Thomas M. Watt's Blog, page 29
November 20, 2015
MASTER – 10.2 – FINAL INSTALLMENT!
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Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10
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“No!” I jump back, then shove the handgun into my pocket. I whirl around. That gunshot
could’ve been heard for miles. I’ve got to move! I turn and run, back to the mustang. I reach the parking lot – car’s gone. I have no ride. I’m a wanted man, without any ride.
I don’t have time to think, and I sure as shit can’t afford to stand out here like a dumbass. Not after my finger pulled the trigger on the shot heard around the woods. I turn and head into the hotel, rushing back through the side entrance. I sprint up the stairs, and go to the only hiding place I can think of – big boy’s hotel room. I swing open the door, rush into the bathroom, and wash my hands.
“So you killed him.”
I turn the faucet off, and stare back at my haunted reflection in the mirror. Somebody is in the room.
***Unfortunately, I will no longer be posting excerpts from Master. But if you’d like to complete the story, you may read the full book here!
Thomas M. Watt
November 19, 2015
Master – 10.1
Click here to start from the beginning!
Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9
CHAPTER 10
I lead the way into the hotel through the side entrance.
“O M G Phil, what are you thinking?” says Ashley.
“Not sure.” I don’t want her following me, but I can’t afford to let her out of my sight. If she runs, I’m finished.
The side door is propped open. Easy entry. I begin the slow pitter-patter down the hallway. My heart races. I’ve got an iron grip around the handgun.
I’m on the second floor. I step, step, step down the hallway, eyeing each door. I wonder how many guests have reserved rooms within earshot. I wonder how many would call the cops at the sound of gunfire.
I stop at 203. I press my ear against the door. Television sounds – late-night Cinemax special. I look at Ashley, and her eyes are already locked on mine.
You’re not actually going to kill someone, right?” she says.
I drop my gaze, then cover the peephole and turn to the door. I hold the gun in my left hand, and knock slowly with my right. The television’s porno-moans cease. I hear slow footsteps from whoever’s inside. They’re coming my way.
“What?” says the dark, low voice inside.
I don’t respond.
“Speak!” says the voice.
I hear a groan, then footsteps away. I knock again, three, slow, times.
“WHAT!”
I take a breath. “I need to speak with you.”
“About what?”
I gulp. “Master.”
I hear the bolt lock snap open. I clench my handgun tighter.
Sweat drips off my eyebrow.
The door handle turns. I cock the gun, ready to fire.
Door stops short of opening all the way. He left the chain fastened, and pokes one eye in the crack. Latch comes undone. The door opens. I see his face – it’s big and wide, just like the rest of his body. He stares me up and down, then slams the door shut. I pound it with my fist.
“Who is Master?” I say.
Nothing. I gulp.
Door flies open. Before I can react, he grabs me by the shirt and rips me inside. I fall on the floor. He’s running away. This is a big dude – one I can easily outrun.
I bolt out the room and chase after him – he’s heading toward the stairway. I start after him, then stop and turn around. Ashley’s gone!
“Shit!”
She must have taken the elevator. Probably just walked in. I sprint after it. I press the button; slam it even. Too late.
I turn around and fly down the hallway. I reach the stairwell, and jump down the first flight, then the second. I start running to the elevator shaft on the first floor, then stop.
I can see the hotel receptionist speaking on the phone. I can’t risk being spotted by her running through the hotel lobby. Not even to catch Ashley.
I turn and sprint out the side door. Big boy’s nowhere to be seen. Right by the hotel is a heavily wooded area. Great place for a hideout.
I enter the woods running. I don’t hear anything. This guy could have a gun.
I slow down to a crawling pace. He could be anywhere. I have no flashlight on me, not even a phone. Both my hands are locked around the handle.
My breath is heavy. Every step I take breaks twigs, and I can’t bring my hands to stop shaking. This isn’t like any football game – this is life or death.
Something creaks. Up above, a short distance away. I shuffle my feet across one another. I can hardly contain my breath.
A snap. High, overhead.
I raise my gun and aim. I can’t see him.
A loud smack, followed by a crash. A tree branch broke, no doubt it was unable to support him.
I run over, and find him lying on the ground, hands covering his face.
“No more!” He screams. “No more, please!”
I point the gun at his head. “What are you talking about? Who’s Master!”
“No!” He yells. “I can’t take this. I can’t!”
“Tell me about Master!”
The big guy chuckles. “Master? You wanna know who he is?” He starts laughing, then grabs handfuls of dirt and smears it onto his face. He grows hysterical, and pounds his fist into the twigs and branches next to him.
I bring the gun closer to his head. “Stop laughing.”
He doesn’t; he’s cracking up.
I step forward until I have one shoe on his stomach. I bend over and press the barrel into his forehead.
“Tell me everything you know.”
His eyes grow big, and he quits laughing. “A guy can only take so much.”
“Who is he?!”
“Oh, you want to know about Master?”
My finger is on the trigger. “Yes.”
A big grin spreads across his face. “Fuck. You.” He reaches out for my gun and pushes my finger into the trigger. Half his noggin splatters out behind him as the gunshot echoes through the woods.
Stay tuned – the FINAL blogged installment of Master will be posted tomorrow at 7:00 PST!
Thomas M. Watt
November 18, 2015
Master – 9.3
Click here to start from the beginning!
Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9
2 DAYS LEFT! PRE-ORDER MASTER NOW!
“Why are you kidnapping me?” she says.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
“Are you going to rape me?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“It’s a legitimate question for a hostage to ask, Phil!”
I sigh. “You may not understand this, but I don’t want to be in this situation anymore than you want do.”
“Why me?”
“Fate’s a bitch.”
We ride in silence again.
“This is B S,” she says. “And that gun’s freaking me out.”
I’m holding the gun in my right hand as I steer. In all the encounters I’ve ever had with her, I’ve never seen the current expression on her face – granted there’s few shots of botox in there now. Still, she’s not being her ditzy, bubbly self. Ashley is concerned, and the monster who is scaring her is me.
“Just, try to relax.”
“Ditch the gun then.”
I bite my lips and shut my eyes for a moment. “Open the glove compartment.”
“Wait… never mind!”
I reach out and pop it open. It’s filled with crumpled yellow pages that are covered with dark ink and lipstick marks.
Ashley slams it shut and crosses her arms.
My eyes return to the road. “What was in there?”
“Fuck off.”
“Clearly it was-”
“Sometimes I write poetry.”
I laugh then turn to face her. She’s covering her eyes with her hand and shaking her head.
“You write poetry?”
“Just shut-up, please? Can you just shut-up?”
I sigh, then fix my attention to the road. “What can I do to make this easier for you?”
“Let me go,” Ashley says, then scoffs.
I shake my head. This sucks.
“Where are we going?”
“Sheraton Inn.”
“Why? Are you raping me there?”
“I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You’re crazy,” says Ashley.
“Only if you keep talking.”
“Look at you, Phillip. Kidnapping me? Shooting me? You lost your f-ing mind. Loretta ruined you.”
I grip the steering wheel harder, then force myself to relax.
“Too many concussions. There are lawsuits about it, I’ve seen ESPN.”
“What?”
“You go donkey-balls, Phil! Too many concussions and you go eff-ing crazy! They talk about it on Sportscenter.”
I grit my teeth, then mutter. “My life’s not a top-ten countdown.”
“It’s a not top ten.”
I take a few breaths. This is the last person I want to be around right now.
“I can’t believe Loretta has stayed with you-”
“Loretta has been taken from me, so has Avery! That’s why I’m doing this, that’s the only reason I’m doing this!”
“Oh,” she says. “…sorry to hear that.” She returns to crossing her arms and gazing out her window. “Are you sure she didn’t walk out on you and take Avery with her? Maybe she met a guy who owns a pool and doesn’t just clean them.”
I’m about to snap this fucking steering wheel. Instead I shake my head and bust a chuckle. Soon we reach the Sheraton Inn. I park and turn the mustang off.
We sit and wait.
“So… do you need money to get a room, or…?”
“No.”
“Ok… why are we just sitting here?”
I stare at the handgun, then scratch my neck and exhale.
“What is it?”
I breathe a handful of times through my nostrils, then open the car door and step outside.
“Phil?”
I tuck the handgun in my waistband, and head toward the hotel’s side entrance.
Stay tuned – 10.1 will be posted tomorrow at 7:00 PST!
Thomas M. Watt
November 17, 2015
Master – 9.2
Click here to start from the beginning!
Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9
Master comes out in 3 days! Pre-order NOW!
After ten minutes of silence, Ashley sighs, then holds out her phone out and drops it in my hand.
“My life’s in there.”
“Didn’t think you’d give it up.”
“The thought of you touching me is making me nauseous.”
I roll my window down and am on the verge of flinging it as far from the road as possible.
“Don’t! Just stuff it in your pocket!”
I load the gun, reach the phone out the window, then fire a bullet through it. The phone is blown to bits and scattered by the wind outside.
“What the eff? You killed it!”
I don’t respond. Mainly cause phones don’t die. Instead, I try to develop a plan for this hotel killing. Could it be a set-up, where the man in 203 is waiting for me? Don’t think so – it doesn’t seem like Master wants me killed. Not yet at least.
So why kill this person? And if I do, will Master even know? That question lingers in my mind for a while. He has men working for him in the real world – that much I’ve figured out. The thug who drugged me at my doorstep, the one driving the white van – at least two of them. I don’t believe in supernatural phenomena, but the thought of him having a peephole into my soul scares the shit out of me.
“Weren’t you supposed to be in the NFL or something?”
My eyes snap to Ashley, then cut back to the dark horizon out my window.
“Didn’t work out.”
She laughs. “Loretta made you quit, didn’t she?”
I show at her and hold up gun again.
“That’s what people say, she made you stop.” She dances her fingers through her bleached blonde hair. “God, if you get me on the news I’m gonna be so eff-ing pissed.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. “You love attention.”
“I’m not wearing any make-up.”
I turn to face her. She is wearing make-up, and looks beautiful. Scratch that – the kind of good-looking playboy models are.
“So sorry I look so ugly,” says Ashley.
I don’t say a word. She’s fishing for compliments. That shit rubs me the wrong way. Some girls really are ugly, so I never understand why I’m supposed to reassure the pretty ones they’re still society’s A-listers.
“I said I’m sorry I look so ugly.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I hear her jaw snap shut and steal a glance – she’s got her arms crossed, and looks like she’s trying to shoot laser beams out of her squinted eyes. I can’t help but smirk for the first time all day.
“Why are you kidnapping me?” she says.
Stay tuned – 9.3 will be posted tomorrow at 7:00 PST!
Thomas M. Watt
November 16, 2015
Master – 9.1
Click here to start from the beginning!
Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8
Master comes out in 4 days! Pre-order NOW!
CHAPTER 9
It’s the last person I ever want to see – Ashley Dupont. My first real girlfriend. We dated through high school and the first two years in college, up until I got with Loretta. She’s also Loretta’s ex-best friend. And that’s a capital ‘X’.
“Are you… carjacking me?” she says in her typical high-pitched voice.
My gun hand won’t keep steady.
She blinks, then holds her pink nails out like an invisible plate rests on the top of her hand. “Like, for real?”
My blood boils. My adrenaline rushes. A realization has dawned on me – If I leave Ashley behind, she’ll be waiting to tell the authorities who I am and what I look like, not to mention the exact license plate number of her red mustang. I have to kidnap her. I aim at the diamond in her ear.
“Scoot over.”
“This is a jay-kay, right?” She looks around. “Some new reality show or something? Carjack your ex?”
The gun fires. We both jump. I accidently shot a bullet through her blonde hair and into her headrest.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ashley scurries over to the passenger seat, then fastens herself in.
“Holy fuck, what is wrong with you! Don’t kill me!”
“No-”
“We were together for like, 6 years! What the fuck Phil!”
My arm is locked in the air, my eyes can’t stop blinking. I’m in disbelief – nearly killed my ex-girlfriend.
“You want the car? Me? What is it?!”
I shake my head, then cough and lower into the vehicle. My knees jam into the steering wheel, but I find the lever and scoot the seat back. I start the mustang, turn it around, then head for the Sheraton Inn. I let out a breath. Holy shit, I can’t believe I just did that.
“Where’s your phone?” I say.
“What’s going on? Are you gonna kill me?”
“Just give me the phone.”
“Did I do something? Why me?”
“The phone, Ashley.”
“Phil! You’re a criminal now? Why? What happened-”
“The phone goddammit!”
“It’s at home… Don’t kill me.”
I take a good look at her. She’s wearing a black mini skirt. Her legs are clamped together. “Take your phone out from under your skirt.”
“I told you, I left it at home.”
“I carjacked you. I’m not afraid to wrestle your legs apart.”
I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to cracking her skull open with a bullet. This sucks; every part of this sucks. I decide to give up on the phone thing. I’m a married man; the thought of touching Ashley inappropriately sickens me. Because I’m a married man and my wife is missing, not because I’m not attracted to her. Ashley is every man’s dream – she’s even better looking since I left her, in a materialistic sense. Her breasts perk up like they’re resting on an invisible shelf, and they’re twice as plump as they used to be. Plus now she’s got these big fisheyes like the Kardashians after applying ‘make-up contour techniques’. Ashley got work done, and the doctors knew what they were doing.
I hate every part of this. I hate that Loretta and Avery are in danger, and I hate that I’m on my way to a hotel where I’m supposed to kill whoever is in room 203. I don’t even know what I’m going to do when I get there.
Stay tuned – 9.2 will be posted tomorrow at 7:00 PST!
Thomas M. Watt
November 14, 2015
Saturday Special – Relationship Advice
I give you, a second clip of me acting. Here’s the first if you think you can handle it.
I was visiting my friend in Portland when a few dozen beers led to some ingenious sketch ideas. This is one of them.
Thomas M. Watt
Author of Master
Best Quotes – #1
Image taken from PocketRubbish.com
This is the third and final installment for my 3 quote challenge. Feel free to check out #3 and #2 if you missed them.
Today’s nominee: Zanthee
Today’s quote:
“Whatever we focus on tends to expand.”
– Author unknown.
Despite my inability to source whoever said this first, this quote has proven true for me time and time again. During bouts of self-pity, when my mind is occupied with all the wrongs done to me, things I’m lacking, or the difficulties of my present circumstances, life seems to get worse. And fast.
Yet, when I spend time thanking God for all the blessings I have in my life, I find I am repeatedly showered with more. To a remarkable extent.
Too many people in this world pride themselves on playing devil’s advocate and searching for reasons to doubt, or arguments that state something cannot be done. I can’t even count the number of times throughout my life I’ve accomplished something that at one point in time seemed damn-near impossible. And whenever I do, I find the skeptics have already dropped their previous assertions, and are eagerly packing new worries to hurl. For me, true faith is realized once it is properly distinguished from common misinterpretations. Amazing accomplishments don’t occur merely because you believe that they will. Amazing accomplishments occur because you focus on what you must do to allow them to occur.
Thanks again to Jacqueline for nominating me for this award.
Thomas M. Watt
Author of Master
November 13, 2015
Best Quotes – #2
Albert Einstein – Famous INTP
Day 2 of the 3 quote challenge calls for a second quote and a second nominee.
Today’s nominee: Vincent Wambua
Congrats!
My second favorite quote:
“INTPs sometimes delay their output indefinitely with constant revisions, sometimes even quitting before they ever begin.”
This quote doesn’t come from a specific person, but it has made a profound impact on how I live my life. 16personalities, if you didn’t know, is a website that allows you to take a free, 15-minute personality test that will provide information specific to your strengths and weaknesses.
I mentioned in a post a while ago about how distraught I was to discover I am an INTP. We make up three percent of the population, and our social communication skills are ass-backwards. Part of the reason I’m so grateful to have taken the test is because of its dead-on analysis.
While my strengths include a relentless pursuit of understanding, my great weakness is my hesitancy to do anything out of fear it could be done better. Setting deadlines for books, posting on wordpress daily, and putting out short clips on my Twitter account help me to constantly confront this limitation.
I remember a book I read in the fourth grade about a boy who tried to be perfect. By the end of the novel, he was sitting in a chair doing nothing. If you spend your whole life trying to be perfect, you’ll never get anything done.
Thomas M. Watt
Author of Master
Master – 8.1
Click here to start from the beginning!
CHAPTER 8
I wake up screaming. I’m bloody, my shirt is ripped, and I’m surrounded by desert. My head is attached to my body; my upper torso is no longer spooned clean.
A brief chill. Then the torment returns.
“No.” I push myself up. I grab my expos cap, jam it on until I’m eye-deep, then rip it off and throw it to the ground.
Somebody’s handgun is in my pocket.
I pat my pockets down – no phone, no wallet. I do a three-sixty. My family is gone. Loretta and Avery are hostages.
Master has them. In real life.
My eyes glaze over the sand, then the rocks around me. How is this possible? Am I delusional, have I gone full-blown insane?
I pick one of the rocks up, then hurl it. How could a psychopath from my dreams kidnap my family? I snatch another, then fling it forty plus yards.
I grab a third, then sprint forward. I swing my arm back, then hurl it through the air. My pace diminishes to a clumsy limp. Two more lifeless steps, then I stumble and fall, face-first into the sand. My wrist jams from my half-assed attempt to catch myself. Grains of sand fill my mouth and catch in the cracks between my teeth.
I slip the handgun out from my pocket and stare down the barrel.
The sicko has my family. He could be raping them, torturing them. Maybe he’s killed them already. Maybe he’s right – maybe I’m doomed to fail.
Have I lost my mind? Has ‘Master’ really infiltrated my dreams and abducted my family? Does he even exists, or has paranoia deranged the shit out of me?
I think hard about my morning with Loretta, searching for some alternative explanation. Is it possible our love wasn’t mutual, and she opted to take our daughter and run? No – She wouldn’t do something like that, I’m sure of it.
That cop who pulled me over – he seemed tormented, too. Especially when he blew his brains out. Maybe Master had him.
I flip the gun aside.
I’m dehydrated, hungry, and disoriented. I push off my belly then sit on my knees, gazing absently at the sun. I remain there until only a faint orange glow remains. I drop my head, let out a breath, then rise to my feet.
I have to get going. I have to save my family.
There is a roadway in the distance. I look down at the handgun, bend over to grab it, then stop. I swipe my expos hat up instead, then fix it over my shaggy hair as I walk toward the roadway.
I’m not going to kill anyone. Like I said before, I’m not a man of violence, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let Master get to me. Even with my family in jeopardy, force and intimidation is not part of my lifestyle. I clean pools for Christ’s sake.
I pause short of my fifth step. What choice do I really have, though? My wife and daughter are in his hands. He’s the one calling the shots.
I shut my eyes and sigh.
“Goddammit.”
I return to where I sat, grab the gun, then tuck it in the waistband of my jeans and hike through the desert sand over to the roadway.
I’m not going to use it. But I’d be an idiot not to take it.
I wish going to the authorities were an option. Too bad cops don’t file police reports about nightmares. Plus I’m freaked out about how Master tracks me in real life. Could be some wacko shit like Being John Malkovich, where there’s this portal that allows people to observe life through some famous actor’s eyes. I forget the actor’s name.
Master? Who is this guy? Why did he pick me to carry out his dirty work? Somehow this complete stranger has jacked the steering wheel of my own life and taken me for a joy-ride.
I reach the road, then wait on the side. A trailer approaches. My arm is outstretched, thumb aimed skyward. I step out for the driver to see me. He tugs the horn and swerves around.
Five minutes pass without a single other vehicle passing. Then a truck rumbles my way. This time I jump in the road and wave my arms frantically. They slow to a roll, and I move aside and signal for him to lower the window.
Guy laughs and gives me the finger, then drives off.
Enough with the bullshit.
I hold the gun firm with one hand. Next car is mine.
A red mustang comes tearing down the highway. I flag them down from the middle of the road. I hope to God the driver isn’t one of those mad-as-hell gun owners who live for murdering in self-defense. The mustang pulls over and stops, but the tinted window remains up.
I take one last breath, then aim my gun at the driver’s side window. I fight jitters as I reach out for the door handle. Part of me fully expects my head to be blown off before I ever see who’s inside. I tug the handle, and hear the snappy click – it’s unlocked. I bring the door toward me.
“O… M… G,” she says.
Fuck me.
Stay tuned – 9.1 will be posted Monday, Nov. 16th at 7:00 PST!
Thomas M. Watt
November 12, 2015
Best Quotes – #3
Thank you to Jacqueline Obyikocha who nominated me for this award. I’ve been selected to write 3 of my favorite quotes, and nominate 3 of my favorite bloggers to do the same. I will provide 1 quote per and nominate 1 blogger per day.
Today’s Nominee: Laura Pickren.
Congrats!
Steve Jobs was an influential man. I never knew much about him until recently. In one video I’ve been unable to track down, Jobs states that “influence is more powerful than control.” This really struck a chord with me.
There are different types of relationships, so many that I can’t even fathom attempting to list them one-by-one. The most common are: romantic, professional, and friendly.
It is becoming disturbingly commonplace for relationships to consists of one person attempting to exert control over another. The motivation to control is always the same – fear. Fear that someone will leave you, refuse to do business with you, or reject you. At its core, control is the action taken by people who wrongly believe they’re unlovable.
Used car salesmen, passive-aggresive girlfriends, and domineering father figures perpetuate stereotypes that I consider best represent controlling personalities. These types will trick, manipulate, and flat-out lie just to get others to submit to their will.
The reason I like Job’s quote so much is because it holds true. The fruitful relationships in our lives natural influence us – you listen to your best friend’s suggestion about what movie to see, the advice of a successful person encourages you to behave similarly, the loving support of your significant other lifts you when you are down.
Always remember: Fear controls. Confidence influences.
Thomas M. Watt
Author of Master
Come by tomorrow evening to read my second favorite quote!
