The Parentage of Artimus Rogue

The Parentage of Artimus Rogue


A Tall Pale Stranger Enters and Leaves a Life


Rota Carr walked down the dingy, ill-lighted boulevard dressed in a long black coat, tall and pale with close cropped black hair, his dark eyes falling on the many women standing about, beckoning him. They were all colors, shapes and sizes, dressed in provocative, revealing clothes that clearly advertised what it was they were selling.

In the shadows stood sharp-eyed men, some brightly and astonishingly dressed, watching the women, watching their “girls” making sure they were giving their all and standing by as protection. The man passed woman after woman . . . horny but disinterested in the gaudy selection.

Then he saw her. A young woman about eighteen years of age, slumped against a wall between a liquor store and a pawn shop next to a few garbage cans, rubbing her arms and trembling slightly. She looked toward him, her blue eyes bloodshot, but she looked away as a tall, slender black woman in a short skirt and halter top walked up behind the man and slinked one long arm in his.

”Feel like some chocolate tonight, daddy? Fifty dollars and you can lick me all over,” she purred at him. She wore an afro and long fake eyelashes. She stunk of perfume.

Rota gently removed her arm from his.

”Ah no,” he said with a slight accent, “Not tonight.”

But the woman wasn’t giving up so easily. She saw him eyeing the young woman now looking at the ground against the wall.

”You don’t want to fuck no junkie. You never know where she’s been,” the woman said to him.

”I don’t know that about you either, my lady,” Rota replied, his black eyes a bit mirthful.

If not for the “my lady,” Rota might have been soundly cursed out.

”I guess some men like routing around in the trash,” she said curtly, then turned and started to walk off.

She had walked about thirty feet when a man materialized out of the shadows and caught her arm, shaking her roughly.

The woman looked back toward Rota, who was once again staring at the brown-haired woman standing half in the shadows, quivering. He began to walk toward her.

The prostitute had a quick conversation with her pimp, then he told her to stay put and walked behind Rota.

“Hold it my man,” he said.

Rota stiffened, then slowly turned around to see a black man in a hat, wearing a lime green suit and ridiculously high shoes that brought him eye level to the Lemurian.

”May I help you?” Rota asked him politely, although he could feel the negative vibes flowing off the brightly dressed man.

”You got good manners for someone who’s slumming,” the pimp said, smiling. He was very dark and had very white teeth, one capped in gold. It glimmered slightly, catching a rare bit of light. “But you got it wrong. I want to help you. It’s clear you’re looking for pussy. I’ve got black pussy, white pussy, Chinese pussy, Spanish pussy, all kinds of pussy, my man. The price is right too. Nice clean spot to dip your dick too.”

”I’m not interested, thank you,” Rota said to the pimp, whose face contorted.

”Look, you ain’t going to just walk through my territory and snub my bitches,” he snarled, looking over at the junkie, “especially for some shit like that. Hey you! Get the fuck out of here before I whip your ass again! What I tell you ‘bout trying to pick up some crumbs! I don’t share my bread!”

The woman started, pushed herself away from the wall and hurriedly walked up the street turning between two buildings. Rota started to follow her and found himself restrained, something sharp pressing up under his ribcage.

“You don’t want to buy my pussy . . . fine. Then you don’t buy nothing. Give me your cash . . . all of it. And that ring,” the pimp said, pressing the knife a bit harder to let the big pale bastard know he meant business.

Rota’s black eyes shifted for a second and what happened next was a blur. Suddenly the pimp was on the ground, his own knife sticking out his side, crying out for help. All his girls screamed and started running toward him as Rota slipped into the night, looking for the woman.

He stopped in front of a dark alley and peered down it, ignoring the yells behind him.

He stepped into the alley, walked a bit . . . then his head turned sharply towards a recessed doorway. He stared at it.

”I’m . . . I’m in a bad way,” a soft voice said from the darkness, “a bad way. If you could give me a few dollars for a fix, I’ll come back.”

“No, if you come with me now . . . I’ll pay you double,” he said to the doorway.

The woman appeared, both her arms folded and she rubbed them almost obsessively.

She had blue eyes and brown hair. She was a bit gaunt, but not too far gone.

”I’ll give you a head job right here for just two dollars,” she said to him, but Rota shook his head.

”I need a woman,” he said firmly, “and I want you. I’ll pay you triple.”

Elisa Peter’s eyes widened.

”Like this? I won’t be any good,” she said to him.

”Take me to where you live,” the Lemurian said.

“All right,” Elisa said, “but we’ll take the back way. I don’t want to run into Rufus again. He nearly broke my arm the last time.”

Rota said nothing as she picked her way through the garbage of the alley. He followed her. They walked several blocks and turned into a rundown tenement. There was a single light in the hallway and junkies sat on the floor before a staircase, some nodding, some shooting up, all of them lethargic from the heroine running through their veins.

The whole place stank of urine and unwashed bodies.

Elisa stepped over their extended legs, taking a flight of stairs, stepping over holes that went straight through the wood. Rota followed her up a second flight of stairs. She turned down a dimly lit hallway. More junkies lined the wall. She came to a cracked wooden door with a heavy bolt lock on it. She fished out a key and opened it.

”Does anyone live with you?” Rota asked him.

”No. I have nobody,” Elisa said.

Rota entered, followed by the woman. She lived in a one room apartment, if living was what you could call it.

He looked around the studio. Old boxes of Chinese food rested on a cluttered and stained kitchen table, clothing was strewn everywhere, dishes were piled in the sink. There was a scratching noise, then a squeak from a wall. A twin-sized bed rested against a far wall, and two rickety wooden chairs rested near the table. The one window in the apartment was layered in bed sheets. The air was stale. A door leading to a dark bathroom was on the far right.

”This is home,” Elisa said, starting to undo her pants while she walked over to the kitchen table.

Rota watched her as she pulled them down and bent over the table. She had a rather nice ass for a junkie. . but . . .

”All right,” Elisa said, “it’s twenty bucks . . . you promised me sixty. There’s a box of condoms on the couch behind you.”

Rota studied her, unmoving.

”Do you have water here?” he asked the woman.

”Yeah, sometimes,” Elisa replied.

Rota walked over to the sink and turned it on. A lot of clanking started, then dirty brown water came out, running over the crusted dishes. Presently it cleared.

”Go bathe,” he told the woman.

Elisa looked at him.

”Bathe and I’ll pay you twenty more,” he said.

Elisa pulled up her pants.

”You’re certainly free with your money. I want to see it,” the woman said.

Rota reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick billfold. Elisa moved closer and he opened it, thumbing the money inside so she could see the denominations. He had some twenties, but there were mostly fifties and one hundred dollar bills. The billfold was absolutely stuffed to bursting.

Elisa stared at him as he closed the billfold and put it back into his pocket.

”With that much money, you could get . . . get an escort,” she said to him.

Rota shook his head.

”I need to remain low profile. There are . . . people after me,” he said to her softly. “I’ve been alone a long time and crave a woman’s company.”

Elisa bet all that money had something to do with why people were after him.

”I’ll go shower,” she said, “just don’t go anywhere.”

Maybe she could get a hundred off of him before the night was over. That would buy a lot of smack.

Elisa walked into the filthy bathroom and gingerly pulled the clothing out of the tub and turned on the shower. Again, pipes knocked and sludge poured out of the showerhead, gradually clearing and warming. She stripped down and waited until the water ran clean, then picked up the half melted bar of soap resting in the dish, rinsed it and began to bathe, using her hands since she had no washcloth. The need for a fix had her good, and her body began to spasm a bit, Elisa biting her lip against the pain. Hopefully her john wouldn’t take long and be generous. She tried not to think about what happened to make her end up here.

Her mother’s death . . . and her stepfather Harvey trying to make her a replacement, creeping into her bedroom at night and begging her for sex. She was seventeen and still a virgin.

”You’re all I have left, Lisa,” he blubbered, his soft pale face red as he cried and tried to touch her with his thick, pudgy fingers.

”Leave me alone! Get out!” she’d yell at him, and he’d leave, still blubbering.

This went on for three months, Elisa afraid to tell anyone. But she’d be leaving for college in the fall, and she planned to live on campus and never come back. She didn’t want to tell anyone what was happening

She should have.

One night Harvey came into her room, closed the door and attacked her, forcing her to perform acts on his fat hairy body that made her vomit more than once before he raped her, then stumbled out, the scent of sex and whiskey and the sounds of sobs left behind.

She packed a bag, grabbed her savings and took off for NYC.

And eventually ended up like this.

A junkie.

There was more, but she didn’t recall it as the warm water began to grow cold, and she started to shiver. She turned off the water and shook herself, having no towel to dry with. After a couple of minutes, she exited the bathroom naked. That was how he wanted her after all.

She walked into the studio and froze.

It was . . . clean. Not absolutely spotless but passable. No dishes in the sink, no rags on the floor, no Chinese boxes on the table, no stains on the counters . . . even the sheets on the windows were clean.

Rota stood in the middle of the room, looking at her body. She was still trembling and bent a bit as the sharp pain hit her again. She blinked at the Lemurian.

”What did you do?” she asked him.

”I cleaned. Your dwelling needed it badly,” he said shortly, walking up to her. “You are in pain?”

Elisa nodded as a fresh wave hit her.

Rota Carr placed his hand on her chest, between her breasts and murmured something in a strange language. She felt warmth issue from his hand and spread through her body and the pain and the quivers stopped.

”What did you . . . how did you?” she asked him.

Rota cocked his head at her.

“Think of me as a faith healer,” he said, shrugging off his coat and placing it on one of the wooden chairs, which looked much sturdier.

”You’re religious?” she asked him. Many johns were actually.

”Hardly,” he said, beginning to undress. “I have the gift.”

”Oh,” Elisa said.

Then she noticed the bed was actually clean as well, the sheets crisp and white.

She decided right then that he must be some sort of hypnotist or someone who could control minds. He had that kind of swami accent. Still, she wasn’t’ about to ask him any more questions. She had money to make and drugs to do.

As Rota Carr removed his shirt, shoes, socks and then his pants, revealing that he went “commando” Elisa immediately realized she was more than likely going to earn every penny.

***************************************

Rota rolled off Elisa, who was panting and shuddering, and not because of her addiction. Rota lay to the side of her and kissed her gently on the mouth.

”Thank you for bringing me relief,” he said to her softly, “and the kind of comfort only a woman can give. I was in dire need of it.”

Rota didn’t want to use a condom, and promised Elisa five times her pay if she would let him take her unimpeded. She told him she could have something. He said she didn’t. The only thing that ravaged her body was her growing heroine addiction.

The Lemurian rested his hand on her lower belly, then a strange look appeared in his eyes. He sat up in the bed and climbed over Elisa, turning to face her.

”Stand up, Elisa,” he said softly.

Still affected by the Lemurian, Elisa slid out of the bed and Rota placed one hand on her belly and one hand on the back of her head.

”There will be some pain,” he said softly.

Elisa stiffened and then tried to break away from him. Oh god, was he going to kill her now? She knew he was too good to be true.

”Let me go!” she cried, but then she stiffened, unable to move as Rota once again began to murmur unintelligible words, now heat radiating from both his hands, flooding her body . . . growing in intensity, then starting to burn.

Elisa couldn’t even scream as she felt encased in flames. Perspiration poured from Rota’s temples and streamed down his face as he continued until the flame died away and the pain was gone. Then he stumbled back from Elisa, weak and drawn.

Elisa felt . . . well good. Better than she had in a long, long time. She looked at Rota, who was catching his breath, his dark eyes resting on her as he straightened.

“I must go now,” he said, waving a hand over his body, instantly cleaning himself. Then he did the same to the amazed young woman.

Silent, Elisa watched him dress, thinking he had given her some kind of drug in some way, something that made everything seem good . . . seem proper and decent. It wasn’t that way . . . she knew it hadn’t been that way since her mother died seven months ago.

Rota shrugged on his coat, then walked forward and caught the young woman by her arms.

”You will be free of your addiction for the next seven days, Elisa . . . only seven days until the cravings come back. You are to leave here . . . go someplace that will help you. I will give you the means,” he said to her, reaching into his pocket and handing her his entire billfold.

”You’re giving me all your money?” she gasped at him.

He nodded.

”I can easily get more. You are to take it and leave this place . . . go somewhere where they can help you. Cleanse you of this . . . disease,” Rota said to her firmly.

He blinked down at her, then once again placed his hand on her lower belly, a small smile on his face.

”They thought to stop me, but . . . they didn’t,” he said softly, studying Elisa for a moment. Then, he removed his ring. It was silver, with snake-like dragons called wyrms forming the band. In the setting was a black stone with strange markings on it. He slid it on her finger, and it tightened.

”Keep this ring until it is time to give it to whom it belongs,” he instructed.

Elisa stared up at him, not understanding.

”Promise me you will keep it until then, Elisa Peters,” the Lemurian said, his eyes pleading.

”I’ll keep it,” she said softly.

Rota nodded curtly.

”Good. Now I must go. Live well, Elisa,” he said, kissing her once more then walking out of her life.

But he didn’t leave her empty-handed.

***************************************

A month later, Elisa sat in a small clinic, a plump pleasant-looking woman, Mildred Weathers holding her hand. Mildred was dressed in a lightly floral dress, with a bonnet and had accompanied Elisa for support.

Eliza had gone down to a local drug treatment center, looked through the meager aid available for junkies and relocated to a home for wayward women sponsored and run by the Religious Society of Friends in Quaker, Missouri.

Elisa firmly hoped the rabbit hadn’t died.

The doctor didn’t have good news at all, although Mildred was overjoyed. Quakers weren’t judgmental. As she led Elisa out of the clinic, she assured her she would have all the help she needed.

A car pulled up, and a smiling young man got out. He had blonde hair and brown eyes.

”I’m sorry I’m late, Miss Mildred. I had to get gas,” he said, then his eyes fell on Elisa, lighting up.

“Hello, Miss,” he said to her, completely smitten as Elisa looked back at him sober-faced.

Mildred looked from the young man to Elisa and back again, smiling.

”Elisa, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Elijah Rogue,” she said, “but don’t let his name fool you. He’s an absolute angel. Elijah, this is Miss Peters.”

”Hello, Miss Peters,” he said, taking her hand briefly, “I’m glad to make your acquaintance.’

**************************************
A/N: All right. We have a bit of background here concerning Artimus’ parents. Not the prettiest picture, but still . . . interesting. Please share your thoughts.