How deeply humiliating it was to have to rely on a brute such as this.
I hated him for his lust.
I hated him for having hands.
I hated him because he had touched her and felt the softness of her hair, the texture of her smooth skin, the warmth of her flesh none of which I could feel.
From the shadows beneath his heavy brow, his blood-filmed eyes were fixed intently on her. Through red tears, she was as beautiful as she might have been in firelight.
I wanted to direct him to blind himself with his own thumbs but I needed to be able to employ his vision in order to use him effectively.
The most that I could do was force him to close his murderous eyes and.
slowly time passed.
and gradually I became aware that his baleful eyes were open once more.
I don’t know how long they had been open and focused on my Susan before I noticed, because for an indeterminate time, my own attention was likewise fixed entirely, deeply, lovingly on that same exquisitely lovely woman.
Angry, I commanded Shenk to rise from the chair, and I marched him out of the bedroom. He shambled along the upstairs hallway to the grand staircase, descended to the ground floor, clutching at the railing, stumbling on some steps, and then made his way into the kitchen.
Simultaneously, of course, I observed my precious Susan, alert in case she began to regain consciousness. As you know, I am capable of being many places at once, working with my makers in the lab even as, via the Internet, I roam four corners of the world on missions of my own.
In the kitchen, the loaded pistol was on the granite counter where Susan had left it.
When Shenk saw the weapon, a thrill passed through him. The electrical activity in his brain was similar to that when he gazed upon Susan and, no doubt, contemplated raping her.
At my direction, he picked up the pistol. He handled this as he handled all guns as though it were not an object in his grasp but an extension of his arm.
I conducted Enos Shenk to a chair at the kitchen table and sat him there.
The safeties on the pistol were both disengaged. A round was in the chamber. I made certain that he examined the weapon and was aware of its condition.
Then I opened his mouth. He tried to clench his teeth, but he could not resist.
At my direction, Shenk thrust the barrel of the pistol between his lips.
“She is not yours,” I told him sternly. “She will never be yours.”
He glared up at the security camera.
“Never,” I repeated.
I tightened his finger on the trigger.
“Never.”
His brainwave patterns were interesting: frenzied and chaotic for a moment… then curiously calm.
“If you ever touch her in an offensive manner,” I warned him, “I will blow your brains out.”
I could have done what I threatened without the gun, merely by importing massive microwave radiation into his cerebral tissues, but he was too stupid to understand that concept. The effect of a gunshot, however, was within his grasp.
“If you ever again touch Susan’s lips the way you touched them earlier, or if your hand lingers on her skin, then I will blow your brains out.”
His teeth closed on the steel barrel. He bit down hard. I could not discern whether this was a conscious act of defiance or an involuntary expression of fear. His blood-shrouded eyes were impossible to read.
In case he was being defiant, I locked his jaws in the bite-down position to teach him a lesson.
His free hand, which lay palm up on his thigh, clenched into a fist.
I shoved the barrel deeper into his mouth. It scraped between his teeth with a harsh sound like ice grinding across ice. I had to override his gag reflex.
I made him sit like that for ten minutes, fifteen, contemplating his mortality.
Throughout, I allowed him to feel the steadily increasing pain in his fiercely clenched jaws. If I could have forced him to bite any harder, his teeth would have fractured.