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He must have glanced at her screen before
    she could hide it and gathered that she loved Lori. And yet, how did that explain the later comments? What did he mean by “damned with blessings”? How did he know she
    planned to die? And what, in Heaven’s name, was the meaning of that last line? She
    found it truly puzzling. She’d only recently found out the meaning of the word
    degeneracy. Through the first thirty-seven-and-a-half years of her life, she hadn’t heard or seen the word. Now she’d been exposed to it twice in the last month. Peculiar.
    She placed her credit card on the table, over the check. When René returned she
    would have a chat with him about his rudeness. He could communicate in writing, if not
    with speech. If necessary, she would force him to write down his answers to her queries.
    She would demand to know why he’d written her such a nasty note. Then she would
    complain to the manager. It was all well and good for the restaurant to hire a severely
    disabled man to wait tables. Some states gave tax breaks for such hiring, and – in
    principle – Ellie was for it. But this man’s handicap clearly didn’t stop with his limp or his speech impediment or his missing hand or the dent in his forehead. It was internal, as well. He was clearly insane and hellbent on forcing his delusions on her.
    She fidgeted. Held the note in her hands. Re-read it. Belched. Waited on René to take
    her payment.
    But the hand that reached down toward her credit card wasn’t a mannequin hand. It
    was chubby and attached to a ruddy, husky young man in his late twenties named Ray.
    She was about to ask what had happened to René. She was about to demand he be
    reprimanded for writing such a venomous note, but when she looked down into her hands
    she found no note at all. Just a paper napkin that had been twisted into a miniature rope by anxious hands.

    * * *

    I decided to give Eleanor a warning – by way of my angel, René. She feared me, you
    see. Yes, Lori feared me, too – but her fear was different. Lori’s fear was a fear that followed on the heels of agreeing to serve as my concubine and failing to fully accept all the consequences of that status. The sort of fear that came from knowing – not from
    theory, but from experience – that, if it were my whim, I could rob her of her arms and legs. I could change her shape into something incapable of disobedience. If it were my wish, I could dissolve all of her body except her breasts, her cunt, and her lovely face.
    She knew I had the ability and the right to stack one on top of the other and torture each in turn.
    Hers, too, was the fear that stemmed from having given birth to my begotten son. It
    was the terror that only came to those who’d carried my seed. Lori wasn’t merely
    frightened of me. She was traumatized by me. And that trauma led her to despise me and attempt to defy me.
    Eleanor, on the other hand, feared me – not in my true presence, but on the basis of my reputation. It was a fear that led her to repress her sexual self for decades. It was a fear that led her to yearn for the ability to comply with the biblical commandments she (falsely) assumed were my actual wishes. She’d been led to believe that I loathe
    homosexuality because it is an abomination. But – as anyone who has ever taken a
    glance at my concubines and children can testify – I love nothing more than abomination.
    What do you think attracted me to Lori, in fact, if not for that abominable, deranged mind of hers? I love abominations so much that I can’t help hoarding them. In my harem.
    Among my children. My domain is a Palace of Abominations. This, perhaps, is the
    greatest teaching I can share with you: the heavenly and the hideous are not separate.
    They are joined together in a coitus so intense it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
    Each reaches out to the other. The hideous needs the holy. Prays to it. Begs for its intervention to heal a broken