Taxi Murders
The Spirit Gadfly's ‘Past Tense Report’:
Thursday, April 18, 1991: One year before
The Abduction of Laurie Fallon April 10, 1992.

Laurie Fallon as Chrissy's was child-like, drunk, and exploited. She was a multiple. When she looked in the mirror she saw a nine year old female she called Faith. Alternatively, when she spoke to adults she was Laurie Fallon, 26 years old, a six foot tall natural strawberry blond stripper, bar maid and nude model. Folks said she was more beautiful than Nicole Kidman that Aussie teenager who just made a marvelous movie.

Addicted to crack, she had numerous arrests for prostitution. For the last two years she has been drug free, and now seven months pregnant she dreams she will be kidnapped and murdered.


1.
The kidnappers in Laurie's dreams call Laurie Faith. Abel, one of the perpetrators, clawed at her final vestal hymen. Abel's half sister and lover, Lilith, was always present in Laurie's delusions. She would take her to bed and worship her. When the child Laurie carried was born, Lilith would murder Laurie and set the infant free. No whore should have a child, Lilith would scream.

2.
Abel tortured himself as beings did when they knew they were wrong as one would masturbate with a pencil, and the tip breaks penetrating your anus, and no self effecting commentary would fool the pretend Nurse Assistant Lilith who constantly laughed to herself and at the foolish and naive Doctor who thought and believed that when the fool sat down on a pencil stuck in a couch and it entered precisely at the right place it was an accident. Lilith knew she had fucked her brother in the ass.

Lilith knew what the Doctor could not accept; perverse as it seemed, that anal irritation was more normal than murder, mutilation, remorse, or arrogantly assuaged as in Lilith's case by a numb feeling that rode her eyes and hands forcing them for death without reason or anger just nothing.

Chrissy taunted the terrible pair who had murdered nine women. She made Abel sick with guilt and failure before having her way as she said. Lilith was a sociopath and nothing Laurie did mattered. I murdered them, Laurie would claim, as they did themselves. I had mercy; they did not. “What a summary of death we be.” Laurie affected a false speech when taunted.

Lilith scored death like a crow bar snaps the hub cap from the wheel. Get it done to reach the next step, which is really nothing but a tire change or a human change or a spirit’s death. Do spirits like the Gadfly die? No, they observe. They are the narrator. I as the Gadfly do narrate this tale. Gadfly dear God I love the gore.

Of course, all of this could not be known until after Laurie was found dead, captured or released. I cannot release the final outcome. No, it was a prophecy after all. Laurie dreamed it all, or did she?

There is no mystery here, no explication, and no reasoned summary or twisted plot capsules.

Sufferings is suffering, and the point here, and listen: Admit it. We don't care. If we did, there would be no more, no more. Sad ass end. We live for pleasure, don’t we?


3. The Gadfly Speaks about Chrissy as Narrator:

Laurie had her double within Chrissy, and also inside the child, Faith, (like all of us) claimed with some deception of pleasure and revulsion: an opposing force that Engel’s preached in London before Einstein— it was the blessed dialectic of Faith Chrissy and Laurie espoused.

Chrissy as word didn't appear on any tongue or inside the damp cleft; truly, another bad word, pedophilia, really which is the fraudulent love of children, always an awkward silence after saying it— It is certainly not that romantic visions to propagate in ads and on TV (but we do) or even here in the letters and trivia of serial murder.

—Do not exploit children or turn them as objects. What's the corollary? Do not make them afraid. Sir or Madam Abuse is more likely at home, eating hamburgers, and then hanging on the street corner.

Not a problem for spirits-- We're amused, and for that we are faraway. The punch line, and let this be clear: our records show that one half of all children are exploited, but it has only been a hundred years since this attitude. Children are still for all the ugly reasons sold in Roman slave markets.

I, the honorable Gadfly, would never find reason to discourage the imagination. You are free to imagine that you are child molesters. I can not force the mind out of plot and dialogue to a blind rectitude. What happens there in Laurie Land does exist. It is, but here's the difference. It harms no one as words.

There is no loss. Inside, we weaken, and the mind ranges, and where we dwell, what does it matter. It is, but only then. There are no consequences if the thought never ripens into a premeditated act.

Enough of this kissing up! Chrissy as Laurie was exempt, you know. And she changed. So what happened did also not happen, if I have confused you.

Yet, child and sex existed, and I, the Gadfly, as a living form had no guilt. But like my false son, Able, I loved the incipient frame.

We wanted to be there first. Even the goody, goody Henry sanctified the shaved pudenda. He called it a pubic pear. I did not know the Jews Henry said, after the holocaust.

Henry's disgust was fake, myopic, gathered like dust you cannot expel from inside the throat.

Henry could not force Laurie away that first night he met her on the cab stand. Laurie as Chrissy sensed money, closed the sale, pushed to keep two dollars like the string of cock in her mouth, hard, only barely covered. He let her, holding and caressing her wet hair. Henry thought about it forever after that first night. He was scared he would never have such an orgasm again.

What if this moment, his orgasm was the last one? What if the Gods were tormented, and this woman child took my load and then washed Henry away, with sweet tasting vinegar and dispatched him with a round from his own weapon.

What a silly allusion and yet true. What is that? Lies? No, More myths as copulating Gods muscular, accorded the ass and cunny as a trophy, Laurie, the real Laurie looked up when she finished hugged Henry's legs, and ordered, buy me coke too, she said pretending she was back in Nam with her protector.

Chrissy squealed.

Murder and abuse, war and retribution are the least of us, but then again, we watch the abuse don’t we? We get off on it. We say we don’t, but we do. We scream as the dick is bent to come or the baseball thrown at the batter’s head connects and he is down. We are all down. Fuck it.


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Part of a hypertext novel where sequence is determined by the reader. (theoretically)....and also in progress as a novel