinned her against the wall.
        She was crying, but her eyes shone with perverse desire.
        'You're sick,' he told her. 'You're a sick, twisted little rich girl. You have your white Rolls-Royce and your little Mercedes. You live in a mansion. You've got servants who do everything but crap for you. You spend money as if every day is the last day of your life, but you can't buy what you want. You want someone to say "no" to you. You've been pampered all your life, and now you want someone to push you around and hurt you. You feel guilty about all that money, and you'd probably be happiest if someone took it away from you. But that won't happen. And you can't give it away, because so much of it is tied up in trusts. So you settle for being slapped and humiliated and debased. I understand, girl. I think you're crazy, but I understand. You're too shallow to realize what great good fortune you've had in life, too shallow to enjoy it, too shallow to find some way to use your money for a meaningful purpose. So you come to me. You come to me. Keep that in mind. You're in my house, and you will do what I say. Right now, you'll shut up and drink your vodka and tonic.'
        She had worked up saliva while he'd been talking, and again she spat in his face.
        He pressed her against the wall with his left hand, and with his right hand he grabbed the drink that he had fixed for her. He held the glass to her lips, but she kept her mouth tightly shut.
        'Take it,' Carrera insisted.
        She refused.
        Finally he forced her head back and tried to pour the vodka into her nose. She tossed her head as best she could in his fierce grip, but at last she opened her mouth to avoid drowning. She snorted and gasped and choked, spraying vodka from her nostrils. He poured the rest of the drink between her lips and let her go as she spluttered and gagged.
        Carrera turned away from her and picked up the mixture of orange juice and raw eggs that he had made for himself. He drank it in a few swallows.
        When he had finished his drink, Marie was still not recovered from having been force-fed hers. She was doubled over, coughing, trying to clear her throat and get her breath.
        Carrera seized her by the arm, dragged her to the bed, and pushed her facedown against the mattress. He pushed up her skirt, tore at her undergarments, shucked off his own robe, and fell upon her savagely.
        'You're hurting me,' she said weakly.
        He knew that was true. But he also knew that she liked it this way more than any other. Besides, this was the only way he liked it.
        The power to inflict pain was the ultimate power.
        Sexual power over women was as important to him as financial, psychological, and sheer physical power. Before he finished with Marie Dumont, he would hurt her badly, degrade and humiliate her, demand things that would disgust her and leave her feeling totally worthless, because that would make him feel godlike.
        As Marie wept and struggled beneath him, he thought of Lisa-Joanna. He wondered if he would have the chance to do to her all that he was now doing to Marie. The very thought of it made him drive even more ferociously into his current willing victim.
        When he had first seen the Chelgrin girl twelve years ago, she had been the most beautiful and desirable creature he'd ever encountered, but because of who she was, he had not been able to touch her. Judging by the photos taken in Kyoto, time had only improved her.
        Carrera ardently wished that Dr. Rotenhausen's treatment would fail this time, and that Lisa-Joanna would then be passed to him for disposal. There was a risk that a second mindwipe would leave her with the mental capacity of a four-year-old, and the thought of a four-year-old's mind in that lush body appealed to Carrera as nothing else ever had. If she ended up that way, he would tell them that he had killed her and buried her, but he would keep her alive for his own use. If he