R.M. DuChene's Blog, page 5

The Zodiac Game

 

 

Mark Bagley walked into the small kitchen and rummaged for something to snack on. After looking in each cabinet and opening the refrigerator door half a dozen times, he finally decided that a bologna sandwich would be better than waiting for the pizza to be delivered. Once all of the decks of his triple bologna-cheese-mayo masterpiece were firmly in place, he wrapped the sandwich in a paper-towel and then headed back to the living room, turning on the television before stretching out on the long, faded blue couch. He picked up the remote control off of the coffee table and began surfing. Within minutes, he noticed an odd pattern – it seemed that every other channel had something on about the Zodiac killer. Isn’t that guy dead already? He thought. Maybe today’s the anniversary of his last kill or something. He changed the channel back to CNN and watched what was left of the news story.

“The Zodiac killed seven people back in the 60s and 70s, but boasted in letters to the police of killing 37,” the newscaster said. “He sent many letters and cryptographs to law enforcement agencies, luring them into a cat and mouse game. Thousands of man hours were spent pursuing the Zodiac, but, in the end, he was never caught.” The news anchor went on to say that if the Zodiac killer were still alive today, he would probably be well into his seventies, perhaps older.

None of this information was new to Mark. The news station actually left out many important details about the Zodiac killings. As the newscast droned on, the hair on the back of Mark’s neck began to stand at attention. The letters to the police over 30 years ago wasn’t the story after all – the letter that the Stockton P.D. received that morning was. There’d been another murder, and a familiar calling card was left behind.

The news anchor wrapped up with information about the Zodiac’s victims, then re-visited her earlier assumptions about how old the killer would be today. Just as the news story was winding down, Mark’s phone rang. It was his friend Ted calling to confirm that the weekly poker night was still on.

After hanging up with Ted, Mark enjoyed a smoke, tapping the ashes into a half-empty beer can. Soon after, cigarette-butt floating in the leftover dregs at the bottom on the can, he stretched out on the couch and fell asleep. He was still sleeping when Ted arrived. Ted let himself in after knocking on the door multiple times and kicked the side of the couch to wake Mark up.

“Wakey-wakey, young lady,” Ted said. 

Startled, Mark shot up to a sitting position. Ted towered above him with a goofy grin on his face and a twelve pack of beer in each hand.

“It’s party time!” Ted shouted.

Mark grabbed his phone off of the coffee-table and checked the time. 7:38 pm. The other guys would be there soon. Mark and Ted pulled the card table out of a coat closet and began to prepare for the night. After the table, snacks, and Igloo cooler were in place, Mark had one last preparation to take of – Uncle Max. Mark went into the kitchen, fished a small bottle out of his front pocket, containing clear liquid and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. He filled the glass with water and added three drops of the clear solution. Glass of roofie-water in one hand and a collection of the old man’s nightly dose of pills in the other, he went into his uncle’s room, shutting the door behind him.

The first couple of times that Mark’s three friends came over for poker night were a complete disaster. The first night, his uncle Max stayed in his room, but yelled for them to get out, over and over. The second night was cut short when Uncle Max managed to get out of bed, stumble to his bedroom door, rock his way down the hallway and throw a container full of piss all over them. The third poker night was almost scrapped before it got started. The guys refused to come back over to the house until Mark assured them that he had taken care of the problem. He had done just that.

Ben and Rick showed up promptly at 7:00 pm, smiling and ready to go.

They each had their parts to play. All of Mark’s friends were married, so he was designated to provide the location. Jeff brought the refreshments, which really meant the beer. Ben was the DJ. He brought weekly music mixes, and usually took the initiative to incorporate a theme. Rick provided the entertainment.  He brought the cards, and whatever fun games they could play if they became bored with poker – which rarely happened. That night, Rick didn’t do his job – he forgot the cards. The three who actually did their parts were pissed off. They verbally assaulted Rick, calling him a dumb-ass, fuck-tard, and other colorful names. Mark was leaning against the tall book-shelf near the front door, belting out another degrading name when his eyes fell on one of the many true-crime books in his collection.

“Hey, hey guys,” he said.  “I know a game we can play!”

***

The four friends sat around the table in their usual spots. The Zodiac Game was simple – in reality, it wasn’t much of a game at all. The overall objective was to try and articulate the perfect murder. The Zodiac wasn’t notably elaborate in his killings, but he never got caught. The group decided that Mark should go first since it was his Uncle’s house. Mark sat up straight, his face a picture of concentration.

“Okay, I got one,” He finally said. He leaned over, grabbed a cold beer out of the ice chest, blew the excess water off the top, and cracked it open.

“You know that guy that works at the corner market, the one with the gap in his teeth big enough to kick a field goal through?”

They all nodded.

“Yeah well, he’s a real shit-heel – always following me around the store, acting like I’m gonna steal something.”

“He does that to me too!” Ted said. “It’s really fucking irritating. I just want to smack the shit outta him!”

 “Yep, that guy,” Mark said, nodding. “I’d kill him.”

“Humph…,” Rick said.

Mark looked over at Rick. “Humph, what?”

“I dunno,” Rick said. “I just sorta figured that you would’ve said your Uncle.”

Mark’s face grew dark. He clenched his hand into a fist and brought it down against the top of the table.

“He’s my Uncle, dumbass! I may not like him a hell of a lot, but I do love him.” He looked around the table at all of the surprised faces.

“You guys mind if I continue now, or do you have any more stupid suggestions?”

Nobody said a word.

“So, anyways,” Mark continued, “I’d wait outside in the parking lot until he shuts the store down. I’d take the front tire off my car so it would look like, you know, like I got a flat and don’t have a spare. When the guy comes out, I’d tell him that I don’t have a spare tire and ask if he could give me a lift home. After we get out here, I’d pull my gun on him and make him get out of the car. I figure I can shoot him in the woods without anyone getting a bead on where the shot came from. I’d have the hole for his body already dug, so I’d only have to throw his ass in and bury him. Once he’s in the ground, I’d throw his car in neutral and roll it into the lake. After that, all I would have to do is hoof it back to the store. It’s only a couple of miles, so it shouldn’t take too long. And there you have it.” He holds his hands up in as if to say, ta-da!

“Have what?” Ted asked.  “What if the guy doesn’t buy your story?”

“I’d convince him,” Mark said, smiling. “I can be very persuasive.”

“But what if…” Rick began. “Oh never mind.”

“No, go head,” Mark said. “Spill it.”

“Well it’s not that good of a plan, is it?” Rick said. “You said that the guy’s a jerk.”

“So?”

“So, what if the guy just ignores you, you know? What if he just walks on past you and leaves you in the parking lot, then what?”

Mark glared at him. “Okay smartass,” he said. “Who would you kill?”

Rick smiled broadly

“That’s easy,” Rick said. “I’d kill my wife.”

***

Rick and his wife Margaret didn’t exactly have the most loving of relationships. Rick got Margaret pregnant when they were teenagers and they had what folks in those parts referred to as a shotgun wedding.

“During our reception,” Rick said, “Margaret’s father pulled me aside and handed me an envelope. The envelope had two-thousand dollars in it, and a bullet. The cash is for you to take care of my baby girl, he tells me, and the bullet is so you can shoot yourself in the head if you ever hurt her. Then he puts his arm around me and whispers in my ear, trust me son, that’ll be far better than what I’ll do to you. Shit, maybe I should just kill him. Seriously though, if I really did manage to get up the nerve to kill the bitch, I’d take her out in the bath-tub. She loves that damned tub. Every-night, she polishes off a bottle of wine and soaks in there for hours, probably trying to wash her lover’s stench off of her before I get home, but I don’t think so. Who else would want her? So, anyways, she’s usually still soaking in the tub when I get home. The killing part would be easy, I think. All I would need is some thick rubber gloves so she doesn’t scratch me when I push her head under the water and hold it. I want to feel her squirming and fighting. I just may let her come up for air a few times, you know, just to make moment last longer. Getting rid of the body would be the hard part for sure. I’d probably use the turd-burglar.”

The other men around the table burst out laughing.

“The turd-burglar!” Mark shouted. “What the fuck is that?”

Rick went on as if his friends’ laughter didn’t affect him in the slightest.

“The turd burglar is a machine. Imagine a very large garbage disposal, one big enough to dispose of a body.”

“Where the hell’s that at?” Ben asked.

“It’s at the flight facility,” Rick said. “The building I guard there was built lower than the area around it. Plumbing doesn’t naturally flow up-hill, so they put this giant machine in the ground that takes all of the poop and stuff and turns it all into a giant smoothie, then it pushes everything up through the pipes. The blades on this thing will chop a brick into fine powder. You fall in while its running and they’ll never find a piece of you bigger than a grain of salt. It’s perfect.”

“Wow,” Ben said. “You really thought this through, huh?”

“Yeah, more or less,” Rick said. “Anymore questions?

“Just one,” Mark said. “Can I borrow the turd burglar for my guy too?”

***

The next one up to bat was Ted, who was well on his way to being inebriated

“The best way to hide a murder is to make it look like they did it themselves,” Ted said. “I would go for a good hanging in the closet if I could get away with it… or maybe poisoning.”

“You have to pick one,” Rick said.

“I know I have to pick one, dumb-shit.”

 “I’m just saying…,” Rick began.

“Poisoning, Ted said. “That’s how I’d do it. I’d poison the little bastard.”

“Who?” Mark asked.

“My step-son,” Ted said.

“What?” Mark said. “Robert?”

“Well, he is really as useful as tits on a boar, isn’t he?” Ted said. “All he does is listen to music, drug out, and sponge off of his mom and me. She won’t let me correct the little bastard, so I just have to sit there and take it. He’s nineteen, for Christ’s sake! Well, I’m tired of taking it. If I really thought that I could get away with it, I would’ve killed the little prick already.”

“Damn,” Ben said, “so much for fatherly love. Okay then, you’d kill young Robert – how?”

“Like I said, I’d poison him. I’d probably find his stash and put a little drain cleaner in it, or something. The point is, I won’t have to do too much. All I’d have to do is make sure that the poison gets in his stash, after that… he’ll do all the work himself.”

“What will you do with the body?” Rick asked.

“Jesus, you really are simple aren’t you?” Ted said. “I wouldn’t have to hide the body because he overdosed himself. Don’t you see? If he kills himself, I’m off the hook. Poison is perfect.”

“You don’t think that the police will wonder why he took the trouble to mix the poison in his stash instead of just drinking it from the bottle. I mean, if he really wanted to die, you know?” Mark said.

“What?” Ted said, irritated.

“Oh and what if he doesn’t die?” Ben said. “You may have to answer some tough questions when he wakes up in the hospital and tells the police that he didn’t mix the poison in his own batch. They may just start to wonder who did do it and since the only other two people in the house are you and…”

“Okay… Okay, so it’s not the perfect plan!” Ted shouted; “but it’s better than what you knuckleheads came up with.”

“That’s true,” Mark said. “But poison? That seems like a wimpy to kill someone, don’t you think? It seems to me that a real killer would want to see some blood.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Ted said. “This is my step-son we’re talking about. I don’t want to bathe in his blood or anything!”

“But it’s okay to poison him, huh?” Ben said. “It’s okay to kill him, as long as you don’t have to get his blood on your hands.”

“Hey, what’s with all the judgment?” Mark said. “Ted is well within his rights to kill his own step-son if he wants!”

“Let’s just move on,” Ted said. “Who’s next?”

“Just Ben,” Mark said.

“Look at that smile,” Mark said. “He must have something good.”

They all leaned forward in their chairs.

“It is good,” Ben said. “So good in fact, that I just might not tell you guys after all.”

“That wouldn’t be fair,” Ted said. “We already told our stories.” He reached into the popcorn bowl, grabbed a handful of cold, stale popcorn and threw it at Ben.

“Come off it man,” he said. “Spill it!”

 “Okay… okay,” Ben said, laughing. “Some things are too good not to share”.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at his friends thoughtfully.

“You guys remember that kid, Jason Mallard?” he asked. “We went to middle school with him.”

“He was the bully, right?” Mark asked. “He used to give everyone wedgies all the time. Once, I thought for sure that he was going to pull my shorts all the way over my head!”

“Yep, that was him,” Ben said.

“He moved away or something – in the middle of the year, right?” Ted asked.

“Nope,” Ben said. “He disappeared.”

“I never heard that,” Mark said.

“Well, it’s true,” Ben said. “He disappeared the day after Valentine’s Day. Nobody ever found out what happened to him.”

“And you know what happened to him?” Rick asked.

Ben’s smile grew wider than ever.

“I should,” he said. “I killed him.”

***

Mark called a halt to the game so they could all refill their refreshments. He popped two bags of microwave popcorn and refilled the bowl while the others grabbed fresh beers. Ted and Rick had to use the bathroom. Once they were all seated back at the small round table, Ben began his story.

“I was very excited for Valentine’s Day that year,” Ben said. My mom took me to the store to get the big bag of Batman valentine cards. You know, the ones with the suckers attached to them? Most of the cards had phrases that were obviously meant to be given to girls like, You make my baterang twirl or Holy cutie Batman, we’ve got a looker here! Some said things that were okay to give to guys like You’re dynamite! or You’re Batastic! My big job the night before was to sort out all of these cards into boy-girl stacks, but I mixed them up.”

He paused, took a sip of his beer, and then went on.

“I sorted all the cards into two separate bags, red for the girls, blue for the boys. When I got to school the next day, I gave the bags to the teacher and told her which one was which. She got it, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I’d actually put the girl’s cards in the blue bag and boy’s cards in the red one. So, when mid-day came around…”

“You told a bunch of dudes that you loved them,” Ted said. He wasn’t smiling.

“Correct-o-mundo. Pretty much the whole class thought it was funny and let it go, but Jason…it was just too good to pass up. He started calling me a queer, and I mean everywhere I went. This guy used to bully the entire school, but that day, I was his only target.”

He paused again and took another sip of beer.

“The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough. It seemed that everywhere I went, he was there calling me a queer. He didn’t whisper it either; he shouted it. Everyone was laughing at me. When I got home that afternoon, I ran straight to my room. I never cried so hard in my life. I just knew that the next day would be the same, if not worse. At dinner, my mom asked me why I was so quiet. I told her that I was just tired. She let it go.”

 Pause…beer…

“I didn’t want to be confronted by my mom again the next morning, so I woke up and left for school early. In order to avoid other kids, I took the trail through the woods. It was a longer trip, but most of the other kids were afraid of the woods, so I figured I’d be alone. I wasn’t.”

“You ran into him didn’t you?” Mark asked.

“He was standing at the edge of the river, skipping rocks. My first instinct was to get the hell out of there – pretend that I didn’t see him, but he saw me. He asked me if my mommy knew that her little queer was out in the scary woods alone. I told him to leave me alone, and he got mad. He started pushing me and calling me a queer over and over. I just snapped. I gave him a good, hard shove backwards and he tripped over a log. There was a large rock next to the shore. He hit his head on it and. I swear man, the whole back of the kid’s skull just sorta came apart, you know – like it was an egg or something. Anyway, I was scared. I rolled him into the river and watched him float away.”

Ted, Mark, and Rick all looked horrified.

“You didn’t tell anyone?” Ted asked.

“No,” Ben said. “I’m pretty much a coward”.

Everyone looked at each other in shocked, disbelief, and then all eyes turned back to Ben.

“You’re a chicken-shit.” Rick said.

“That’s true,” Ben said, smiling. “I’m a liar too… Compulsive…just can’t help myself.”

He stared at them, waiting to see if they would get the joke. They did. They threw popcorn at him and took to calling him a queer for the remainder of the night, which was only about an hour later.

Once everyone finally left for the evening, Mark looked over the beer-can and popcorn littered room. Screw it, he thought. I’ll clean it up in the morning. He grabbed his half-empty beer can off of the table, took a sip, and then stretched out in his usual spot on the couch, thinking back fondly on the evening.

***

The lights in the house were off as Ben pulled into the driveway. Half tipsy, he barely managed to avoid clipping his wife’s Honda as he swung the large SUV into his spot. His son’s bicycle wasn’t as fortunate as the Honda. Ben barely noticed the scream of twisting metal as his large SUV ran over it. After removing the keys from the ignition, he opened the driver’s side door and stumbled out onto the driveway.

“Stupid little shit,” he said and attempted a kick at the bent-up remains of the bicycle, missed it, and kicked his SUV instead. He turned away from the destroyed bike and made his way around the SUV to the walkway that led up to his front door. As he passed the neatly rolled up water hose, he felt something squish under his shoe. He looked down and saw a soggy, yellow sponge sticking out from under his foot. Looking around the front yard, he saw a few more wet sponges, a couple of towels, and an almost full metal bucket of soapy water. Little shit didn’t put away this crap after washing the car today, he thought. That’s strike two little buddy. He leaned over to pick up the sponge that he had stepped on and was pushed forward, hard. As he hit the ground, his face missed the edge of the metal bucket by inches.

“What the hell man!”

He began to push himself up with his hands, looking around for the person who had knocked him over but a foot slammed down onto the center of his back, driving him to his belly again.

“What the…,” he slurred between a rough fit of coughing. “I’ll…I’ll kill you!”

Before Ben could kill anyone, a hand gripped the hair on the back of his head and twisted. There was a quick pull upward, followed by an unbelievably fast jolt downward. The edge of the cement walkway met his face with brutal force, sending blood, cartilage, and bone spraying about. Ben didn’t die instantly. Lying face down on the cement in a pool of dark, sticky burgundy, he could feel the rattling movement of his lungs as they fought for yardage. He didn’t think about his family before he passed, or all of the days and hours he had wasted in his life. Instead, his last thoughts on earth were filled with the recent memory of a bright repeating flash of light, and the cracking sounds of thick, dry tree limbs.

***

Just past midnight, Rick crawled into bed next to his wife. He did so as quiet as possible, ensuring that he didn’t wake her – unconscious was just how he liked her. Asleep, Margaret was as silent and gentle as a newborn kitten, but awake… He turned away from his loving wife, pulled what little covers she wasn’t hogging over him, and drifted off to sleep.

Sometime around two in the morning, Rick woke up and rushed to the bathroom. He had been dreaming about…well…about taking a leak. The dream was vivid. He really thought that he was standing in front of his toilet, trying to piss, but the urine refused to come out. No matter how much he struggled, it just wouldn’t come. Then, just as the flow did begin, he woke up.

“Shit!” He leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom. After dancing around and almost losing it a couple of times, he managed to free himself and let loose. The sudden relief, known to his friends as a peegasm, felt so good that he let out an audible, ahhh sound as his bladder emptied.

Mission complete, he decided to take a quick shower. Margaret wouldn’t appreciate him climbing back into bed with urine-drenched pants on and he didn’t want to deal with it. He peeled off his clothes, crossed the bathroom to the shower, and turned it on. Just as he was about step into the stream of water, something caught his attention – a square piece of paper taped to the bathroom mirror.

What the hell? He thought as he walked to the sink. He pulled off the paper, unfolded it, and saw a short note, written in Margaret’s hand-writing.

I told you that I didn’t want you to go to your stupid friend’s house tonight. My dad came and picked up me and the kids. I will let you know tomorrow if, and when we will be coming home. My dad says that he wants to talk with you after you sober up. I can’t believe that you are still pulling this shit.

Rick finished reading the note, crumpled it up, and threw it into the toilet. She never told me that she didn’t want me to go tonight, he thought. And who gives a shit what her dad thinks, anyway? He stormed back into the bedroom – all fear of Margaret had left him. He decided to wake her ass up and give her a piece of his mind, but the sight of the bed froze him in mid step. Margaret’s side of the bed was empty, of course. She was at her dad’s… but earlier. If Margaret was at her parent’s house, who was…A loud thump echoed throughout the room as something solid connected with the back of Rick’s head.

As the fog inside Rick’s head began to evaporate and his eyes began to clear, he comprehended two things immediately – first, that he was laying face-down in the bathtub,  hog-tied with his feet bound to his hands behind him – second, and most important, he knew that he was in deep shit. 

A tall figure stepped up to the side of the bathtub and peered down at him. The figure was wearing a black hoodie with a sniper’s cross-hairs printed on the chest. The hood was pulled low over the figure’s head.

In the dark, nightlight-illuminated bathroom, Rick couldn’t make out any identifiable facial features. A flash of a shadowed chin here, a dark outline of a cheek-bone there was all he got. Without speaking a word, the figure leaned into the bath-tub and turned on the faucet with a black, leather-gloved hand.

Filling a bathtub usually takes a while, but the level in Rick’s tub seemed, to him, to rise with supernatural quickness. The water rose steadily and fast, submerging the whole of Rick’s neck in, what felt to him, like seconds. A hand grabbed Rick by the back of his neck and plunged his head underwater. Rick struggled as much as he could, but the harder he fought, the more pressure was applied to his neck. I’m dying, he thought. Oh my God, I’m dying. Margaret… Within a minute, the darkness took him.

***

Young Ricky was stretched across the living-room floor, sucking face with the current flavor of the month when Ted came home. The girl looked young, possibly no more than 16 years old. Ted thought of inquiring, but changed his mind. It was too late at night to get into a family argument. Besides, he thought, if her family doesn’t care that she’s out so late, why should I?

He went into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. Centered on the top shelf was a Tupperware container with a small note on it. After ted removed the lid and put the container into the microwave, he read the note. It was from his wife, letting him know that there was garlic-bread in the oven. She also wrote that she tried to stay up for him, but wasn’t feeling well and to please wake her up when he came to bed. Ted smiled and slid the note into his pocket. I like the sound of that, he thought.

Once the food was heated up, Ted took the container of spaghetti to the dining-room table and began to eat. After a few bites, he noticed that his new horror magazine had come that day. He ate another bite, and then snatched up the magazine. When he opened the front cover, a small note fell out and landed in his lap. He picked it up and read the small hand-printed message.

 

I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.

Theodore

 

“What the hell is…,” he began, but his words were cut off by a sharp pain in his stomach. He stood up quickly, just as a second burst of gut-cringing pain lit up his insides from his esophagus, down to his lower intestines. From the other room, the sound of low talking and giggling drifted into the kitchen. Ted heard the laughing and knew what happened. The little bastard had poisoned him.

The house telephone was hanging on the wall, just inside the kitchen. Ted crawled toward it. He knew that he had to call 911 as fast as possible – then make himself vomit. First save your life, he thought. Then kill the little prick. He managed to make it about half the distance to the phone when another pain ripped through his insides. He curled up on the floor in agony and vomited undigested spaghetti, meat-sauce, and blood onto the kitchen floor. The sight of the blood made his head swim. When the final gut-wrenching spasm came, the intensity of the pain was so severe that it forced his body straight. His body convulsed and he began to vomit up small, indefinable pieces of his insides. Just as the intense spasm reached its peak, Ted’s insides broke free and evacuated his body in heavy gushes from both ends. 

***

Mark’s peaceful sleep was interrupted by the sound of the television. He sat up quickly and wiped the crud from his eyes. The television was turned up to its highest level and displaying another Zodiac story.

“If you are just joining us, there’s been a breaking development into what has been labeled as the Zodiac Junior Killings,” The newsman said. He was standing in the street, emergency and police personnel all around him. “Just a little while ago, a woman and her children came home after an evening at her parent’s house to a grisly sight – the body of their husband and father, bound and murdered in their family home. The situation is still developing at this moment, but what has been confirmed is the police have found another Zodiac message. Police are not commenting on the details of the murder, or the message’s contents until further….”

“I told you to keep those idiots out of my house.”

Mark jumped at the sound of the voice. He turned and saw his Uncle Max at the far end of the couch. He was dressed in cargo-pants and his old hoodie.

“Uncle Max,” Mark said. “What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

Max smiled.

“I went out to get you a present.” He motioned to a card-board box sitting on the coffee table. “To thank you for all of the help you’ve given me.”

Mark made no attempt to retrieve the box. The surprise of first finding his Uncle up and fully dressed and that he had actually ventured outside the house shocked him.

Max stood up. He didn’t move like an old man who is supposed on his death bed. His movements were casual, unforced, and displayed a level of agility one would expect from a much younger person. Max picked up the open can of beer from the coffee table and took a long swallow. Then, he put it back down and patted Mark gently on the head before starting back toward his bedroom.

“I guess you can open it later.”

The news-station was replaying excerpts from the earlier broadcast about the Zodiac Killer as Max walked by it. The female newscaster’s voice poured from the speakers.

“If the Zodiac killer were still alive today, he would probably be well into his seventies, perhaps even older. Too old…”

Max stopped, switched off the television, and then walked down the hallway to his room. As his bedroom door closed behind him, Mark heard him say, “Too old my ass.”

After his Uncle Max left the room, Mark picked up the box that sat before him on the coffee-table. He opened the folded ends and screamed in terror at the sight of the station worker’s face staring back at him.

THE END

Where True Hell Resides

In eternal darkness, time forgot -

immersed in a coldness where penitence is wrought

The lack of sound, the lack of sight,

make it blacker than the darkest night

 

Inside the mind is a wavy path

that’s bricked by hatred, self-pity, wrath

Blisters form upon each stride,

under the soles of the soul inside

 

Along the walkway, there’s a line of hands

set aflame by the sins of man

Dozens of voices cry out in pain

from souls that have surely gone insane

 

Within the flames, faces twisting,

eye-holes burning, flesh glistening

Tortured expressions, scorched skin cracks

Whip marks show upon their backs

 

The soul recoils and tries to flee

from the sight of loved ones in agony

But, the mind has trapped the soul inside

                                                    for that is where true hell resides

Letters for Marie

My Dearest Marie,

It’s been weeks since you dropped me off at the unit, kissed me goodbye and then drove off – refusing to look back, just as we always planned. I still keep thinking about the night before I left, when we were sitting in that coffee shop. You kept asking me what I would do if I was called up. I laughed it off then, but now I don’t think it’s too funny. Your words haunt me in my dreams. It’s like you knew it was coming.

Even after I received the call, I assumed that it was just an alert, like always. You know how the company loves to alert us, get us all down to the unit, and then say that it was just an exercise. I never thought for an instant that it was real. When we pulled up in front of the unit and I saw the vehicles lined up along the back of the building, my heart sank. I looked at you and you started to cry. I guess reality didn’t hit you until just then, just like me.

When I walked into the unit, my platoon was waiting for me, nestled against the back wall with their equipment bundled around them. A few of the junior soldiers asked me what was going on. I couldn’t tell them anything. It was more than a little embarrassing for me, the Platoon-Leader to be just as in the dark as the rest of the platoon. The First-Sergeant walked out of operations just as I set my bags down and motioned for me to go inside.

The Commander’s briefing was quick and to the point. We were going to load up into the vehicles and convoy to a grid-coordinate that was just on the California side of the California-Nevada state line. The mission once we got on-site was to establish an entry control point, and then maintain security operations around the clock. At the end of the briefing, the commander asked us if we had any questions. I asked him what kind of orders we were being deployed on and he said that we had been State-activated. The entire command-staff fell silent, but I knew that they were thinking the same thing I was. They actually did it…the rebel states seceded.

I tried calling you while we were driving through the hills, but my phone lost signal. For weeks now, I’ve been going crazy, trying to figure out a way to get a message to you. Since the power went out right after we arrived here, personal communications have been impossible. My phone is as good as a rock now. It wasn’t until a few days ago that word came down that the mail was running again. I just came back from a patrol, so this is the first time I’ve been able to write to you. I hope that this letter finds you well and gives you some measure of peace. I’m alive, my love and I plan to stay that way. Like I told you – I will always come home to you.

The Joes are all doing okay. They are happier now that the mail is running again. I’ve heard that the new postage stamps have the governor’s face on them. That will be funny to see. We use metered mail, so I probably won’t be able to see one until after I come home. In all, it hasn’t been too bad up here. We’ve only lost a couple of Joes so far – one, when a squad from the Nevada Guard breached the wire lobbed a grenade into the guard-tower – the other when two men ran a jeep-full of explosives into the entry control point and detonated it. There were two guards on the gate, but one of them just happened to be taking a leak.

We’ve had it kind of rough, but some of our sister companies have had it worse, from what I’ve heard. We received one report that said that two squads from the 190th MP Company and about 30 civilians were taken out when that daisy-chain of improvised explosives went off on the I-5 down by Bakersfield. From what I’ve heard, the Arizona Guard took responsibly for that one.

In a way, Baby, I’m happy that we’re on the Nevada line – the Nevadans aren’t half as crazy as the Arizonians, who would’ve probably taken us all the way down to Fresno, if the New Mexicans and Texas didn’t attack them from their rear. I don’t think that we’ll have any trouble from them for a while, but if the New Mexicans and Texas take Arizona, we could end up in a pretty big pickle. If that happens, my love, go to Oregon and wait for me. They have been classified as non-combatants along with Washington. Just go there and wait for me. I will come for you when this conflict is over.

Four Battalions pushed through the gate last week. I’m not sure how they’re faring, but they haven’t returned yet. They should be half-way across Nevada by now. If we take Nevada, the next big push will be to cut down through the non-combatant state of Utah and attack New Mexico from the north. If we can take New Mexico and Texas, we’ll have a real shot at ending this thing and getting some long term peace treaties established.

Well, my love. I have to end this note pretty quick. I’ve just been informed that our commander is going to give us a briefing in ten minutes. It must be a pretty big deal because we don’t usually get briefings last minute like this. I’ll write to you again tonight and let you know what’s going on. I can’t wait to could hold you in my arms again. Hopefully, this will all be over soon, my love. I miss you more than you could possibly know.

Your loving hubby forever,

Justin

***

To: Marie Fuentes

From: Commander, 129th MP BN

Dear Mrs. Fuentes

It is with the deepest sense of regret, that I must inform you of the passing of your beloved husband, Justin. Justin was an outstanding platoon leader and he will be missed by his platoon, his unit, and the California Guard.

Your husband has given all that he could possibly give for his state, and the citizens will forever be grateful to him, you, and your family. Please know that Justin’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. When the last of his men perished at the entry control point, Justin himself picked up a fallen rifle and secured the post until reinforcements arrived. He was conscience when he was pulled from the field, but soon after succumbed to his wounds.  Know that his last words were of you and the love that he bears for you.

I know that there is nothing that I could ever say to you that will ease the pain caused by Justin’s passing. Please accept my condolences and the eternal gratitude of a new nation for your sacrifice. Please do not hesitate to call the unit if you have any questions, concerns, or problems.

Very Sincerely,

Herbert T. Jones

LTC, MP

Commanding

The Disciples

 

The thirteen cloaked figures walked along the path. Somewhere beyond the thick layer of trees that surrounded them, the setting sun cast just enough light to guide the Disciples’ way. That’s what they called themselves – that’s what the new world has called them for three-hundred years – The Disciples. Each walked the path in silence, six in the front, and six in the rear. In the center, a solitary figure was being lead along by a length of rope that ended in a tight binding around the hands.

Each of the Disciples carried with them, a long staff. The bottoms of the staffs were tipped in iron, the top wrapped in a tear-dropped shaped piece of cloth. When they reached the clearing at the end of the path the day was almost gone. The line of travelers paused before entering the clearing. The first of the Disciples used an ancient looking Zippo lighter with a crucifix etched into the side of it to light the first torch. Once the first torch was ablaze, the first Disciple tilted the tip of his torch to the second Disciple to ignite theirs, and so it went down the line until all of the torches were lit.

In the center of the clearing a large cross-shaped altar lay adorned with red and gold fabrics and a large, smoothed-out rock at the base with a circular hole at its center.  Surrounding the cross-shaped altar, eleven more smoothed-out rocks were spread out at even intervals. The line of silent travelers entered the clearing single-file, made a circular path around the altar, and stopped in front of the rocks – one at each. A single figure broke off and approached the altar. When the Disciple reached the altar’s base, the lit torch in his hands was raised high into the air.

“May the lord be with you,” He said.

“And also with you,” the eleven other Disciples answered.

“Greetings, brothers and sisters,” the head Disciple, the one that the rest of the congregation called Father, said “We meet here tonight because another threat to our existence has come to light.” He raised his hand and pointed to the woman with the bag over her head. “This woman has been touched by Lucifer!”

“Lucifer; touched by Lucifer,” the congregation said in perfect unison. “Lucifer, touched by Lucifer…”

Father raised his hands to command silence. All at once, the congregation ceased chanting.

“For over three hundred years, we’ve worshipped the almighty faithfully. In return for our faith, God has made real the prophecy of the Thousand Year Rein. We have survived without disease or hunger. We’ve been completely held above all natural beings on this planet. Savior Jackson was given to us as promised – the resurrected son of God.”

“God bless Jackson…God bless Jackson,” the congregation said.

“I know that some of you think that we should wait for Savior Jackson’s return to carry out our responsibility to him and to God, but I say that justice cannot wait. We cannot put salvation on hold until Savior Jackson returns from Asia. What say you?”

“Aye,” the congregation said.

“So say you all?”

“Aye, so say we all.”

Father raised his torch again to the night sky and made the sign of the cross with it in the air before him. Then, he slid it into the perfect, round hole in the center of the smoothed out rock. As soon as his torch was set in place, the rest of the congregation did the same with their torches.

“Who brings the accused before us?” Father said.

The Disciple directly in front of Father stepped forward, pulling the accused woman behind.

“It is I,” the Disciple said from beneath the darkened hood of her cloak, “Sister Angela.”

“Bless you, Sister…bless you sister,” the congregation said.

“What proof do you offer? Bring it forth,” Father said.

Sister Angela pulled the bound woman forward until they were standing a couple of feet away from Father. She reached down and pulled up the loose sleeve of the captive’s cloak.

“She’s been marked by the beast!” Sister Angela said, holding up the woman’s arm so that Father could get a better view. A thick line of healthy flesh ran down the center of the woman’s arm, but the flesh all around the healthy skin was greyish in color and decayed.

“It’s not my fault,” the woman said. “It was like that when I woke this morning. I made no deal with Lucifer, I swear.”

“Oh she made a deal all right,” Sister Angela said. She dropped the woman’s arm and grabbed her other arm and pulled up the sleeve – the second arm looked identical to the first.

“You poor child,” Father said. “May God have mercy on your soul.” He raised his arms and turned in place so that he could look upon all of the Disciples. “What say you, brothers and sisters?”

“Guilty…guilty…guilty…”

“Place the convicted upon the altar,” Father commanded.

When the accused woman heard the verdict and Father’s command, she began to struggle immediately. Two additional Disciples had to leave from their assigned places in order to help Sister Angela tie the screaming, kicking, and fighting woman down on top of the altar. They bound her arms and feet down using the red and gold fabrics. When they were finished, they took a step back from the altar and waited for the others to join.

They formed a complete circle around the altar. At Father’s command, two of the Disciples opened the woman’s cloak, exposing her naked body to the cool, nighttime air. The majority of the woman’s body was pink and healthy, but great streaks of grey, dead flesh could be seen all over her. The Disciples joined hands.

“God bless this woman,” Father said.

“Bless her…bless her,” the congregation answered.

In the moonlight, the woman screamed in pain as the grey, dead flesh slowly receded, giving way to the healthy pink skin.

“The Father has blessed us with eternal life, but we are cursed with the eternal hunger that comes with it. It has been years since we’ve tasted living flesh. Is this a test of our faith, a temptation?”

“No…no…,” the congregation said.

“Could it be that this poor creature’s curse is our reward from the almighty? What say you?”

“Yes…yes…”

Between the ring of chanters, the woman’s flesh had turned completely pink. Goose prickles stood up all over her body.

The Disciples released each other’s hands and pulled back their hoods, exposing the dead, decayed, normal faces of the saved. Some were missing ears, some noses, some were still intact. Where Father’s eyes should have been were two, dried out, empty sockets, resting above two cheek bones that were jutting sharply out of the decomposed flesh of his face.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” Father said.

The woman’s screams carried across the clearing as the Disciples tore into her living flesh.

Dragan’s Ride

New Cover

Eight Minutes

 

She sees me staring at her and waves me over. My body moves towards her. It’s maddening to not be able to communicate with her. I want to call out to her, to tell her that we should go somewhere else – perhaps a nice little restaurant where we can drink and chat until the early hours of the morning. Then, perhaps we could go home and work on making that baby that she’d been talking about having. Her hair is the same as it was the last time I saw her. It’s always the same.

We embrace and kiss like we always do. It’s torture to know that my lips are meeting hers, but not be able to feel the touch of her skin. I have no control over what I say or do. I fix her scarf for her and lead her to the hotdog stand. We chat about our day as the vender prepares our rushed, yet delicious dinner. It would probably seem weird to most people that my wife and I meet every year at a hot-dog stand for our anniversary, but it’s where we met. It’s our little thing.

We stay close to the stand after the vender gives us our hotdogs, enjoying the warmth from the grill. We eat in a hurry – the movie will be starting soon and we don’t want to be late. She talks about her day, I’m hardly listening. I’ve heard it all before. I stare at her beautiful face, taking in her beauty and study every curve of her face, every line. God, I wish I could smell her. She checks her watch and says that we have to hurry. Then, she throws away the remaining half of her hotdog, motions for me to follow her, and steps into the street. My mind screams out to her, yells for her to come back – begs her. She rushes past a parked car and my mind races when the bright headlights of the bus spotlight her. She freezes and stares momentarily at the instrument of her death, then steals a quick glance at me just before the end. The expression on her face isn’t one of fear or terror, but of love. Just before the bus hits her, I open my eyes. The cycle is complete.

The chamber door opens and I step out. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the brightness of the chamber-room, but I know that Frank is standing nearby – he always is. His concerned face comes into focus slowly.

“Do you need to sit down, Joe?” He asks.

“No Frank, thank you.” He should know better. I’m a veteran.

I pull out my wallet and hand him my Identification card. He turns to the holographic keyboard and begins typing.

“Okay, you got the entire eight minutes. You get the frequent trip discount at eighty percent…so that’s twelve-hundred and fifty dollars.” He passes my card through the holographic monitor and grimaces when the screen turns red.  “Looks like you’re almost out of credits,” he says.

“I get paid tomorrow. Can you spot me?”

He considers my request for a second and then hands me back my card. “Okay,” he says, “but just this once. You really need to slow down on this thing. Perhaps trip to someone else’s past for a change.”

I’m still shaking my head no as I climb back inside the chamber.

“Well, it’s your mind, Frank says, grabbing the outer-chamber door, “and your wallet. See you in eight minutes.” He closes the door and the lights go out. I close my eyes tight until the bright flash passes. When I open them again, I see her standing on the corner by the hotdog stand. She sees me staring at her and waves me over.

Obsolescence

 

The factory sat on the tallest hill in the area. From each of its four sides, the city below seemed to stretch out to eternity. Michael sat on the bench in the factory break area and stared up at the nighttime sky, watching intently as thousands of commuters shot in all directions above him and over the horizon. The sight of the commuters made him wish for home, but he knew that he still had six more hours left on the line before he could be back with his family again. He thought of young Billy and smiled. We’ll be playing that game of catch tomorrow, buddy, he thought, just like I promised. A loud horn sounded across the complex. Break time was over. It was time to head back to the line.

On the line, Michael put on his protective suit, what the workers called, ‘the wall.’ When the commuter vehicles drifted up to his station, his job was to apply the magnetic field. The wall helped to prevent arcs of energy from causing a short in the wiring or worse. Once the suit was completely assembled, he waved his hand in front of the panel sensor to let the mainframe know that he was back at his station. Three of the commuter vehicles flew by him at almost the speed of sound; the fourth one stopped and hovered in front of his workstation.

Michael pressed the large blue button and there was a sudden hissing sound as metallic gas particles encircled the vehicle. After the vehicle was well hidden behind a cloud of particles, he pressed the red button. As if the vehicle was itself a vacuum, the cloud of particles fell inward and attached to the outside of the bat-shaped machine. A single push of the green button sent a surge of energy flowing through the outer shell, magnetizing it. Once the process was complete, the vehicle rushed off to the color station and then the interior decorating station after that. As soon as it departed, another vehicle appeared to take its place.

About an hour after Michael came back on the line, Jerry’s voice came over the speaker in his helmet and told him that Mr. Pritchard wanted to see him. Michael had been working at the factory for just over three years and had put in a request to have his salary increased so that he could better take care of his family. As he removed himself from the wall, he thought about how happy Jenny would be that he’d gotten a raise. She may finally be able to get Billy that new hover-board that he’d been asking for over the past year or so. He approached the main office and placed his hand on the sensor by the door. A white light scanned down the length of his palm and then back up.

“Access granted,” Jerry’s voice said and the heavy metal door slid open. As Michael walked into the main office, he thought for the thousandth time how adorable Jerry’s voice sounded to him. He wondered, not for the first time, what she would look like if she actually had a body. The metal door slid closed behind him and he stepped up into a large, transparent chamber, set in the center of the large outer-office.

“Please raise your arms,” Jerry’s voice said. Michael obeyed. Another line of white light scanned down the length of his body and then back up again.

“Please exit the chamber, Michael” Jerry said. “Mr. Pritchard will see you now.”

Mr. Pritchard’s office door was already open when Michael stepped out from the chamber. The heavy-set man sat behind his desk, smiling brightly. On either side of him, standing behind his desk, were his two assistants, Mr. Thompson and Mr. Dale. Michael could never tell them apart. Not only did they look exactly the same, they always wore the same, exact outfits.

“Take a seat, Michael,” Mr. Pritchard said when Michael entered the office. The factory manager motioned to the single chair that had been placed in front of his desk. Michael did as he was told.

“Hello, Michael,” Mr. Pritchard said, folding his hands on the desk-top. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“No problem, Sir,” Michael said.

Mr. Pritchard cleared his throat a couple of times before continuing.

“Michael, I have some bad news.”

“Bad news Sir?” Michael hadn’t expected to hear bad news when he was called to the office. He became immediately worried. “My family, sir – are they okay? Billy…”

“Calm down,” Mr. Pritchard said. “Your family is okay. I promise. This isn’t about them, Michael. This is about you.”

“Me, sir?”

“Yes, Michael. You see, I have a new unit coming in tomorrow that will automate the magnetization process on the vehicles. Do you understand what that means?”

“Am I going to have to learn a new process, sir?”

“No, Michael,” Mr. Pritchard said, gravely. “Michael, it’s going to do everything that you do. I’m sorry, Michael, but you’ve been coded obsolete.”

For a few seconds, Michael couldn’t speak. The shock of the news sent his mind reeling. I can’t be obsolete, he thought. I have to play catch with Billy like I promised. I have to provide for my family… My family!

“Sir,” Michael said. This can’t be. I’m supposed to get a thirty day notice!”

“I know, son. I truly am sorry.” Mr. Pritchard stood up and held out his hand to Michael. Michael stood and reluctantly shook it. “You’ve done a great job here, Michael. This decision is in no way a reflection of your service. I hope you know that.”

Michael nodded dumbly, lost for words.

“Good,” Mr. Pritchard said. “You’ve been scheduled for termination tomorrow. Your family’s been notified.” He walked around his desk with his two assistants following him and patted Michael on the back as he led him toward the office door. “If it makes it any easier for you, your family is extremely upset.” At the door, Michael turned around quickly.

“My family,” he said. “Who’s going to take care of them?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Mr. Pritchard said. “Dave, from the interior decorating department lost his family in an unfortunate commuter accident last month. We feel that he’ll fit nicely.”

“Dave’s going to take care of my family? Who the hell is Dave? It’s my family, not Dave’s! They’re my responsibility!” He lunged at Mr. Pritchard, but Mr. Thompson and Mr. Dale grabbed his arms and dragged him backward from the office. A small alarm sounded and Mr. Pritchard’s office door slid shut. Michael fought the twins as hard as he could, but in the end, he couldn’t match their combined strength or the electric shock that they sent through his neck, rendering him useless.

When he came to, Michael found that he couldn’t move. Standing on the very platform where he’d watched so many other fellow workers terminated, he knew that it wouldn’t do him any good to struggle. He was an obsolete. When the job was terminated, so must he be. That was the law. Below the platform, thousands of workers stood silently, watching and waiting for his end to come. A side door opened to his left and Mr. Pritchard walked out onto the platform, followed by his family.

“Billy!” Michael called out. “Billy, I’m sorry. I wanted to play catch with you!”

Seven year old Billy began to cry, turned away from Michael, and buried his face in Dave, the interior decorator’s side. Dave pulled the boy close.

“That’s okay, buddy,” Dave said, running his fingers through Billy’s hair. “I’ll play catch with you.” Michael and Dave locked eyes for an instant and an understanding passed between them. Take care of them. I will, I promise.

Michael looked over at Jenny, but she was looking down at the floor. Her husband, Ken wrapped her arms around her and gave her a small squeeze.

“I know you’ll miss Michael,” Ken said. “But, I’m sure that Dave is going to work out just fine. He’s a newer model, you know?”

Mr. Pritchard stepped up to the center of the platform and stood beside Michael, facing the thousands of workers below.

“We’re here today to say goodbye to Michael, model number 57. He’s been an outstanding producer and will be missed.” He turned to Michael and patted him on the shoulder. “Just so you know, Michael – I would have been happy to give you that raise.”

Michael didn’t respond. He stared silently out at his fellow workers and waited for his inevitable end to come. Mr. Pritchard nodded to Mr. Dale, who was standing behind Michael. Mr. Dale nodded slightly and opened the small panel on the back of Michael’s neck.

“Goodbye, Michael,” Jenny said from somewhere high above the platform. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Jenny,” Michael said. He looked at his family and then back out at the crowd. “I’ll miss all of…” His head fell forward when his chip was removed.

LAKE AMADOR

 

 

From where I was sitting with my arms wrapped around Abigail’s shoulders, the evening sun’s reflection seemed to stretch itself across the surface of Lake Amador. With the receding of father day, mother night began to move in. I could feel her icy fingers beginning to caress my bare flesh. I noticed Goosebumps on Abigail’s neck and pulled her closer to me. From where we sat on the dock, I could barely hear the yelling and laughter pouring out from the cabin up on the hill. With fall quickly approaching, the lake was choppy, sending waves rolling up to the shore. They were small waves, but powerful enough to keep the floating dock moving up and down in perpetual motion.

“I’m not feeling so good,” I said and pressed my face into the back of Abigail’s neck. Her hair smelled like flowers – such an odd scent considering the weather. “Maybe we should head in.” Abigail twisted her head around and kissed me. Her lips were soft and tasted like cherries – God, how I loved to kiss her.

“Getting a little sea-sick there, captain?” She said, smiling her coy little grin that never failed to warm me.

“Just a little,” I admitted. “Besides, it’s freaking cold out here.”

She gave a little shudder as if just the mere mention of the cold made her feel it for the first time.

“Okay, wimp,” she teased. “Come on.” She got to her feet and held her hand out to help me up. That little moment brought me back to a month before – to a day that I would’ve rather forgotten. I was drunk. I was hammered. I lost my balance and fell backward on the hotel bed. The blonde girl sat on top of me and pulled off her shirt. It was too much to think about. I let Abigail help me up and tried to think about happier things. I stopped momentarily to lock the boathouse door before taking her hand again and leading her back up the hill. One day, I should tell her, I thought, but, not today.

When we walked into the cabin, Todd was leaning over the pool table that sat dead center of the front room. He was attempting a bank shot with Mark, Tina, and Trisha looking on, anxiously.

“You can do it, Todd,” Tina said, giggling. There was money riding on the shot and Todd was about to try and sink the eight-ball. He pulled his log, blonde, hair from in front of his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, slid the stick a few times to get his aim down, and then went for it. The eight-ball did a double-tap around the far-right corner and then sailed across the table, clipping the side-rail and bouncing back to the center.

“Shit!” Todd yelled and slammed the stick down on top of the table.

“Damn!” Mark said, laughing. “You were almost there, dude.” He walked up to Todd, holding out his hand. “Fifty bucks, Slim. Pay up.”

Todd looked like he was considering arguing about the money, but then thought better of it. He dug around inside his jean’s pocket and counted out forty bucks in tens and fives.

“Can you spot me the ten?” He asked, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Sure,” Mark said, “why not? Besides – if you try and go rabbit on me, I’m sure that Tina and I can work something out.”

“Hey!” Todd and Tina yelled at the same time.

Tina dug into her small, red, leather purse and found a ten dollar bill. She wadded it up into a ball and threw it at Mark.

“There’s your money.” She said and looked up at Todd flirtatiously. She grabbed him around his waist and pulled him between her open legs. “I’ll just have my man work off the debt myself.” They both growled at each other and made little biting gestures. It was kind of sickening to witness. That was it for Todd and Tina. She stood up, grabbed his hands, and led him to the furthest of the three back bedrooms. I guessed that she was serious about him working off that ten dollars.

Abigail smiled at the closest back bedroom door and gave me a little head nod and a wink. I’m not a genius, but I’m smart enough to know what she was thinking. She got up and walked toward the bedroom and I followed like the good little boy I am. Mark and Trisha made cat-call sounds at us as we entered the room. I pushed Abigail inside and closed the door – briefly showing them my middle finger before it closed all the way.

Once inside the bedroom, Abigail pushed me back onto the bed and climbed on top of me. I tried not to think of the stripper just then, but I failed. When Abigail removed her shirt in the same exact way, I was lost. The Stripper’s name was, Karla. She was one of three that were at my bachelor party in Las Vegas. The party was a raging, mad, success and everyone had departed except for Mark, Todd, and I – Mark and Todd were with Candy and Destiny. That wasn’t their names. I don’t remember what they really were called, but who really cares anyway?

Abigail does all of the work, stripping off my clothes and her own. When she begins to do that thing that she knows I love, I picture Karla doing it. Karla was still wearing the Fairy mask from the party. Peach-colored with red on the cheeks, the mask covered her face from the mouth up. It was kind of hot to see her doing that thing I love while wearing the mask. Abigail does it long enough to bring me to climax. I grip the pillows on both sides as the built-up tension releases from me in a mad rush. After, she cuddles close to me and taps my shoulder with her finger.

“Don’t think that you’re getting off easy here, Mister. You have fifteen minutes and then it’s my turn.”

I kissed her and ran my fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes and I did the same. As my body became more relaxed, sleep crept up on me. I would’ve drifted off completely, if not for the scream.

***

Less than a week after the Vegas trip, there was a knock on my door. When I answered it, I found myself staring, horrified, at the Fairy mask.

“What are you doing here?” I said. “I told you not to contact me. I’m getting married.”

“We shared something,” Karla said. She pulled off the mask and I could see the tears in her eyes threatening to escape and run down her face. “You know you felt it too!”

“Don’t come here again,” I said and slammed the door in her face. She left, but not before engraving ‘fuck you’ into the side of my car. I called in sick that day to get the paint touched up. I certainly didn’t want Abigail to it.

That wasn’t the end of Karla. She returned many times over the next few weeks, threatening to tell my girl about our little fling. One night, she even brought flowers to my door and told me that she was in love with me and wanted me to leave ‘that bitch’ and marry her instead. I couldn’t take it. I grabbed her and shook her violently.

“I don’t want you!” I screamed into her face. “You’re a whore! Why would I want someone like you?”

Just then, her tears stopped.

“What did you just call me?” She asked.

“Look,” I said. “You need to leave. Leave and don’t come back. There are laws about this shit. You can’t just stalk people.”

“I’m stalking you?”

“What would you call it? You’re a stripper, for Christ’s sake. You need to go.”

“You’re going to get yours, mother-fucker,” she said and stomped off. She didn’t come back after that – at least, not that I knew of.

I ran out of the cabin room and saw Tina kneeling down in front of her bedroom door and staring at her bloody hands in horror.  Karla came rushing back into my life.

***

I ran past Tina, into the room and stared down at Todd’s body on the bed, arms spread to his side like Jesus. His mouth was hung open in a silent scream. His eyes seemed to stare through the ceiling. Below his chin, his throat was opened like a grotesque smile. A breeze drifted across my face from the open window and broke my trance.

“Holy shit…,” Mark said from beside me. “What the fuck happened, man?”

I looked down and saw something sticking out from under the bed. I bent down and picked up the Fairy mask.

“What’s that?” Abigail asked.

Mark and I just stared at each other. I had confided in him about the Karla situation and we were probably thinking the same thing as I stood there, dumbly holding the fairy mask…

Holy shit.

Back in the common-room, that’s what we called the front of the cabin; Tina was sitting in the brown, straight-backed chair, still hysterical. Trisha, Abigail, and Mark were gathered around her, trying to calm her down. I couldn’t get a signal from inside the cabin, so I stepped out onto the porch – still nothing.

“There’s no signal out here!” Abigail called from the common-room. She stepped out onto the porch with me and lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Who would’ve done this?” She asked.

“Close the door,” I said.

In the soft light of the single hanging front-porch bulb, I told Abigail about the Vegas trip. I didn’t leave anything out. I told her about Karla and how she’d turned psycho after the guys and me returned home. Abigail listened intently, her expression growing darker the further into the story I got. When I finished, she let out a long breath of air. That was when I realized that she’d been holding her breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She asked.

“Seriously?” I said. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best response.

She turned away from me and stared off toward the lake.

“I can’t believe that you’d do this to me,” she said, “to us.”

I came up from behind her and wrapped my arms around her, but she wiggled away from me.

“Don’t touch me!” She said. “You did this. This is your fault.” She went back inside the cabin, leaving me on the porch alone.

When I went back inside, Tina was curled up into a ball on the chair, crying softly. Mark and Trisha were putting on their jackets.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“We’re getting the fuck outta here,” Mark said, zipping up his black leather jacket. “All of us.”

The rest of us followed suit and put on our coats. Abigail donned her gloves and scarf as well. The nights at the lake were wicked cold that time of year. Mark and Trish headed out to Mark’s SUV, we followed a couple of minutes later. When we got there, Mark was irate.

“You’ve got to fucking joking,” he kept saying while he looked under the hood of his SUV. “They’re gone!”

“What’s gone?” I asked, walking up beside him.

“The fucking vacuum hoses! They’re all fucking gone! Not cut…gone.”

Somewhere in the tree-line, a branch cracked.

“We should get back inside,” Abigail said. She didn’t have to say it twice. We all hurried back inside the cabin and closed and locked the door.

“I’m going to check the windows,” Mark said and headed off into the back of the cabin. I stayed in the common-room with the girls. Abigail sat Tina back into the brown chair and took turns attending to her and giving me dirty looks. When Mark returned, he motioned to me to follow him and I met him in the kitchen.

“What the fuck’s going on?” He said. “How did she find you here?” I’d kept Mark in the loop about the Karla issue.

“I guess she must’ve followed us.”

“Yeah, but Todd… why kill him?”

“I dunno man,” I said. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Like how,” he said, “walk?”

I shrugged.

“Fuck that!” He said. “We just need to find this bitch and take her out.”

I really hadn’t thought of that option, but when he said it, I knew it was the only way. “Let’s do it,” I said.

***

We told the girls what we were planning. Abigail didn’t like the plan at all, but finally agreed to watch over Tina with Trisha while Mark and I hunted down Karla. Before we left, Abigail disappeared into the back of the cabin and came back toting a shotgun.

“You may need this,” she said, handing it to me.

“Where’d this come from?” I said, shocked.

“My dad keeps it here. You know, for deer season.”

“Let’s go,” Mark said, opening the cabin door. I gave Abigail a kiss before she could push me away. She didn’t exactly kiss me back, but she didn’t slap me either.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Just kill the bitch,” she said.

Mark blew Trisha a kiss from the door and she gave him the finger – so much for chivalry.

I heard the dead-bolt engage before Mark and I stepped off of the porch. Good girl, I thought. We walked around the outside of the cabin together and then made our way down the hill to the dock. The dock was doing its up and down dance with the current of the lake, but other than that, not a single thing moved.

“I guess we could check along the wood-line,” I said and turned back toward the cabin, but Mark grabbed my arm.

“Look,” he said and pointed to a small window in the side of the boathouse. There was a faint glow coming from inside. Of course, I thought. Why hadn’t it even occurred to me to check the fucking boathouse? It was probably because I knew that I’d locked it that morning after Abigail and I took the boat out.

“Maybe I left the light on this morning,” I said.

“Maybe you didn’t,” Mark responded and walked toward the small structure. Sure enough, when he tried the door-knob, it turned in his hand. I nudged him out of the way, held the shotgun up, and slowly opened the door. The boat was still parked in the center, bobbing up and down like the dock outside. At the back, left-side of the boathouse, a lamp sat on a small work-bench. When I reached the bench, with Mark right behind me, I checked under it, nothing. Next to the bench was an old-looking, grey, metal cabinet that looked like it was hauled off from one of Abigail’s father’s offices. One of the metal doors was standing open about half an inch. I slipped the barrel of the shotgun behind the door and used it to open the door the rest of the way. She came out of the cabinet quickly, sending Mark and me both reeling backwards. Mark tripped over the side of the boat and fell backwards into it. I scattered away and bounced off of the lake-end roll-up door. Karla fell forward and landed face-down on the wooden floor. I walked up to her slowly as Mark watched from inside the boat. Aiming the shotgun at her head, I nudged her with my foot a few times, but there was no response. I handed Mark the shotgun, then kneeled down and rolled her over. She was wearing the same mask that she and the rest of the strippers were wearing in Vegas, the same kind that was found in Todd and Tina’s room – the fairy mask. Like Todd, Karla’s throat had been cut. Mark and I looked at each other and then at the door to the boathouse. Like before, I’m sure that we were thinking the same thing. It had to be one of the girls.

***

Our fears were confirmed when we left the boathouse. We pushed through the door and there, standing before us, was Abigail and Trisha, both of them holding machetes.

“I see you’ve found your whore,” Abigail said, smiling crazily at me.

I held my empty hands up to her.

“Abigail, what have you done?”

“What we’ve done,” she said. “We invited the tramp up here last weekend for a little girls retreat.” She turned and smiled at Trisha. “I mean, after she came to me and told me the whole, sick story about how you used her and then discarded her like the garbage she was, I really felt sorry for her. The girls were more than happy to join the party after I told them how their guys partook in a bit of hooker-pie too. Ain’t that right, Trisha?”

“Yep…” Trisha said. She held up the machete as if she couldn’t refrain from using it much longer.

Mark pointed the shotgun at Abigail. “I should shoot you right now, bitch!” He said.

“Mark…Mark…Mark…” Abigail said mockingly. “Do you really think that I’d be stupid enough to give you guys a loaded gun?”

Mark looked confused for a split-second, and then he aimed and pulled the trigger. The loud retort echoed off of the surface of the lake and I felt the warm spray of Marks blood on the side of my face. Seemingly in slow motion, Mark fell sideways, displaying his killer as he fell. I gaped at Tina as she re-aimed the pistol toward my head. I knew I was fucked, so I did the only thing that I could do – I raised my hands.

“You don’t look as upset as you did a few minutes ago,” I said.

“Are you joking?” She laughed. “I should get a fucking academy award for that performance!” She leveled the gun at me. Her smile disappeared. “This one’s yours, Abby,” she said.

“And oh how I’m going to enjoy this,” Abigail said. She walked up to me holding the machete in both hands like a baseball bat.

I started laughing hysterically. I’m not sure why.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Tina said.

“You!”

She looked momentarily confused. Abigail stopped walking toward me and looked at Tina – at least I think she did. It’s all mixed up in my mind.

“Oh, I’m funny huh?” Tina said. She stepped over Mark’s body and pressed the barrel of the gun to the side of my head. “You mother-fuckers running around behind our backs and thinking that we wouldn’t find out about it…now that’s funny. The look on Todd’s face when I asked showed him the mask and cut his throat…now that’s funny. You thinking that you can goat me into killing you to avoid being hacked to fucking pieces by the woman you love…” she pressed the barrel so hard that my head pushed to the side, “now that’s fucking hilarious!”

“Back off, Tina,” Abigail said, still holding the machete like a bat. “He’s mine.”

“This is bullshit,” Trisha said, swinging her machete back and forth in front of her.

Abigail looked back at her, annoyed.

“What’s the problem now, Princess?”

“Well,” she began, “for starters, Tina killed Todd and Mark. Now, you’re going to kill Brandon. Who am I going to kill?” She actually looked like she was about to weep. Abigail rolled her eyes at her.

“Brandon’s mine,” she said. “Don’t even think that you’re getting in on this, bitch. This ain’t no three-way!”

“Of course,” Trisha said. “I wouldn’t dream of it. She pressed her finger-tips to her chest in a ‘who me?’ gesture. “I was just wondering who I’m going to get to kill.”

Abigail looked at me, seethingly. “Men are all fuck-tards and bastards,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll get another chance.”

She stepped towards me, machete raised. I laughed even harder.

“What the fuck is so fucking funny?” Tina asked.

“You guys are all fucked in your heads,” I laughed. “Todd and Mark didn’t even sleep with anyone!”

“Wait, what?” Tina said, still holding the pistol to my head. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“You killed them for nothing, you stupid bitch,” I laughed. “How does that make you feel, huh?”

Tina looked at Abigail. I could feel the barrel against my head release some of its pressure. I could feel her shaking.

“What’s he talking about?” Tina asked.

“He’s lying,” Abigail said. “Karla said…”

“Oh sure,” I shouted, laughing even harder. You took the word of a person that you yourself called a whore!”

“It can’t be,” Tina said. “It just can’t be…” she was shaking her head as if that would make the truth die instead of Todd and Mark.

“Oh, it can be,” I said. “They covered for me, but they didn’t fuck anyone.”

“Shut up,” Abigail said. Her eyes were full of hatred.

“Todd was going to purpose to you this weekend, Tina,” I said. “He showed me the ring.”

“What?” Tina said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Abigail said, taking another step toward me. She was almost in decapitation range.

“Mark loved you, Tina and you killed him. Now, how does that make you feel, huh? Ready for that academy award now, bitch?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Abigail screamed. She stepped one step closer to me and swung the machete like Babe Ruth going for the bleachers. There was another loud crack and Abigail’s brains evacuated the side of her head, just as Mark’s had done.

“You fucking, lying, bitch!” Tina screamed and shot Abigail two more times in the chest. She kept pulling the trigger after the two rounds, but all that resulted was a stream of metallic clicking sounds. She was still dry-firing into Abigail when a sudden flash of stainless steel sent her head rolling through the air. I turned, frantically trying to avoid another blood-shower and saw Trisha, her light-brown face, bathed in gore. She was breathing heavily. Her eyes were like those of a crazy person, wide, unforgiving, and having no knowledge of where the morality lines are.

I held my hands up to her.

“Whoa, Trisha,” I said. “Come on, Hun, we can make a deal here.”

“She killed my Mark,” Trisha said, staring down at Tina’s headless corpse. “He didn’t do anything and she killed him.”

“I know, Hun,” I said, still holding my hands out to her. “She was a very bad person. You did the right thing.” I slowly approached her, reaching for the machete.

“I allowed her to kill him,” she said – it was almost a whisper. “I loved him and I let that bitch kill him.”

“You didn’t know,” I said softly. “How could you have known?”

“I killed him,” she said.

What happened next is more jumbled in my head than the rest. Somehow, she got the blade of the machete to her throat before I could reach her. It may be that I was so shocked, that I didn’t move at all until she was done, but I think that I remember trying to stop her. That may be all in my head though. As her arterial-spray mixed with the pool of older blood on the ground, Trisha fell face-first onto the dirt and convulsed. I watched her until her body stopped twitching, knowing that there was little else that I could do.  

***

I made it to the main highway before someone finally saw me walking on the side of the road and called the state police. When the first patrol car pulled up, the officer had to tell me to stop a few times before I actually complied – at least that’s what’s in the case-files. Over and over, I told my story. Some of the officers were quick to believe me, while some others looked at me like I was Jack the Ripper or something. In the end, I was indicted, but the judge who sat in on my arraignment threw the case out for lack of evidence and chastised the prosecutor for putting me through more hell than I’d already been through. The case made all of the major papers. They called the girls a suicide cult. I didn’t really agree with that. That were bat-shit crazy for sure, but I wasn’t exactly innocent. I came away from the situation with a brand new view about women and life in general. These days, I don’t date much. I live my life by two new, yet very important rules. Never trust anyone, and never piss of a woman. They’ve seemed to keep me safe so far.  

Where All Problems Go

The sedan pulled down the gravel road. If the color of the car could be determined in the dark, it would still be as black as the night that surrounded it. If the unlighted license plate could be seen, it wouldn’t matter. The plates actually belonged to a Toyota Yaris from Modesto. The driver drove two hours to reach this very special destination. It was a ritual for him to handle his biggest problems there. Other people in the business found it odd that he would go so far out of his way to dispose of his problems, but in his mind, they just didn’t get. Rituals are important. They give the violent life that he lived some small measure of order – organized the chaos.

The car came to a stop in a turn-about. The driver got out of the car and walked the few steps it took to look out over the cliff. In the darkness, he could hear the waves crashing against the rocks below. The sounds brought back memories for him. Not just memories of his childhood, but of the six other problems he’d fixed in that very spot. Enough reminiscing, he thought – time to get to work. He returned to the car, popped the trunk, and dragged out his current problem.

The current problem didn’t seem to want to go. He kicked and mumbled against the sock that was taped in his mouth. As soon as the problem began to struggle, the driver grabbed him by the head and pulled him from the trunk. Once out, the problem was dragged to the edge of the cliff and made to sit on his knees, facing the drop-off. The driver removed the problems gag.

“Tony?” The problem asked. “Is that you, Tony?”

The driver lifted the pistol and placed the end of the barrel flush against the back of the problem’s head.

“Tony,” the problem said. “I mean, if it’s you. I told you everything I know. I swear to…”

The driver pulled the trigger. The problem’s head snapped forward, casting off bits of skull and brain. He waivered on the edge of the cliff for a moment until the driver gave him a shove with his foot, sending him where all problems go – over the edge and out of the picture.

***

The office at 2200, 51st Street was simply decorated, adorned with a single light bulb hanging from a chain in the center of the ceiling. Below the bulb sat a small desk with a desktop computer. Vincent Carbone typed away anxiously, searching for some sign that the problem that turned out to be a major pain in his ass was eliminated. He typed ‘Ricky Thompson’ into the fifth search engine in a row, only to come up with the same result – nothing. The door opened and a large man with a black overcoat and matching luggage under his eyes walked in.

“Give me some good news, Tony,” Vincent said. “I’ve been looking for the prick all night. It’s like he doesn’t exist.

“Well, he don’t. Not no more,” Tony said.

Vincent smiled.

“You saying that our problem is gone?”

“I’m sayin that they pulled him outta the ocean about an hour ago with a bullet in the back of his head. It’s all over the police radios. Positive I.D.”

“It’s about time!” Vincent said, standing up. He felt as if a thousand pounds of pressure was lifted off of his head. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills, and handed half of the stack to Tony.

“Go get you a nice girl or something. Take it easy for a few days. You earned it.”

Tony took the money, grunted, and then stuffed it into his overcoat pocket.

“You need anything else before I go, boss?”

“Naw, you go on – live a little. There’s no rush now. The worst is behind us.”

Tony nodded and left the office, stopping just before closing the door to ask, “Did he really think that he was going to take us all out?”

“Who,” Vincent said, “Ricky?”

“Yeah.”

“No, not all of us – just me. I guess he figured that once he clipped me, the rest of you would fall in line behind him – come over to his side.”

“I just don’t get why he turned on us,” Tony said. “He’s always been a loyal guy.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Vincent said. “He’s dead, I’m not, and now my dear friend, you need to go. Give the girlfriend a warm kiss from me, huh?

Tony gave Vincent a puzzled look and closed the door.

After the big man was gone, Vincent sat back down behind his computer and turned it off. He would make it home before dawn after all, it seemed. When he left his office, he was happier than he remembered being in years.

***

Just as the sun was beginning to cast a soft glow on the horizon, Tony Ghilarducci walked into his favorite bakery, the one on 52nd street and Grand. He loved the donuts there, but only when he could get them fresh. He stepped up to the counter and pressed the top of the small, golden bell. The clerk appeared suddenly from a pair of swinging doors.

“What can I get you, buddy?” the donut guy, who’s name tag displayed the name Steve asked.

“I’ll take a dozen,” Tony said.

Steve, the donut guy reached under the counter, brought up a pink box and a pair of tongs.

“You want the regular ones?” He asked.

“Naw, none of that regular crap,” Tony said. “Give me the good stuff.”

“The good stuff?” Steve asked, confused.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Fritters, rolls, custard bars. You know – the good stuff.”

“Oh, you mean fancy,” Steve said and then immediately regretted it when he saw the look on Tony’s face.

Tony leaned over the counter and grabbed the donut worker by the front of his shirt.

“You think I’m stupid?”

Steve gulped and stuttered, “N…n…no sir. I was the stupid one for not un…under…st…st…standing y…y…you.”

“You goddamned right,” Tony said, releasing his grip on the man. “Now give me a box of the good stuff, fancy-pants before I see if I can squeeze you in that box.”

When he left the donut shop, Tony was whistling happily. He managed to get a pretty decent discount on the dozen donuts – a discount of the ‘Just take it and don’t hurt me’ variety. He unlocked his black 1991 Cadillac Brougham, climbed in, and set the box of donuts on the passenger seat. He started the car and immediately began singing along with the radio. New York, New York was always one of his favorites. He reached into the donut box, still singing and pulled out an apple fritter. He always liked the way that the fritters got those little crispy pieces around the edges. He enjoyed nibbling on those parts first. He brought the fritter to his mouth and held it there. The feeling of cold steel against his temple made him suddenly lose his appetite.

“Lift your other hand slowly and place it on the fritter,” a voice from behind him said.

Tony did as he was told, holding the donut in front of his mouth with both hands.

“Whatcha want,” he asked.

“Good,” the voice said. “I’m happy you understand who’s in control here. You’re not as stupid as you look. I want you to deliver a message to your boss.”

“What boss would that be?”

The side of the pistol slammed against Tony’s head. He cursed out loud, but didn’t remove his hands from the donut.

“Oh, that boss.”

“You tell your boss that I’m coming for him.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “But, who are you?”

The man in the backseat leaned forward. Tony caught his reflection in the mirror and gaped at him stupidly.

“You,” he said. “But, you’re dead!”

An electric shock to the side of Tony’s neck shut his lights out. When he woke a few minutes later, the man from the backseat was gone. He lifted the fritter off of his lap, took a big bite, and rubbed the two tiny burn marks on the side of his neck as he chewed. Mr. Carbone’s not going to like this, he thought. Not one bit.

***

“You could’ve called first,” Vincent Carbone told the huge man standing in his doorway.

“This isn’t the type of thing one discusses over a phone,” Tony said.

“What type of thing, coming over first thing on the morning? You could’ve said at least that much, you moron.”

“Oh, yeah; Sorry, boss.”

“Well, come inside before my neighbors see you.”

Vincent led the big man to his library. It was a quiet place away from the rest of the family and it was secure. He had it scanned for bugs at least twice a month. Once inside, he closed the door.

“So, what’s the emergency?” Vincent asked.

“It’s Thompson,” Tony said. “He’s alive. I don’t know how, but he’s still alive.”

“That’s impossible,” Vincent said, waving his hand dismissively. “His body was positively identified.”

“Well then, maybe he’s a ghost or something, boss. I dunno, but he told me to tell you that he’s coming for you.”

“When did this happen?”

“This morning, outside the bakery.”

Just then, a memory came back to Vincent that he’d completely forgotten until that moment.

“His brother,” he said. “It has to be his fucking brother.”

“I dunno boss,” Tony said. “He didn’t look like Thompson’s brother. He looked like Thompson.”

“No, dipshit. They’re twins. I remember Ricky telling me that he had a twin brother, but that he wasn’t in the life. Shit, how could I be so stupid? I told everyone that Ricky was dead, so they stopped looking for him. His damn brother wouldn’t have even been able to make it into town if I’d kept my mouth shut.”

“Whatcha want to do, Boss?”

Vincent thought about it. If Thompson’s brother was crazy enough to take on Tony, he was definitely more dangerous than Ricky let on. Maybe they were planning on taking him out together. There really was no other choice.

“Kill him,” he said. “Let me know when it’s done.”

“You got it, Boss.”

After Vincent walked Tony to the front door and closed it behind him, he heard a sudden cracking sound, followed by something heavy hitting the porch. He flung the door back open and saw Tony, laying face-down, a pool of blood circling his head like a dark red halo. Before he could fully process what he was seeing, a bolt of electricity pulsed through the side of his neck.

***

Darkness – A whole day of darkness. Vincent Carbone had been locked in a trunk a few times in his life, but never all day. His hands, mouth and feet were duct-taped. No matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t free himself. If anything, he made his situation worse. The constant twisting of his bindings made them tighter, pinching off the circulation. He hadn’t been able to feel his hands for the last couple of hours.

Just after sundown, he heard someone get into the car and fire it up. The constant bouncing, along with the sound of tires rolling over dirt and gravel told him that he was being taken to a remote location. He tried not to think of what that meant. Considering Tony’s fate, he knew that it didn’t look too good for him.

The car came to a stop and the driver got out. When Vincent was pulled from the trunk, he didn’t resist, but was thrown to the ground anyway. His abductor kicked him in the ribs a couple of times before grabbing a handful of his hair and forcing him to his knees in front of a cliff. Far below in the darkness Vincent could hear the sound of the waves. He closed his eyes and waited for the end, which he knew would come any second. To his surprise, his abductor tore the duct-tape from his mouth.

“It’s only fitting that the man who is responsible for my brother’s death dies in the same place, don’t you think?” A voice says from behind him.

Cold metal touches the back of Vincent’s head.

“Wait,” he shouted. “Jeremy – it’s Jeremy, right? That’s your name?”

“I’m listening.”

“Your brother wasn’t what you think. He was crazy. He was going to try and take me out. I had to put a contract on him, don’t you get it? It was him or me, you understand?”

The barrel pressed against Vincent’s head harder, digging a circular grove into his flesh.

“We never found him!” Vincent cried out. “I swear. I didn’t kill him.”

“I know,” The voice said. “I did.”

“Ricky?”

Ricky Thompson pulled the trigger and kicked his former boss’s body over the side of the cliff. Another problem taken care of, he got back into his black, Mach One and headed back to the city. He had a business to run.

Unnatural Selection

Pitiless, black holes, encircled within rings of golden fire, peered intently through the double-paned kitchen window of the small, Two-bedroom cottage. The hungry eyes followed every move when Kresha Evans’s glove-donned hands pulled the smoking tray of sausages from the oven and carried it to the cutting board. In the dark, a monstrous mouth opened wide as if on a hinge and issued a small whine. Drool seeped between yellowish-green daggers and hung from the mouth momentarily, before snapping and falling to land on a large, hairy, razor-clawed foot. When Kresha moved away from the counter, the hungry eyes followed her.

In the living room, sitting in a grey lounge-chair, an old man was snoring lightly. The book that was laying face-down on his lap was old and tattered. It appeared to be no less than a century old. Across the front of the book, the word ‘Dracula’ could barely be seen. Kresha gently shook the man awake. He started at first; nearly shaking off the thick, plastic-framed glasses from where they had been resting on the tip of his nose. When he saw her, he relaxed.

“I’ll be bringing your sausages in a few minutes, Mr. Chambers,” Kresha said and pulled the small lever on the side of the chair to bring it upright. “You want anything with them?”

“Oh, just the usual,” Mr. Chambers said. “Thank you, Hun.”

When she returned a minute later, Mr. Chambers had set the ancient copy of Dracula onto a small table next to the chair and was eagerly awaiting his dinner. Kresha sat the tray of food on his lap and returned to the kitchen while he picked up the fork and knife and began to cut and eat the sausages. When Kresha returned a minute later and set the small bottle of brown mustard on the tray, Mr. Chambers grabbed her hand gently.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, his eyes beginning to water up. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

Kresha smiled at him warmly and gently rubbed the back of his hand with her own.

“I couldn’t just leave you out there on the side of the road, could I?” She said. She pulled her hand away and touched his cheek. He smiled up at her. “I have the extra room and all, you know? Plus, it gets lonely out here all by myself.”

“Well, I’m happy that you came along,” Mr. Chambers said. He took another piece of sausage into his mouth and devoured it hungrily.

Kresha ran her fingers lightly through his recently cleaned, silver hair.

“I’m going to set up the guest room,” she said. She glanced back at him while she walked away and smiled at the look of satisfaction on Mr. Chamber’s face as he chewed another bite of the sausage.

Through the slits between the ivory window-blinds, the gold-ringed eyes narrowed. From within the muscular, hairy chest, a deep growl sent vibrations up to the beast’s throat. It watched the woman walk away. It saw the old man eating. It saw that there were no bars on the window.

Mr. Chambers poked the final piece of sausage with his fork and held it up to his mouth. Suddenly, he let out a deep sigh and his hand fell to his side, sending the fork and sausage to the floor. When the creature outside saw the old man’s head fall sideways and his eyes close, it knew that the time had come. Dinner would never come easier. It reared back on its haunches, dug its claws into the loose soil, and then launched its body through the window.

Kresha heard the shattering of the front-room window and rushed to lean against the bedroom wall. Quietly, she eased herself along the wall until she reached the open door and peered around the doorframe. The creature had drug the old man from the chair after tearing his throat out. As Kresha looked on, the beast opened the old man’s belly with talon-like claws and began to feast on his entrails.

Kresha quietly moved into the living room and stood behind the beast. As she peered down, the creature dug its clawed hand into Mr. Chamber’s belly again, pulled out another healthy portion of entrails and jammed them into its mouth. As it chewed noisily, it began to lose its balance, nearly falling to one side, then the other. It swallowed its last bite of the entrails and let out a long, drawn out howl – then it fainted, its face landing in the opening in the old man’s belly.

It was Kresha’s turn to feast. She jumped onto the creature’s back and sank her long fangs into its neck. It didn’t take long for her to drain all of the blood. She hadn’t eaten in weeks – not since she found Mr. Thompson wandering around on the side of the road.

The wolves never bothered Kresha when she was alone. They seemed to sense what she was and stayed clear of her, even though they would have no problem overpowering her. A human though…a human was just too much temptation for them. That fresh living smell overpowered their senses and made them forget that she was even there. The blood from a wolf would keep her for weeks. When she used to feast upon humans, she would get one, two days worth of blood from them at the most.

The blood was just what she needed. She felt strong again – invigorated. As for the bodies – they made good sausage.