KUMIR: Chapter 21 – Enter the Qadish

Jane snored softly, head in Isabella’s lap as the redhead calmly watched the goat eating. When the door clicked open Isabella looked up, still calm, only mildly curious, a soft smile on her face as a black-gloved hand edged around the opening. It was followed by a man in black fatigues and a military harness strapped over his broad chest. He wore a black bandana tight over his scalp and his face was smeared black with camo paint over and under his neatly trimmed beard. He crept into the room silently and efficiently, closing the door behind him. Putting an ear to the wood he listened for a moment, then glanced up at the cameras in the corners to verify their lights were out. He gave a grim nod and turned towards the two women.

He spoke into a small microphone strapped his shoulder. “Alec, this is Patrick. I’m in the room, video is confirmed disabled, I’m – holy shit!” His eyes widened as realized he was standing in a pool of blood. Beecee’s head was inches away from the edge of the man’s boot, eyes frozen wide with the shock of his unexpected death. The crimson pool was mottled with the white and blue of the biker’s intestines, spilling out of his large belly. The goat stood close over the grisly mound, and Patrick looked away, trying to ignore the happy muffled bleating of the goat as it continued to munch.

He looked at the women and swore again. Isabella looked up at him placidly, body smeared and crusted over with the dried remains of various body fluids. The wild tangle of her auburn hair looked muddy brown. Her eyes had deep circles of fatigue under them, but they still shone with the drug-induced devotion. She looked like a refugee from an 80’s punk band.

Patrick knelt next to her, avoiding the blood on the floor as best he could. He whispered urgently. “Isabella. My name’s Patrick. I’m going to get you and your friend out of here.” She nodded to him, but didn’t move. He frowned with concern. “Ma’am…Are you alright?”

She looked confused. “Am I…” she seemed to have trouble parsing the words. “Am I…Do you want me to be?” she finally asked, her voice a soft whine of tired confusion.

Patrick blinked at the question. Then he seemed to come to a decision. He nodded, grimly, watching her. “Yes, Isabella, I would very much like for you to be alright.”

She smiled again, a shiver of pleasure running through her, her nipples crinkling. Patrick tried not to shudder at the horror of her mindless smile as she nodded. “I’m alright, then!” She gave a little moan. “It feels so…good…”

Patrick closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. Two women, one unconscious and one drugged, was not part of the plan. He didn’t think he had the heart to slap her into wakefulness – he’d seen some of what she’d already been through with the Dukas brothers. After a moment, his eyes snapped open. “Can you carry Jane for me?” he asked Isabella, who nodded happily. “Good. I need to have my hands free in case we run into any Incubikers on the way out…though I suspect they’re all unhappily occupied at the moment.”

Isabella’s husband Alec had grinned earlier when Patrick had asked if he could provide a diversion. “Oh, no fucking problem,” he’d chuckled, with a guilty glance over at his son who was coloring on the placemat next to him. “I’ve had a backdoor into their system for months, even before they grabbed Isabella. And the assholes have the whole place wired into it, left over from one of Michael’s more paranoid episodes.” Alec had grinned evilly at Patrick and Jason as they planned Isabella’s rescue. “You just tell me when, I’ll fucking turn that house inside out.”

Now the biker’s compound was a scene of havoc. Cutting the video surveillance had only been the first of Alec’s tricks. The electricity was out after several fires had been started by appliances overloaded with power surges. Two toilets had reversed the flow from the septic tank and the Incubikers were alternately swearing and gagging as they tried to rescue gear from the rising putrid flood. Michael and Theo shouted orders from chairs, but were hampered by the panic of fire and shit that kept their men from focusing on their directions. Patrick heard them ranting at each other as they gave conflicting orders to the incompetent IncuBikers “Good help is hard to find,” he muttered as he led the two women around the chaos.

He paused a moment at the spot where he’d had a confrontation with two IncuBikers on his way in Both lay unconscious and zip-tied in a close with mild concussions from the collapsible baton that rode Patrick’s hip. He verified that they weren’t in danger of drowning from the septic flood – nobody needs that kind of karma, he thought – and moved on, leading Isabella as she carried Jane’s still-unconscious body.

Patrick paused in a quiet area of the compound near a window, the light shining through the reinforced iron bars making a mottled pattern across the pale stained skin of the two women. He motioned Isabella to crouch down under the gathering smoke that was getting thicker. He pulled a black lycra body stocking from the pouch at his leg. “Isabella. Put this on.” She nodded sleepily, and he realized that she was close to falling unconscious along with Jane was in at any time. Patrick swore under his breath, then whispered urgently. “Isabella! I need you to stay awake for me.” He looked at her eyes, willing her to focus on him. “Can you do that?”

Her eyes snapped fully open. “Yes, sir! I can do that! Will that make you happy?” Her eyes were wide and eager as she searched his face for approval.

Patrick sighed. He suspected that he knew what was about to happen, but he nodded. “Yes, it would.” He stifled his feeling of revulsion as Isabella shuddered with another orgasm and looked away. “Some things just shouldn’t be that easy,” he muttered, pulling a role of black tape from another pocket. He quickly wound it around Jane’s breasts and hips, creating a sort of wrap-dress that he hoped would pass for clothing once they hit the street.

With both women somewhat protected by the improvised garments, Patrick unwound a white cord from his waist. He pressed it around the frame of the barricaded window, the malleable material adhering to the wall. Carefully he tucked a silver detonator into one corner of the rectangle and pressed the arming button. Turning his back to the window he huddled over Jane and Isabella and pressed a button on his watch three times.

There was a loud explosion as the det cord blew the window frame and all out into the alley. Patrick turned his face to his mic again and whispered “Now, Alec! Hit ’em!”

More explosions echoed from all around the compound as other explosives detonated, planted on various bikes and a truck earlier when Patrick had infiltrated the grounds. He nodded grimly. “That should keep them busy.” Turning to Isabella, he touched her arm, wincing as she moaned with both pain and arousal. “Um…Isabella. I’m going out there first, and I want you to help me get Jane out. Then I’ll help you climb out too, ok?” Seeing her eyes flutter, he added “You promised you’d stay awake for me, remember? Just a little longer.”

Isabella nodded eagerly. “Yes, I will. I will!” Patrick jumped when she suddenly slapped herself across the cheek once and then again, cheek reddening with the harsh impact. Her eyes were bright, though, when she looked at him, her lips swollen and parted with another surge of sexual arousal. “I’m awake for you now, sir,” she said huskily.

Patrick shook his head and sighed. “In another context, that would be incredibly fucking hot. As it is – eh, I’m not gonna think about it.” He pulled a rope out of a side pocket and rigged a quick harness around Jane’s chest. He could see a dark trickle of blood oozing from under the tape that stretched over her left breast where the blood from her nipple had soaked through. “Goddamn barbarians,” he growled, and lowered her into the night.

As the IncuBikers’ compound went crazy with malfunctioning systems, none of the frantic men had the time or attention to notice the dark forms stumbling down the alley and into the night. Patrick led them quickly to a platform holding several full garbage cans and brushed aside some refuse from one corner. It revealed a latch and he pulled it, feeling the entire concrete slab slide forward to reveal a staircase down. Jason looked up at him from the bottom of the stairs, his moustache making his frown even deeper.

Checking to be sure Isabella was following, Patrick carried Jane down and handed her gently to Jason. He turned just in time to hear Isabella’s forlorn voice say “I’m sorry, sir, I tried to stay awake.” Turning, Patrick caught her as she fell down the stairs, unconscious.

The two men stood their a moment, each with a woman in his arms. Jason looked down at Jane, then up at his friend. “Nice work, buddy, but weren’t we going to rescue one conscious redhead? What’s with the bonus blonde here?“ Patrick shrugged and was about to reply when he noticed Jane’s eyes were now open, looking up with weary relief at Jason’s moustachioed face.

“Ah, Jason,” she whispered. “Knew I could count on you…” A spasm of pain crossed her face as he shifted. Jason decided to save the questions for later and motioned Patrick to carry the unconscious Isabella down the hall.

Jane’s eyes stayed open and focused on Jason as he carried her through a doorway into a large room with a low futon in the center where Patrick had laid Isabella down. The rich maroon coverlet looked clean and lush under their ravaged bodies as Jason lay her down.

As soon as she hit the mattress Jane’s body started convulsing with a seizure. Jason swore and motioned for Patrick to help try to restrain her flailing limbs. Isabella didn’t stir as one of Jane’s hands spastically hit her breast, and Patrick narrowly missed a foot in his eye as he struggled for some control.

Jason could see Jane’s eyes rolling wildly, then focuing on him momentarily in transient moments of lucidity. She suddenly sat up and gripped Jason’s collar. “Qadishi?” she demanded, hoarsely, and at the word Patrick glanced up at her, and then Jason, in alarm.

Jason did not move from her grip. He looked at her calmly a moment, then answered, quietly. “Yes, Jane, I am qadish. I follow the path of the divine sexual.”

Futuendo ad deum!” she hissed, like a battle cry. Another spasm gripped her, and she let out a strange gargling noise, spitting blood. Jason and Patrick tried to hold her limbs down, but there were darkening patches of blood seeping through the tape over her breasts and crotch. Her nose was bleeding too, bright red blood streaming down her face.

Jason spoke soothingly. “‘Fucking my way to God,’ yes, that’s one way to put it,” He gently wiped some of the blood from her face with a gray hankerchief from his back pocket. “How did you know about – “

“Jason!” Patrick’s voice wasn’t quite a shout as he stopped the question, glaring at his friend. “We don’t know anything about her. Your questions give you away.”

Jason looked evenly at Patrick a moment, as if about to argue, but then sighed. “Later, then. Jane, tell me what you’re feeling right now? How can I help you?” As he spoke he pulled a first-aid kit from under the bed, cutting through the tape with bandage scissors and starting to press gauze against her most obvious wounds. She flailed again, knocking the bandages out of his hand with a spastic motion.

“Fuck the bleeding! Doesn’t matter… fix it later. Need…centering.” She struggled to get the words out. “Qadish,” she hissed again. “You have to…needles…mine, in satchel.”

Jason frowned, trying to understand. He lifted her head gently and leaned closer. “Needles? In your satchel? Why do you want needles, Jane?”

Patrick grunted. “Addict, probably.”

Jason shot a look back. “I don’t think so. Not this one.” Janes teeth rattled as another seizure rolled through her, and she gasped, her head suddenly heavy in Jason’s hands.

“White liver!” she whispered hoarsely, “…ex visitatione dei…” Her eyes rolled again, and Jason moved to lay her dow. He froze when she went rigid, eyes glaring at him with a furious effort of lucidity. “The Eastern Way, Qadish. Needles in…chakras, I think you call them. Ground, center, purge, replenish, heal!” With that final exhortation, she went limp, shuddering again as another seizure passed though her.

Patrick still held her legs at the foot of the bed, feeling the energy leave her muscles. “What the fuck is she talking about,Jason? I thought this was just going to be a simple rescue.” He let go of Jane and motioned to both women. “They’re not going to last long if we don’t find some medical treatment for them pronto.””

Jason was still looking at Jane, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I know what to do,” he said softly. Moving to the side of the bed, he pulled a bulging bag out of a drawer and tossed it to Patrick. “Her ruck is upstairs. I’m going to get her needles. You tie Isabella face up and spread eagled. Lay Jane on top of her and then tie their limbs together.” He turned towards the door. “I’m pretty sure there’s enough rope there. Cut it if you need to, it’s just synthetic.”

Patrick looked stunned. “Enough rope – tie their – what the fuck are you talking about Jason?” he swore. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the kink, but don’t you think that they need a hospital? They’re drugged, fer Ishtar’s sake!”

Jason stopped and turned back to his friend. “You said it yourself, Patrick.

They won’t last long. Jane told me what she needs, and after all I’ve seen her do, I’m gonna give her the benefit of doing exactly what she asks for.” He held Patrick’s eyes. “Besides, what do you think Michael and Theo will do if they find her in the clinic?” After a momentary glare Patrick yielded to the logic. He pulled a coil of rope out of the bag, reaching down to begin to tie Isabella’s ankle. “Naked!” Jason’s voice Jason from the hallway, and Patrick sighed, finishing the first tie and then flicking out his knife to cut the body stocking off. As he worked he was too busy glancing worriedly at Jane’s trembling convulsions to appreciate Isabella’s beauty, but he managed to swear. “Lady, I dunno if you’re poly. But someday I’m going to fucking ask you if we can do this in very different circumstances.

If Isabella heard, her mind was too far under to respond, and he swore again and peeled off the sheer garment.

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