I recently finished a short story for my writers workshop. I thought I might share it with my friends here on the board. This is only the first part of the story, there is more. Depending on your responses I will or will not post the rest, so let me know what you think.
For your enjoyment.
Damned Closet Space
Its ironic when you think about it, the human animal's need for junk, accompanied by the need for a place to store, said junk, nearly lead to our doom. I mean how many "George Foreman Grilles", food processors, pairs of shoes, sweaters, tennis rackets, golf clubs, boxes of magazines, does one need? It's a common complaint, all over the world. There never seems to be enough closet space. Our homes are cluttered with things we never use, but are unwilling to get rid of, be it because of the sentimental value of the item or the obsessive-compulsive personality of the owner. We pile and stack, box and bag. We maneuver through our basements and spare bedrooms, along paths, winding through mazes of worthless collectibles, boxes of old newspapers, old mail and things we couldn't live without, but never see.
They came in the summer of 2011, men in dark glasses, wearing one piece jump suits that were made to look like double breasted business suits, and black canvas Keds. They drove into town in salmon pink mini vans, with tinted windows, their back windows bearing the ghost images of lettering advertising some cosmetic company. In letters a foot tall, on both sides of the vans, in teal blue, was written, Instant Closet Space! 999-7734. For $39.95 you could have all the closet space you needed, without changing a thing in your house. All your stuff stayed in your home, but out of sight, out of the way, out of this world.
I don't pretend to know the how's what's or where for's, used to make it possible. Something about altering the subatomic resonance frequency of the things in a space and shifting their mass to a place between the now and the then. Yeah, hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo, space-time continuum, and Star Trek kind of stuff. Never mind trying to understand how they got here, they got here and they began to feed.
For some reason they began their invasion in the blue-collar neighborhoods. Maybe because blue collar workers, could afford the stuff, but not always the space to store it.
Dean and Delia Kenner were the first to buy into the "Instant Closet Space". On June the 3rd, the salmon pink mini van parked in the Kenner drive and Neil and Bob, installed the "DCS generator". The "DCS generators" are the devices used to adjust the harmonic resonance frequencies and shift the stuff to a space just beyond our reality. The device consisted of a ring shaped transmitter and a cone shaped receiver. The components were installed on opposite walls of a room. When the transmitter was plugged into a wall outlet, whatever was stored in the room, disappeared. The room could be packed wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling, it mattered not. Once the "DCS generator" was powered up, the room was once again empty. I know what you're thinking. What the hell good is an empty room? That was one of the selling features; items you wanted to "shift" had to be tagged with a frequency stabilizer tag. Furniture, and fixtures, stayed in place.
After the "DCS generator" had been installed, Delia had Dean gather his golf clubs, "Hot Wheels" collection, "Playboys" and college crap, and stack it all in the spare bedroom. Dean did so reluctantly, not sure, he would ever see his things again. Neil hurried everyone out of the room and Bob demonstrated the miracle of the "DCS generator". After placing the stabilization tags in their container, Bob plugged in the device. A shimmer enveloped the room accompanied by a low frequency hum. Dean's things disappeared. Delia was delighted, and moved to enter the room, she had a stabilization tag in her hand.
"Whoa, there little filly." Neil said grabbing Delia by the arm. "Can't be going in there with a tag in your hand, else you be "shifted" to." Neil took the tag from Delia. "Be sure not to grab one of the tags afore you go in the room. Might wanna make a habit of keeping the tags in their container. When you wants to get to yer stuff, just turn off the DCS generator."
Bob turned off the DCS generator and all of Dean's stuff once again appeared. Dean was more than a little relieved; after all, he'd been collecting his "Playboys" since high school. Before he could move to check them though, Delia moved past Bob and turned the DCS generator back on. She turned to Dean and smiled. "Write him a check.," she said.
Dean did as he was told and Neil and Bob left. That evening the Kenner's had their neighbors over to see the miracle of the DCS generator and the Instant Closet Space. Dean and Delia took turns demonstrating. Now you see it, now you don't. Word got around and in no time, Neil and Bob had been in every house in the neighborhood. I had my DCS generator installed in September. It allowed me to keep my Harley in the living room. Sales and installations were brisk and for 6 months, all was well in our world.
Jane Higgins was the first to go missing. Her husband Todd told the police that he had seen her on the morning of March 6th. She had been rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher as he left for work. When he arrived home for lunch, everything was as it should've been, except that Jane was nowhere to be found. The water at the sink was running and a coffee cup lay on its side on the counter. Cops did everything but hold a séance in the house, looking for clues as to Jane's disappearance. Her desiccated, organ-less body was found a few days later, in a seldom-used park by the river. A week later two more people went missing, then another three days after that. After the missing persons list reached 43, and the body count had hit 27, the police were thinking serial killer, but the victims were too varied and diverse in circumstance, location and background to convince me. The only thing they had in common was the condition of the bodies as they turned up. The corpses were all found near the river, all were missing their internal organs and all were desiccated of their natural bodily fluids. Coroners found no incisions, punctures or wounds that could account for the conditions of the bodies. Talk of aliens from outer space was whispered around water coolers and in break rooms all over town.
I stumbled on the real reason for the disappearances by accident. Chasey had gone to bed early that night. I stayed up watching "Its a Wonderful Life" for the umpteenth time. Truth be known, I had stopped at Starbucks on the way home and though I had ordered a de-cafe Venti; the bitch hit me with leaded. I was wired. I had opened a bottle of wine and was drinking heavily in an effort to counter the effects of the 90-octane coffee, and was sportin a pretty good buzz, as Clarence finally got his wings. When the movie ended, I shut off the DVD player and sat in the dark.
They came for Chasey that night. I sat in the family room, in the dark, looking into the living room, where the DCS generator hummed softly, my bike and a shit load of other stuff, shifted out of our reality and yet close at hand. A faint orange light began to show in the center of the DCS transmitter. A gnarled, taloned claw appeared from inside the ring of the transmitter and the Soul Eater entered my world. I thought to myself as the demon set its birdlike feet onto the floor and curled it's spiky tail over its reptilian head and draconian face. "Damn boy, you are totally shitfaced." Its eyes glowed red in the faint light of the aquarium, on the bookcase, by the sofa. I clenched my eyes closed and shook my head. When I opened my eyes, again the thing was gone. I passed out.
I woke moments later to the muffled screams of my wife. I jumped off the couch and made for the bedroom. My intoxication level however made that a difficult chore. I was not able to keep my balance and ended up bouncing off the walls and falling down twice before I reached the end of the hall and the bedroom door. I opened the bedroom door and was greeted by an unholy sight. The Soul Eater stood atop our bed, Chasey was in the clutches of the creature. Her body hung arched from its clawed hands. The sides of her nightshirt were torn by the creature's claws.
Her legs kicked and flailed at her captor. The creature's head scraped the ceiling, though it stood somewhat hunched. Its gray-green leathery hide was mottled and knotted with lumps and spiny protrusions. Chasey's face was twisted in a mask of pain. A silvery light bled from her eyes as she writhed in agony and tried to escape the creature's grasp. The Soul Eater inhaled the silvery light as it left Chasey's body. She turned to see me in the doorway and her eyes beckoned me to help. Her face was changing with each passing second. The skin became thin and taught. Her eyes seemed to be sinking into their sockets. Chasey's legs were withering before my eyes. The love of my life was being murdered. I lurched in the direction of the bed. The Soul Eater swung its tail in my direction; it impacted me in the chest and sent me sprawling across the room. I woke the next morning to the sight of Chasey's desiccated, lifeless body. There was no other sign of the creatures visit, no evidence at all. I called the police, within minutes the house was crawling with uniformed, and plain-clothes policemen and women. I was subjected to several interrogations and interviews. The investigation went on for three days before it was added to the "serial murderer" case that was plaguing the city. I didn't mention the Soul Eater. I didn't want to end up in the nut house. I was sure of what I had seen, and even more sure that it was going to be up to me to put an end to the killings.
Detective Russ Frantangelo poured over the case files in the "Mummy murders". That was what the guys in homicide were calling them. Twenty-eight bodies at last count, fifty-four people missing, leads were thin and the only witness was purported to be insane. The guy had found his wife in bed, her body in the same condition as all the others found by the river. Why the killer had chosen to change his disposal site was yet unknown. Perhaps he had been interrupted by the deceased woman's husband. According to him, he was passed out on the couch when she had been killed. His DNA hadn't turned up on any of the other bodies, so he was not considered a suspect. Still he was the only one witness they had.
Russ keyed his comm. link.
My comm. link chirped and I keyed the answer button. "Hello."
"Mr. Cain, this is detective Frantangelo down at the precinct. I was wondering if I could stop by and go over a few things."
"Why detective, have there been any new leads? Did you find something?" I replied.
"Things are pretty much at a dead end here. I thought we might go over the things that happened the night your wife died. Maybe we could jog your memory a bit." Russ said.
"Detective, I really think your efforts would be better spent elsewhere, besides, I have plans this evening." I said.
"I understand, but if you think of anything, please call me, OK." Frantangelo said.
"Sure detective, I will. Goodbye." I hung up the comm. I sat there at the kitchen table looking into the living room. I wiped an oil soaked rag down the length of my sword. Yes, I said sword. Oh, don't worry, I have a gun too, a 40 caliber Smith, but I felt that somehow sharpened steel might be more effective in confronting my hellish foes. I packed the bowl of my pipe with cherry vanilla tobacco, the kind Chasey liked, pulled my lighter from my shirt pocket and lit up. I puffed away enjoying the aromatic smell of the burning pipe, and blowing smoke rings. My life since Chasey's death had become reclusive. I slept most of the day and surfed the web all night. I researched anything and everything I could about my foes. I searched the libraries for references to similar occurrences in history and descriptions of monsters like the one I had seen.
I found a picture in a book of folklore, referring to a string of murders and mutilations in eastern Pennsylvania back in the early 1800's. The picture was a charcoal drawing of a demon, much like the one I had seen, perched atop a pile of bodies. A clergyman stood opposite the demon with a long pike, tipped with a silver crucifix, a drummer boy at his side. The beast seemed to be recoiling. The article related Quaker folklore about a soul-eating demon that nearly wiped out an entire Quaker community. It was that picture that convinced me to have the blade of my sword plated in silver. I had the job done at a local custom bike shop. Normally they only do chrome, but Ted is a friend and I had spent a shit load of dough there over the years making my Harley look good, that he made the changes to his electroplating equipment for me. I nearly fainted when he handed me the bill, $630.00. He really stuck it in and broke it off. I said he was a friend, I didn't say a great friend. Any way, as I polished my sword, I ate cold pizza and planned my evening. I had intended to enter the damned closet space place and look at their records. I wanted to confirm my suspicions. I was sure that all the missing, or at least all the bodies, had been clients of Neil and Bob.
I donned my jeans, boots and leather vest. I strapped my sword to the saddlebag brackets. I stuck the 40 into my waistband, mounted my Harley and rode to DCS headquarters. Their building was in an industrial district of town that was now basically a ghost town. In fact, several of the large brick structures currently housed seasonal haunted houses, their frontage decorated with murals of demons, ghouls and goblins. I parked a block away from the DCS building and waited for the employees to leave. It was 8:45 when the last light went out and the last van pulled away. I waited a few minutes and motored over closer the building. I parked behind some dumpsters, shut her down, toed down the kickstand and grabbed my sword. The few streetlights that there were in the immediate vicinity, cast just enough light for me to navigate the alley besides the building and find a side door. A set of metal stairs and railing lead up to the steel door, marked in white letters it said, DCS deliveries. In white paint written below the DCS in a descending fashion were other letters. They spelled out,
D C S
A L P
M O A
N S C
E E E
D T !
Some one else knew! Perhaps I had an ally in my newly declared war. I kicked in the door and peeked inside. The door opened into a huge warehouse room with tables and shelves lining the far wall. In the middle of the space stood a freezer room. It was 20 feet square and 12 feet tall. Wires and hoses hung from the ceiling, three huge condenser units hummed in their efforts to keep cool whatever the freezer housed. Huge sodium vapor lights hung from the ceiling, their domed housings covered in years of accumulated dust. Stacked here and there were crates of DCS generators and stabilization tags. A workbench skirted the back wall and a door off to my left marked the way to the offices. I walked over to the freezer and peered through the round portal window on the door. The accumulation of frost on the inner glass made viewing the contents of the freezer near impossible. I heard a voice from the other room. I scrambled over to the compressor units and climbed atop the freezer. I laid flat on my stomach and waited.
"I'm telling you I heard something Bob." Neil said. He and Bob entered the warehouse. "Look, see, the back door is open. Check behind the crates, while I check the freezer." Bob huffed as he went off to follow my directions. His commitment to our endeavor was waning, in my opinion. Our deal had been struck and I dared not think what might take place should we fail to deliver.
Neil is always bossing me around. It's OK though. After this gig, I'll be set for life. I walked the perimeter of the warehouse, checking under the benches and behind the crates. "Neil, nothing over here. Probably those damn sterno bums again." I walked over to the open door. I thought to myself, $30.000 an organ, average of four usable organs per donor, 57 donors thus far, that's gotta be a shit load of money! Who would have thought making a deal with the devil would be so lucrative? Upon reaching the open back door, I looked outside. The light cast by the street lamps was less than great, but adequate enough to see that there was no one in the alley. "I'll bet those assholes forgot to shut it tight before they left. That's what we get for hiring a bunch of wet-backs." I pulled the door shut and locked it. It wouldn't latch. The strike plate was bent. "Neil, the damn thing won't stay shut."
"Put a crate in front of it and lets get the hell out of here!" Neil responded.
I dragged a crate of transmitters over to the door and blocked it shut. Not like we had to worry about replacing stolen equipment, sling a little mojo, burn a few candles, kill a goat, and color the inventory replenished. "Sam's Club", got nothing on the Devil's Depot! Neil and I locked up and split. "Hooters here we come!"
I watched as Neil and Bob left the warehouse, from my place of hiding on top of the freezer. When I heard the door close and lock, I stood up. The faint glow from the exit lighting was enough to illuminate the floor beneath me. I was able to make out a giant pentagram painted on the floor in a streaky red paint. At least I hoped it was paint. I dropped off the side of the freezer and to the floor. My footsteps echoed in the room as I made my way to the front of the freezer. The door to the freezer had a cable lock strung through the latch hasp. Nothing I had with me was going to cut through the cable, so I opted to pop the glass out the portal window and get a glimpse of the contents, an option I would come to regret.
Hanging from hooks down the center of the freezer were lungs. Some were pairs, and others singles. On the side and back walls, were shelves. On those shelves, were hearts, livers, kidneys, and things I could not identify. "That answers the mystery of where the organs went." I said under my breath. I reinstalled the portal window and walked to the office door. I heard a timer click and then a faint hum. I turned around to see that the freezer and its contents had disappeared along with everything else in the warehouse. No evidence to be seen in case of a break in. I returned my attention to the office door. Getting past, that was no problem. I merely drew my sword. Sounds pretty cool, huh? Any way, I wedged the point of the blade between the latch striker and the door. I pried the door slab to the left and the door swung inward. A short corridor led to the offices and the reception area. The mirror image of the DCS logo and number presented on the window glass of the front entry door. The flooring was a highly polished black tile that reflected the upside down mirror image of the doors logo. My heart skipped a beat, for the mirror image of the upside down comm. number was visible as, hELL-666. My fears were now confirmed and my foe identified
Thunder
Damned Closet Space!
by Thunder Rider 14 Replies latest jw friends
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Thunder Rider
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blondie
Someone stole your paragraphs.
Maybe they are in the closet.
Blondie
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Thunder Rider
Any opinions yet?
I was thinking of submitting the entire piece to Playboy for publication and would appreciate some feedback.
Thunder -
Big Tex
My fears were now confirmed and my foe identified
Ack! Who!? You're keeping us in suspense here!! Where's the rest of the sentence?
Or is this an O. Henry homage?
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SYN
Pretty cool! Hope you post the rest! That ended just where things began to get interesting...
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SheilaM
This is the last part of DCS(unedited) Copyright 2003
Russ Frantangelo sat in his unmarked car outside the Cain home. Cain had told him that he would be out this evening, and he hadn?t lied. No one had stirred in the home for several hours. The comm. went unanswered and he had called 3 times. Russ decided to wait for Cain to come home and planned to question him further.
I stepped behind the front desk and tried to access the computer. The DCS logo swirled and twisted on the screen. I pressed the home button on the keyboard and the screen woke and displayed a user name and password window. I tried Neil in the user box and Bob in the password field. It was rejected. My second attempt was the reverse. No luck there either. I figured I had one more try. In the user field, I typed Faustus. In the password field, I entered soul. I hit enter. The hard drive began to hum and the monitor brightened and welcomed me to the DCS database. I sat and began to scroll through the lists of clients. I sent the information to the printer and listened as the pages fell into the printer tray. I keyed the Internet button and forwarded the list to the police department, attention Russ Frantangelo. I wasn?t going to be the only one with the goods on these bastards. I reached into my vest pocket and fished out a memory stick. I slipped it into the USB port and made myself a copy of their system. I would look it over later. My mission for the evening accomplished, I gathered the print off and let myself out the back door.
A street sweeper crossed the mouth of the alley as I made my way back to the street. Plumes of dust billowed out from behind the vehicle as it passed. ?Shit! I?m gonna have to wipe the bike down again.? I cursed under my breath. I arrived at the bike to find that she had been spared most of the dust cloud by the dumpsters and a slight breeze from the south. I strapped my sword to the bike and mounted it. I reached into the pocket of my vest and pulled out my key. My hands began to tremble as I began to rethink what I had seen, what I had discovered, and what I knew I had to do now. I had to bend over and look behind my right thigh to see the ignition and insert the key. I turned it on and the headlight lent its illumination to the night. I raised the kickstand, thumbed the starter and rolled on home.
Frantangelo lit another cigarette as he waited for Cain to return home. He had waited now for several hours, had smoked half a pack of cigarettes and drank an entire thermos of coffee. The evening air was cool and crisp, the songs of crickets lent to the homey feel of the neighborhood. Single family homes, well kept lawns, neatly trimmed shrubs, old growth trees and white picket fences, defined this little slice of America. People living the American dream, only now plagued by a hometown nightmare. He pondered over the known facts in the ?Mummy Murder? cases. He thought to himself that there was something surreal and otherworldly about the killings. Being a detective though he was trained to follow the evidence, stick to the facts, look to the obvious, and the only obvious and tangible link to one of the deaths was Cain. He believed the man knew more than he was letting on and was determined to press him for answers, clues, whatever might lead him to the killer or killers.
A light came on in the Cain?s living room. An amber glow presented in the window, muted by the curtains and blinds. ?Looks like somebody?s home.? he thought. Frantangelo flicked his half spent cigarette out the opened car window. It hit the dark pavement with a soft thud, sending a flurry of sparks in a circle around it. He rolled up the car window, gathered his file and weapon, and exited the vehicle. Frantangelo crossed the street and then hurried up the walk to the Cain?s front porch. A slight breeze stirred the withering blooms of an array of dying mums in a planter on the porch rail. A porch swing, laden with unread newspapers, moved ever so slightly in the breeze. A black mailbox, overstuffed with neglected letters and bills, hung askew from the wall to the right of the door. These details were clues to Frantangelo, of Cain?s current state of mind and the drastic changes his personally tragedy had brought to his life. Detectives were trained to notice things others would miss. He should have been paying attention to the huge shadowy figure outlined in the window. He was about to ring the bell when a great-clawed hand burst through the front door slab.
The ride home was cool. The crisp night air raised gooseflesh on my forearms as I rode. I had to ride through the downtown business district to get home. The buildings were tall and grand, with stone carvings, marble and granite corner stones, and copper accents on the roofs and overhangs. Mid-days during the week these streets teemed with businessmen and women, shoppers, vendors, vagrants and the assorted array of hookers, pushers and Jehovah Witnesses. By six in the evening, the streets were deserted, workdays business done, shopping completed, Johns serviced, fixes filled and souls saved. Only the isolated glimpse of a burning cigarette hinted at the sub culture that dwelt in the shadows of the deserted business district after hours. I wondered to myself why the Soul Eater hadn?t chosen to feed here of the homeless, the addicted, the diseased, the forgotten. Then it donned on me, the organs in the freezer, healthy transplantable organs, organs of the well fed, healthy, middle class of society. The Soul Eaters may have come to feast on our souls, but Neil and Bob had directed them to the neighborhoods, so that their haul would be as lucrative as possible. There was no money to be made trying to sell cancer riddled lungs, livers ruined by serrosis, hearts enlarged by drug abuse, kidneys ruined diseased and useless. Human greed had once again brought death and pain. Perhaps we as a race deserved our fate. Maybe it was better if we all become victims of the Soul Eaters. I was beginning to wax poetic, dark and hopeless.
I arrived home at the instant that the Soul Eater burst forth through my front door and grabbed Detective Frantangelo. He struggled in the creatures grasp and to his credit; he was able to get off a couple shots before surrendering to the beasts embrace. Their struggle had gravitated from the porch to the front yard and onto the lawn. I crashed through the fence and quickly dismounted the bike. In fluid and hastened motions, I drew the 40 and fired at the Soul Eater. The bullets penetrated the demon's flesh and sprays of ichor, flesh and bone fragments spattered the walk and porch steps. An eerie red plasma seeped from the creature?s wounds and then retracted sealing and healing the damage. I emptied two clips into the beast and it only glared at me whilst continuing to feed on Frantangelo?s soul as it seeped from his eyes in a silvery light. I dropped the 40 and retrieved my sword from the Harley. In the blink of an eye, I was beside the Soul Eater and his meal. Lights from the surrounding homes were coming on all around and neighbors were spilling out onto their front porches to witness the source of the commotion. I raised my sword high over my head and gave out a warriors cry as I brought the blade down on the beast?s left arm just above the elbow.
The severing of the limb caused the Soul Eater to drop its prey and in a burst of silvery light the detective?s soul flashed back into his body from the Soul Eaters snout. He lay on the ground writhing in the pain of probably several broken ribs. The same red plasma that had healed the creatures other wounds was beginning to regenerate the missing limb and the creature turned its full attention to me. Back peddling, I once again raised my sword and buried it in the creature?s right shoulder. The blade wedged in the bone and flesh and would not release. The Soul Eater swung its taloned claw at me and I released my hold of the sword and proceeded to make for a hasty retreat. The creature pursued.
I ran to the glow of the Harley?s headlight and hopped into the saddle. My foe was closing the distance between us too quickly. I feared this was the end of the line for me. The thumb of my right hand pressed the starter and with a welcomed boom, she roared to life. Reflected in the rear view mirror was the attacking Soul Eater. Its eyes glowed crimson and its toothy maw dripped with saliva as it reached to pluck me from my mount.
I twisted the throttle wide open and prepared to drop the clutch. In that instant, I viewed what I believed to be the transference of the engine vibrations to the mirrors and a quivering visage of the Soul Eater. Its flesh seemed to ripple and twist. A look of agony then presented on the warted and mottled draconian face, and the Soul Eater exploded. Its skin wrent apart and its innards flew in all directions. Bits of bone and flesh blew back away from me and my ride. I backed off the throttle and shut her down.
My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I dismounted and went to the mass of quivering jelly, interspersed with tooth and bone that had once been a demon. The mess stunk of sulfur and rot. I looked over to the front porch to see my sword protruding from one of the supporting posts. The force of the creatures exploding had thrown it clear and driven it through four inched of rough cedar. My mind raced to figure out what had happened as I wrenched the blade from the wood.
Frantangelo rose to a seated position with the help of some of the neighbors who had witnessed the carnage and come to his aid. All eyes were on me as I returned to his side and knelt.
?Are you OK?? I asked him.
?As good as can be expected. What the hell was that thing??
?That is what has been doing the killings. I call them Soul Eaters. They?re demons, they feed on our souls. I saw one take my wife?s.?
?How? Why? I don?t understand.?
?Somehow they are coming into our world through the damned closet space. Those DCS thingamajigs open a doorway to another dimension, a door that allows them to feed at will on the population. Wait here I have to check on something.?
I left the detective in the hands of the dumbfounded neighbors, somewhat wondering if anybody had called the ?men in white coats? to come pick me up, after the story I had just shared, and ran up the front steps into the house. The DCS generator hummed quietly. I walked to the kitchen and opened the cupboard over the kitchen sink, piled high with unwashed dished and coffee cups. My ?I don?t give a SHIT!? cup sat atop the pile, filled to the brim and over flowing from the constant dripping of the Moen faucet I never wanted. ?Sure they look great.? I had told her as we shopped the Home Depot plumbing fixture isle, ?But I tell you, their shit.? She always got her way. All she had to do was pout and I was a goner. She was gone now. Gone and it was the fucking faucet drip in the kitchen that brought her back to my mind.
In a pickle jar on the top shelf were the extra stabilization tags. I reached for and took down the jar. Turning from the sight of the dirty dishes and dripping faucet I moved toward the living room. ?Don?t take a destabilization tag into the DCS room with the unit on, or you?ll be shifted too.? they had warned. I unscrewed the jar, removed a tag, and tossed it into the room. The tag disappeared as it crossed the threshold. I ran back to the kitchen cabinets and opened the drawer under the microwave. I pulled out the poultry string and cut off a length of about ten feet. Pulling another tag from the jar, I tied one end of the string to it and stepped to the threshold. I let the tag dangle from the end of the string just above the polished oak flooring. I swung it into the living room. It too disappeared on the forward swing, the string too. On the return swing, it reappeared in the kitchen at my feet. I clutched the tag in my fist. I stood beside the fridge and grasped the door handle. I hooked the knee and thigh of my right leg around the living room entry frame and took a deep breath.
Frantangelo got to his feet and with help staggered to the front entry of the Cain home. The door lay broken in shards on the front porch. He peered through the doorframe and across the living room. Cain stood half hidden behind the kitchen wall. ?Cain, what are you doing?? He yelled.
?I?m gonna take a peek through the looking glass detective. Gonna have a look see what is on the other side, see where they are coming from. Go to the DCS warehouse down in the west bottoms. Look for Neil and Bob. They helped bring them here. They?re harvesting human organs to sell for transplantation. There is a freezer in the building holding the goods. If you don?t see it when you go in, turn of their DCS generator. You should send your men to ?Hooters? to look for Neil and Bob. I overheard Bob say they were going there tonight.?
?What the hell are you saying??
?In case something happens to me. You?ll have to figure how to stop them!? I tossed the memory stick to him. ?Their entire database is on there, don?t lose it.? I wasted no more time arguing, and plunged my head across the threshold into the living room.
Frantangelo caught the memory stick and watched as Cain leaned into the living room. To his astonishment, Cain?s head and shoulders disappeared. The detective?s heart froze.
The skin on my face and scalp began to tingle as my head, eyes closed, broke the plane of the threshold from the kitchen to the living room. I was hesitant to open my eyes, even to breath. I dared a peek. There was no specific shape to the room anymore. Instead, I was seeing a vast open space, punctuated by piles of ?stuff? arranged haphazardly as far as my eyes could see. My things were just in front of me. Off in the distance I spied an arched opening presenting an orange glow. Sounds were muted and flat, but easily recognizable. Screaming, sobbing and wailing, voices poured forth through the opening, no doubt the cries of the souls that had been taken. My chest began to burn with the effort I had expended holding my breath. Unsure of what might happen I took a tentative and shallow breath.
The air was stale and warm, like it might be in an attic on a hot summer day. I breathed again, this time deeper. I felt no ill effects from it, and decided to step back into the kitchen. I attempted to pull back only to feel the skin on my upper back and shoulder, stretch foreword at the effort. It seemed what of me that had entered this realm was somehow anchored here now. I began to panic. I dropped the destabilization tag. The instant it left my hand, my view changed and I was once again standing in my kitchen, leaning into the living room. Frantangelo and some of my neighbors were standing in the doorway.
?What the hell was that about? Your head and shoulders just disappeared. You have some explaining to do mister!? the detective barked.
?Russ, put a lid on it. I told you all I know. Neil and Bob from DCS are responsible for the murders. Somehow, they opened a gate to hell or some alternate dimension, populated by demons. The demons come into our world, take their victims souls and give the victims organs to Neil and Bob to sell.?
?What happened to the one that attacked me?? he asked.
?The demons must be vulnerable to sound waves of certain frequencies. Fortunately, for me, a frequency that happens to be the same one produced by my Harley?s exhaust. When I wrapped her out, the demon exploded. I peeked into their world. I have an idea of how to stop them. First thing you have to do is find Neil and Bob?
Russ Frantangelo clutched his side and winced in pain. This was too weird, but he couldn?t deny what he had seen and experienced. ?Whatever you need.? he replied.
?Send a couple of units to the Hooters. Tell then to arrest Neil and Bob. On that memory stick is a list of their clientele, everyone that has bought into their closet space deal. You?ll find every one of your victims is on that list I?ll bet. You need to contact all of them and have then turn off the units. I don?t think the Soul Eaters can come through any other way. The warehouse down in the bottoms is full of transmitters and receivers. Destroy them all. I?m going in and I?m going to kill everyone of those bastards I can.?
?Are you insane? You can?t be serious.? Frantangelo argued.
?Detective, I have nothing here. They took Chasey from me. The courts can?t offer me justice. I can never have peace in my life again. If nothing else, I can do my best to keep anyone else from being hurt. If I take a stabilization tag with me, I can enter their realm. I?ll do as much damage as I can before I try to come back. You have to make sure the DCS generator in my house stays on. Otherwise, I won?t be able to come back. At least that is how I got it figured. Hell, I may get over there, look around and find that I have already killed the demon, that there was only one. Fat chance but a chance at least.?
I turned to Rick Drummond, my next-door neighbor. Rick had been first on the scene earlier and seen the demon meet its demise. He looked gaunt and ashen in the face. ?Rick, can you do that for me? Can you make sure the thing stays on??
?Sure thing George. As soon as I go and unplug mine.? Rick said. He turned and went home, returning a few minutes later sporting a shotgun and box of shells.
?Rick, I doubt that smoke wagon will do much against one of those things. If anything tries to come through, I suggest you blast the transmitter. Don?t be a hero for me. I really don?t figure on coming back.?
By now, there were half a dozen cruisers in front of the house and two different news vans setting up. Frantangelo intercepted the officers as they arrived and instructed them to secure the area and to leave me alone. I strapped my sword to the bike and mounted up. I turned the key on and watched as the gas gauge climbed to just under a full tank. I grabbed my helmet from off the rearview mirror and tossed it to the grass. It bounced once and skidded over to the fence, coming to rest in a pile of leaves that the wind had gathered and placed there. I grabbed my sunglasses from their place hanging from one of the throttle cable housings under the right side switch housing, and slid them onto my face, positioning them carefully on the bridge of my nose. I realized that it was an unnecessary and pointless exercise, being that it was evening and all, but what the hell I was probably going to die anyway, I had best look good doing it.
?George, are you sure about what you?re doing? I mean, taking those things on, on their own turf.? Frantangelo asked.
?Hell Russ, I haven?t a clue. I just know that I need revenge for what happened to Chasey and if it cost me my life, so be it. Wish me luck.?
I fired her up, rolled forward off the kickstand, and turned the bike to the front steps. I checked my vest pocket for the stabilization tag and found it there. The doorway to the living room beckoned to me. Images of the deep darkness of the demon?s realm crossed my mind. ?Balls to the wall. Now or never. Move your ass farm boy!? I thought to myself. I looked over to Rick and Russ. The expression on their faces was a mix of uncertainty and disbelief. It was easy to understand. Shit, who would ever believe that what was going on was true?
I gripped the clutch lever and toed the transmission into first gear. With my right hand, I gave thumbs up to Russ and then gunned the motor. Russ yelled, ?Good luck!? I released the clutch lever and rolled up the front steps and into the living room. As the front wheel entered the living room, it disappeared, followed by me and the rest of the bike. I was there, I was somewhere between time. The smells and sounds returned and I slowly maneuvered my bike through the maze of other people?s things. Mountains of useless items and piles of personal belongings graced the dusky plain. I motored towards the glowing archway. As I closed the distance between me and my destination a misshapen figure emerged from that archway. The creature spied me and with a screech reminiscent of tires skidding on dry pavement, it launched itself in my direction.
?Time to test my theory.? I said to myself. I buried the throttle and dumped the clutch. The bike streaked towards the demon at warp speed. As the distance closed, I readied myself to turn. When I had reached a point some 20 yards from my foe, I dropped the throttle, locked the back brake and leaned left. The Harley began to slide out from under me and when I had made a 180* turn, I righted her. I watched as the Soul Eater closed on me. I waited until the last possible moment and gunned the engine. That moment seemed to last forever. Its visage quivered in the rearview mirror. Spittle dripped from its gaping maw and claws reached me as it bore down on me. 10 yards, 5 yards, I twisted the throttle full on. I watched as the second Soul Eater succumbed to its fate. It burst apart and fell to the ground behind me. Two down, God knows how many more. I backed off the throttle, then turned and slowly resumed my trek to the archway.
Frantangelo and his men left Cain?s house and went to the Hooters to pick up Neil and Bob. The two were right where George had said. They were schmoozing a buxom blonde, serving beer and wearing entirely too much make-up and next to nothing else. Police cruisers blocked both entrances and watched for anyone trying to leave. Frantangelo and three uniformed officers made their way into the restaurant, the detective grimacing at the pain of the injuries he had sustained earlier. One officer remained at the door and the others followed Russ to the table where Neil and Bob sat.
?Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to place your hands where I can see them. Miss if you?ll step away from the table.? he gestured to the Budweiser bearing bimbo. The young woman stepped back into one of the surrounding tables jostling another patron?s arm and spilling his beer. It splashed onto the waitress? shoulder and ran down onto the front of her shirt making the fabric nearly transparent and exposing to all around her, the substantially padded bra she was wearing. She turned in embarrassment and fled the scene. The surrounding patrons noted the commotion-taking place and gravitated to the exit door, bills and coin deposited haphazardly on tables as they left. Neil and Bob looked at Frantangelo and then to each other. Their facial expressions changed from surprise to something not unlike that displayed by cornered animals. Frantangelo went for his gun.
?You ain?t taking me alive copper!? Bob screamed. He leapt from his stool at the detective. From inside his waistband he pulled an old .38 and attempted to get off a shot.
Frantangelo had been caught off guard earlier; he suffered the pains of that lapse. He was not caught unaware this time. The detective drew down and fired a single shot into Bob?s left shoulder. The gun flew from his hand as he was struck. Frantangelo turned and shoved the barrel of his weapon squarely into Neil?s ear. ?You want to bleed too asshole??
Panic-stricken employees and patrons ran to the exits. Scantily clad waitresses, once the focus of the full attention of the male and some of the butcher female patrons, were now shoved aside and knocked down as escape was sought. Several more uniformed officers plowed through the crowd into the restaurant after hearing the shot. In the mayhem, tables and stools were toppled and the floor became a minefield of spilt beer and chicken wings.
Neil looked at his partner in crime, writhing on the floor, moaning in pain. ?Bob, you?re such a putz! You ain?t taking me alive copper. I can?t believe you said that.? Neil slowly extended his arms and the uniformed officer cuffed him.
Russ holstered his weapon and keyed his comm. ?42 to base. Suspects have been secured.?
?Roger 42, situation is code 10-15, over?
?Base, how we doing on that list I sent you??
?42, attempts have been made to contact all parties. Units have been dispatched to residences not contacted personally. Be advised, requested actions are being carried out, over.?
?Base, 10-71 roll a bus, we got a bleeder here, over?
?Roger 42, 10-71 dispatching medical to your location, over.?
?Base, dispatch SWAT to meet me at the DCS warehouse in the West Bottoms, over.?
?Roger 42 tactical dispatched, over?
?42 out.?
Frantangelo turned his attention once again to Neil. The man still had a smug, arrogant look on his face, despite the bracelets. The uniformed officer had just finished reading the man his rights. ?I hear you have some hand in the recent string of disappearances and murders.? Frantangelo said.
Neil just stared at him. Frantangelo nodded to the uniformed officers. As one, they all turned their backs to the detective and his prisoner. Frantangelo brought his forearm up into Neil?s face. The impact split Neil?s upper lip and broke his nose. Blood and saliva sprayed on the counter and window behind Neil. He fell forward against the table and cursed the detective under his breath.
?Still have nothing to say, Neil?? Neil only glared and spat in Frantangelo?s direction. ?I wonder if your friend will talk.? Frantangelo kneeled down by the still moaning Bob. ?Hey ?Jesse James? I need some answers.?
Blood still ran from beneath Bob?s hand as he lay on the floor. Frantangelo punched the hand covering the wound. Bob screamed in pain.
?What, what do you want to know!? Bob cried.
?What am I going to find in your warehouse??
?Keep your mouth shut Bob!? Neil yelled.
?Get him out of here. Put him in my car, we?re going the their warehouse.? Frantangelo said. He returned to questioning Bob. ?Tell me how to access your database.?
?User name, Faustus. Password, soul.? Bob whimpered.
?Can the DCS units be deactivated from there??
?Management folder, operation file, overrides all application, password shutdown.? With those words, Bob passed out.
Frantangelo yielded to the paramedics as they arrived and hurried out to his car. He instructed all but two of the officers to follow him. Sirens wailed as the procession of police cars made their way down the freeway to the industrial area of the West Bottoms. As they arrived, Frantangelo saw that the SWAT team had already arrived and set a perimeter around the building.
The brick building that housed the DCS operation shone in the flashing lights of the law enforcement vehicles. The homeless emerged from their hiding places to view the spectacle. They were bruskly held at bay by the officers. Two of the tactical officers hit the front door with a battering ram sending it flying from its hinges and crashing to the floor. Frantangelo made his way into the office and to the computer.
A stench of decay and rot became evident to me as I neared the maw of the archway. The sounds of tortured souls became audible over the rumble of the exhaust pipes. The twisted and hulking figures of two more of the Soul Eaters emerged from the opening.
The demon in the lead screamed like a banshee. The sound of it sent chills down my spine. The scream was soon joined by an accompaniment of cries from more of the demons. Two demons became 4, then 4 became 8 and I began to think my coming here was not the brightest idea I had ever formulated. Again, I raced in the direction of my foes. Ten yards out, I spun her about and as the demons closed on me I once again buried the throttle, obliterating three of the attackers. The remaining five demons hung back screeching hellaciously and sizing me up. I watched as they began to circle me.
As a rule, weapons discharge in one direction at a time. My weapon, the exhaust pipes of my Harley, was no different. They did however present the slight inconvenience of being attached to 540 pounds of motorcycle, making for a rather unwieldy weapon. I came to realize that I was surrounded and at best, I might be able to take out one more of the demons. The demons began to approach. I continued to gun the engine with my right hand, while I reached into my vest for the 40. I fired off all 16 rounds, making nine of the shots count. The demons slowed but did not stop. When the magazine was empty, I threw the gun at them too.
My heart beat hard in my chest. My hand went to my chest, and found my lighter in the pocket of my shirt. ?I wonder what kind of effect an explosion would have on them.? I thought to myself. I reached for and unscrewed the gas cap. They say it is an honorable death that takes an enemy with it. I intended to go out with a bang.
Frantangelo grabbed a seat behind the monitor and keyboard. He entered the user name and password that he had recovered during his impromptu interrogation of Bob. The computer database presented on the screen and the detective went to work accessing the override command file. He called to a SWAT team member. ?Anderson, get the prisoner out of my car and bring him in here.? Anderson returned a minute later with Neil. The front of his shirt was wet and blood stained and his demeanor was hostile. Anderson slammed him into the seat in front of the desk where the detective was working. He glared at Anderson. Anderson chuckled.
Russ turned to his left and looked into the empty warehouse. He then turned to Neil. ?Cain says you have a freezer full of human organs in there.? He said motioning over his shoulder. Neil said nothing. ?I have a feeling that if I deactivate all of your DCS units, that freezer is going to be right where Cain said.? His finger hovered over the enter key on the keyboard.
?You?re going to piss off a lot of people if you do that.? Neil said.
?I find your concern for the feelings of others to be suspect.?
?You don?t get it do you pig. If you turn off the generators off while some one is in the ?shifted? area, the ?shifted items will materialize and integrate with the person. You?ll kill them.?
Frantangelo keyed his comm. ?42 to base. Have all the DCS clients been contacted? Over.?
?42, all but 24 have been contacted and of those units are at the locations, over.?
?Betsy, inform them we?re going to shut down the generators and they need to keep out of the rooms with the generators. Make sure they understand it is imperative they not be in the room when I kill these things, over?
?42, message relayed, all units confirmed, over?
?I?m doing it. 42 out.?
?42 to unit 346 come in 346,over.? Frantangelo said.
?346 over.?
?Remy, I?m going to deactivate the DCS thing, when I do you?ll need to re-activate the one there at the Cain home, so George has a way back. If he?s still alive that is, over.?
?42, that?s a moot point. Rick got a bit twitchy on the trigger and blasted the thing off the wall. I?m looking at Mr. Cain?s things right now. I was just about to call you. Sorry, over?
?Shit! How the hell is he going to get back now?? Frantangelo shouted. Neil chuckled. Frantangelo hit the enter key.
The names and account numbers scrolled by in a blur. Active accounts being marked de-active as they went by. It took almost a full minute to finish and when the screen displayed the finished screen, Russ turned to see a large freestanding freezer in the warehouse to his left. ?Well look what we have here. Bring him.? Russ got out of his chair and walked in front of Anderson and Neil to the warehouse door.
Russ unlocked the door to the warehouse and entered, followed by Neil and Anderson. Anderson held his M-5 to the prisoners back as they entered. Frantangelo moved to the front of the freezer and looked through the portal window. The sight of the freezer contents turned his stomach. He attempted to open the door only to find it to be locked. ?Where is the key to this door?? He asked.
Neil refused to answer.
?Anderson, shoot out the lock.?
Anderson moved out from behind Neil and discharged his weapon into the door latch mechanism. The door shuddered and swung open. Both of the law enforcements stared in disbelief at the array of human organs being stored inside.
?42 to base 10-71. Roll medical to this position. We have perishable organs to be transported. Inform the local hospitals that transplantable organs are available and to contact their patients accordingly. Over.?
?42, 10-71 rolling medical. Notifying hospitals as requested, over.?
?Anderson, get your men in here. The stuff that is already on ice, pack out to the vans and transport to Mercy. Leave the other stuff for the med techs when they get here.?
Within minutes the med techs had arrived and the entire contents of the freezer was being transported to local hospitals and trauma centers. At Frantangelo?s command, the freezer was broken down and moved aside.
?Anderson, have one of your men bring in a crime scene flood light. I want it set up right where the freezer was. Power it up and let me know when you?re done.? Frantangelo went to Neil?s side. The belligerent prisoner stood in the corner cursing and struggling at his bonds. He began to address the prisoner. ?I guess you have figured out by now that you?re basically screwed. Not that it will make much difference, but are there any more surprises that you might apprise me of??
Neil continued to be uncooperative. Anderson?s men had finished setting up and powering the floodlight and the ceiling and walls of the warehouse flashed as the light swirled and vacillated. Frantangelo turned his attention to it; he left Neil in the corner and went to the floodlight. He took one of the destabilization tags and attached it to the light. He walked to the rooms DCS generator and turned it on. The floodlight disappeared and the room was again only lit by the ceilings hanging lighting. ?There, if George is still alive, maybe he can get out here.? The detective waited.
As the demons closed on me I became aware of popping noises all around. Piles of items that once cluttered the area I had just recently navigated were disappearing all around. It was as if all of the DCS generators had been shut down at once. Not that it mattered to me. I was going to die here anyway. At least this way, I knew there was absolutely no chance of escape. Then I saw it. Directly behind the oncoming demons sat a huge floodlight spinning and waving, throwing its illumination all across the ceiling of the chamber. I had a chance. I quickly set the kickstand, put the bike in neutral, buried the throttle and set the cruise control. The engine screamed. I placed the destabilization tag between my teeth, took my sword in my left hand, lighter in my right I faced my opponents. They circled slowly, kept somewhat at bay by the reverberations of the motorcycles exhaust tones. Now or never I thought. I thumbed my lighter, and dropped it into the gas tank. I leapt for safety as I did so, making a beeline for the spinning floodlight.
Running full boar at the demon in my path, I raised my sword high over my head and met it head on. I swung the blade full across the demon's neck and severed its head from its body. Barely a second later my ride exploded. The force of the explosion threw me forward into the collapsing headless demon; my sword flew from my grip, clattering to the floor off in the darkness. I rolled with the impact and then gained my feet again running to the light. The explosion had destroyed another three of the four remaining demons. The last beast was in hot pursuit. I dove for the light and spat the tag from my mouth as I reached it.
I then found myself sprawled on the floor of the DCS warehouse. I heard Russ yelling in the background. I couldn?t make out what he was saying. I lay there stunned. My back muscles screamed with pain.
It wasn?t a long wait. George Cain appeared out of nowhere, falling prone on the ground near where the spotlight had been set up. The back of his leather vest was torn and the shirt underneath was ripped and stained with blood.
Frantangelo yelled for Cain to get up, the exact position of the floodlight was impossible to ascertain and he hesitated to turn off the DCS generator, for fear of having it rematerialize on top of Cain. He ran to Cain?s side and began to drag him out. He intended then to shut down the DCS generator and close forever the demon's access to their world. He had Cain half way to the door when the Soul Eater emerged from the transmitter.
The demon crawled forth from the generator ring. Bits of blood stained cloth hung from the claws on right arm. It turned its savage visage in the direction of Cain and Frantangelo. Then looked toward Neil. Frantangelo stumbled and fell under the weight of the nearly unconscious Cain. Anderson ran to the detective and the injured man who had appeared from nowhere. He slid to a halt beside the detective, drew down on the demon and emptied his weapon. The barrage of bullets peppered the demon with wounds, but seemed to do not much more than annoy it. The creature bellowed a blood-chilling scream and pushed toward the men.
I lay there in pain, willing myself to get up and run with no success. An arm grabbed me under my own and across my chest. I felt myself being dragged. I opened my eyes in time to see the demon emerge from the DCS transmitter. Another man came to my aid and fired wildly at the Soul Eater. The creature kept coming. ?Leave me, get away!? I yelled. I twisted in an effort to free myself from the hands of my would-be-rescuers, my feet kicking at the floor. The Soul Eater bore down on us.
Neil watched in horror as the Soul Eater approached his captors. He even momentarily toyed with the thought that he might escape the situation intact. It was a thought quickly dismissed.
My rescuers and I, as a group, resigned ourselves to the fact that our demise was imminent and prepared to meet our maker. The demon though turned aside from us and headed for Neil. Neil began to scream in fear and backed further into the corner, turning to and clawing at the walls that prevented his retreat. The Soul Eater grabbed Neil around the neck and lifted him from the floor kicking and screaming. The demon turned and walked to the DCS transmitter and thrust Neil into it. The transmitter ring was only about 12 inches in diameter, I could hear bones breaking, and Neil screaming as his body was forced through. The demon then turned to us. The beast raised its hideous head high and bellowed again a blood-curdling scream. It then climbed through the transmitter and disappeared. Frantangelo pulled his weapon, fired and destroyed the DCS generator. The gateway was closed, the demons once again confined to their own world. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders and passed out.
I woke two weeks later in the hospital. My injuries had been severe. My right lung had been punctured by the demon as I escaped its world. I had bruised my kidney and torn my liver. It was touch and go for a few while. Detective Frantangelo had stopped by to check on my recovery every day. My room was filled with flowers, balloons and cards. Russ stopped by every day after I regained consciousness and we talked about what had happened. I related the story of what had transpired while I was in their realm, of how I had destroyed several of the demons by blowing up my Harley. He offered his condolences at the loss of my ride. It?s a guy thing. Two months into my recovery, Russ showed up with a wheelchair.
?Up and at em big Guy.? he said.
?My ass!? I replied.
?Doc says you need to move around some. So get in the chair, or I?ll call nurse Helga.? Russ said.
Nurse Helga was a nickname he and I had given to one of the physical therapist involved in my rehab. She was 6? 4?, 275lbs. With hands like a basketball player and the body odor of a well worn lumberjack on a bender. The bitch was frightening. Suffice it to say that at the mention of Nurse Helga? I stirred from my bed and willingly plopped my sore ass in the chair. ?You win.? I told a laughing Russ.
?You know George, a lot of folks appreciate what you did. If you hadn?t figured things out when you did, God knows how many more people might have died.?
?Well desperate times, desperate measures, you know. No big deal.? I responded.
?Well its tough enough on a man losing his wife, folks wanted to do something for you. Got a little token of their appreciation outside.?
Russ wheeled me down the halls and to the lobby door. I could see through the windows that a crowd of people was awaiting our exit. Cameramen and reporters, police officers and regular citizens intermingled with hospital staff shuffled about outside the foyer. As the wheelchair neared the door, it slid apart and the crowd outside parted.
?Holy crap!? I exclaimed. In the center of the ring of people stood a brand spanking new 2012 Harley-Davidson Fat Boy. The tank and fenders were deep blue. The tank was decorated with orange yellow flames running front to back. The contrast of the paint, chrome and leather was the most beautiful thing I had seen in a long time. I broke down and cried. Applause broke out from the crowd. Russ bent over and whispered in my ear.
?It was the least we could do. Thanks? he said.
I was then engulfed by the crowd fielding expressions of gratitude and wishes of a speedy recovery from all. Reporters attempted to interview me. I was too distracted to offer much for them to work with and before too long, Russ was wheeling me back to my room. I thanked him and asked that he relay my appreciation to everyone else for me. I now had a bit more incentive to get on with the rehab and out of the hospital. I couldn?t wait to get on that bike. Russ left and I watched the rest of the day dwindle into night. A nurse brought me my dinner at six and I was asleep by seven. My dreams that night were nightmares, filled with visions of demons and death. I struggled against the hordes in vain. I awoke out of breath, covered in sweat and my heart beating as if it might burst forth from my chest. I sat up in bed and swung my legs off the side. A shaft of light dimly illuminated the floor through a rectangular window in the door. The rest of the room was dark only the glow of the monitors and readouts at the head of the bed offered any more lighting to the view. My hands gravitated to my head and I raked my fingers through my hair, scratching my scalp. My eyes began to adjust to the lighting and in the far corner of the room stood my sword!
Never mind how they got here, they got here and they began to feed. I hunt them now they are my nemesis. My reason for living, my personal crusade. Got too much stuff? Take my advice. Build a shed. -
RAYZORBLADE
Thunder: submit it.
Playboy? Hell, I'll go buy one. Um, I know....'is Rayzorblade going to look @ the pictures, or read the stories?'
Both silly.
Anyways, it's good to be abreast of the latest stories/articles and tons of other stuff.
Keep us posted Chris.
-
Gadget
I like it! I'm gonna have to go and buy one of your books to read some more of your stuff now........
-
SheilaM
Rayzor: LOL Actually the word count is like 11,230 seems that puts it in the novella category. So we may self-publish it.
We are exploring places to submit thought still.
Gadget: Glad you liked it. The beginning was trapped in a broke laptop and Thank GOODNESS Thunder was able to fix the laptop after removing everything in it. LOL (yes it was necessary the first connection they did in the dang thing came undone LOL and no it was not backed up BAD THUNDER BAD THUNDER LOL
I loved the premise and our writers group just gobbled the story up LOL and of course it has a sword and a Harley so it's all good :D -
SheilaM
BTT