The obscene motions of the massager started up again. He closed his eyes, ignoring Flora's pleading eyes, and tried to think of his job, the street ...here he lived, anything but kinky sex. For a few minutes he succeeded, but the sensations of his strange imprisonment could not be ignored, his libido soon won out, and he daydreamed instead. He saw Mandy in the latex and leather outfit she had worn at the party, strutting toward him on impossibly high heels, her hips swaying within the skin. I had read stories on the necromancy websites of raisings that had went wrong, those that had been performed by amateurs who had messed up, bringing forth from the bowels of the earth nothing more than a reanimated corpse that begged to be put back into the ground. But this zombie, the raised body of Ashton Jones, serial killer extraordinaire, was, for lack of a better word, simply perfect. Who are you? The voice was deep, almost musical, nothing at all like I imagined. I guess I was expecting. More

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