Short Story / Gestations of the Damned, Pt. 1
9
This would be his last night with the pride. He was young, fertile, and capped with the darkest of manes. He was also bored. So tired of the monotony of ‘D’ cups threatening to spill their silicon libations over their top lips that he secretly begged for an SOS 88 girl. She would be some yet to be vixen- soft and supple- with a flower that was ready to bloom. He would pluck her botanical before she fully realized she had one. It would not be the first time.
But such would be another day… another hunt. These grounds had been well picked over by none other than himself. Originally he had just about launched his rocket- fully clothed- just walking in this place. The bar had been to him the equivalent of Ken getting his Blue Fairy wish right in the middle of aisle number nine of the local brick and mortar purveyor of toys and suddenly realizing that Barbie was an omnituple. Ken would then answer the question for us all: is an affair with a clone an affair at all?
At least for Scott they were Trixie… Diane… Julie… Kendra… and God only knows how many other names out of the top one hundred for baby girls some twenty odd years ago. But after a while they were all just ‘Baby’ to him. And this was in spite of the fact that most of them were avid Cosmo readers. This carnal knowledge arrived courtesy of his reading of their bag of tricks while waiting to buy his aftershave at his local discount retailer. Scott was confident that these articles were tremendous for the monogamy set. But for a roaring King of the Concrete Jungle like him, it was never about Sixteen Guaranteed Ways to Blow His Mind.’
Power was his trip. He wanted to control and dominate his prey and then suck the very life from her existence. He was not interested in her begging for more. He wanted her to beg for mercy. Not in any way that might land him in jail, mind you. Scott’s interests ventured toward mutual consent, although sometimes a mere technicality. But he always wanted his prey to feel coerced and dirty when he was done. He wanted to suck them so dry in that one experience that his lovers would never be able to enjoy true love again. Not that he (or any of them for that matter) had any idea what true love was.
And as much as he thought this would be the perfect place to stalk his prey, he found the species of emotional omnivores grazing this meadow to be less than meaty- anorexic even. Scott had done his best to go for the kill and suck their lives from them. But those who barely live, barely noticed. Ironic, he thought, as he raged his campaign through the room. Any one of the vixens who frequented Toxins could have made an entire Frat House forget Sorority Row forever. They had enough tricks up their sleeves to literally kill an overly hormonal eighteen to twenty-year-old with passion. But they had no soul. And since that was what Scott wanted to rob them of, it was the equivalent of a real lion gnawing on a zebra fossil.
They were too busy living someone else’s life to have a life of their own. Paris Hilton could walk in the room and no one would notice. Hell, Toxins had a baker’s dozen of blonde heiresses to rival its pair of Brittany’s, half dozen Lindsay’s, and a quartet of Olson twins. Of course in this part of town, the twins were not SOS 88 girls. So Scott’s problem was simple: double lives do take half as long and all these sluts had lived theirs triple. It was time to move on.
“Hey, keep… How ‘bout the driest Cab you’ve got and one more of whatever the hell my friend here’s having?”
The words shot past Scott’s port bow like cannon fire. Not sixty seconds ago one of Scott’s ‘Babies’ had been trying to convince him to preview next month’s Cosmo at her place. He didn’t answer. He just took another swig of his boutique beer. Scott willed her away and apparently, that trick had worked. Either that or she had gained a Johnson, thirty years, and an ever so slight five o’clock shadow in a New York minute.
“Don’t look so surprised, Scott. Its nature’s way for a virile lion like yourself to leave his pride in search of another. I just saved you the trouble of finding me.”
Scott caught himself gaping and for good measure tried to remember how to look bored and uninterested while quenching his proverbial thirst. He instead moved the bottle too swiftly, causing the head to reemerge- all down the front of him.
“Fuck!”
“Well I usually find that people are nervous when I interview them, but they usually keep their ‘fucks’, ‘shits’ and ‘you slimy bastard’ to themselves.”
The elder’s voice betrayed his Ivy League pedigree while his perfectly groomed Grecian Formula hair betrayed his age. Some cosmetic surgeon had done a masterful job reducing his signs of aging, but the distinguished gentleman had the wisdom to stop short of procedures that would leave him looking like a Mattel product. If it had not been for subtly sharp eyeteeth, their perfection would have gone virtually unnoticed. And finally, the cut of his suit- fashionably alien even to Toxins- left his wealth unquestionable.
“Job interview? What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”
Scott was to busy toweling himself off, rather unsuccessfully, with a stack of cocktail napkins to regulate his impoverished vocabulary or to notice the acute klaxons singing underneath his consciousness. There was something odd- something sticking in his subconscious craw. But Scott was too busy with his beer bath to notice. Twice he had glanced at the mirrored bar back topped with full bottles of up-sells. Twice he had registered something missing in the mirrors he had occasionally used to discretely ogle the cleavage sitting next to him. And twice his conscious had been to busy dabbing beer with a toddler’s idea of a napkin to acknowledge what his inner child was fretting over. The Keep brought him a real towel, for which he was much obliged, as well as that other round the distinguished gentleman next to him had just purchased.
“Drink your designer goat piss, Scott. There’s not enough time in the night to waste dawdling with clowns. Get yourself laid… and get yourself to my office afterward. I’ll see you there at four am sharp… If your late… fuck off.”
The well appointed older man took the rest of his Cabernet in a single long swig, tossed a Benjamin from his jacket pocket on the bar for the Keep, and then ‘played’ a business card on Scott’s side of the century mark like a winning blackjack hand. He then walked out of the bar without so much as a side-glance. Scott kept up his ‘I couldn’t give a rats ass’ routine while spying the man’s pedigree on the card: Ula Drake, President; Wagon Wheel National Bank. Scott had to squeeze his sphincter like never before to keep his shit in storage.
Drake was Scott’s personal hero. He had followed his career since he turned the Savings and Loan Scandal of the early nineties into unimaginable profits for First Bank- the financial institution Ula ran at the time. First Bank then proceeded to swallow up S&Ls and their customers the way Scott had made conquest of the Toxins’ eye candy. Bored with the financial obesity First Bank now enjoyed, he took the helm of Wagon Wheel National, their weakest rival, taking the nearly defunct institution from virtual bankruptcy to industry leader in a little under four years. The man was a banking genius.
Those on the outside saw him as a kind-hearted philanthropist but Scott knew better. Drake was the prince of fine print. He was Robin Hood’s antithesis. He had found nearly invisible ways to siphon what little most people had to improve his bottom line. Debit cards had been first utilized by First Bank under his watch. Funny how the letters, when rearranged, spell ‘bad credit.’ For Drake understood the human condition and that the American masses had been so conditioned against delayed gratification, they would spend their way to overdraft faster than a robust Price is Right contestant- jugs bouncing from forehead to kneecaps- could reach Contestants’ Row. Then his customer service agents, trying desperately to disguise their Hindu accents, would smugly comment about the consumer’s need for responsibility while his bank charged them (robbed them) thirty dollars an indiscretion- even if their crime was merely cents, and not dollars.
“Genius.”
“You need something?”
Scott waved off the bar keep and looked for the girl he had just snubbed. It was after one and if he was to fuck her and still make his interview on time, well, he had best get on with it. In spite of Ula’s generosity he threw a Jackson on the bar and headed for his Barbie Doll. He knew what to say and she, what to do. She was out cold when he dressed for his little business meeting. It wasn’t the best he had ever had, but he did not care. He delivered his package and Ula was waiting.
8
He was surprised to find a secretary waiting for him as the elevator opened. She was young- perky for four a.m.. But somehow she made the whole thing seem normal. The way she acted it might as well have been ten in the morning and she just back from making a second pot of coffee in the executive lunchroom.
Scott even had to wait. He had not expected either the secretary or the delay at this time, but what did he care? His hero had hunted him down. Highland figured curiosity might even kill a lion.
Somehow that did not register right with him. Who was he that Ula wanted to see him? Sure, he was a junior executive shooting up the executive ladder like a bullet from a gun at the bank arm of an oil company. Sure, he had figured out that raising the monthly minimum often put the average Joe in that Helter Skelter spiral of late and over the limit fees. But that was peanuts compared to the moves Drake had made.
“Mr. Drake will see you now.”
Scott did not have time to finish his argument with himself. He stood and thanked the young lady who had been nice enough to wear a slightly less than professional neckline. Then he ventured through the oversized Mahogany Doors.
He had worn a dark suit with a red power tie. By the book, he had told himself. But Scott also reminded himself that he was not currently looking for a new position. His current position had suited him well. Upscale flat… foreign exotic… hell, what else could he want? What he had gave him enough one on one time to correctly identify the entire Victoria Secret Collection- from Very Sexy to Angels and Body By.
But a predator always takes interest in a new challenge in prey. And to learn from a legend among the carnivores? The mere thought made Scott tingle with excitement.
And not too much excited Scott these days. Hell, the hottest girls in a dozen zip codes had frequented Toxins, and for Highland, they had become passe. Half their titties had been perfected by the same doctor and he had all the imagination of an Internal Revenue Agent. Thus if you’d seen one pair of bare Toxins titties, you’d seen them all.
But what Scott desperately wanted to do was prey on the innocent. He wanted conquest, not another slut who would just as soon do a mid-level executive with an XJ7, as a VP like Scott. He knew breasts came in sizes other than ‘D’ for ‘Duh’ and ‘DD’ for ‘Double Duh.’ It would be fun to play like he really liked a girl and have to talk his way into her panties. The whole experience might be like bow hunting when compared to hunting with a machine gun. He wondered if SOS 88 girls made up for their flat chests in other ways. Now that was a thought that excited him.
“Glad you could come.”
Ula stepped out from behind the desk with a firm handshake and a different suit of his pedigree on. Scott carried a briefcase full of bullshit in his left hand leaving his right to accept the greeting. He was surprised at the firmness of the old man’s grip but managed to not let on, returning it squeeze for squeeze.
He used his peripheral vision to take in the visuals of the office. Where the walls were not glass looking east and south, they were paneled in a dark wood that probably made gold look cheap. There were inlays and overlays and relief work in the wood that seemed to tell some horror story. Winged men were pictured flying above an angry mob, their faces buried in the nap of the neck of some young girl whose clothes fluttered off her toes. In other places there were large castles with those same men looking down in delight as young women danced around a fire, their blouses not quite doing the job for which they were intended.
All of the dark wood was full of scenes like this: horrible scenes- wonderful scenes. Scott found a tinge of fear in him and yet his prick was firming up to cast its vote. Highland was both terrified and intoxicated at the same time. The feeling was like the first time he deflowered a girl in her bed while her parents slept in the next room.
“Intoxicating… isn’t it?”
Scott did not register the inquiry at first. He was attempting to somehow process the heaven and hell inside of him. The hardest thing to wrap his arms around was the fact that the darkness in the images seemed heavenly to Highland. How awesome it would be to look down from his tower and snatch up some young unsuspecting virgin and just take her. Somehow the pictures embodied everything that he desired, the world that Scott had longed for.
“Huh? Hhhmmm? Oh yeah, the walls. They’re most interesting.”
“Nasforahtu.”
“They look like vampires.”
“Precisely. And they are so… intoxicating. That is, to men like you and me.”
Drake walked back behind his desk and flopped in his overstuffed, oversized overpriced leather chair. He spun it around once like a child would. Not exactly what Scott was expecting from the master of the small print.
“Why do we find them so intoxicating?”
Scott spoke as he found his way to one of the chairs that faced the large marble desk. The desk was made completely from marble. Judging by the relief around the top edge, the top piece was nearly six inches thick and seemed to boast the ability to slide off the foundation. That foundation appeared solid all the way around although he assumed there was a place where Ula could saddle up to it on the far side.
“Power, my friend. Perfect goddamned power. They live as they desire… as we lust for. They take what they want, when they want. They are unstoppable.”
“I thought you could baptize them in holy water or sunlight or impale them on a stake to kill them.”
Ula chuckled. “Folklore created to keep the masses hoping… and from dying from their own panic. Funny how the reduction of fear leads to the reduction of belief. Although not when you consider the adage that fear is false evidence appearing real.”
“Its all so very nice, Mr. Drake. And I must apologize for my behavior in the bar.”
“Nonsense, Scott. I can call you Scott, can’t I?”
“Certainly, you can call me every name in the book for all I care. I’m just curious how a nobody like me got an invite like this.”
Scott wanted to get down to business. Drake was already down to business. But he was very aware of Scott’s inattention to this. It was part of the process. The dapper old man shifted in his chair curiously.
“Ever think about getting married?”
“Hell no. I gotta stay on top of my game.”
“Which means you must be a predator both in the bedroom… and in the office.”
“Precisely.”
“Ever shagged your secretary?”
“Ever not?”
“In your office, while she was on the clock?”
“I prefer after sunset. Keep her late. It’s the double power play.”
“How bout an interviewee for the position?”
“How bout five? Then hired a sixth who said no.”
“Liked the challenge?”
“Hoped I would. Turned out someone tipped her off. And then she wasn’t exactly a great lay.”
“I’m assuming you don’t attend church?”
“Actually I do. Fuck Off Baptist down on Kiss My Ass Boulevard. I don’t see where we’re going with this. I mean most of what I’m telling you ‘s grounds for termination. And that last question… well… I should have just said, ‘Allah be praised,’ and then when you said, ‘have a nice day,’ I could just lawyer up and retire to the Caribbean.”
Again Ula chuckled. He seemed amused by Scott’s lack of patience. This pissed Scott off even more. In spite of Ula being a hero of sorts to him, Scott did not get where he was by getting tongue tied around the elite.
“You remind me so much of me. Not so much as rattled by someone who could call up Ted, your boss, and have you scrubbing commodes by the end of the day. Frankly, I would have been disappointed if you were not that kind of man.”
“So you were just trying to bump the cup and see what spills out.”
“Well that and the answers to the questions. We have to make sure your moral compass is…well… undead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes you do. As did I when I lied and said I did not understand. A live moral compass will kill you in this job. You’ll go mad. A dead moral compass eventually evokes a warrant and the police dig up the bodies in the yard and pull them out of the walls. But an undead moral compass? Now that’s living! It is amorality at its finest.”
Drake walked toward a wall which seemed to open into a wet bar at his willing it to. He pulled down two wineglasses and a dusty bottle of red. The label was black with some writing on it that was such a dark red that in the soft light of the room it was barely distinguishable. The gentleman opened the bottle with the precision of a seasoned barkeep, pouring two glasses.
“Shall we drink to your new position?”
“I wasn’t aware that one had been offered.”
Ula handed him a glass, which he knew he could not refuse and smiled. Scott attempted to smile back but felt it looked forced. This amused Ula more.
“Do you really think this was an interview? Why would I waste my time, Scott? I am only interested in perfecting my offspring. Think of it as a breeding experiment, if you will. I have come to the point in my existence where the only challenge I have left is to impart my particular talents to another. However, my pupil must have a particular set of character traits… in my humble opinion.”
He lifted his glass as if to make a toast but said nothing. Drake smiled his smug smile, waiting for Scott to join him. Scott obliged. The crystal tinged harmonically.
“What sorta traits?”
Scott took a swig of his wine and swallowed. The wine had a peculiar bouquet. There was a smell of flowers, dead flowers. The taste reminded him in some ways of the last time someone had punched him in the mouth. And yet at the same time it was as earthy as any he had ever tasted. Despite its obvious wetness, there was a sense, an odd sense, of a mouthful of dust.
“Greed, for one. It is really just another word for the right kind of hunger…”
Drake set his glass on the desk, untouched. He was eyeing Scott in a particular way now. His eyes seemed to study him. His nonverbal candor suggested he was looking for something to happen.
Scott felt weird. This was not because of the curious way the old man was looking at him now. His eyes seemed to throb in their sockets. Yet they did not exactly hurt. They simply seemed to pulsate and the pulsing had a vertigo effect to it. Now both Drake and Ula spoke to him.
“…or ambition. But unless you desire to be at the top looking down and taking what you want from below. You’ll never… are you alright, Scott?”
The sound of his voice echoed like an arena announcer’s mike with the stadium empty. There seemed to be others in the room now. Not people- that would have made the experience less disorienting. They were like oversized bats cackling from every conceivable perch. Drake’s eyes appeared as black holes that seemed to suck the very fabric of time and space into them.
“I’m… fine… really… I… am.”
Scott groped for the chair he was standing near. He almost fell. In the end, he found it and sat. That was when the room began to spin around him.
“Are you sure? Try some more wine.”
At first he tried to shrug the strange feeling off. He protested the wine idea. Then he swallowed a large gulp. It was first sweet but as it warmed the wine turned earthy… salty. When he swallowed the flavor again turned to dirt. He hated it. He loved it. He wanted no more. He held out his glass as Drake filled it once again.
Ula smiled. But Scott did not see pearly whites. He saw a darkness that seemed to swallow up the room. It frightened him, but he wanted whatever it was. He turned the glass up and drank the wine like a man desperate for water. He could feel it trickle down his cheeks and jaw line. It had a thickness to it that he had never experienced in wine before. The creatures around him seemed delighted with his delight… and desperation. What he thought to be the fabric of time and space continued to tear.
“Your almost there, Scott. Come with me.”
The old man took him by the hand like he would a consort at a Ball. Scott figured he had actually passed out for whatever reason and all of this was just his own elaborate hallucination. That is why he felt not a tinge of fear as they stepped up on the windowsill and out into the night air.
“Certain laws will soon no longer apply to you.”
They walked on the atmosphere, thirty stories up, as easily as they would a path in the park. Drake led him out to a point of no return. They could not reach out for the edge of the building. They could not hope to engage the high rise across the boulevard. Scott wondered how he had kept his balance on what he thought might be a wire. Then he remembered that he must be asleep on the floor of the office. Or better yet, he fell asleep with the slut and never made the appointment in the first place.
“I must ask your permission now to make you what I am.”
“Uh… okay… why not?”
Scott had no reason to say otherwise. It was a dream… right? Maybe Drake had never entered Toxins in the first place. Maybe he never got the card or the invite. Maybe this is what it took now for Highland to ‘get it up’ for the plastic bitches with whom he now was bored.
But it did not feel like a dream when the old man threw Scott’s head to the side and bit a chunk of flesh out of the side of his neck. The old man pulled back, ripping layers of muscular flesh away. Blood spurted up but Drake caught it in his mouth and then followed the geyser back down. The world began to spin, or was it the two of them in this dance of death?
Had Drake just bitten him like some horror movie antagonist freak? Scott had seen his share of horror movies. Lost Boys. Fright Night. Interview with a Vampire. He had read Salem’s Lot. The sum of his undead education said that the distinguished gentleman would sink his fangs into his neck and suck his blood out.
But that did not describe what had happened. Drake had spit a chunk of his neck down thirty stories to the pavement below. He heard a pair of stray dogs fight over the piece of him a moment later. Strange to hear the rabid pooches growl, bark and fight for a gourmet portion of Highland. Stranger still was that the old man was not sucking his blood, he was licking the wound like an awkward lover. All Scott could do was stiffen in fear.
The world continued to spin. His neck continued to bleed. The pain intensified. And the man he thought wanted to hire him continued to lick his life off his neck while whispering in a strange- yet erotic- language.
Finally, Ula stopped. Drake used the fistful of Scott’s locks he gripped to push the young man’s head forward. There, right in front of Scott’s face, was the old man’s forearm. The veins pulsed with life and Scott found himself craving it the way a dieter craves chocolate.
“Bite it if you want to live.”
Scott bit down like a baby who has just discovered his teeth. The old man writhed in pain then cackled with delight when Scott pulled his mouth away. He thrust the bleeding forearm against Scott’s neck wound. The young man could feel the elder’s blood quicken into his body. The tingling went down one arm and then the next; a leg, and then the other. At last he felt the life enter his skull.
“From life to death to life again. Let the immortal here MULTIPLY!”
As Drake shouted the final word Scott felt a surge through him like a bolt of lightening. Transformers on the roofs of near by buildings seemed to explode in showers of sparks. His heart seemed to beat with the world. He felt as alive as he had ever been.
Then he fell. Rather, Drake pushed him off their imaginary ledge. He could see his own blood had saturated the front of that expensive suit. He could see Drake’s blood drip from his forearm. He thought he saw drops racing with him to the ground. The ground rushed toward him. He was almost there. There was no time for his life to flash before his eyes.
Scott woke up screaming, soaked in his own sweat, in his own bed. The slut from the bar, startled by his audible fear, shot bolt up as well.
“Shit, Scott. What the hell happened to you?”
He immediately shot a hand up to where the wound should be. There was nothing there. Well, rather, his neck and all of its pieces of flesh were right where they should be. He threw himself back and giggled to himself as his head hit the pillow.
“It seems nothing happened to me, baby.”
“Well I wish you could do nothing a little fucking quieter!”
The clone threw herself back into the covers as Scott laid next to her, amused. His sheets were soaked with his own sweat but he didn’t care. That dream- that nightmare- was one hell of a ride, but none of it was real. He had hoped the part about meeting Drake was real. But even if the meeting at Toxins had been for real, it did not matter now, did it? He had pissed his chance away while dreaming the motherfucker had drank his blood and then dropped him thirty stories. One thing was certain: one of those dream book writers would shoot his wad to analyze such ‘rich’ material.
That is when he looked at his watch.
“Shit!”
Scott jumped up like he was a cork in a champagne bottle. He would have looked tantalizing in his silk boxers had he not left his dress socks on. If he had thought about it he would have wondered why his black gold toes were on his feet in the first place. He had worn khaki to the bar.
“What the hell you doin now?”
“I’m late for work.”
“That’s not what you said when you got back.”
Highland paused for a moment, surprised by both her information and her candor.
“When I got back?”
Scott had stopped to listen to his clone concubine with one pant leg half way on. He was bent over, but still managed to keep his six-pack tucked in. His tan skin looked natural enough to be all sun, in spite of the fact that it was anything but.
“Yeah… don’t you remember? Hell, you were giddy as a schoolgirl. Woke me up for a celebratory fuck. Then called your current boss, which I guess is your former boss, and told him he had shit for brains. It was dawn by the time we crashed again, so I pulled the curtains.”
Scott finally took notice of the thin fiery lines of light at the edges of the thick dark fabric that covered his windows. He pulled back the curtain and cringed at the noon day brightness. Of course this was to be expected. The room had been dark. He had flooded the room with the brightest of daylight. His irises had not the time to adjust.
But at that moment he felt the sun in a new way. The solar energy felt oppressive, like a tanning bed with defective bulbs. Scott felt as if he would burn under the glare of Sol. He cursed the star in his head and pulled back the curtains.
“God, you’re acting strange.”
“Did I say when I needed to depart for my new position?”
Scott did not care what the cloned slut thought of him. He had a new agenda to attend to. Apparently the nightmare was real. Apparently he had accepted a new position, but not without pissing on his old one. And judging by the unusual sensitivity to bright light, apparently he had been bitten by a vampire.
“Why ask me?”
Scott’s anger rose like molten lava. He was the one asking the questions here.
“BECAUSE I CANNOT SO MUCH AS REMEMBER FUCKING MY OWN SLUT IN MY OWN BED!”
Since Scott usually kept his real bang on who he was banging to himself, he was shocked to hear the thoughts escape his mouth. His tongue had betrayed him- or was it his mind? The whole thing mattered so little. He was tired of Toxins T & A. Still, there was no reason to burn that bridge. Even if the high was cheap, it still was a high.
“Oh… sorry. I’m not mad at you. But it’s unnerving to not remember. Must have been something I drank.”
Tears ran down her face. She got out of the bed and began picking up her scattered clothing and putting it on. She was muttering, saying things about him under her breath. He tried to console her with one leg still in the suit pants he had intended to wear. Even an Italian Import looked ridiculous tugged behind him. She would not accept his phony compassion.
“Or something you fucked! You need to get it straight, Scott! I’m not your slut. I’m not your bitch. And I sure as hell ain’t your messenger girl. But for the record, you said something about working the night shift just before you gave me the worse goddamn fuck of my life. Hell, a fourteen-year-old zit faced virgin could have done better in the thirty seconds it would take him to cum! And that’s how you will always be remembered. Not just by me. I SWEAR IT! NOT JUST BY ME!”
She walked out. Scott was alone. Scott was tired. Scott was to worked up to sleep. And he had no idea what to do in the daytime when daylight hurt like hell.
And never before had he more desperately wanted to inflict serious damage on a dame. He’d show her! He could force himself upon her while she cried and begged for mercy. And then he’d rip into her neck and drink the very life from her while he-
Was he thinking this? Was this the rational thoughts he was used to having? He had tasted his own blood and never thought anything short of trying not to vomit. But here he was fantasizing about her naked body dripping with her life. Thick drops of plasma hung onto her for only a moment before plunging to the tile. And he licked it off of her and the tile with glee. Somehow the horror on her face increased his pleasure.
Back in the real he ran to the bathroom and puked. Scott puked blood. The volumes, the buckets, seemed impossible, as if purchased in an amount consistent with a warehouse club. He missed the toilet and splattered the walls. The liquid life projected out of his mouth and dripped off the latex paint. He could not stop. The paint kept the blood from saturating the drywall so the blood just oozed down where he was not currently soaking the perimeter.
His eyes filled with tears. He could not stop. Was it his blood? Was he dying? Scott was afraid, so very afraid. And yet he was not. His soul seemed to have split. Yet it was whole. Part of him was pushing for a heart attack. The other part was cackling with glee. Fade to black.
He woke to a stranger kicking his ass. Not in the traditional sense, of course, but a man dressed in black was attempting to rouse him by not so gently booting his booty. Scott’s eyes had yet to focus but he could see the stranger was wearing shades though the light in the bathroom was minimal at best. The man was stout, but looked like he could take Scott in a fight. Of course, Scott would just sue his ass off if it came to a throw down.
“Times a wastin’ boss. We gotta git ya ready.”
Scott looked around the bathroom glad to see a genuine lack of red. Although he quickly realized that fully congealed, blood could look as black as his bathroom tile. However, the grout was still the eggshell white his cleaning lady slaved to get. Nightmares seemed to go with the Drake territory.
“Who are you?”
He sat up with a little help from a total stranger who had somehow gained access to his very exclusive penthouse. With all the money he spent on his security system, Houdini should be unable to force entry.
“I’m part uh duh benefits package.” When the stranger saw the look in Scott’s eyes he added, “not dat part. I’m a security upgrade. But if ya needs ta hit from da first base side… let’s jest say dat makin connectoons goes wit da job.”
As the man in black lifted Scott from where he sat, Scott said, “and you are?”
“Oh, yeahs! I ahmost fergit. I’m Jimmy, Jimmy Vido. I’m whatcha call uh Cover, cuz I make shur all yeahs bases is covered.”
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Loved it! The characters are great and very descriptive and I love the dialogue between him and Drake. Would like to see what you will do with this and whether it goes from strength to strength. Good use of language also brings the characters alive. Well done!
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You are square-on with the writing style you chose to emulate. However, at the beginning, all of the heavy descriptors and lengthy sentences slowed down the flow. Think about toning some, not all, of it down a tad so that the reader can understand and enjoy the feel of the story without wondering how many more ways the narrator can describe the same type of women in the club.
The rest, especially once conversation was introduced, was as readable as any good horror story out there. Good work bringing Scott to life.
There were a few typos that need to be fixed but nothing remarkable. I can’t wait to read more of Jimmy Vido, I love characters like him.
This is a job well done. Very dark and twisted. My kind of story.
Wow. I honestly cannot think of anything to add. I was hooked from the very first word. I didn’t notice any gramar, or spelling. The spacing the dialouge was wonderful. Great job!
I really enjoyed reading about how a womanizer would think. Your character is very very believable. Although, i kind of got the feeling that maybe your character isn’t as big of a lady’s man as he believes.
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