Charmed: Harmed Part 2 (M/F,demon,torture)
Lucius had a cock as big and as hard as Amy Wagner's imagination. When he
was inside her pussy, it felt like... like perfection, like his cock had
been purposefully designed to fit exactly into her pussy and no other. Every
millimeter of his 13-inch cock stroked every precise nerve ending inside her
pussy. When he fucked her, every downstroke sent a chain reaction from her
cunt to her brain. His thrusts flipped each and every pleasure switch along
her pussy walls each and EVERY TIME, yet the experience was never the same;
it never got boring. Lucius was a master at varying his pace and angle with
each and every stroke. Thus, every time he fucked her, he elicited a nuclear
orgasm, yet each time it was somehow different. BETTER!
The first time he made her cum, she felt herself implode, like every last
cell in her body was sucked into the vortex of her climax. Her orgasm was
like a black hole, with nothing escaping its orbit. Every nerve ending,
every neuron, every emotion, every intangible essence of BEING was just
sucked inside her cum until she felt no bigger than an atom, a black-hot
singularity of orgasm.
Then he'd made her cum again. No man had ever done that. An old beau had
nicknamed Amy Wagner the One-Hit Wonder. A man could spend hours after that
first cum, patiently trying to coax that second climax from her stingy soul.
But it would never happen. Only she herself, with her own hands, in the
privacy of her own bed could cajole a second orgasm from her stubborn snatch,
and even that took over an hour.
Lucius had managed the feat in under a minute, however. If that first cum
had been like a black hole, then her second was the BIG BANG. Suddenly every
fiber of her existence, the entire universe of her BEING - her body, her
mind, her soul - burst into rebirth. With that second orgasm, she was
everywhere at once, and everything she was seeped into every corner of the
Then she had felt Lucius cum, too, and their bodies had instantly locked in
the ultimate act of CREATION. Joined in orgasm, she and Lucius had been at
ONE with the entire space-time continuum. Their joined flesh was the outer
edge of EVERYTHING, and inside the dark, warm, inner-space of her cunt the
twirling spirals of a quadrillion galaxies roiled with celestial FIRE.
That was what making love to Lucius was like EVETY TIME, only each time it
grew even more INTENSE, more AWESOME, more UNGODLY, more SUBLIME. Maybe that
was why she did what she now did .. FOR HIM! Just the faintest hint that he
would GRACE her body with his COCK made her willing to do ANYTHING to FEEL
him, to FEED off his divine energy, to FUCK what seemed to be the Godhead
Amy Wagner drifted in a haze of anxiety and heady anticipation. What new
summit would she and Lucius climb inside her body that night. Her eyes wide
and her torso quivering, she found herself lying helpless and spread-eagled
across the mattress of the king-sized hotel bed. Each wrist and ankle was
lashed to a thick brass bedpost. Her naked body shimmered in the unearthly
light of the sixty-six candles Lucius had arranged in a pattern around the
bed. As she peered up to the mirrored ceiling, she could see herself
sprawled out like a human sacrifice, smack in the center of a large pentagram
drawn in flaming votive candles.
At the apex of the upside-down star stood Lucius, his naked, muscular body
cutting through the wavering light like a bronze statue come to life. His
13-inch godhood jutted out from below his waist like an outstretched arm, his
baseball-sized cock-head crowning his fifth limb like a defiant fist. Unlike
other big cocks she'd seen in movies and magazines, Lucius's godhood did not
sag or droop at the mercy of gravity. His dick was knotted with muscles that
never seemed to fatigue.
Lucius's cock wasn't just another stiff, blood-bloated appendage, but an
actual working limb, like an arm or a leg. He could move it about at will,
like a monkey's prehensile tail. When he smacked her across the face with
his cock, he didn't use any hands, and his blows packed the wallop of a
prizefighter, often leaving bruises on her neck and cheeks. Amy Wagner had
seen the man literally pound in nails with his muscular cock. When his
godhood was jammed inside her, she could feel it twisting around her entrails
like a boa constrictor.
Lucius's prick almost seemed to have a life, a mind, a soul of its own.
Sometimes, as it smacked her about the face and pried open her jaws, she
swore she could hear a deep, dark chuckle emanating from deep within its
But that had to be her imagination... right? It was her mind playing tricks
on her. Amy Wagner worshipped Lucius, her man of Destiny, and she was
obviously ascribing supernatural powers to his prick, the ungodly organ that
provided her SO MUCH unlimited pleasure. Lucius had told her earlier that if
she allowed him do WHATEVER he wanted that night he would fuck her.
GOD, she wanted him to fuck her, to tear her apart with that ferocious,
awesome, merciless cock. That was why she was lying spread-eagled on the
bed, naked, every vulnerable part of her exposed while Lucius made
preparations for their night of ecstasy.
At first when he'd displayed the three-pronged spear before her eyes, she had
cringed. But he had told her not to be afraid. He told her if she GAVE
herself to him COMPLETELY, she would experience a climax that would make the
all the others he's previously produced seem like pussy farts. Amy Wagner
loved Lucius more than anything she had ever LOVED before. She trusted him
unconditionally. She worshipped him absolutely, so she had allowed him to
tie her up with nary a peep. And true to her word, she made no sound as she
watched her Man of Destiny prepare the torturous weapon that glowed in the
Lucius was slowly heating the three-pronged spear into a menacing, white-hot
shaft of light. Above the glowering prongs, his face took on a stern almost
inhuman countenance. He stood before her like some ancient deity, Ares the
War God come to life, the living embodiment of Ruthlessness and Severity.
Her man of Destiny didn't say a word. He just teased the white-hot trident
against the soft, tender, alabaster flesh of her shuddering tummy. She heard
a ghastly, unearthly scream - like a harpy being disemboweled by a thousand
searing pokers in the very bowels of HELL! The sound was so loud she felt
her eardrums crackle then burst like over-ripe fruit, blood seeping out of
her skull and down her earlobes until it puddled below her neck. The shriek
tore through her BEING like a million amplifiers feeding back at a Jimmy
A split second later she realized from where the harrowing screech
originated. Her very own lungs and vocal chords exploded with the inhuman
wail. Lucius was slicing the white-hot trident into her own tender stomach.
The pain was indescribable. Her body, her mind, her soul - every atom, every
electron, every quark that composed her BEING burned with the chaotic agony
of countless suns going supernova.
She bit through her entire lower lip, chomping it off in a bloody flap of
skin. In the mirrored ceiling, she saw the ghastly visage of her
self-mutilated face, her bottom teeth now glinting forth in a ghoulish grin.
Amid her wails, her tear-smeared eyes watched Lucius twist the trident around
her abdominal cavity. She felt one of the razor-sharp prongs prick something
inside her. The pain was beyond excruciating. Lucius had impaled something
on the end of the three-pointed spear, and he now lifted it up and out from
her hollowed out thorax.
Amy Wagner saw her own heart. It beat and pulsed with the essence of her
pitiful, fragile life. She watched Lucius pull her heart over to him,
stretching the tissue of pulmonary artery like a thick rubber band. She
watched his 13-inch cock extend out to meet the left ventricle. Then,
frozen and unable to turn away, she watched Lucius's prehensile prick tear
open the soft tissue of her aortic valves and start fucking her heart,
reducing the life-giving organ into nothing more than a pulsating, bloody
mockery of a pink, wet cunt.
Lucius's face betrayed no emotion. His body stood as ruthless and severe as
an iceberg, his 13-inch cock hammering into the rhythm of her pumping heart.
While the bloody tissue fibrillated around his engorged, inhuman cock, she
could feel his baseball-sized prick-helmet punching into her aorta, stabbing
into the very center of her BEING.
And there, at the center of Amy Wagner's BEING, Lucius's demonic dick touched
something, a ganglia of nerve endings and tissues infinitely more sensitive
and orgasmic than her puny little vaginal clitoris.
He had found some kind of ultimate pleasure-center nestled deep in the
recesses of her pumping heart. And with each thrust of his cock, he bumped
and stroked that epicenter, sending tidal waves of pure bliss crashing
through her entire BEING. What happened next couldn't even be described in
terms of orgasms, or exploding suns, or universes bursting into existence.
She felt EVERYTHING in EVERY single dimension. If her previous orgasms had
put her at ONE with the entire universe, this new experience split and
fractured her consciousness into an eternity of dimensions across the
multi-verse. In one microsecond, she transcended EVERYTHING. Her entire
being wrapped itself up inside space, time, gravity and every other force -
molecular and cosmological -- that held reality in its moorings.
The moment lasted for all eternity, but it was all over in a nanosecond.
When she returned back to the three-dimensional space of the hotel room, Amy
Wagner was aware of another presence at Lucius's side. She opened her
physical eyes and saw the pale, luminescent, breathtaking form of Lilith
Magdalene. The raven-haired goddess seemed to float and waver in the
candlelight like an apparition.
"Do you have it?" Lilith asked Lucius.
He nodded, pointing to the sharpened end of the middle prong on his trident.
The elongated barb was impaled between two tiny, kicking legs. Through the
glaze of her tears, Amy Wagner could see that the small legs were attached
to a miniature, Barbie-Doll-sized version of herself. * What the HELL is
happening? * both her bodies shrieked silently as the spear point sunk into
the tiny Amy's pussy like a sharp, steel cock. In tandem, the two Amys
screeched soundlessly, their twin faces contorted in ghastly agony.
"Hello there," Lilith extended one of her long, blood-red fingernails and
tickled the tiny Amy beneath her howling chin. "You are going to taste so
good, do you know that...?"
Amy watched as Lucius raised the trident to Lilith's mouth like a shishkebob
spear. Lilith licked her lips and then bit into the tiny Amy. In a second,
the little Amy was in Lilith's greedy mouth, getting crunched by razor-sharp
teeth. Amy winced as she watched Lilith devour the miniature version of
herself. Then Amy felt... nothing... nothing at all. Lilith smiled down at
Amy and smacked her coal-black lips when she was done chewing.
"And how do you feel?" Lilith walked over to Amy now and stroked her brow.
Amy looked up into the mirrored ceiling and saw her body naked, spread-eagled
and lashed to the brass bedposts. To her astonishment, no visible sign of
her disembowelment scarred her stomach. The only evidence of the ordeal
she'd just suffered was the missing chunk of her lower lip. Her bottom teeth
still grinned maniacally above her blood-drenched jaw.
"What happened?" Amy heard herself asking.
"I just ate your soul," Lilith cooed. "After I digest it and expel the
waste, what remains will go to HELL. There it will wait to be joined with
your consciousness when your physical body dies. Until then, though, your
physical body will be living with no soul. Not that you'll need one, though,
now that you've found your Man of Destiny." Lilith's cackle grew into a
shrill, mocking laugh.
"What will happen to me now?" Amy asked, wondering how she could ever go to
work the next day with her lower lip chewed off.
"You're free to go," Lilith giggled. "I doubt you'll be able to go back to
your own life looking like that, though. You might want to think about
switching careers. You know, work at home."
"Umm... okay..." Amy nodded. "I'll do that." She looked at Lucius and felt
nothing. She watched Lilith untie her and still felt nothing. Minutes later
she was out in the hall, walking naked to the elevators. People were staring
at her, but she didn't even care. She cared about nothing. As the elevator
doors opened and she walked out across the lobby, she didn't mind all the
people pointing at her. Outside, in the night air, she felt nothing as she
walked home. Nothing...
* * *
* Jesus, would you just look at this one, * Inspector Darryl Morris mused to
himself as he worked his way through the squad room towards his desk. * What
the hell happened to her? * he wondered silently, locking eyes with a
disheveled white woman -- mid-thirties, 5'4", 130 lbs., brown hair, brown
eyes -- sitting in custody at one of the desks.
She appeared to be a vagrant of some sort, maybe even a hooker from
Oakland or the Tenderloin. Whoever she was, she'd been messed up... BAD.
The vacant, soulless sheen over her eyes indicated what had to be the
post-traumatic effects of serious drug abuse. * Crack or crank most
Morris had seen that same look in thousands of previous gazes, beginning with
his boyhood in Oakland when "the pipe" had first made its entry into the
"ghetto." The mean streets of "Raider Town," Darryl's old "hood," The Golden
Gate City's black underbelly, Rice-A-Roni's dirty little secret. * Drugs
don't know the color of your skin, though, * Darryl Morris ruminated. * Or
where you come from, or what your family does. Just look at this one. She
could have been a librarian or something before the pipe bit her. Now look
at her. What a waste of a life... *
What really spooked Darryl Morris, however, was the vagrant woman's mouth, or
what remained of it. She had no lower lip, and judging by the jagged teeth
marks above her bloody chin it appeared as if she'd bitten off the flesh
herself. Morris had seen such self-inflicted mutilation before with mental
patients and addicts so hopped up they'd devolved into an almost feral state.
One loony tune even SWORE he was a werewolf as they were locking him up in a
holding cell. All the detectives in the squad had gotten a kick out of that
one, except for Andy Trudeau.
Up until a few months ago, Darryl Morris had been sharing the back corner of
the robbery/homicide division with his partner and best friend, Inspector
Andy Trudeau. Since day one, Andy had always struck Morris as a peculiar
sort - a great cop, but a trifle on the bizarre side, to say the least.
It had all started with the books. Darryl had noticed immediately that Andy
Trudeau had a penchant for odd reading material. Whereas the rest of
detectives in the squad sufficed themselves with the morning paper, maybe an
issue of Playboy or a self-help book, Andy Trudeau's desk was always littered
with 'fringey' books - stuff about psychics, ghosts, vampires, ufos and other
supernatural things. When that hopped-up nut-case claimed he was a werewolf,
Andy was the only one in the squad room who didn't laugh. Instead, Darryl's
old partner had sat outside the guy's cell watching the schizo, as if he
truly expected the man to transform before his very eyes.
Yes, that was Andy Trudeau... or, to be more precise, that HAD been Andy
Trudeau. Sometimes Morris found it impossible to believe his partner was
really gone. Andy had been killed in the line of duty months ago,
sacrificing his life so that Prue Halliwell and her sisters could survive.
Although the details of Andy's death were still technically under
investigation, Morris replayed the whole murky jumble of events in his mind
for the millionth time. Something had been going on with the Halliwell
sisters. They'd been in some kind of danger, and Andy had staked himself out
by their house to offer his protection. Meanwhile, this had all been going
on at the worst possible time, when Andy himself was under investigation by
the Internal Affairs Division for his relationship with Prue Halliwell, who
just always seemed to be around when BAD things started happening.
Andy had had some kind of connection to Prue Halliwell and her two sisters,
Piper and Phoebe. At first, Morris had chalked it up Andy's PAST with Prue.
The two had dated while in high school, pretty seriously, too, from what Andy
had told him. They had even tried to get things going again a few months
before Andy's death, but it hadn't worked out.
Still, Andy and Prue and her sisters seemed linked somehow. Whenever
something out of the ordinary happened, the three sisters seemed to be
involved, and Andy was inextricably drawn into the situation; an attraction,
in the end, that had proved fatal. As Andy's partner, this 'relationship'
with the Halliwells had brought Morris into the equation as well.
How many times had Morris asked his best friend what the HELL was going on
with Prue and her sisters, only to be rebuffed? "It's better you don't
know," had become Andy's mantra those last few weeks before his death, and
in the wake of what happened his partner had been correct.
When internal affairs began digging into the Andy/Prue connection, Morris
could truthfully respond that he knew NOTHING, nothing at all. Still, Morris
had his theories. He'd always had his theories. Although Andy had never
TRULY discussed what was going on between himself and Prue, Morris had begun
to put two and two together almost a year before his partner's untimely
In a little over twelve months, San Francisco had suddenly found itself
besieged with a rash of VERY STRANGE crimes - killers and kidnappers that
seemed more at home in comic books and Dean Koontz novels than on the mean
streets of the Golden Gate City. Andy was somehow attuned to what was
going on, and whatever was happening also involved Prue Halliwell and her
two younger sisters.
At first, Morris had thought Prue, Piper and Phoebe were somehow responsible
for the strange cases that kept crossing Andy's desk. Part of Morris had
even suspected Andy of trying to cover for the sisters' criminal activity.
But as time went on, Morris picked up enough clues to realize that the
Halliwell's weren't causing all the strange mishaps and misadventures.
Rather, they seemed to be fighting the same forces of darkness that Andy had
declared war upon.
Andy's untimely death had something to do with this war. He had sacrificed
his life to save the Halliwell sisters for a reason, and Darryl Morris was
now intent on seeing that his partner's life was not spent in vain. Since
Andy's passing, Morris had kept in contact with the Halliwell sisters, Prue
in particular, and whenever one of those WEIRD cases popped up he found
himself calling her in as an unofficial "consultant."
Morris's superiors didn't know about any of this, and as far as Morris was
concerned they didn't have to. The less anyone knew about Prue Halliwell
and her sisters the better. All Darryl really wanted to do was put away
the bad guys and see justice done. If Prue Halliwell and her sisters had
"secrets," it didn't matter to Darryl as long as they helped him do his job.
Someday, he would unravel the Halliwell mystery and learn how it was related
to his partner's death. But right now, Inspector Darryl Morris had other
more pressing issues on his mind, issues that seemed right up Prue
Morris looked at his watch. It was past eleven, and he'd asked Prue to
meet him at eleven thirty. He sat down at his desk, riffled through his
inbox, then picked up the folder from Missing Persons. * There has to be
something in here, * he told himself as he began to go through the reports.
* Something I've been overlooking. *
Suddenly, he felt a cold chill run down his spine, and he stopped. Without
knowing why, he looked back up at the woman with the bitten-off lip. She
was staring at him as she droned in a lifeless monotone: "...it doesn't
"Listen, lady, I'm just asking you your name, not your life story" Sgt.
Dunning pressed her. "Now what's your name?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," she repeated.
"They found you wandering the streets stark naked with half your face chewed
off," Dunning retorted. "In my book, that does matter. Now you tell me your
name, lady, or you'll be spending the rest of your days in a rubber room. I
can guarantee you that."
"Go ahead," she droned, "it doesn't matter."
Dunning shot an exasperated look over to Morris. Darryl shrugged his
shoulders. "Too bad Trudeau ain't still around," Dunning smirked. "This
fruit loop would've been right up his alley."
"What's her story?" Darryl asked, ignoring the dig at his dead partner.
"Some uniforms found her walking around buck naked this morning, so they
brought her in here. Guess who won the Lottery? Lucky fucking me..."
"Shouldn't she be in the hospital?" Darryl asked, a little annoyed at
Dunning's callous disregard for a woman that had obviously been victimized
"Yeah, 'they're coming to take her away'," Dunning imitated the early 70's
novelty song about being committed to a mental institution. "I'm just trying
to get her fucking name, that's all. The skull farmers can handle the rest."
Darryl nodded, then noticed Prue Halliwell entering the squad room. He
turned his attention from the woman to Prue. He stood up as Prue approached
his desk. As she passed by Dunning's desk, he saw her lock eyes with the
woman. A puzzled look swept over Prue's face, and she bit her lower lip
before turning back to Morris.
"Prue..." Morris started.
"Hi, Morris," Prue grimaced slightly as she shook Darryl's hand. From her
face, it was obvious she was still uncomfortable meeting Morris in the squad
room, conducting business at Andy's old desk. "I need to get back to work,
so I hope this is quick." Prue had been nice enough to meet with him on her
lunch hour, and Darryl knew she had to get back to her job at Buckland's
Auction House at noon. That didn't leave him much time to fill her in.
"It'll just be a few minutes. Have a seat," Morris motioned to a chair, and
Prue sat down. He noticed her glancing back at the woman again. Prue shook
her head, then turned back to Morris.
"You know her?" Morris couldn't help but ask.
"Uh... no," Prue shook her head. "I mean I don't think so. She just... it's
nothing..." She shook her head again and turned her full attention back to
"Her face is messed up pretty bad," Morris observed. "They found her walking
the streets naked this morning and brought her in. You sure you don't know
her? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I don't know her," Prue assured him. "I mean she does look a little
familiar, but I'm positive I don't know her. At least I don't think I do."
Prue turned back to take another look at the woman. "What's her name?"
"She won't tell us," Morris smiled. "They'll be picking her up and taking
her to the hospital in a few minutes. You sure you don't know her?" Morris
didn't know why, but he tried one more time. He felt something intangible,
vague, not even solid enough to be a hunch.
"Positive," Prue smiled. "I don't know who she is. This isn't what you
called me down here for, is it...?"
"No," Morris shook his head. "Not at all. It's another matter entirely.
Here." He picked up the Missing Persons folder and handed it to Prue.
"Missing Persons...?" Prue read the folder. "You're branching out." She
looked up at him with a curious smile.
"There all women," Darryl ignored her attempt at gregariousness and pressed
ahead. "Seemingly unrelated. Then something happened... something
"So, naturally, you thought of me," Prue cocked her eyebrow and grinned.
She really was trying to be friendly, trying to make the best of a strained
situation. The fact that Darryl didn't completely trust her was no secret
between them. Their alliance was an uncomfortable one, and despite their
best efforts at civility the tacit tension inevitably bubbled up to the
"Listen," Darryl heard the tone of his voice sharpen. "This isn't my
preferred method of investigation, Prue. People around here are already
starting to talk again, and you know what happened the last time IAD started
digging into your background." He saw a flash of recognition flinch across
Prue's brow, and he suddenly regretted his language and his tone.
It wasn't that Morris disliked Prue Halliwell. He just didn't need to form
any personal attachments to her. * You saw what happened to Andy, * he
reminded himself silently. *Got too close to her and burned up. * No, the
best course of action was pure, unadulterated professionalism. Take what
help Prue and her sisters could give him with no entanglements. If that
meant the All-Business approach, then that's what he'd do. Maybe he could
tone it down a bit, though.
"Sorry," he lowered his office. "I didn't mean any offense by that."
"None taken," Prue's pretty face studied Morris intently. "You said there
was something strange, something you wanted me to take a look at."
"Do you know what this is?" Morris took out another small stack of folders.
The name on the top folder read KAREN DUNHAM. From inside the cardboard
flaps, he withdrew a sheet of paper with a large symbol on it.
Prue took the sheet and examined the symbol. "I've never seen it before,"
she answered after examining it for almost a minute. The symbol looked like
the letter D with a horizontal line bisecting its middle. It could have been
the letter B, perhaps, but the bulge in the right perimeter of the symbol
wasn't pinched in at the line. Morris had already consulted a few books on
symbols, but couldn't find a satisfactory answer anywhere. "Can I keep
this?" she asked, waving the paper at Morris. "I know some sources..." she
stopped suddenly, "... a... at the Auction House," she added quickly, "where
I could look it up."
"Keep it," Morris nodded. "It's a photocopy enlargement."
"What does this have to do with missing women?" Prue asked, her curiosity
"It was found on a business card in one the women's homes. Nothing else on
the card. Just that symbol in black, embossed print. That's a photocopy of
"So why do you think it's a lead?" Prue asked.
Morris went to the second folder in his stack, withdrew another sheaf of
papers and handed it to Prue. This was a written statement. The name at the
top of the page read Susan Richley, Missing Persons, Case File A99-201. The
sheet contained a statement was given by Susan Richley's sister, Georgia.
Morris began explaining the significance of the report as Prue scanned the
"You remember how Andy used to..." Darryl paused and started again. "He knew
a lot of... eccentric people..."
"Like me...?" Prue looked up from the papers with a wistful grin.
"...psychics, people who claimed they'd been abducted by aliens..." Morris
continued his explanation, ignoring Prue's comment. "Well, one of his
regulars was the woman who gave that statement, Georgia Richley." Morris
nodded to the papers Prue was studying. "She claimed not only to be a
psychic, but a ufo abductee, as well. I had her on my Cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs
list. Andy was... well, he was a lot more patient with her.
"Anyway," Darryl continued, "she quit coming around here a few months before
Andy... died. Obviously, she never heard what happened to him because on
Monday she just showed up out of the blue looking for him. She was directed
over to me," Darryl grimaced and Prue looked up at him, nodding and
exchanging a tense smile.
She knew the problems Darryl had been experiencing within the department
since Andy's death, unwillingly inheriting his late-partner's position and
reputation as Sherlock Spooky. Where as Andy had simply shrugged off the
snide comments of his fellow officers, Darryl bristled at every arched
eyebrow and surreptitious whisper. Being considered the department eccentric
was especially tough on Darryl, a family man looking forward to a long career
with the San Francisco Police Department. All this made it impossible for
Prue to stay mad at Darryl for very long, even after one of his outbursts.
"I was about to blow Georgia off," Darryl continued, "but something made me
sit here and talk to her." He paused. "I just thought of Andy, you know,
the way he used to be able to... communicate with the wackos." He grinned
at Prue, and she nodded back. "I always admired that, even if I did ride
him about it. When I saw Georgia, I just couldn't turn my back on her. It
didn't seem right, like I'd be turning my back on Andy or something..."
"I understand," Prue interjected. Before Darryl could pull his hand away,
she touched him lightly on his knuckles, squeezing and then patting his
fingers before she released him.
"Th...that's her statement," Darryl pulled his hand away uncomfortably. He
hadn't been expecting Prue to reach out to him, much less touch him. In one
split second, she'd managed to dissolve the boundaries he'd been trying so
hard to establish these last months. "Her sister, Susan, went missing a few
weeks back. I guess they weren't really close, but they did get together
about once a month. Georgia tried for over a week to contact her - her
apartment, her job, a few of the bars she hung out at. No one had seen her
in weeks. Georgia finally convinced Susan's landlord to let her in Susan's
apartment, and that's when she got the... the visions."
"Visions...?" Prue didn't seem startled at all, as if a person having
'visions' was an everyday occurrence in her life, something she saw and dealt
with on a daily basis. "What kind of visions."
"She saw her sister..." Darryl began, then lowered her voice. "And she saw
these women, too," he shook the stack of folders in his hand. "She gave me
their names... all of their names... first and last, and addresses, too. She
said they were all missing. At first I thought she was just confabulating,
but I... I checked it out... for Andy's sake, you know." He watched Prue
nod. "Every name popped up in the Missing Persons database. Some of these
files go back over a year. The women are scattered all across the Northern
California area - San Francisco, Sacremento, San Jose, Berkeley, Modesto.
There was absolutely no connection between any of them... any of the
"She could have just picked up names from the newspapers," Prue cut in. "Not
maliciously, I mean, but subconsciously. She could have read articles on the
missing women, and then just put them all together in her mind. If she
really is mentally ill, she wouldn't have any idea that she was doing it."
"That's what I thought," Morris grimaced, "until I opened that folder." He
indicated the one that read Karen Dunham.
"I don't understand."
"Look at the bottom of Georgia's statement, Prue." Morris followed her eyes
back to the document. "She drew me some pictures from her vision, too -
stuff she couldn't figure out. Things she said I needed to 'check out.'"
Prue began reading again then suddenly stopped and went pale. After a long
pause, she slowly looked up, holding one of the pages from the Richley file
side by side with the enlarged photocopy from the Dunham file. Darryl was
now staring at the same exact thing he'd been obsessing over since the
beginning of the week. The symbol from the business card found at Dunham's
home matched one of Georgia's sketches EXACTLY. There was the CONNECTION.
But what did it mean? Inspector Darryl Morris was hoping Prue Halliwell
could give him that answer.
"Was this symbol given to the press at all?" Prue asked, although by her tone
it seemed she had already guessed the answer to that question.
"Not only was the symbol never given to the press," Darryl told her. "The
media never even covered Dunham's disappearance. A routine investigation by
the San Jose Police ran aground when they learned that she'd recently taken
up with a new boyfriend. Karen Dunham was a waitress, single, and she'd
picked up and moved on in a hurry a few times before. At the time of her
disappearance, she had a string of creditors skip tracing her. The boyfriend
was some kind investment banker - loaded, according to her coworkers.
Consensus has it that she and the boyfriend just headed for greener pastures.
There was never any evidence of foul play, so the case was closed."
"Until now," Prue observed.
"It does seem to be A LOT more than a coincidence, doesn't it...?" Morris
asked. "One missing person connected to another missing person by that
"What about the other missing women?" Prue indicated the folders in Morris's
ands. "Did you find any other connections?"
"No," he shook his head. "I've been over these things a hundred times
already. That symbol," he nodded to the sheets in Prue's hands, "is the only
tangible clue I have. That's why I need your help. I need to know what that
symbol is... what it means. And I need to know how it's involved with these
"I'll see what I can dig up and get back to you." Prue handed the two
folders back to Morris, but kept the photocopied enlargement of the symbol.
"Is that all?"
"Mm hm," Darryl nodded. "I've got a lead I can check out myself." Darryl
didn't know why he was telling her this, but he somehow felt compelled to
share the information. "Right around the time she went missing, Susan
Richley charged a hotel room downtown on her MasterCard - at the Campton
Place," he added.
Prue arched her eyebrows at the name. Campton Place was one of the finest
luxury hotels in the world. Whenever Buckland's Auction House hosted foreign
disnitaries, they always tried to book accommodations at the Campton. The
rooms started around $500 a night.
* * *
"According to Missing Persons, she was last seen in the hotel bar. One of
her friends thinks she was probably meeting her new boyfriend there. No one
seems to know his name."
"Both women had NEW boyfriends...?" Prue seemed to be thinking aloud.
"Uh... yeah." Morris hadn't thought of that. "I guess they did."
"I wonder if any of the other women did, too?" Prue asked.
"I... I don't know," Morris looked at the pile of folders. "I really don't
"Maybe you should check into that," Prue flashed a friendly, yet somewhat
"Maybe I will..." Darryl forced a smile back. * Good, Darryl, real good.
STUPID... * he cursed himself.
"I'll be going, then," Prue stood up, and Morris followed suit. "Don't
worry, Morris, I can find my own way out."
"Go for it," Darryl shrugged his shoulders and sat back down. He watched
Prue Halliwell cross the squad room towards the door, taking note of the fact
that she once again locked eyes with the mysterious crazy woman sitting at
Dunning's desk. The woman seemed fascinated by the sheet of paper Prue was
carrying, the one with the mysterious symbol. She didn't take her eyes off
Prue until the eldest Halliwell sister had completely exited the squad room.
* Now what is up with that? * Morris mused as he turned back to the folders.
* NEW boyfriends, huh...? Let's just see... *
"She's going to meet her Man of Destiny." The voice interrupted Darryl's
thoughts, and he looked up. His eyes met those of the vagrant woman at
"Pardon me?" Morris asked while Dunning shrugged his shoulders, grinned and
twirled his finger around his ear.
"Your friend," the woman droned. "I had one of those cards, too, once.
She's going to meet her Man of Destiny."
"Okay..." Darryl nodded, finding it impossible not to patronize the woman.
"The cavalry has arrived," Dunning cut in, indicating the team of
white-coated paramedics that now strolled into the squad room. "Hey, guys,
over here!" He stood up and waved them over to his desk.
Morris watched half-interestedly as the paramedics walked up.
"This your Jane Doe?" one of them asked.
"She's yours now," Dunning replied with a shit-eating grin.
"I met my Man of Destiny once," the woman kept speaking to Morris, ignoring
the paramedics as they helped her to her feet. "That card was my Passport to
Happiness. Show it at the door, and the whole world is yours. Everything
you've ever wanted. Only $299. That's all. I loved my Lucius, my Man of
Destiny. Do you know what love is, detective?" She stopped and waited for
"Mm hmm," Morris nodded slowly, not sure where this was going.
"You're lucky," the woman replied. "I don't know what love is anymore. I
can't even conceive of it. I can't FEEL anything now, detective. That's
what my Man of Destiny did. He took my soul. You should warn your friend
about that," the woman droned as the paramedics began herding her towards
the exit. "That symbol gives you the world, but it takes your soul."
* Symbol ..?! * Darryl started. He grabbed Georgia Richley's statement and
jumped up from his desk. "Guys," he flagged down the paramedics just as they
were going through the doors. "Hold on a minute, okay...?"
"Come on, man," one of the paramedics complained. "We've got three more
calls stacked up."
"Which can WAIT," Darryl snapped at him. "This is police business."
"Whatever?!" the paramedic rolled his eyes.
"Is this the symbol you're talking about?" Morris showed the woman the sketch
Georgia had made at the bottom of the document.
"Yes," the woman nodded slowly.
"You know what this is... what it means?" Morris was trying not to betray his
"Yes," the woman answered then went silent.
"What?" Morris shook her out of exasperation. "What is it?"
"Destiny," the woman droned. "With that symbol, you can find your Man of
"And what does that mean?" Morris pressed her. "What is this Man of
"For $299 you can possess the answer to all your dreams." In her robotic
voice, the woman started parroting something that sounded like a sales pitch
from late-night TV. "You can have the perfect man. You can know happiness
that you've never even dreamt of before. It's all here, waiting for you.
Call today. Meet your Man of Destiny... TODAY."
Morris was stumped, confounded. The woman was either telling him something
CRUCIAL to his case, or babbling in the full throes of dementia. What she
was saying sounded like an advertisement... like a sales pitch... like
something vaguely familiar.
"What is this?" Morris shook the paper at her eyes again. "You have to give
me more me more information, tell me what this means, where it comes from..."
"Our spacious office park is located at 666 Destiny Plaza. There we will
interview you, assess your needs, and begin our quest to find YOU your Man
of Destiny..." the woman prattled on.
"You almost done, Columbo?" the paramedic interrupted. "Or maybe you want
to collect a drool sample."
"In a minute," Morris snarled, then turned back to that woman. "You said
some kind of address...? Destiny Place...?"
"Our spacious office park is located at 666 Destiny Plaza," the woman
repeated. "There we will interview you, assess your needs, and begin our
quest to find YOU your..."
"...Man of Destiny..." Morris finished the sentence for her. "I heard you
the first time."
"You heard enough yet, boss?" the paramedic asked, looking at his watch.
"We got a schedule, you know..."
"Go on," Morris shook his head, reached into his pocket and gave the
paramedics one of his business cards. "When you get her admitted, you give
the ER doctor this. You tell him to call me the SECOND he learns anything
about her - her name, where she's from, ANYTHING! You got that?"
"Sure thing, boss," the paramedic snatched up the card before escorting the
woman out of the doors.
"What was that all about?' Dunning asked as Morris returned to his desk.
"Nothing..." Morris answered as he logged onto his computer and clicked
onto the CitySearch search engine. * 666 Destiny Plaza... * he repeated to
himself as he typed in the address.
"You're getting as loopy as Trudeau," Dunning commented. "First that loony
tune woman on Monday, and now this. Maybe it's something about that desk,"
Dunning mused. "Someone should check the walls back there for asbestos
Morris ignored the baiting and watched the screen flicker. * Destiny
Enterprises, 666 Destiny Plaza. * "Got'cha'!" Darryl exclaimed aloud,
oblivious to the scores of eyes about the squad room silently judging him.
In a second, he'd punched up a cyber street map that showed him the exact
location of the 'spacious office park located at 666 Destiny Plaza.' * Oh,
my God... * He dug a sheet of paper out of his pocket and looked down at
the address of the hotel he was going to check out later that day. The
Hotel Rouge, where Susan Richley had stayed shortly before she disappeared,
was not even three blocks from Destiny Plaza. * Coincidence? I think
Morris jotted down the address of Destiny Enterprises on the back of the
slip and stuck it back into his pocket. Returning to his keyboard, he went
back to the citation for Destiny Enterprises and punched up some more
information. * Founded in 1996 by entrepreneur Lilith Magdalene, * he
started reading from the company's own brochure, * Destiny Enterprises is
the premier matchmaker for single women on the planet. Spurred on by the
rapid growth in online and infomercial marketing, this San Francisco-based
company heralds a revolution for the modern woman seeking Mr. Right... *