KillamriX08
Voting and Disccussion Thread
Voting Deadline is 31st August
This time we've got 11 entries to choose from, 11 great entries with a great selection of lies on display. If you've forgotten already, the voting criteria is whichever entry you consider to have the best lie regardless of overall quality. Doesn't matter if the story's good, if the lie is basically just 'I didn't steal the cookies from the cookie jar, Jesus came down from the heavens and said they were mine' then too bad, it can't have the vote >:D
1. If you didn't specify 'anonymous,' I won't have it anonymous. PM me if that needs to be changed.
2. We've broken out the poetry entries with a line break. That's mainly to help out the critique writers, who sometimes express difficulty jumping from prose to poetry.
3. We're probably still having additional entries for if you were slightly late or decided to write something after all, but they won't really be eligible for prizes.
4. We're combining the conversation and vote threads, which will make it super-hard to track down and count up all the votes -- unless we're smart about it. So! To cast your vote, use the 'Ping' tool:
I @vote for entry 11, 'RPG is the real star!'
This will ping our vote-count account, and we'll be able to tally it up quickly. We're also gonna search the thread, to make sure we don't miss any -- but if you see someone who tries to vote, and maybe doesn't get the ping working, feel free to quote them and ping @vote yourself. As long as we can see it and read it, we'll count it. Exact wording or phrasing doesn't matter -- just make it clear what you're voting for.
Prose
The 100% Honest Truth
@Impaqt
Christmas was approaching fast. We, as always, had minimal practice and everything was a squeeze to get finished. The stage was set. The actors were running through lines and the now familiar songs celebrating the birth of our savior very present in our minds. Everyone was focused. At least, I was for a little bit.
He sat quietly, a smug expression on his face. He didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be here. There was nothing either of us could do about that though. At least all he had to do was sit back and watch. I had to take part in this thing.
You see, I never understood what made you love a man like that. You don't realize it, but I see you cry at night. I cry with you. Every time he stomped on your heart just to let you know what a piece of trash you were without him. Every knock of your face to see if a brain would answer. You seep so far into the ground, I wonder if I'm capable of pulling you up. You cry, "Jesus! Jesus!" I cry, "Don't you love me too?"
A pile of stage makeup landed in front of me, along with a very odorous scorched version of the outfit I was wearing now. Yea, I get to blow up in my performance. I wanted to just blow up for real though. Our director gave me a wild look. She always got excited about these sort of things. "Alright. We'll need someone back stage to help you apply all your makeup." She turned to the small crowd of people behind her, looking for volunteers.
He ran his hands down his jeans in an almost nervous fashion, but his smug look never faded. "Why not.", he shrugged, standing reluctantly. I couldn't tell if he actually wanted to do it, or he was just doing it because although he escaped having to play a part on stage, he knew his mother wasn't going to let him get away without a scratch. His stance was of defeat as our director turned back towards me. Were my eyes deceiving me, or did I detect a smile?
It's not just you though. I surround myself with those who would bring me down. The voices and words of people whom I share love, are the ones who refuse to understand more than most. That guy at work who spits words with no regards, that burns my heart with sorrow. I just ignore them, cause telling them my truths would hurt so much more. Telling them the truth would make me lose more than gain. Is it worth it though, that I cry because I can't stand up to this man of indecent truths. I can't risk exposure, even though it hurts so much.
"Ok, stand still." He spoke to me. I've seen him time and time again, but I never could muster up what it took to speak. I did as he said, my eyes staring back into his, filled with a cold blue wave. His fingers ran across my face. I never felt more vulnerable, or scared, or joy. I smiled. If I could kiss him, I would. I can't though. He's applying makeup, of course.
The words are stuck in my throat, jammed between guilt and denial. I can't tell the truth, because maybe the truth is a lie. These are the thoughts in my mind, clouded by hell fire. You've always been a person I could trust, but your words, they also sting with cold certainty. How could I admit it to you, or them, or him? When I can't even say the words to the one that fights it the most, myself.
I keep fighting it. Fight it back. Knock it away. It keeps coming back, and I fear it's going to stay. There are no words I can say that will make it better, and only lies that can take it away.
Momma, I'm Gay.
I keep fighting it. Fight it back. Knock it away. It keeps coming back, and I fear it's going to stay. There are no words I can say that will make it better, and only lies that can take it away.
Momma, I'm Gay.
You think you're all alone, but I recognize the pain in your eyes. Your soft glow is dimmed by a darkness inside. How can you tell your mom, something you don't even believe? I want to stand with you. I want to shout it out, but the only truths I can reveal to you, only come out in brief scenes. Jokes, laughter, In my eyes, and the pain I cause. I love you. The words are tightened down in my gut. I'm no magician, I just can't make it hop.
What hurts the most, is that you already knew. Yet, because of Jesus, your denial became truth. I open those doors, and you slam them shut. Because I walk through the church now, doesn't mean that chapter is done. I don't expect you to understand. I don't even, myself. Momma, all I wanted, is what I've always sought. Nothing else. Just Love.
Your fingers run across mine, and I know it's suppose to be a joke. But something in my heart doesn't want to let go. We linger, and we stroke. Our hands feel like they could become one. Time stands still and neither of us say a word. For once, we can ignore all the flags going off. The Alarms that Ring. The sirens going off. They turn their heads, and our straight instincts kick in. Our fingers pull apart in shame. No one seen that, did they? Obviously, we're straight. To be gay, is to be a shame.
I seen the way you looked at my sister. She was something else, something disgusting. She held on for so long, and then when she couldn't take it any more, she let go. She wanted to make you happy. I do too. You look at her pictures of her and her boyfriend. "Oh how cute, I wonder when they'll be expecting."
I wonder if you're blind or if you just decided to ignore it, but I can't look into her eyes, because the pain for me is evident. My hero, succumb to defeat.
I wonder if you're blind or if you just decided to ignore it, but I can't look into her eyes, because the pain for me is evident. My hero, succumb to defeat.
There is my truth. We who love one another, and who simply can't be. You say it's not real. Even if that may be, The pain is unimaginable; I wish you could see. I'll never be happy cause it would hurt me too much. Mother, your happiness means way too much. However, I'll never understand what's so evil about my love, when your's is not.
I don't hate you, I could never do that. But I can hate me. That's actually pretty easy, you see. I write this in raw form, to capture the truth. You see, the strongest, most powerful, and hurtful lies, are the ones I tell myself.
@Tyler
The brief second it took for the wheel of the scale to whizz around and settle on a number often seemed like an eternity to her. The digits seemed to leap from the panel and swirl around her, the room itself spinning as her panic and dread spiralled out of control. And then it stopped. She chewed her nail.
Her reflection stood in the mirror, glaring back at her trembling nude form; large, grotesque and fat. She traced her fingers over her scarred legs. They were hard to the touch, rustling like sandpaper as her rough fingertips slid along the dry skin of her legs and upwards to her navel. She looked in the unforgiving mirror again, pulling at the skin of her stomach and watching as the soft rolls of fat gathered in her grip. A single tear, wet and shimmering, rolled down the deep crevice of her cheekbone and dripped onto the scale. She hesitated for a moment, then allowed her gaze to follow.
94lbs
The number stared back at her, cruel and cold. It knew how much it was hurting her but it did not care. She looked back at the mirror, which mocked her further. She was no longer a woman; she was an overfed boar. Her sizeable gut hung horridly past her knees. Her face drooped so severely that her chin doubled and tripled as it cascaded down her fat neck. Her nose turned up into a hoggish snout and a curled tail sprung from between her huge cheeks. She dropped to her knees, the scales shattering under her immense weight as she screamed in despair; all that she heard was the shrill squeal of a pig. Darkness.
She awoke slowly, her vision coming into focus cinematically. She was lying on her back, the harsh white light of the small bathroom flooding her sight. She winced and rubbed her eyes as she sat up on the cold tiled floor. The scale was still intact, upturned in the corner of the room. She dare not turn it over for fear of that ugly number somehow still lingering on the dial.
She pulled a pair of jeans from by the door, a pile of clothes tossed there earlier as she undressed, and peered into the waistline. Size 2. She scowled at the lie of it all and cursed high street retailers for their sympathy. She didn't need their pity. She needed to be thin again. She reluctantly pulled the denim up her legs. As she stood up, she pulled the waistline up with her free hand to stop the baggy jeans from falling off her frame. Glancing in the mirror, she filled with disgust as she watched her stomach pouring over the waistline like a muffin in the oven. She squeezed into the rest of her clothes.
"I hope you're hungry, honey," her boyfriend said as she entered the kitchen. He was stood at the oven, mixing a pot of pasta in a thick, creamy sauce. "Because this is going to be delicious!" It definitely smelled delicious. Her stomach growled.
"Not really, to be honest." she replied, her voice distant as she looked aimlessly out of the window at the grey city. Her boyfriend frowned.
"But you didn't eat lunch," he reasoned. "Or breakfast. You must be hungry!" he laughed, though it was tinged with notes of telling worry and frustration. She simply shook her head, pulling her huge cardigan around her for warmth. It drowned her and was more like a blanket. "Babe," he insisted. "You can't go all day without eating anything... Not again..." he said, paying little attention to his cooking as it began to bubble and spit sauce all over the counter. He was desperate. She was silent.
"I-Is everything OK?" he asked, timidly. It was not something they often addressed but it often felt like the elephant in the room. She often felt like the elephant in the room. "I can, you know... Call your dad."
"Don't call my dad." she snapped, still not looking him in the eyes.
"I think it would help..." he said, not letting up. "It helped last time, for a bit... And it's not like he can't afford it." He was almost begging at this point.
"If you loved me, you wouldn't call him. I'm fine. There's no need." she said, trying to sound stable, but betrayed by the tremble of panic in her voice. Her boyfriend sighed in defeat, glancing at the overcooked pasta and turning off the oven dejectedly.
"Fine, I won't call him. But you're sure you're OK?" he asked. There was an uncomfortable pause, before she turned and faced him, smiling ear-to-ear.
"I'm fine", she said, still wearing her false grin. The way her cheekbones protruded under her skin and her eyes sunk into her skull made her look skeletal. Her boyfriend's face dropped as he turned and pretended to clear up the counter. Sliding his phone from his pocket, he scrolled through his contacts and landed on a man's name.
"She's getting bad again", he typed inconspicuously. "Can you help?". He sent the message, then stashed his phone as he turned back to face his partner. They smiled together, and he hugged her tightly. He kissed her forehead and cried silently as she obliviously nestled into his chest.
The brief second it took for the wheel of the scale to whizz around and settle on a number often seemed like an eternity to her. The digits seemed to leap from the panel and swirl around her, the room itself spinning as her panic and dread spiralled out of control. And then it stopped. She chewed her nail.
Her reflection stood in the mirror, glaring back at her trembling nude form; large, grotesque and fat. She traced her fingers over her scarred legs. They were hard to the touch, rustling like sandpaper as her rough fingertips slid along the dry skin of her legs and upwards to her navel. She looked in the unforgiving mirror again, pulling at the skin of her stomach and watching as the soft rolls of fat gathered in her grip. A single tear, wet and shimmering, rolled down the deep crevice of her cheekbone and dripped onto the scale. She hesitated for a moment, then allowed her gaze to follow.
94lbs
The number stared back at her, cruel and cold. It knew how much it was hurting her but it did not care. She looked back at the mirror, which mocked her further. She was no longer a woman; she was an overfed boar. Her sizeable gut hung horridly past her knees. Her face drooped so severely that her chin doubled and tripled as it cascaded down her fat neck. Her nose turned up into a hoggish snout and a curled tail sprung from between her huge cheeks. She dropped to her knees, the scales shattering under her immense weight as she screamed in despair; all that she heard was the shrill squeal of a pig. Darkness.
She awoke slowly, her vision coming into focus cinematically. She was lying on her back, the harsh white light of the small bathroom flooding her sight. She winced and rubbed her eyes as she sat up on the cold tiled floor. The scale was still intact, upturned in the corner of the room. She dare not turn it over for fear of that ugly number somehow still lingering on the dial.
She pulled a pair of jeans from by the door, a pile of clothes tossed there earlier as she undressed, and peered into the waistline. Size 2. She scowled at the lie of it all and cursed high street retailers for their sympathy. She didn't need their pity. She needed to be thin again. She reluctantly pulled the denim up her legs. As she stood up, she pulled the waistline up with her free hand to stop the baggy jeans from falling off her frame. Glancing in the mirror, she filled with disgust as she watched her stomach pouring over the waistline like a muffin in the oven. She squeezed into the rest of her clothes.
"I hope you're hungry, honey," her boyfriend said as she entered the kitchen. He was stood at the oven, mixing a pot of pasta in a thick, creamy sauce. "Because this is going to be delicious!" It definitely smelled delicious. Her stomach growled.
"Not really, to be honest." she replied, her voice distant as she looked aimlessly out of the window at the grey city. Her boyfriend frowned.
"But you didn't eat lunch," he reasoned. "Or breakfast. You must be hungry!" he laughed, though it was tinged with notes of telling worry and frustration. She simply shook her head, pulling her huge cardigan around her for warmth. It drowned her and was more like a blanket. "Babe," he insisted. "You can't go all day without eating anything... Not again..." he said, paying little attention to his cooking as it began to bubble and spit sauce all over the counter. He was desperate. She was silent.
"I-Is everything OK?" he asked, timidly. It was not something they often addressed but it often felt like the elephant in the room. She often felt like the elephant in the room. "I can, you know... Call your dad."
"Don't call my dad." she snapped, still not looking him in the eyes.
"I think it would help..." he said, not letting up. "It helped last time, for a bit... And it's not like he can't afford it." He was almost begging at this point.
"If you loved me, you wouldn't call him. I'm fine. There's no need." she said, trying to sound stable, but betrayed by the tremble of panic in her voice. Her boyfriend sighed in defeat, glancing at the overcooked pasta and turning off the oven dejectedly.
"Fine, I won't call him. But you're sure you're OK?" he asked. There was an uncomfortable pause, before she turned and faced him, smiling ear-to-ear.
"I'm fine", she said, still wearing her false grin. The way her cheekbones protruded under her skin and her eyes sunk into her skull made her look skeletal. Her boyfriend's face dropped as he turned and pretended to clear up the counter. Sliding his phone from his pocket, he scrolled through his contacts and landed on a man's name.
"She's getting bad again", he typed inconspicuously. "Can you help?". He sent the message, then stashed his phone as he turned back to face his partner. They smiled together, and he hugged her tightly. He kissed her forehead and cried silently as she obliviously nestled into his chest.
@Byrd Man
Door pounding woke Sam up. The hangover pounding his temples was even worse. He reached across the bed to find a bottle that wasn't empty. No dice. He stumbled through empty bottles and crushed cans towards the front door. He still wore last night's clothes: an unknotted tie and rumpled shirt with pants that had just a hint of puke on them.
"Samuel Bennett?"
Two men at the door. Meatheads in black Armani suits and Ray-Bans. Très goon chic. Sam cut odds he could take them. Sucker's bet. Instead, he nodded and lit up a smoke.
"The same Samuel Bennett of Samuel Bennett Investigations?"
Sam blew smoke rings. "The one and the same."
"We need you to come with us, Mr. Bennett."
Sam cleaned his nails and yawned. "Why is it these things always start with two dickheads in suits wanting me to come with them?"
One of them meatheads cracked his knuckles. The other popped his neck. Flexing and posturing were punk moves. Sam knew the way to scare a man wasn't by cracking your knuckles. It was by cracking his bones. He laughed and shook his head.
"If you two gorillas can get me a stiff drink then I'll go wherever you want me to go."
--
Sam sipped Thunderbird out of a paper bag covered bottle. The T-Bird was cut-rate, but there was enough booze to stop the headache. He sat in a study filled with books. Sam thought of a book he read in school once, it had a rich guy and a big study filled with books that were never read. He stared hard at a liquor cabinet in one corner. The sight made his mouth water. Scotch, high-grade grain alcohol. The real deal. It put his T-Bird to shame.
"Mr. Bennett."
An old man shuffled in. Stooped shoulders and wrinkled skin and blue veins and white hair. Thick glasses made his eyes look huge. He wheezed and collapsed onto a chair beside Sam.
"James Doheny, at your service."
The name clicked. Doheny Oil. One of the titans of industry in the city. Nix on that, a former titan of industry. Somebody bought the old company out years ago.
"What's so urgent that you need to get me up at the crack of dawn--"
"--It's three in the afternoon, sir--"
"--And force me here to talk?"
Doheny wheezed. His face was coronary red. Sam felt heat from his body. He radiated bad health.
"You're a hard man to get in touch with, Mr. Bennett. I've been calling your number for the past three days."
Sam swigged the T-Bird and shrugged. "I've got problems with bill collectors. I don't want them to know I'm home."
"You're speaking of the ruthless looking Russians my men saw stop by your apartment building repeatedly over the past two days?"
"The people I owe money to have... aggressive debt collection tactics."
"Indeed," the old man wheezed. "Which is why you should be eager for employment opportunities."
Sam chugged the rest of the T-Bird and wiped booze from his mouth. The cut-rate warmed his chest and worked its way upward until he got that familiar fuzziness back into his brain. The buzzed state of existence he called life for the past twelve years.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Doheny, that the two pet gorillas that brought me here can't?"
"You have a reputation for finding the dark places in this city not many others can. I'm afraid my two bodyguards are only adept at making people hurt. I need someone of your affections."
"Affectations" equaled stumblebum drunk that fits in better than meatheads in designer threads.
"What's the job?"
The old man pushed his glasses up his nose with shaky hands and wheezed.
"My granddaughter. She's... she's my daughter, you might say. I raised her from a pup and now she... betrayed me. She's out there, messing with a boy she shouldn't be. She's been constantly sneaking out of the house over the months, but it's been nearly three days since I last saw her. The longest she's ever been gone. She's over the age where I can issue an amber alert, and the cops they tell me they can't intervene because she wasn't kidnaped."
The old man shook in something that seemed half sob and wheeze.
"I have all this money, but nothing I can do with it. Back in the day, I could snap my fingers and the mayor himself would be here to wipe my ass. The friends and connections I once had... and now..."
Sam inferred: "All I can rate these days is a single smokehound former cop who makes for a shit PI."
Sam felt kinship with the geezer. Doheny was a used up, wrinkled husk that was soon to board the night train to the big adios. He looked on the outside like Slam felt on the inside. Sam cut odds he would live as long as Doheny. He gave up and set odds he could make it to fifty. Both slanted as too high odds. Instead, he tucked the empty bottle of T-Bird into his jacket and pulled out the pen and pad he kept on him.
"Tell me everything about your granddaughter that may help me find her."
--
Sam sat in his heap and cruised a booze brainwave. Hell loomed outside. Skid Row: The bottom of the barrel in this city. Considering this city, that was saying a whole hell of a lot. This was his beat back during his days in patrol. It was hard work, lots of scraping and fighting. One time he knocked a rape-o shitbird's teeth out with a nightstick when he tried to fight back. It was good work. He went home at the end of his shift feeling like he actually accomplished something. But that was a lifetime ago. Budget cuts and targeted policing meant no cop cars prowled consistently. They were too busy protecting the fine, upstanding citizens of the city who actually paid taxes.
Here homeless families squatted side by side with homeless drunks. Meth head hookers walked the streets with scabbed faces and reeking of desperation. Sam saw hookers with the Bug prowling for work, not giving a fuck if they killed the men they screwed. Sam saw junkies shooting up on the steps of a Catholic church. Sam saw a little girl way too skinny to even be malnourished. She had to have the Bug. His jaw got tight and he gulped his gin. He watched the lowest of the low sauntering around like they owned the place. Maybe they did. Maybe it was better to rule in hell here than to serve in the Burbs. Some social welfare people and nuns came by, tossing out clean needles and rubbers. Everyone whooped. A drunk slapped a volunteer's ass and asked if they had a pint of Ripple they could give them. Beleaguered nuns did the sign of the cross. Winos did the watusi. Smokehounds did the shimmy shake. Junkies did Irish jigs. Sam figured two years. At least two years until Sam was right there on Skid row cutting a rug with the junkies and doing the chorus line shtick with the hookers and drunks, five at the most.
He finished off the flask of hooch and got out the heap. He was fresh meat to them. Panhandlers panhandled, junkies made vague threats for money, hookers pawed and promised carnal delights of the sort he'd never had. He stopped in the street and lit up a smoke. He cocked a finger towards an alley and got wide-eyed
"Oh, shit! It's the cops! Everybody run!"
The roaches scattered in the light of righteous justice and beaucoup beatdowns. Sam laughed and walked unmolested towards a dilapidated building. A dirty, sagging sign above the door said The Ferguson Arms. The hotel was the last known address of Bianca Doheny, twenty-six, heiress to the Doheny Oil Fortune. Fortune should come with air quotes, thought Sam. The old man's house was just as rundown as this flophouse. Sam had two G's in his jacket pocket for the job. Good enough for him, but chickenshit pay for one of the big PI agencies in town. In Sam's world two grand may as well have been two mil. Gramps said he thought Bianca had a shack job with a guy. A tall kid with sandy blonde hair was with her the last time she breezed through the house.
He flashed his PI license at the clerk fast enough that he made him think it was an actual badge. The fat man looked up from his stroke book (XXX Girls of the Midwest 69) and squinted through thick, crust stained eyeglasses at Sam. He showed a photo of the girl. The pic was from a few years back when she graduated at SCU. Doheny said it was current enough.
"Seen her?"
He slid the clerk a C-note to get the wheels greasing. He squinted harder at the pic before nodding.
"I think that's her. Jesus, that's what she used to look like? She's checked into 2C. Long-term tenant. Haven't seen her in a few days.
"Seen her with a guy? A big, tall guy with sandy blonde hair."
"I seen guys. Lots of 'em, mister," he snickered. "Day and night they come in and out for her. I might be one of those lucky few thanks to you. Tell you what, you give me another Ben Franklin and I give you the key to her room."
Sam resisted the urge to turn his face into bloody pulp. He blew smoke before he shelled out fifty bucks and passed it across the counter.
"Ben's out for the day, but maybe you can do business with the Jackson Twins and Alexander Hamilton?"
He glommed the cash and produced a key. Sam palmed it and headed up rickety stairs. He padded down carpets stained with blood, puke, and cum. Old Man Doheny said she got a solid three grand allowance from her trust fund. Why the flop when she at least had enough money to clock a HoJo's?
2C was a dump like the rest of the hotel, like the rest of the whole goddamn neighborhood. Dirty sheets, old pizza boxes, a makeup bag with garish eyeshadows and bright lipsticks, a medicine bag with junkie works, unopened rubbers and used ones, sex toys, a mirror with traces of coke lines. Sam suddenly knew why she sprung for the cheap and rundown no-tell motel. He found something scribbled on a pizza box. VIKKI - PLASIADES DELIGHT, and then a phone number. He wrote it down in a notebook and rummaged through the filth.
The only thing Sam couldn't find was definitive proof of a guy shacked up with her. The geezer said she bolted with a boy. The clerk said she had lots of men coming in and out. Bianca was hooking? Why? Had her drug habit gotten bad enough that three grand a month couldn't support it? Or was it just part of the aesthetic of the neighborhood? A rich girl slumming and playing street walker. Buy a room in a flop, sell your body, and shoot up morning til night. Très Slum Chic. All the bored rich kids were doing it.
Sam pulled the photo of her out of his jacket. Young, big smile and lots of pretty white teeth. Dark hair and a cute little nose. Full of promise with just a glint in one of those eyes Sam knew all too well was hope.
The Clerk: Jesus, that's what she used to look like?
If she'd changed at all, Sam knew that glint in her eyes was long gone. Somewhere between college and the Ferguson Arms it had been snuffed out and ground to powder in that cruel and ignoble way only life is capable of. His cell phone buzzed. He didn't recognize the number but answered it anyway.
"Mr. Bennett, it' s James Doheny. A note just arrived at the house. It seems to be a ransom note. I need you here as soon as possible, sir."
--
Sam swung by his pad on the way to Doheny's. He sat in a chair, slugged gin straight from the bottle, and worked angles.
FEATURE: Bianca rejects her grandad and does blow, Bianca shoots horse, Bianca turns tricks on the streets. Bianca has a trust-fund. Sam inferred: The hooking is pure thrill seeking. A middle finger in the face of the old man. Now the plot thickened an hour ago when a ransom note showed up at the Doheny house.
He got his .38 snub out of a locked drawer. If the kidnapping was on the level, things might get rough and he'd need the piece. Sam slipped it into a shoulder rig and slipped the rig on under his coat. He pocketed the gin after a few more slugs from the bottle. The hooch hit his throat and sent buzzes through his brain. Booze clicks clicked his brain into working order. Something gnawed at him. The gin amplified the gnawing. Bianca Doheny's mom, the old man's daughter, was out of the picture. Sam asked the old man for the dope.
Doheny: "She ran away some years ago and never came back."
The answer didn't jake with Sam. His response was too quick and dismissive. He pressed for more details and got the short shrift. Doheny said, "Do your job and find this one." He left it at that but didn't have to like it. A few more plugs of hooch to work up the nerve before he flopped on the couch and called up the number he wanted.
"City Desk, Agee."
Arthur Agee, city news editor for the Gazette. A lifetime ago, Agee was on the cop beat hungry for copy and Sam was a young Homicide detective looking for press. A match made in heaven that came to an abrupt end when Sam got the boot from the PD.
"Artie, it's Sam Bennett."
"Sam?! Boychick, long time no speak. How the hell are ya?"
Artie was all mick but still liked talking like a Jew. He could spit Yiddish like the old country Jews in Baston Beach.
"I'm fine, Artie. Making ends meet."
"I heard you were a private dick now. Meet any sexy femme fatales yet?"
Sam thought about the crack whore from last week. She had only three teeth and could trip on her tits if she walked too fast.
"Oh, yeah. The sexiest."
"You'll have to tell me about it."
Sam tipped the bottle back again. Somehow it had gone from full to half empty faster than he thought it was supposed to.
"I will," he said. "But for now I need some help on a job."
"Gimme the spiel, Sammy. What do you need?"
"James Doheny, you know him?"
"Yeah, rich oil guy back when this city still had oil. Owns all those rusty oil derricks south of town. That's why they still call that part of town Crude City."
"Could you comb through your paper's archives and see what you can dig up on him and his family, especially his daughter."
"Interesting. Anything you can tell me about this job?"
"Just that if it ends up being story-worthy you'll be the first one I call."
"Promises, promises, Sammy. I'll hold you to that. What number can I reach you at?"
"I'm on my cell, let me give you the number."
Sam gave Artie his phone number and hung up. He sucked the gin until a quarter of it was left in the bottle. Properly buzzed, he headed out to James Doheny's house.
--
Sam walked into the big house. The two heavies from before stood in the hallway, all big muscles and hard stares. They eyeballed him with attitude. He winked and made kissy faces. They full on fumed. He passed on by and went into the study. Doheny sat in a chair facing the door. His pasty was face coronary red edging on purple. The old man shook a piece of paper at Sam and flew spittle as he talked.
"Where the hell have you been?!"
"I had to pick up some things from my apartment."
"You goddamn drunk goldbrick, you better not be conning me."
Sam cut his eyes. "You keep talking like that I'm apt to leave and let you deal with this on your own."
Doheny scowled and tossed Sam the paper. A ransom note straight out of a movie. Cut out letters pasted to form sentences:
We HavE the giRL. 4 MILLion doLLars 2 see hER ALIVE again oUr pHone CAll wITh instRucTIons will BE sOOn
NO COPS!
Sam passed it back before lighting up a smoke. Doheny scowled again and waved smoke from his face. He took the hint. He stubbed the cigarette out and asked Doheny questions.
"How did it arrive?"
"One of my men found it at the front door. The doorbell rang and he did not see anyone nearby when he answered it. He brought it in and I called you after I read it."
"That was an hour ago?"
"Yes."
Sam reread the message and brooded. A real cop would dust the message for prints. A hunch gnawed at him worse than the mom angle. The hunch: Bianca Doheny's fingerprints would be all over that ransom note. A scent was coming from this whole job. It was the whiff of bullshit.
"Mr. Doheny, sir."
One of the gorillas sauntered in with a cordless telephone.
"I think it's them."
Doheny snapped for the phone. Sam skittered out the room and down the hall. A second phone sat on the wall. He slowly picked it up and listened in.
Dohney: "Hello? This is James Doheny, who am I speaking to."
THEM: "Peter. Peter Cottontail. Hopping down the bunny trail--"
The voice sounded hard. Too hard, thought Sam. Like the note, it was a Hollywood production of what a kidnapper would sound like. Peter Cottontail put on his best Jimmy Cagney and fronted for the old man. Someone watched too many movies. They thought fiction was real-life.
"Do you have my granddaughter?"
"Sure do, old man. It's up to you if you ever see her alive again. You got our note, can you swing the ransom money?"
"It will be a chore, but I can do that."
"Good. We'll do the handoff tomorrow night at nine. The place is gonna be the north shore, near the ferris wheel. Got it?"
"I'll be there if you can give me proof of life."
"Hold on a sec..."
"Poppa?!"
Bianca Doheny's voice sounded more like out of breath than genuinely scared to Slam. The old man ate it up. The old man gasped. He went on the verge of weeping.
"Bibi, baby! Don't worry. Everything is going--"
"Tomorrow night at nine, geezer. Remember no coppers. We get a hint of flatfoots and we'll kill her."
The line went dead. Doheny hung up. Sam read the caller ID. BLOCKED. No surprise there. He went back into the study. Doheny wheezed loudly. He was teared up and gasping for breath.
"Can you get the money by tomorrow night?" Sam asked.
"I can-- I can have it by tonight if necessary."
"Get it ready for the time stipulated. I'm going to spend tonight chasing leads and I'll be back first thing in the morning."
Doheny protested, but Sam was out the door before the old man or his goons could get a paw on him.
He drove six blocks straight before stopping in a parking lot and pulling his phone out. He lit up a cig and inhaled it deeply. He blew smoke and plotted steps. Sam pulled a battered notepad from his jacket and flipped through the pages of personal information and access codes. Jake Holstead? No. he was too high profile to use. Baxter Miller? No. Miller would have changed his passcode by now, the paranoid bastard. Nevermind that Sam was about to justify his paranoia. Cris Aiken? No. He was probably a captain by now with a different badge. Jackie Fields? Yes. A hump who kept his passcode his kids' birthday, no way he'd change jobs or codes. Sam flicked his cigarette butt out the window and dialed City Tel.
"City Telecommunications Police Line, how may I help you?"
"I need to get the number and location of a phone line that just placed an incoming call in the Dutch Hill neighborhood. I also need a location on an unlisted phone line."
"Yessir. I need your name, rank, badge number, and police access code."
"Sure," Sam said, flipping to Jackie Fields' page.
"John Fields, detective second class, badge number 01257, and my access code is 840221505."
Key strokes. A few seconds silence and then, "... Okay, Detective Fields. What was the first number?"
Sam rattled off Doheny's phone number. A few quick keystrokes later and the operator had the phone traced to a downtown payphone. She gave Sam the address and he scribbled it down.
"And that second number, Detective?"
Sam filled through pages until he found it. The information he glommed from Bianca's flop. Vikki - Palisades Delight. Beneath it the phone number. He gave her the phone number and waited a few seconds. Another downtown address. The address just two blocks away from the pay phone. Sam thanked her and hung up. He killed the bottle of gin and looked at the note. Palisades Delight. The name sounded like an escort service. Vikki had to be a madam. The skin trade. When it came to whores and porn, there was only one man he knew who would be in the know.
The Mighty Thor.
--
He had blond hair and clear blue eyes. Heavyset. That line that blurred between normal and fat. The extra weight threw off the resemblance, but otherwise he was a dead ringer for the guy who played Thor. To hear him tell it the extra weight came from having to carry around that thing between his legs. He called it Mjölnir, and he said only the worthy could handle it. He ran a gigolo service out of the eastside. Old ladies, fat ladies, lonely ladies, the occasional man, all kinds of freaks flocked to him. Who wouldn't pay a grand an hour to be reamed, steamed, and dry cleaned by the one and only Mighty Thor?
"I know Palisades Delight."
Sam watched him from across the diner table. Thor was a good informant, the few ones he had left from his cop days. The only problem was he charged Sam for information like he was a john. Sam supposed he was, just in a very different way than the usual clientele.
"Call-girls, high-end stuff. I'm talking a few grand per hour. I've worked with them before on... things."
"What things?"
Thor got cagey and looked at his tuna melt. Sam scowled and forked over a C-note.
"Extortion," he said without making eye contact. Whores never made eye contact when they did their work. "The rooms they use are set up with cameras. They blackmail businessmen and anyone else they can afford to squeeze. I was in on a few of the squeezes, lot of right-wing congressmen and councilmen who are in the closet. Let's see how much those bible thumping fucks will support them when they see the good congressman with his lips wrapped around Mjölnir."
Hookers and extortion. Sam flashed back to his last days on the force. A dead call-girl consumed him and the burnout that was slowly building became a raging inferno. He got fired, he punched the Homicide CO, he went on a fantastic bender. He curled up into a bottle. He still called the bottle home.
"Thanks for the time, Thor."
Sam stood up and passed him another C-note before heading out into the night. A little under twenty-four hours before the ransom. Sam cut odds on the whole kidnapping being bullshit. No bookie in the world would take the odds he made. The truth, whatever it was, rested with the call girls and whoever Vikki was. And he was going to find out what that truth was.
--
Dreams played on a reel:
His hands covered in blood. Old Man Doheny cut donuts in a wheelchair. He flipped Sam off and said get to work, shirtbird. A mound of naked bodies, wriggling and writhing in a huge orgy. Men doing women, women doing women, men doing men. Big Band music played. Bianca Doheny doing a pirouette. She was naked. She had her face and a pornstar's stacked body. Doheny's two goons waltz hand in hand. Sam did a tap dance. He tapped in the dark. A gun barrel sighted on him. He tapped out and tried to snatch it. The gun went off.
Sam snapped awake. He was covered in sweat. Dream sweat and heat sweat. A bottle of gin in his lap. He sat in his heap downtown. A booze brownout while watching an office building. Palisades Delight sat on the office's sixth floor. Hour three of the stakeout. Straight boring, as expected. No wonder he nodded off. He took three slugs of gin to stabilize himself and got out the car. He straightened his tie, primped in the car window to look presentable. He went through the lobby and to the elevator. Up to floor six. Open on: a receptionist with a wide smile. Cute, girl next door look. She did not scream WHORE like he expected.
"Hello, sir. Welcome to Palisades Delight. What can I help you with?"
Sam said, "I'm here to see Vikki."
The receptionist's eyes flashed. He saw something he didn't like. Her smile went from natural to too wide. Call it a put-on to play it cool.
"I'll send her right out."
She grabbed a phone. She talked hush-hush on the phone. Sam caught whispers. Sam caught "Don't know who." Sam caught "Shabby." Sam caught "Cop."
A minute later a zaftig woman pranced out into the lobby. Fortyish brunette with an updo and streaks of gray through it. Pleasant face. She did not look like a hooker or ex-hooker. She jived more office worker or school marm.
She smiled at Sam and said, "Hello, sir. I'm Victoria Harper, May I see some ID please?"
He showed her his PI card. Slow this time. He did not want her thinking cop and get spooked. She looked at it, looked at him, and nodded.
"What can I help you with, Mr. Bennett?"
Sam flashed Bianca Doheny's pic. Her face stonewalled. Her eyes gave her away. They flashed recognition, only for a second but enough for Sam to catch. She acted like she was thinking before shaking her head.
"I'm sorry, I haven't seen her."
"You sure, Ms. Harper? I've been told she looks different than she does in this photo. I found your name and this place's number in her apartment. Her name is Bianca Doheny. Does that name sound familiar to you?"
"I'm afraid not. What we do here--" She gave Sam a knowing smirk. "--We have a lot of girls getting referenced for work. I can't tell you how many girls I've spoken to on the phone or talked to in person since last week."
"What about a tall, lanky guy with sandy blonde hair. Seen anybody like that hanging around here?"
Another flash in her eyes. Fright mixed with annoyance. Warm. Sam was getting there.
"Certainly not. All our employees are female, even the cleaning crew. Any man hanging around without just cause would be thrown out by either building security or the police. And, Mr. Bennett, I have answered your question so you no longer have just cause to be in this lobby."
Sam passed her his card. He did not bring up the blackmail/extortion angle Thor gave him. He played nice and thanked her for his time. He beelined to his car and got in. Sam hinked on something down the block. A black SUV. It was there behind him earlier today. Same car or just a lookalike? He shrugged it off, those cars were everywhere. He counted seconds. Seconds became minutes. Minute thirty-one: Vikki Harper hauling ass out of the office building in pumps. Sam followed in his car slooow. She hit a payphone and dialed numbers. He could not hear but he could see. She spoke frantically. Her eyes were wide. They were concerned. She scuddled to a car and got in.
Seconds passed. She pulled out and hauled down the parkway. Sam followed a minute later and weaved through traffic, staying four car lengths back and keeping the tail tight. Down the parkway to the southside.
Skyscrapers disappeared. Buildings thinned and yards started to appear. Vikki's car kept pushing to the outskirts of the city and into county territory. Oil derricks. Doheny Oil Derricks. Crude City. Sam slackened the tail and followed from afar. Vikki's car pulled into a ranch style house a half mile from the derricks. He kept going and parked a block away. His cell rang before he could get out.
"Hello?
Artie Agee said, "Sammy, I got what you wanted and boy is it something. This family is Fucked up with a capital F. Back in the nineties we ran a piece on Old Man Doheny's daughter Sarah in the society pages. She was engaged to marry a regular joe schmo named James Fullbright. Tragedy ensues and Fullbright is killed in a robbery gone bad. There was a big write-up on it in the paper. Nine months later, the family posts the birth announcement of a daughter Sarah gave birth to. Bianca. Her kid with Fullbright. Ten years ago tragedy struck again. Sarah Doheny goes missing and is found two days later, a hypo in her arm and a half-dissolved hotshot in her system."
Doheny's words: "She ran away some years ago and never came back."
Sam lit up a cigarette. "Anything else, Artie?"
"No, nix, nein, nyet even. For a bunch of rich people they keep it on the QT. No society pages stuff out of that."
"Thanks, Artie. I owe you big."
"Damn right you do, boychick. Whatever this is, I either want copy or I want to know the whole story."
Sam promised Artie the full dish and hung up. He smoked and thought the new info out. Tragedy accrued over the years. Grief on top of grief. No parents and living in that rotting house with the old fart could make a girl chafe. He tossed his butt out the car and snuck down the block towards the house Vikki pulled into. He pulled his piece and peeped a front window.
THERE: Vikki talking to a tall man with sandy blonde hair. No voices coming through the window but he could see worried looks. He ducked and scampered around the back. The back door was locked. He bent and shouldered the jam. It popped. He pushed slow and crept through the room. He heard two voices. He made Vikki's voice. A deeper one had to be the man. A third one just added to the din.
Sam came through a kitchen and into the living room. His gun out. Vikki looked shocked. The guy's mouth dropped. On the couch Bianca Doheny screamed.
--
Sam kept his gun trained on the guy. He was the most likely to come at him. He motioned with the gun towards the couch where Bianca sat.
"All three of you, sit. We're gonna have a nice chat."
They sat. Sam found a chair and sat in front of them. The gun still out and trained for any sudden movements. He looked at Bianca. The clerk at the motel was right. She had bleached blond hair and makeup caked. Her eyes scared Sam shitless. That spark of life was gone and then some. All he saw was vacuum. Not the cute college co-ed from the picture, but a hardened streetwalker. She wouldn't make eye contact with Sam
Sam said, "First things first, what the ever loving hell is going on?"
Looks exchanged between the three. Sam saw entire conversations play out with body language and facial expressions. Vikki started to speak. She got cut short. The front door shook. The front door buckled. The front door flew off its hinges. The door crashed on the floor. Doheny's heavies came rushing through, guns out. Sam pivoted and aimed. He popped off a shot. The lead gorilla took a slug in the shoulder and spun. He flew back against the wall and dropped his gun. Sam aimed for the second thug. The meathead opened fire at Vikki. The tall guy pushed her out the way, made a human shield. Two shots hit the guy in the back. He screamed. Vikki screamed. Blood sprayed.
Sam drew down on the man. The meathead drew down. He had the drop on Sam. Sam winced and braced to get shot. Shots rang out, the thug took three bullets to the chest. He flopped to the ground and bled out. Sam turned. Bianca Doheny with a .22 in her hands. She ran out the house. Sam called after her and ran. He stepped over the dying lug and gave chase. A black SUV in the driveway blocking Vikki's car. The one he made downtown as following him. Bianca got in the SUV and peeled rubber. Sam cursed and ran to his own heap. He was wheezing for breath by the time he got in and sped after her.
He kept his foot on the pedal. The heap groaned and shook. He redlined it and kept pushing. Ten minutes later he caught up with the SUV on the parkway. She was hauling. She flew through downtown. He knew where she was going: the Doheny house. Sam tried to outrun her. His heap gasped for air. He kept pushing. His heap shook violently. Smoke started to pour. The clunker clunked out a quarter mile from the mansion. Bianca kept zooming as he pulled to the side of the road. He got out and footed it to the house. Halfway down the block to the place he heard shots. He ran double time.
Through the doors and inside the house. Sobs and the smell of something else down the hall. He caught whiffs of blood and cordite. Sam pulled his piece as he walked. Inside Doheny's study, the old man laying on his back with a gutshot. Doheny clamped two hands on his gutshot. He huffed and puffed and looked pale. Bianca sat in a chair and watched the old man dying with glee. She looked up at Sam, the .22 still in her hand. Sam held his hands up, palms flat and out. He dropped the .38 to show his surrender.
Doheny tried to say something. Groans and babble came out. Bianca smiled. Intuition and theory melded in Sam's mind. Hunches coalesced into a working theory that bordered on truth. He walked towards the other chair slow. He sat opposite Bianca. He looked into her eyes and almost fell in.
"Your mom and her fiancee, how much of that was the old man behind?"
Bianca said, "All of it. He had James Fullbright killed and it was made to look like a robbery. He used his powerful friends to rig it up. Politicians leaned on police lieutenants who leaned on criminals. Fullbright had to die. That... thing could not handle someone taking mother away from him."
Doheny moaned again. Sam smelled shit as he lost control of his bowels. Sam played a hunch. He asked, "Was Fullbright your father?"
"No. They put him as my father on my birth certificate, but it was a lie. I did not know the truth until I was twelve."
"Is your dad who I think it is?"
Tears welled in Bianca's eyes. Those emotionless eyes leaking tears. Spooky looking. She nodded at Doheny. The old man coughed up blood.
"He is my father, that thing down there. My father and my grandfather. He kept my mother prisoner in this house for years. The things he did to her, the things he made her do... the things he made me do. Mother could not take it. She tried to get help. She called the police, social services, anyone who might help her. He bought everyone off and hushed it up. It wore her down to the nub. She ran away and sought out oblivion in the form of heroin. She overdosed and finally found comfort in the arms of infinite oblivion."
Doheny shook his head. Blood frothed on his lips. He looked dead pale.
Sam said, "Running away from home and the kidnapping, give on that."
Bianca said, "With my father getting older and sicker, I took jaunts from home and indulged my wild side. I took drugs and prostituted my body to enrage him. I soiled my body to make it less desirable to him. It made him mad. He was too feeble to beat me so he had his bodyguards do it. Another hooker I knew put me in touch with Vikki. I was originally going to work for her until she found out my secret. She has a habit of collecting dark secrets. The fake kidnapping was her idea. She and Jason, the man who got shot back there, facilitated it. Jason does security for Vikki's call-girl service. Or did. I think he died. They wanted money. I wanted to make him acknowledge what he did to me."
"You saw the ransom as a victory for you?"
"As close to one as I will ever get... or so I thought until I shot him. When those men came through the door... I just.. snapped. I could not handle them taking me back and putting me in this godforsaken house. The things they did to me, the things he did to me."
They lapsed into silence. Doheny's death rattles the only noise in the room. Sam's body ached for a drink. He longed for a drunk stupor to forget all this shit. His own form of oblivion.
Bianca said, "Are you going to turn me in? Vikki said you were a private investigator hired by him to find me."
Sam looked at the thing on the floor. He did not feel hate. The animal dying there was a parasite. It was beneath contempt. Hating it would require an effort that it did not deserve.
"He hired me to find you. I found you. Case closed as far as I'm concerned."
Sam stood. He reached into his jacket and pulled out what cash he had left. The two grand Doheny fronted him at the start of all this shit. That felt like a lifetime ago.
He handed the cash to Binaca and said, "Get out of here while you still can. This cash won't get you too far, but far enough away to start over."
Bianca nodded. She stood and walked towards the liquor cabinet. She tore rags and searched for a light. Sam stepped over Doheny's still body. He'd died during their convo. Good fucking riddance. He strolled out the house and down the street. Start over. It was a bullshit concept. You never start over. You are who you are. Somebody once said there are no second acts in life. Sam believed that thoroughly. Killing the old man wouldn't change what he did to Bianca. She could gutshot him a hundred times, none of them would take back all the times wrinkled, liver-spotted hands groped her and made her do horrible things. No amount of running could make her outrun herself and her past. She could change her looks, change her name, change everything about her. But come morning that face staring at her in the mirror would be the same girl: A product of incest who was a monster's plaything for over ten years.
Sam walked to his heap down the block. He drained his bottle of gin and pulled out his phone. He'd have to report it, he had to. At least two people were dead, one of them maybe died by his own hands. He'd sort-shrift the cops. He'd say his car crapped out chasing Bianca and he couldn't get to the house in time. He'd withhold the truth. It was a lie, but so what?. It'd be just the latest lie at the top of the heap of lies he'd uncovered. Sam smelled smoke. He saw flames coming from the Doheny home. A blaze burning quick time fast. He saw a small figure scamper out the house and run into the dark. Bianca. Sam made a silent prayer to... whatever existed out there that she would get away and find some kind of peace.
Someone in this world sure as hell had to.
Crude City
"You don't start over. That's what it's about. Every step you take is forever. You can't make it go away. None of it."
-- Cormac McCarthy
-- Cormac McCarthy
Door pounding woke Sam up. The hangover pounding his temples was even worse. He reached across the bed to find a bottle that wasn't empty. No dice. He stumbled through empty bottles and crushed cans towards the front door. He still wore last night's clothes: an unknotted tie and rumpled shirt with pants that had just a hint of puke on them.
"Samuel Bennett?"
Two men at the door. Meatheads in black Armani suits and Ray-Bans. Très goon chic. Sam cut odds he could take them. Sucker's bet. Instead, he nodded and lit up a smoke.
"The same Samuel Bennett of Samuel Bennett Investigations?"
Sam blew smoke rings. "The one and the same."
"We need you to come with us, Mr. Bennett."
Sam cleaned his nails and yawned. "Why is it these things always start with two dickheads in suits wanting me to come with them?"
One of them meatheads cracked his knuckles. The other popped his neck. Flexing and posturing were punk moves. Sam knew the way to scare a man wasn't by cracking your knuckles. It was by cracking his bones. He laughed and shook his head.
"If you two gorillas can get me a stiff drink then I'll go wherever you want me to go."
--
Sam sipped Thunderbird out of a paper bag covered bottle. The T-Bird was cut-rate, but there was enough booze to stop the headache. He sat in a study filled with books. Sam thought of a book he read in school once, it had a rich guy and a big study filled with books that were never read. He stared hard at a liquor cabinet in one corner. The sight made his mouth water. Scotch, high-grade grain alcohol. The real deal. It put his T-Bird to shame.
"Mr. Bennett."
An old man shuffled in. Stooped shoulders and wrinkled skin and blue veins and white hair. Thick glasses made his eyes look huge. He wheezed and collapsed onto a chair beside Sam.
"James Doheny, at your service."
The name clicked. Doheny Oil. One of the titans of industry in the city. Nix on that, a former titan of industry. Somebody bought the old company out years ago.
"What's so urgent that you need to get me up at the crack of dawn--"
"--It's three in the afternoon, sir--"
"--And force me here to talk?"
Doheny wheezed. His face was coronary red. Sam felt heat from his body. He radiated bad health.
"You're a hard man to get in touch with, Mr. Bennett. I've been calling your number for the past three days."
Sam swigged the T-Bird and shrugged. "I've got problems with bill collectors. I don't want them to know I'm home."
"You're speaking of the ruthless looking Russians my men saw stop by your apartment building repeatedly over the past two days?"
"The people I owe money to have... aggressive debt collection tactics."
"Indeed," the old man wheezed. "Which is why you should be eager for employment opportunities."
Sam chugged the rest of the T-Bird and wiped booze from his mouth. The cut-rate warmed his chest and worked its way upward until he got that familiar fuzziness back into his brain. The buzzed state of existence he called life for the past twelve years.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Doheny, that the two pet gorillas that brought me here can't?"
"You have a reputation for finding the dark places in this city not many others can. I'm afraid my two bodyguards are only adept at making people hurt. I need someone of your affections."
"Affectations" equaled stumblebum drunk that fits in better than meatheads in designer threads.
"What's the job?"
The old man pushed his glasses up his nose with shaky hands and wheezed.
"My granddaughter. She's... she's my daughter, you might say. I raised her from a pup and now she... betrayed me. She's out there, messing with a boy she shouldn't be. She's been constantly sneaking out of the house over the months, but it's been nearly three days since I last saw her. The longest she's ever been gone. She's over the age where I can issue an amber alert, and the cops they tell me they can't intervene because she wasn't kidnaped."
The old man shook in something that seemed half sob and wheeze.
"I have all this money, but nothing I can do with it. Back in the day, I could snap my fingers and the mayor himself would be here to wipe my ass. The friends and connections I once had... and now..."
Sam inferred: "All I can rate these days is a single smokehound former cop who makes for a shit PI."
Sam felt kinship with the geezer. Doheny was a used up, wrinkled husk that was soon to board the night train to the big adios. He looked on the outside like Slam felt on the inside. Sam cut odds he would live as long as Doheny. He gave up and set odds he could make it to fifty. Both slanted as too high odds. Instead, he tucked the empty bottle of T-Bird into his jacket and pulled out the pen and pad he kept on him.
"Tell me everything about your granddaughter that may help me find her."
--
Sam sat in his heap and cruised a booze brainwave. Hell loomed outside. Skid Row: The bottom of the barrel in this city. Considering this city, that was saying a whole hell of a lot. This was his beat back during his days in patrol. It was hard work, lots of scraping and fighting. One time he knocked a rape-o shitbird's teeth out with a nightstick when he tried to fight back. It was good work. He went home at the end of his shift feeling like he actually accomplished something. But that was a lifetime ago. Budget cuts and targeted policing meant no cop cars prowled consistently. They were too busy protecting the fine, upstanding citizens of the city who actually paid taxes.
Here homeless families squatted side by side with homeless drunks. Meth head hookers walked the streets with scabbed faces and reeking of desperation. Sam saw hookers with the Bug prowling for work, not giving a fuck if they killed the men they screwed. Sam saw junkies shooting up on the steps of a Catholic church. Sam saw a little girl way too skinny to even be malnourished. She had to have the Bug. His jaw got tight and he gulped his gin. He watched the lowest of the low sauntering around like they owned the place. Maybe they did. Maybe it was better to rule in hell here than to serve in the Burbs. Some social welfare people and nuns came by, tossing out clean needles and rubbers. Everyone whooped. A drunk slapped a volunteer's ass and asked if they had a pint of Ripple they could give them. Beleaguered nuns did the sign of the cross. Winos did the watusi. Smokehounds did the shimmy shake. Junkies did Irish jigs. Sam figured two years. At least two years until Sam was right there on Skid row cutting a rug with the junkies and doing the chorus line shtick with the hookers and drunks, five at the most.
He finished off the flask of hooch and got out the heap. He was fresh meat to them. Panhandlers panhandled, junkies made vague threats for money, hookers pawed and promised carnal delights of the sort he'd never had. He stopped in the street and lit up a smoke. He cocked a finger towards an alley and got wide-eyed
"Oh, shit! It's the cops! Everybody run!"
The roaches scattered in the light of righteous justice and beaucoup beatdowns. Sam laughed and walked unmolested towards a dilapidated building. A dirty, sagging sign above the door said The Ferguson Arms. The hotel was the last known address of Bianca Doheny, twenty-six, heiress to the Doheny Oil Fortune. Fortune should come with air quotes, thought Sam. The old man's house was just as rundown as this flophouse. Sam had two G's in his jacket pocket for the job. Good enough for him, but chickenshit pay for one of the big PI agencies in town. In Sam's world two grand may as well have been two mil. Gramps said he thought Bianca had a shack job with a guy. A tall kid with sandy blonde hair was with her the last time she breezed through the house.
He flashed his PI license at the clerk fast enough that he made him think it was an actual badge. The fat man looked up from his stroke book (XXX Girls of the Midwest 69) and squinted through thick, crust stained eyeglasses at Sam. He showed a photo of the girl. The pic was from a few years back when she graduated at SCU. Doheny said it was current enough.
"Seen her?"
He slid the clerk a C-note to get the wheels greasing. He squinted harder at the pic before nodding.
"I think that's her. Jesus, that's what she used to look like? She's checked into 2C. Long-term tenant. Haven't seen her in a few days.
"Seen her with a guy? A big, tall guy with sandy blonde hair."
"I seen guys. Lots of 'em, mister," he snickered. "Day and night they come in and out for her. I might be one of those lucky few thanks to you. Tell you what, you give me another Ben Franklin and I give you the key to her room."
Sam resisted the urge to turn his face into bloody pulp. He blew smoke before he shelled out fifty bucks and passed it across the counter.
"Ben's out for the day, but maybe you can do business with the Jackson Twins and Alexander Hamilton?"
He glommed the cash and produced a key. Sam palmed it and headed up rickety stairs. He padded down carpets stained with blood, puke, and cum. Old Man Doheny said she got a solid three grand allowance from her trust fund. Why the flop when she at least had enough money to clock a HoJo's?
2C was a dump like the rest of the hotel, like the rest of the whole goddamn neighborhood. Dirty sheets, old pizza boxes, a makeup bag with garish eyeshadows and bright lipsticks, a medicine bag with junkie works, unopened rubbers and used ones, sex toys, a mirror with traces of coke lines. Sam suddenly knew why she sprung for the cheap and rundown no-tell motel. He found something scribbled on a pizza box. VIKKI - PLASIADES DELIGHT, and then a phone number. He wrote it down in a notebook and rummaged through the filth.
The only thing Sam couldn't find was definitive proof of a guy shacked up with her. The geezer said she bolted with a boy. The clerk said she had lots of men coming in and out. Bianca was hooking? Why? Had her drug habit gotten bad enough that three grand a month couldn't support it? Or was it just part of the aesthetic of the neighborhood? A rich girl slumming and playing street walker. Buy a room in a flop, sell your body, and shoot up morning til night. Très Slum Chic. All the bored rich kids were doing it.
Sam pulled the photo of her out of his jacket. Young, big smile and lots of pretty white teeth. Dark hair and a cute little nose. Full of promise with just a glint in one of those eyes Sam knew all too well was hope.
The Clerk: Jesus, that's what she used to look like?
If she'd changed at all, Sam knew that glint in her eyes was long gone. Somewhere between college and the Ferguson Arms it had been snuffed out and ground to powder in that cruel and ignoble way only life is capable of. His cell phone buzzed. He didn't recognize the number but answered it anyway.
"Mr. Bennett, it' s James Doheny. A note just arrived at the house. It seems to be a ransom note. I need you here as soon as possible, sir."
--
Sam swung by his pad on the way to Doheny's. He sat in a chair, slugged gin straight from the bottle, and worked angles.
FEATURE: Bianca rejects her grandad and does blow, Bianca shoots horse, Bianca turns tricks on the streets. Bianca has a trust-fund. Sam inferred: The hooking is pure thrill seeking. A middle finger in the face of the old man. Now the plot thickened an hour ago when a ransom note showed up at the Doheny house.
He got his .38 snub out of a locked drawer. If the kidnapping was on the level, things might get rough and he'd need the piece. Sam slipped it into a shoulder rig and slipped the rig on under his coat. He pocketed the gin after a few more slugs from the bottle. The hooch hit his throat and sent buzzes through his brain. Booze clicks clicked his brain into working order. Something gnawed at him. The gin amplified the gnawing. Bianca Doheny's mom, the old man's daughter, was out of the picture. Sam asked the old man for the dope.
Doheny: "She ran away some years ago and never came back."
The answer didn't jake with Sam. His response was too quick and dismissive. He pressed for more details and got the short shrift. Doheny said, "Do your job and find this one." He left it at that but didn't have to like it. A few more plugs of hooch to work up the nerve before he flopped on the couch and called up the number he wanted.
"City Desk, Agee."
Arthur Agee, city news editor for the Gazette. A lifetime ago, Agee was on the cop beat hungry for copy and Sam was a young Homicide detective looking for press. A match made in heaven that came to an abrupt end when Sam got the boot from the PD.
"Artie, it's Sam Bennett."
"Sam?! Boychick, long time no speak. How the hell are ya?"
Artie was all mick but still liked talking like a Jew. He could spit Yiddish like the old country Jews in Baston Beach.
"I'm fine, Artie. Making ends meet."
"I heard you were a private dick now. Meet any sexy femme fatales yet?"
Sam thought about the crack whore from last week. She had only three teeth and could trip on her tits if she walked too fast.
"Oh, yeah. The sexiest."
"You'll have to tell me about it."
Sam tipped the bottle back again. Somehow it had gone from full to half empty faster than he thought it was supposed to.
"I will," he said. "But for now I need some help on a job."
"Gimme the spiel, Sammy. What do you need?"
"James Doheny, you know him?"
"Yeah, rich oil guy back when this city still had oil. Owns all those rusty oil derricks south of town. That's why they still call that part of town Crude City."
"Could you comb through your paper's archives and see what you can dig up on him and his family, especially his daughter."
"Interesting. Anything you can tell me about this job?"
"Just that if it ends up being story-worthy you'll be the first one I call."
"Promises, promises, Sammy. I'll hold you to that. What number can I reach you at?"
"I'm on my cell, let me give you the number."
Sam gave Artie his phone number and hung up. He sucked the gin until a quarter of it was left in the bottle. Properly buzzed, he headed out to James Doheny's house.
--
Sam walked into the big house. The two heavies from before stood in the hallway, all big muscles and hard stares. They eyeballed him with attitude. He winked and made kissy faces. They full on fumed. He passed on by and went into the study. Doheny sat in a chair facing the door. His pasty was face coronary red edging on purple. The old man shook a piece of paper at Sam and flew spittle as he talked.
"Where the hell have you been?!"
"I had to pick up some things from my apartment."
"You goddamn drunk goldbrick, you better not be conning me."
Sam cut his eyes. "You keep talking like that I'm apt to leave and let you deal with this on your own."
Doheny scowled and tossed Sam the paper. A ransom note straight out of a movie. Cut out letters pasted to form sentences:
We HavE the giRL. 4 MILLion doLLars 2 see hER ALIVE again oUr pHone CAll wITh instRucTIons will BE sOOn
NO COPS!
Sam passed it back before lighting up a smoke. Doheny scowled again and waved smoke from his face. He took the hint. He stubbed the cigarette out and asked Doheny questions.
"How did it arrive?"
"One of my men found it at the front door. The doorbell rang and he did not see anyone nearby when he answered it. He brought it in and I called you after I read it."
"That was an hour ago?"
"Yes."
Sam reread the message and brooded. A real cop would dust the message for prints. A hunch gnawed at him worse than the mom angle. The hunch: Bianca Doheny's fingerprints would be all over that ransom note. A scent was coming from this whole job. It was the whiff of bullshit.
"Mr. Doheny, sir."
One of the gorillas sauntered in with a cordless telephone.
"I think it's them."
Doheny snapped for the phone. Sam skittered out the room and down the hall. A second phone sat on the wall. He slowly picked it up and listened in.
Dohney: "Hello? This is James Doheny, who am I speaking to."
THEM: "Peter. Peter Cottontail. Hopping down the bunny trail--"
The voice sounded hard. Too hard, thought Sam. Like the note, it was a Hollywood production of what a kidnapper would sound like. Peter Cottontail put on his best Jimmy Cagney and fronted for the old man. Someone watched too many movies. They thought fiction was real-life.
"Do you have my granddaughter?"
"Sure do, old man. It's up to you if you ever see her alive again. You got our note, can you swing the ransom money?"
"It will be a chore, but I can do that."
"Good. We'll do the handoff tomorrow night at nine. The place is gonna be the north shore, near the ferris wheel. Got it?"
"I'll be there if you can give me proof of life."
"Hold on a sec..."
"Poppa?!"
Bianca Doheny's voice sounded more like out of breath than genuinely scared to Slam. The old man ate it up. The old man gasped. He went on the verge of weeping.
"Bibi, baby! Don't worry. Everything is going--"
"Tomorrow night at nine, geezer. Remember no coppers. We get a hint of flatfoots and we'll kill her."
The line went dead. Doheny hung up. Sam read the caller ID. BLOCKED. No surprise there. He went back into the study. Doheny wheezed loudly. He was teared up and gasping for breath.
"Can you get the money by tomorrow night?" Sam asked.
"I can-- I can have it by tonight if necessary."
"Get it ready for the time stipulated. I'm going to spend tonight chasing leads and I'll be back first thing in the morning."
Doheny protested, but Sam was out the door before the old man or his goons could get a paw on him.
He drove six blocks straight before stopping in a parking lot and pulling his phone out. He lit up a cig and inhaled it deeply. He blew smoke and plotted steps. Sam pulled a battered notepad from his jacket and flipped through the pages of personal information and access codes. Jake Holstead? No. he was too high profile to use. Baxter Miller? No. Miller would have changed his passcode by now, the paranoid bastard. Nevermind that Sam was about to justify his paranoia. Cris Aiken? No. He was probably a captain by now with a different badge. Jackie Fields? Yes. A hump who kept his passcode his kids' birthday, no way he'd change jobs or codes. Sam flicked his cigarette butt out the window and dialed City Tel.
"City Telecommunications Police Line, how may I help you?"
"I need to get the number and location of a phone line that just placed an incoming call in the Dutch Hill neighborhood. I also need a location on an unlisted phone line."
"Yessir. I need your name, rank, badge number, and police access code."
"Sure," Sam said, flipping to Jackie Fields' page.
"John Fields, detective second class, badge number 01257, and my access code is 840221505."
Key strokes. A few seconds silence and then, "... Okay, Detective Fields. What was the first number?"
Sam rattled off Doheny's phone number. A few quick keystrokes later and the operator had the phone traced to a downtown payphone. She gave Sam the address and he scribbled it down.
"And that second number, Detective?"
Sam filled through pages until he found it. The information he glommed from Bianca's flop. Vikki - Palisades Delight. Beneath it the phone number. He gave her the phone number and waited a few seconds. Another downtown address. The address just two blocks away from the pay phone. Sam thanked her and hung up. He killed the bottle of gin and looked at the note. Palisades Delight. The name sounded like an escort service. Vikki had to be a madam. The skin trade. When it came to whores and porn, there was only one man he knew who would be in the know.
The Mighty Thor.
--
He had blond hair and clear blue eyes. Heavyset. That line that blurred between normal and fat. The extra weight threw off the resemblance, but otherwise he was a dead ringer for the guy who played Thor. To hear him tell it the extra weight came from having to carry around that thing between his legs. He called it Mjölnir, and he said only the worthy could handle it. He ran a gigolo service out of the eastside. Old ladies, fat ladies, lonely ladies, the occasional man, all kinds of freaks flocked to him. Who wouldn't pay a grand an hour to be reamed, steamed, and dry cleaned by the one and only Mighty Thor?
"I know Palisades Delight."
Sam watched him from across the diner table. Thor was a good informant, the few ones he had left from his cop days. The only problem was he charged Sam for information like he was a john. Sam supposed he was, just in a very different way than the usual clientele.
"Call-girls, high-end stuff. I'm talking a few grand per hour. I've worked with them before on... things."
"What things?"
Thor got cagey and looked at his tuna melt. Sam scowled and forked over a C-note.
"Extortion," he said without making eye contact. Whores never made eye contact when they did their work. "The rooms they use are set up with cameras. They blackmail businessmen and anyone else they can afford to squeeze. I was in on a few of the squeezes, lot of right-wing congressmen and councilmen who are in the closet. Let's see how much those bible thumping fucks will support them when they see the good congressman with his lips wrapped around Mjölnir."
Hookers and extortion. Sam flashed back to his last days on the force. A dead call-girl consumed him and the burnout that was slowly building became a raging inferno. He got fired, he punched the Homicide CO, he went on a fantastic bender. He curled up into a bottle. He still called the bottle home.
"Thanks for the time, Thor."
Sam stood up and passed him another C-note before heading out into the night. A little under twenty-four hours before the ransom. Sam cut odds on the whole kidnapping being bullshit. No bookie in the world would take the odds he made. The truth, whatever it was, rested with the call girls and whoever Vikki was. And he was going to find out what that truth was.
--
Dreams played on a reel:
His hands covered in blood. Old Man Doheny cut donuts in a wheelchair. He flipped Sam off and said get to work, shirtbird. A mound of naked bodies, wriggling and writhing in a huge orgy. Men doing women, women doing women, men doing men. Big Band music played. Bianca Doheny doing a pirouette. She was naked. She had her face and a pornstar's stacked body. Doheny's two goons waltz hand in hand. Sam did a tap dance. He tapped in the dark. A gun barrel sighted on him. He tapped out and tried to snatch it. The gun went off.
Sam snapped awake. He was covered in sweat. Dream sweat and heat sweat. A bottle of gin in his lap. He sat in his heap downtown. A booze brownout while watching an office building. Palisades Delight sat on the office's sixth floor. Hour three of the stakeout. Straight boring, as expected. No wonder he nodded off. He took three slugs of gin to stabilize himself and got out the car. He straightened his tie, primped in the car window to look presentable. He went through the lobby and to the elevator. Up to floor six. Open on: a receptionist with a wide smile. Cute, girl next door look. She did not scream WHORE like he expected.
"Hello, sir. Welcome to Palisades Delight. What can I help you with?"
Sam said, "I'm here to see Vikki."
The receptionist's eyes flashed. He saw something he didn't like. Her smile went from natural to too wide. Call it a put-on to play it cool.
"I'll send her right out."
She grabbed a phone. She talked hush-hush on the phone. Sam caught whispers. Sam caught "Don't know who." Sam caught "Shabby." Sam caught "Cop."
A minute later a zaftig woman pranced out into the lobby. Fortyish brunette with an updo and streaks of gray through it. Pleasant face. She did not look like a hooker or ex-hooker. She jived more office worker or school marm.
She smiled at Sam and said, "Hello, sir. I'm Victoria Harper, May I see some ID please?"
He showed her his PI card. Slow this time. He did not want her thinking cop and get spooked. She looked at it, looked at him, and nodded.
"What can I help you with, Mr. Bennett?"
Sam flashed Bianca Doheny's pic. Her face stonewalled. Her eyes gave her away. They flashed recognition, only for a second but enough for Sam to catch. She acted like she was thinking before shaking her head.
"I'm sorry, I haven't seen her."
"You sure, Ms. Harper? I've been told she looks different than she does in this photo. I found your name and this place's number in her apartment. Her name is Bianca Doheny. Does that name sound familiar to you?"
"I'm afraid not. What we do here--" She gave Sam a knowing smirk. "--We have a lot of girls getting referenced for work. I can't tell you how many girls I've spoken to on the phone or talked to in person since last week."
"What about a tall, lanky guy with sandy blonde hair. Seen anybody like that hanging around here?"
Another flash in her eyes. Fright mixed with annoyance. Warm. Sam was getting there.
"Certainly not. All our employees are female, even the cleaning crew. Any man hanging around without just cause would be thrown out by either building security or the police. And, Mr. Bennett, I have answered your question so you no longer have just cause to be in this lobby."
Sam passed her his card. He did not bring up the blackmail/extortion angle Thor gave him. He played nice and thanked her for his time. He beelined to his car and got in. Sam hinked on something down the block. A black SUV. It was there behind him earlier today. Same car or just a lookalike? He shrugged it off, those cars were everywhere. He counted seconds. Seconds became minutes. Minute thirty-one: Vikki Harper hauling ass out of the office building in pumps. Sam followed in his car slooow. She hit a payphone and dialed numbers. He could not hear but he could see. She spoke frantically. Her eyes were wide. They were concerned. She scuddled to a car and got in.
Seconds passed. She pulled out and hauled down the parkway. Sam followed a minute later and weaved through traffic, staying four car lengths back and keeping the tail tight. Down the parkway to the southside.
Skyscrapers disappeared. Buildings thinned and yards started to appear. Vikki's car kept pushing to the outskirts of the city and into county territory. Oil derricks. Doheny Oil Derricks. Crude City. Sam slackened the tail and followed from afar. Vikki's car pulled into a ranch style house a half mile from the derricks. He kept going and parked a block away. His cell rang before he could get out.
"Hello?
Artie Agee said, "Sammy, I got what you wanted and boy is it something. This family is Fucked up with a capital F. Back in the nineties we ran a piece on Old Man Doheny's daughter Sarah in the society pages. She was engaged to marry a regular joe schmo named James Fullbright. Tragedy ensues and Fullbright is killed in a robbery gone bad. There was a big write-up on it in the paper. Nine months later, the family posts the birth announcement of a daughter Sarah gave birth to. Bianca. Her kid with Fullbright. Ten years ago tragedy struck again. Sarah Doheny goes missing and is found two days later, a hypo in her arm and a half-dissolved hotshot in her system."
Doheny's words: "She ran away some years ago and never came back."
Sam lit up a cigarette. "Anything else, Artie?"
"No, nix, nein, nyet even. For a bunch of rich people they keep it on the QT. No society pages stuff out of that."
"Thanks, Artie. I owe you big."
"Damn right you do, boychick. Whatever this is, I either want copy or I want to know the whole story."
Sam promised Artie the full dish and hung up. He smoked and thought the new info out. Tragedy accrued over the years. Grief on top of grief. No parents and living in that rotting house with the old fart could make a girl chafe. He tossed his butt out the car and snuck down the block towards the house Vikki pulled into. He pulled his piece and peeped a front window.
THERE: Vikki talking to a tall man with sandy blonde hair. No voices coming through the window but he could see worried looks. He ducked and scampered around the back. The back door was locked. He bent and shouldered the jam. It popped. He pushed slow and crept through the room. He heard two voices. He made Vikki's voice. A deeper one had to be the man. A third one just added to the din.
Sam came through a kitchen and into the living room. His gun out. Vikki looked shocked. The guy's mouth dropped. On the couch Bianca Doheny screamed.
--
Sam kept his gun trained on the guy. He was the most likely to come at him. He motioned with the gun towards the couch where Bianca sat.
"All three of you, sit. We're gonna have a nice chat."
They sat. Sam found a chair and sat in front of them. The gun still out and trained for any sudden movements. He looked at Bianca. The clerk at the motel was right. She had bleached blond hair and makeup caked. Her eyes scared Sam shitless. That spark of life was gone and then some. All he saw was vacuum. Not the cute college co-ed from the picture, but a hardened streetwalker. She wouldn't make eye contact with Sam
Sam said, "First things first, what the ever loving hell is going on?"
Looks exchanged between the three. Sam saw entire conversations play out with body language and facial expressions. Vikki started to speak. She got cut short. The front door shook. The front door buckled. The front door flew off its hinges. The door crashed on the floor. Doheny's heavies came rushing through, guns out. Sam pivoted and aimed. He popped off a shot. The lead gorilla took a slug in the shoulder and spun. He flew back against the wall and dropped his gun. Sam aimed for the second thug. The meathead opened fire at Vikki. The tall guy pushed her out the way, made a human shield. Two shots hit the guy in the back. He screamed. Vikki screamed. Blood sprayed.
Sam drew down on the man. The meathead drew down. He had the drop on Sam. Sam winced and braced to get shot. Shots rang out, the thug took three bullets to the chest. He flopped to the ground and bled out. Sam turned. Bianca Doheny with a .22 in her hands. She ran out the house. Sam called after her and ran. He stepped over the dying lug and gave chase. A black SUV in the driveway blocking Vikki's car. The one he made downtown as following him. Bianca got in the SUV and peeled rubber. Sam cursed and ran to his own heap. He was wheezing for breath by the time he got in and sped after her.
He kept his foot on the pedal. The heap groaned and shook. He redlined it and kept pushing. Ten minutes later he caught up with the SUV on the parkway. She was hauling. She flew through downtown. He knew where she was going: the Doheny house. Sam tried to outrun her. His heap gasped for air. He kept pushing. His heap shook violently. Smoke started to pour. The clunker clunked out a quarter mile from the mansion. Bianca kept zooming as he pulled to the side of the road. He got out and footed it to the house. Halfway down the block to the place he heard shots. He ran double time.
Through the doors and inside the house. Sobs and the smell of something else down the hall. He caught whiffs of blood and cordite. Sam pulled his piece as he walked. Inside Doheny's study, the old man laying on his back with a gutshot. Doheny clamped two hands on his gutshot. He huffed and puffed and looked pale. Bianca sat in a chair and watched the old man dying with glee. She looked up at Sam, the .22 still in her hand. Sam held his hands up, palms flat and out. He dropped the .38 to show his surrender.
Doheny tried to say something. Groans and babble came out. Bianca smiled. Intuition and theory melded in Sam's mind. Hunches coalesced into a working theory that bordered on truth. He walked towards the other chair slow. He sat opposite Bianca. He looked into her eyes and almost fell in.
"Your mom and her fiancee, how much of that was the old man behind?"
Bianca said, "All of it. He had James Fullbright killed and it was made to look like a robbery. He used his powerful friends to rig it up. Politicians leaned on police lieutenants who leaned on criminals. Fullbright had to die. That... thing could not handle someone taking mother away from him."
Doheny moaned again. Sam smelled shit as he lost control of his bowels. Sam played a hunch. He asked, "Was Fullbright your father?"
"No. They put him as my father on my birth certificate, but it was a lie. I did not know the truth until I was twelve."
"Is your dad who I think it is?"
Tears welled in Bianca's eyes. Those emotionless eyes leaking tears. Spooky looking. She nodded at Doheny. The old man coughed up blood.
"He is my father, that thing down there. My father and my grandfather. He kept my mother prisoner in this house for years. The things he did to her, the things he made her do... the things he made me do. Mother could not take it. She tried to get help. She called the police, social services, anyone who might help her. He bought everyone off and hushed it up. It wore her down to the nub. She ran away and sought out oblivion in the form of heroin. She overdosed and finally found comfort in the arms of infinite oblivion."
Doheny shook his head. Blood frothed on his lips. He looked dead pale.
Sam said, "Running away from home and the kidnapping, give on that."
Bianca said, "With my father getting older and sicker, I took jaunts from home and indulged my wild side. I took drugs and prostituted my body to enrage him. I soiled my body to make it less desirable to him. It made him mad. He was too feeble to beat me so he had his bodyguards do it. Another hooker I knew put me in touch with Vikki. I was originally going to work for her until she found out my secret. She has a habit of collecting dark secrets. The fake kidnapping was her idea. She and Jason, the man who got shot back there, facilitated it. Jason does security for Vikki's call-girl service. Or did. I think he died. They wanted money. I wanted to make him acknowledge what he did to me."
"You saw the ransom as a victory for you?"
"As close to one as I will ever get... or so I thought until I shot him. When those men came through the door... I just.. snapped. I could not handle them taking me back and putting me in this godforsaken house. The things they did to me, the things he did to me."
They lapsed into silence. Doheny's death rattles the only noise in the room. Sam's body ached for a drink. He longed for a drunk stupor to forget all this shit. His own form of oblivion.
Bianca said, "Are you going to turn me in? Vikki said you were a private investigator hired by him to find me."
Sam looked at the thing on the floor. He did not feel hate. The animal dying there was a parasite. It was beneath contempt. Hating it would require an effort that it did not deserve.
"He hired me to find you. I found you. Case closed as far as I'm concerned."
Sam stood. He reached into his jacket and pulled out what cash he had left. The two grand Doheny fronted him at the start of all this shit. That felt like a lifetime ago.
He handed the cash to Binaca and said, "Get out of here while you still can. This cash won't get you too far, but far enough away to start over."
Bianca nodded. She stood and walked towards the liquor cabinet. She tore rags and searched for a light. Sam stepped over Doheny's still body. He'd died during their convo. Good fucking riddance. He strolled out the house and down the street. Start over. It was a bullshit concept. You never start over. You are who you are. Somebody once said there are no second acts in life. Sam believed that thoroughly. Killing the old man wouldn't change what he did to Bianca. She could gutshot him a hundred times, none of them would take back all the times wrinkled, liver-spotted hands groped her and made her do horrible things. No amount of running could make her outrun herself and her past. She could change her looks, change her name, change everything about her. But come morning that face staring at her in the mirror would be the same girl: A product of incest who was a monster's plaything for over ten years.
Sam walked to his heap down the block. He drained his bottle of gin and pulled out his phone. He'd have to report it, he had to. At least two people were dead, one of them maybe died by his own hands. He'd sort-shrift the cops. He'd say his car crapped out chasing Bianca and he couldn't get to the house in time. He'd withhold the truth. It was a lie, but so what?. It'd be just the latest lie at the top of the heap of lies he'd uncovered. Sam smelled smoke. He saw flames coming from the Doheny home. A blaze burning quick time fast. He saw a small figure scamper out the house and run into the dark. Bianca. Sam made a silent prayer to... whatever existed out there that she would get away and find some kind of peace.
Someone in this world sure as hell had to.
When I was a kid, a girl lived next door to me. She was beautiful, graceful, and overall a kind person. Her name was Riley. I remember the times where I hung out with her. She was a cool girl who didn’t mind a boy hanging around with her. We often spent our time swinging on a rope in the park and playing tag. In time, I felt… attached to her. I wanted to tell her this. However, something happened.
I went for a sleepover at my friend Mickey’s house during the weekend. When I came back, I noticed that Riley and her family were gone. I tried to look for her, but I couldn’t find her. My parents took the time to console me and tell me what happened. It turned out that Riley and her family moved out over the weekend I was staying over. When I asked where, they said that they went to Canada.
How… How could Riley leave me like that? She would have told me at one point that she was moving out, right? Where is she in Canada? For years, these questions have haunted me and my unrequited feelings haunted me even further. That is until one day, during school.
Mickey and I were in the hall. I was getting my gym shoes from my locker when I noticed a book fall down by my feet. I bent over and picked it up. It was Riley’s diary. I remembered its purple cover with the little plastic jewels glittered all over. I also remembered how I got the book.
Riley and I were at the park the day before I went to Mickey’s house for the sleepover. We were sitting on the swings when Riley spoke up.
“Hey, Harry, do you ever have a journal or diary?” She asked me.
“No… I never thought of owning one before.” I said. “And I never really plan on using one either. Not really sure what I’d write.” Riley smiled and took out her backpack. She pulled out her purple book.
“Why don’t you borrow my diary? You can see what I write into it and hopefully it can inspire you to write your own.” She said.
“You mean it?” I asked her. She nodded.
“When you’re done, you can give it back to me.” She said.
“Thank you.” I smiled back
I tried to prevent the tears from hitting the cover. Then I realized something. I flipped to the end of the book and worked backwards through the blank pages. Maybe she might have left some clue as to-
Aha!
I found her last entry prior to the day at the park. And on it, she mentioned that her family might be moving to Canada. I skimmed over to read that she would be moving to a place called Ottawa. Mickey also read the diary and noticed the word.
“Ottawa? I know where that is!” Mickey said. I sighed.
“Yeah… Knowing what Canada’s like, I can’t just waltz in there without getting suddenly frozen.” I said. I remembered a lot of people saying that Canada was known as the Frozen North and that people lived in igloos.
“Huh? No. My dad and I went to Ottawa on a business trip a few years ago. It wasn’t like Antarctica.” He said.
“Wait, what!?” I asked.
“Yeah!” He took out his phone and showed me pictures of what Ottawa was like. Everything was just like our town in terms of climate. It wasn’t cold at all at the time he and his father went. In fact, one of the pictures they took was by a giant flame. So everything I was told was a lie. That actually made me happy for a bit.
“… I have to go. I need to see Riley again.” I told Mickey.
“Okay! But… what about your parents?” He asked.
“I’ll just say I’m sleeping over at your place.” I replied.
On Friday, I went with Mickey to the bus station. We had convinced my parents that I was sleeping over at Mickey’s for the weekend. I waited at the line up while Mickey stood by the doors.
“So… would you even know where she is?” Mickey asked.
“I’ll find her, don’t worry about that.” I said. I noticed the line had gotten smaller. I got up and stood in line. “Riley is gonna be so happy when she sees me!” I said. Then I heard the doors open.
“Harry!?” I turned my head and saw the two people I never wanted to see here.
“Mom!? Dad!?” I said.
“Son, what are you doing!?” My dad asked.
“I’m going to see Riley! I know where she moved to!” I said. My dad shot a glare to my mother. I could see my mom bite her lip. She sighed and spoke up.
“Riley… didn’t move out. Nor did her family. They… They were in an accident. … I’m sorry.” She told me. In that moment, a chill went up my spine. No. It felt more like someone stabbed me in the spine with a frozen dagger.
I slumped down to my knees as my mom crouched down and held me. I cried into her arms while she cooed me.
“Why… Why did you lie to me?” I asked her.
“Because… sometimes the truth is harder to bear.” She told me.
Although my parents drove me home and tucked me in, I couldn’t sleep. I now knew that Riley was dead. I struggle not to cry so loudly as I clung onto the pillow that I’d normally use for resting. That’s when I could hear something…
“When are we going to tell him?” I heard my dad speak to my mom.
“When he’s old enough and is ready to inherit the family legacy.” She said.
“He might not want to after he finds out.” He said.
“But if he’s told why… Maybe he could see the bigger picture.” At this point, I creep out of my room and downstairs. I hid behind the wall at the kitchen as I heard them speak some more. “Besides, I told him the truth. That Riley and her family are dead.” She said.
“… You and I both know that’s not the whole truth.” My dad said. My mom stayed silent as she looked at a glass. I didn’t realize until too late that the glass’ reflection was that of a mirror… which had me in its reflection.
“Guess it’s time then.” She muttered. I tried to sneak away before my mom spoke up. “Don’t run. I’m going to ask you this once.” She walked over to me. “Do you want to know the truth of Riley’s death?” She said. I shook my head.
“… You told me enough. She died. End of story.” I frown.
“Exactly. Now, run back to bed.” She said. I nodded and ran upstairs. I closed the door for good measure and went back to bed. I lay in bed for only five seconds before I broke into tears and cried myself to sleep.
My husband simply stared at me as I walked to the couch.
“Well, he doesn’t want to know. Simple as that.” I said. Perhaps one day, he’ll find out the truth that he is part of a long line of assassins and their duty to kill those who would pose a threat to the world. However, he’ll never find out that Riley’s father was a corrupt politician seeking to sell out America to its northern neighbour and he’ll never find out that I was the one who silenced him and, by extension, his family.
He will never know that I was the one who killed Riley.
I went for a sleepover at my friend Mickey’s house during the weekend. When I came back, I noticed that Riley and her family were gone. I tried to look for her, but I couldn’t find her. My parents took the time to console me and tell me what happened. It turned out that Riley and her family moved out over the weekend I was staying over. When I asked where, they said that they went to Canada.
How… How could Riley leave me like that? She would have told me at one point that she was moving out, right? Where is she in Canada? For years, these questions have haunted me and my unrequited feelings haunted me even further. That is until one day, during school.
Mickey and I were in the hall. I was getting my gym shoes from my locker when I noticed a book fall down by my feet. I bent over and picked it up. It was Riley’s diary. I remembered its purple cover with the little plastic jewels glittered all over. I also remembered how I got the book.
Riley and I were at the park the day before I went to Mickey’s house for the sleepover. We were sitting on the swings when Riley spoke up.
“Hey, Harry, do you ever have a journal or diary?” She asked me.
“No… I never thought of owning one before.” I said. “And I never really plan on using one either. Not really sure what I’d write.” Riley smiled and took out her backpack. She pulled out her purple book.
“Why don’t you borrow my diary? You can see what I write into it and hopefully it can inspire you to write your own.” She said.
“You mean it?” I asked her. She nodded.
“When you’re done, you can give it back to me.” She said.
“Thank you.” I smiled back
I tried to prevent the tears from hitting the cover. Then I realized something. I flipped to the end of the book and worked backwards through the blank pages. Maybe she might have left some clue as to-
Aha!
I found her last entry prior to the day at the park. And on it, she mentioned that her family might be moving to Canada. I skimmed over to read that she would be moving to a place called Ottawa. Mickey also read the diary and noticed the word.
“Ottawa? I know where that is!” Mickey said. I sighed.
“Yeah… Knowing what Canada’s like, I can’t just waltz in there without getting suddenly frozen.” I said. I remembered a lot of people saying that Canada was known as the Frozen North and that people lived in igloos.
“Huh? No. My dad and I went to Ottawa on a business trip a few years ago. It wasn’t like Antarctica.” He said.
“Wait, what!?” I asked.
“Yeah!” He took out his phone and showed me pictures of what Ottawa was like. Everything was just like our town in terms of climate. It wasn’t cold at all at the time he and his father went. In fact, one of the pictures they took was by a giant flame. So everything I was told was a lie. That actually made me happy for a bit.
“… I have to go. I need to see Riley again.” I told Mickey.
“Okay! But… what about your parents?” He asked.
“I’ll just say I’m sleeping over at your place.” I replied.
On Friday, I went with Mickey to the bus station. We had convinced my parents that I was sleeping over at Mickey’s for the weekend. I waited at the line up while Mickey stood by the doors.
“So… would you even know where she is?” Mickey asked.
“I’ll find her, don’t worry about that.” I said. I noticed the line had gotten smaller. I got up and stood in line. “Riley is gonna be so happy when she sees me!” I said. Then I heard the doors open.
“Harry!?” I turned my head and saw the two people I never wanted to see here.
“Mom!? Dad!?” I said.
“Son, what are you doing!?” My dad asked.
“I’m going to see Riley! I know where she moved to!” I said. My dad shot a glare to my mother. I could see my mom bite her lip. She sighed and spoke up.
“Riley… didn’t move out. Nor did her family. They… They were in an accident. … I’m sorry.” She told me. In that moment, a chill went up my spine. No. It felt more like someone stabbed me in the spine with a frozen dagger.
I slumped down to my knees as my mom crouched down and held me. I cried into her arms while she cooed me.
“Why… Why did you lie to me?” I asked her.
“Because… sometimes the truth is harder to bear.” She told me.
Although my parents drove me home and tucked me in, I couldn’t sleep. I now knew that Riley was dead. I struggle not to cry so loudly as I clung onto the pillow that I’d normally use for resting. That’s when I could hear something…
“When are we going to tell him?” I heard my dad speak to my mom.
“When he’s old enough and is ready to inherit the family legacy.” She said.
“He might not want to after he finds out.” He said.
“But if he’s told why… Maybe he could see the bigger picture.” At this point, I creep out of my room and downstairs. I hid behind the wall at the kitchen as I heard them speak some more. “Besides, I told him the truth. That Riley and her family are dead.” She said.
“… You and I both know that’s not the whole truth.” My dad said. My mom stayed silent as she looked at a glass. I didn’t realize until too late that the glass’ reflection was that of a mirror… which had me in its reflection.
“Guess it’s time then.” She muttered. I tried to sneak away before my mom spoke up. “Don’t run. I’m going to ask you this once.” She walked over to me. “Do you want to know the truth of Riley’s death?” She said. I shook my head.
“… You told me enough. She died. End of story.” I frown.
“Exactly. Now, run back to bed.” She said. I nodded and ran upstairs. I closed the door for good measure and went back to bed. I lay in bed for only five seconds before I broke into tears and cried myself to sleep.
My husband simply stared at me as I walked to the couch.
“Well, he doesn’t want to know. Simple as that.” I said. Perhaps one day, he’ll find out the truth that he is part of a long line of assassins and their duty to kill those who would pose a threat to the world. However, he’ll never find out that Riley’s father was a corrupt politician seeking to sell out America to its northern neighbour and he’ll never find out that I was the one who silenced him and, by extension, his family.
He will never know that I was the one who killed Riley.
@Alice
"I still have friends," Tina whispered, her long tangled hair cascaded over her thin shoulders. She looked at the mirror across her room. It was attached to her dresser and just like the mirror in her bathroom, it was covered with black tape. Tina did not want to see herself.
"Do I still matter?"
There was a boy in the mirror that she could not see with her eyes, but knew everything he did, as if they had a mystical connection. The mirror boy nodded at her question, causing a crooked smile to break out on her pale face.
"You always agree with me, don't you?" She pulled her knees up to her chest and giggled, the sound empty and haunted.
"You'll be with me to the end, won't you?"
The mirror boy nodded again. Tina glanced at the mirror and at the tape; she blinked a couple times, slightly frowning, something nagging at the back of her mind, but she ignored the feeling. She stood up and walked toward the mirror, reaching out as if to touch the tape, but pulled back at the last minute. If the tape was removed, her fantasy would be shattered. She would only see a small little girl staring back and not the friend she thought was there.
The friend was a nice looking boy, around sixteen or so. He was quiet and he never talked, always nodded and agreed. They were in love. It was the perfect relationship. The boy went everywhere with her. He was always there by her heart.
"Do you love me?" She asked.
Nod.
"Do you want to marry me?"
Nod.
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
She got two nods that time, and she could not help but blush.
"You shouldn't tease me, it makes me feel all flustered inside." Tina twisted blonde strands of hair between her fingers as she glanced toward where the boy would be standing behind the tape.
The boy was smiling now and starting to really tease her.
"I mean it, don't tease me!" She did not like being teased.
The boy's smile grew.
"Is there a reason for this?" She asked, crossing her arms.
"Can't we ever have a normal conversation?" Tina was only fourteen and not quite ready for the next step in their relationship, though they were in love and going steady. Why did he insist on teasing her?
The mirror boy's smile faded.
"So you're sorry now?" Tina asked.
Nod.
"Will you kiss and make up?" She leaned forward and turned her head, offering her check. Her eyes closed and she smiled slightly.
The boy in the mirror smiled back and Tina was sure she felt his lips brush her cheek.
He was real to Tina. When everything in the world faded, the mirror boy stayed with her. He laughed at her jokes, and cried when she cried. It was always sad to Tina how she could never see the mirror boy with her eyes and the image she saw in her head was always in shadows. The tape always made him dark, almost impossible to make out, but it had to be there; it had to be on every mirror.
She had long forgotten why, nor did she care.
Sitting back down on her bed, away from the mirror boy, she put her face in her hands. She felt cold and sad all the time though. A tear fell down her cheek and she started to shiver.
She wanted the mirror boy to hold her, but never could she feel his arms around her.
Tina curled up into a ball and started to cry; she cried for what felt like forever.
"Please don't cry," whispered a voice.
She looked up and smiled. "You're here?" She said in surprise.
A boy stood next to her, probably sixteen years old. He looked like her best friend that she lost so many years ago in car wreck. She had been the only survivor in the car. Ever since that day, Tina had felt herself go insane with grief. The mirror boy had took his place and over the years she fell in love with him.
"I came." The boy smiled. "I got you a present."
Tina wiped at her tearing eyes. "Me?"
"Yes, close your eyes."
She happily closed her eyes, waiting and waiting and waiting for her present. Her forehead wrinkled after a long while of waiting. Nothing was happening.
"Um, can I open my eyes, please?"
There was no answer.
Finally she just had to open them. The boy was nowhere to be seen.
"Where did you go?" She cried, jumping up and frantically looking all around. The door to her room was locked and could only be opened from the outside. How had he got in and where could he have gone? Tina checked the tiny bathroom attached to her bedroom. There was no sign of him. Just the sink, toilet and mirror covered in black tape.
"Oh, don't go! Please!" Her tears came back and she cried more than she had since the accident.
"Mirror boy!" She screamed. Was he gone too? She ran to the mirror, her eyes wild with fear. She sighed in relief, starting to calm down. He was still there and giving her a concerned look.
"Don't worry, I'm okay," She told the mirror boy.
She walked over to her bedroom door and looked out the tiny window that showed a long hallway of many doors just like hers. Tina tilted her head to the side, confused for a moment, but then she remembered the mirror boy.
"I'm fine. You're with me."
"I still have friends," Tina whispered, her long tangled hair cascaded over her thin shoulders. She looked at the mirror across her room. It was attached to her dresser and just like the mirror in her bathroom, it was covered with black tape. Tina did not want to see herself.
"Do I still matter?"
There was a boy in the mirror that she could not see with her eyes, but knew everything he did, as if they had a mystical connection. The mirror boy nodded at her question, causing a crooked smile to break out on her pale face.
"You always agree with me, don't you?" She pulled her knees up to her chest and giggled, the sound empty and haunted.
"You'll be with me to the end, won't you?"
The mirror boy nodded again. Tina glanced at the mirror and at the tape; she blinked a couple times, slightly frowning, something nagging at the back of her mind, but she ignored the feeling. She stood up and walked toward the mirror, reaching out as if to touch the tape, but pulled back at the last minute. If the tape was removed, her fantasy would be shattered. She would only see a small little girl staring back and not the friend she thought was there.
The friend was a nice looking boy, around sixteen or so. He was quiet and he never talked, always nodded and agreed. They were in love. It was the perfect relationship. The boy went everywhere with her. He was always there by her heart.
"Do you love me?" She asked.
Nod.
"Do you want to marry me?"
Nod.
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
She got two nods that time, and she could not help but blush.
"You shouldn't tease me, it makes me feel all flustered inside." Tina twisted blonde strands of hair between her fingers as she glanced toward where the boy would be standing behind the tape.
The boy was smiling now and starting to really tease her.
"I mean it, don't tease me!" She did not like being teased.
The boy's smile grew.
"Is there a reason for this?" She asked, crossing her arms.
"Can't we ever have a normal conversation?" Tina was only fourteen and not quite ready for the next step in their relationship, though they were in love and going steady. Why did he insist on teasing her?
The mirror boy's smile faded.
"So you're sorry now?" Tina asked.
Nod.
"Will you kiss and make up?" She leaned forward and turned her head, offering her check. Her eyes closed and she smiled slightly.
The boy in the mirror smiled back and Tina was sure she felt his lips brush her cheek.
He was real to Tina. When everything in the world faded, the mirror boy stayed with her. He laughed at her jokes, and cried when she cried. It was always sad to Tina how she could never see the mirror boy with her eyes and the image she saw in her head was always in shadows. The tape always made him dark, almost impossible to make out, but it had to be there; it had to be on every mirror.
She had long forgotten why, nor did she care.
Sitting back down on her bed, away from the mirror boy, she put her face in her hands. She felt cold and sad all the time though. A tear fell down her cheek and she started to shiver.
She wanted the mirror boy to hold her, but never could she feel his arms around her.
Tina curled up into a ball and started to cry; she cried for what felt like forever.
"Please don't cry," whispered a voice.
She looked up and smiled. "You're here?" She said in surprise.
A boy stood next to her, probably sixteen years old. He looked like her best friend that she lost so many years ago in car wreck. She had been the only survivor in the car. Ever since that day, Tina had felt herself go insane with grief. The mirror boy had took his place and over the years she fell in love with him.
"I came." The boy smiled. "I got you a present."
Tina wiped at her tearing eyes. "Me?"
"Yes, close your eyes."
She happily closed her eyes, waiting and waiting and waiting for her present. Her forehead wrinkled after a long while of waiting. Nothing was happening.
"Um, can I open my eyes, please?"
There was no answer.
Finally she just had to open them. The boy was nowhere to be seen.
"Where did you go?" She cried, jumping up and frantically looking all around. The door to her room was locked and could only be opened from the outside. How had he got in and where could he have gone? Tina checked the tiny bathroom attached to her bedroom. There was no sign of him. Just the sink, toilet and mirror covered in black tape.
"Oh, don't go! Please!" Her tears came back and she cried more than she had since the accident.
"Mirror boy!" She screamed. Was he gone too? She ran to the mirror, her eyes wild with fear. She sighed in relief, starting to calm down. He was still there and giving her a concerned look.
"Don't worry, I'm okay," She told the mirror boy.
She walked over to her bedroom door and looked out the tiny window that showed a long hallway of many doors just like hers. Tina tilted her head to the side, confused for a moment, but then she remembered the mirror boy.
"I'm fine. You're with me."
@PlatinumSkink
This story takes place in the world of Helves. This world, surrounded by a great barrier, was an island. The people on the island were held within smaller barriers, supposedly to protect them against monsters from outside. However, few believed this was the case, and in its place an oppression from a government known as the Loathens took place. The Loathens held everyone within the eight barriers within the larger island barrier, and kept them working under unfair conditions. They only received the minimum amount of food needed to survive and severely punished anyone who would dare to break their line. The Loathens all wore head-pieces with a visor which glew red over their eyes, their uniforms black, and never once did they seem to have an ounce of humanity as they kept the people oppressed. All under the watchful eyes of the Loathen leader, Tytanios.
However, something changed when a young man caller Artion swung the hatchet he was supposed to use to cut wood at the Loathen watching him. He broke her visor and struck off her helmet, and the female Loathen fell onto her back. This was when he discovered that she, as well as the other Loathen, were all being manipulated from beyond their visors. In addition, the girl Loathen named Diverga could remember a place with bountiful amounts of food, complete freedom, and a free world of happy people that existed way differently from how it looked here. It should be located past the island, out over the sea that the barrier prevented them from crossing. Inspired by this discovery, Artion resolved to break out of their little bubble, destroy the oppression of the Loathen and free as many of them as he could, as well as break the barrier that they were locked into.
Breaking all odds, the young hero managed what people considered impossible. Gathering a party of like-minded individuals from all manners of places, Artion managed to break the first barrier and lift the oppression in it. They found that the supposed monsters that the barrier protected them from to have been greatly exaggerated. With their new-found freedom and the support of the people behind them, including a rumor of a supposed 'Chosen One' coming to free them from the dark rule of Tytanios, Artion continued his quest. Fighting against the minions of Tytanios and freeing more Loathens on the way, the hero went through untold perils to finally break all eight barriers and defeat all of the oppressing force, the cheers of the people at his back. Now, only a single barrier remained. The one surrounding the island, emanating from the top of Tytanios' Tower, placed dramatically and ominously in the middle of Helves. They made their way up, until finally...
"Your days are up, Tytanios!" Artion announced as he came up to the roof from the stairs, pointing a shiny new hatchet at the figure standing by the middle of the tower. Behind him stood Diverga, the woman Loathen he had freed to start this all, standing ready with a long spear. Along as well was Embervi, his male best friend standing tall with a magical staff, along with Atta and Morgerad, a tiny girl wielding elemental battle-gloves for close quarter combat and a large man wielding a bow with blades positioned along the outer rims, for both close combat and ranged.
Tytanios, a large man himself, stood with his back against them next to a spire, the generator of the final barrier. Beside him stood Joirn, a Loathen man and greatest servant of Tytanios with his long-sword raised and a determined look on his face, who had in the past had multiple encounters with Artio and his group, but lost every single one. While a Loathen, Joirn had never been mind-controlled. The barrier above was close enough for them to reach up and touch it, it spread out from the top of this tower. Tytanios turned, a grim expression on his face as he looked at the band of heroes that had come to stop him.
"So they are, huh." Tytanios sighed, staring ahead at the individuals, making Artion wince at how well he seemingly took it. "So, 'Chosen One', do you feel proud over what you've accomplished?" He asked, a certain tiredness in his voice.
"Don't you mock him, you-!" Atta started, fueled by a very personal reason why she'd be angry at him, her gloves burning in fire before the much calmer Morgerad held a hand in front of her to pause her. Artion threw a glance at his two party-members before replying.
"I've freed all the people that were under your oppression. All those Loathens doing your bidding through your controlling visor..." Like Diverga right beside him, who held her spear leveled and ready for a final battle. "All those barriers keeping the people from seeing each other..." Like Atta, who'd been separated from her family for many years. "All those resources you kept from people, keeping them starving and desperate..." Like Morgerad, who had been forced to do crimes against his own people to keep his family alive.
"I've freed all those Loathens, broken your barriers and given all the resources to the people who need them. So if you ask me if I'm proud of what I've done, then I'll have to answer. Yes, yes I am." His friend Embervi smiled at him from behind, murmuring "You've come a long way." Artion glared at Tytanios. "But I'm not done yet. There is one barrier left to take down."
"You complete fools." Joirn muttered, sword raised at them. "Do you truly think you stand a chance against-" But he was silenced by Tytanios waving a hand over his minion's mouth. The large tyrant glared right back at Artion, a frown quite clearly visible. "This has gone on far enough. I've-" Tytanios took a little break, taking a deep breath. "I've been keeping a secret from you all. Including you, Joirn." Joirn would blink in surprise, his sword lowered a bit and staring in surprise at his commander. Artion would also stare, unconvinced, along with all his party-members. "What kind of secret?" Was the obvious question.
"This is a little late to admit, but I did tell you that this barrier was set up to keep monsters at bay, correct?" Tytanios placed a hand on the spire generating the barrier, causing Artion to frown, and Diverga to speak up. "That's a lie!" She announced. "I remember it clearly! As a little girl, I lived in a peaceful village by the sea, with no Loathens or anything like that, before I was captured and made to serve on a distant island! This island! That free land is still out there! You're keeping them in here for your own profit!" This caused Tytanios to grimace, and stare directly at Diverga.
"I'm sorry to say, Diverga, but you're 500 years old." The girl flinched backwards a little, staring at him in chock. "What, you didn't think we could slow aging when we have the technology to make unbreakable barriers or mind-controlling visors?" Tytanios laughed a bit, looking at the party that clearly didn't think it was funny, and the man lost his smile as well. "Your memory is accurate, but a lot has changed since. All that which you remember is gone. Destroyed by monsters beyond your scope of imagination." The man explained, making Diverga breathe heavily in agitation, thinking back onto her memory, and wondering if...
"Y-you could just be making this up!" Atta angrily screamed out at him. "Besides, if you were keeping us safe from monsters on the outside, why press us down into the dirt like we're nothing but bugs to you!?" She demanded an explanation. Tytanios sighed, a sigh which made even Joirn flinch beside him, before the man came with his explanation.
"I was afraid. People with freedom can do stupid things. In a mass of 100 people, there is always the chance one of them becomes a terrorist and blows up this tower with a home-made bomb. If that happened, the entire barrier would collapse and we'd all be dead. That's why." He got multiple stares of wonder, and a few were changing how they were looking at him, including Artion. "I resolved to simply keeping humanity alive, to make sure no free will had the power to suddenly rise against me, sorry about that." He apologized to Diverga, who still stood shaken from the realization her memory might not exist anymore. "Th-that's why we were oppressing them?" Joirn asked, making Tytanios give him a small nod.
"It was all for the greater good of the species. I realize I may have been in the wrong, but it was better for you to not have the power to do anything. I told you WHY the barriers existed. You knew all along I said there were monsters out there!" Tytanios pointed outwards, upwards. "I lost control of this all, all because..." He slowly directed a hand to point at Diverga, a tired stare aimed at her. "All because of an ancient memory, residing in the back of my eternal guard, which I had failed to take into account. It became your symbol of hope, and allowed you to strike back. A lie, hiding in the depths of a person's brain, giving you a goal to strive for." Tytanios sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head upwards. "Such a mistake."
"... Then, if we for the moment presume what you've said is true, what would you have us do?" Morgerad asked, staring at him unblinking, making Atta spit out. "What are you talking about, of course it's all-" However, she was stopped by Embervi this time, who held a hand in front of her, looking towards Tytanios for an answer.
"The monsters out there are far beyond the scope of which you can handle." Tytanios informed. "However, there may be a way to secure the victory you so desire." He looked at the crowd. Morgerad frowned unconvinced, but listened to what he had to say. Atta had become somewhat more unsure, but kept her guard up. Embervi stood brave but nervous, throwing glances at Artion. Diverga was still stunned from her age being declared, looking back at her former commander in fear. Artion held a calm, thinking expression, yet filled with determination. Tytanios smirked, and continued. "The Gods of Magic. Should they see fit to bless you with power, you may stand a chance."
Embervi recoiled. "Th-them!? Those that brought elements and magic into the world!? Monsters EVOLVED due to them! They're far more dangerous than any monster out there! You wish us to TALK to them!?" Tytanios grinned at the mage of the group. "Yeah. Guess why I didn't try that option. There just happens to be a gate in this world, though it is sealed from three places guarded by the most powerful monsters imaginable... within this barrier, that is." The Loathens leader pulled a map from his back pocket and threw it forward, Artion catching it, three locations marked on the map. "Should you pass through the gate, you will end up in the world of the Gods of Magic. There, you may grow infinitely stronger. However, you may also die. None I've sent through have ever returned. But if it is you guys... you who have already defeated all of my forces, then maybe, maybe you can do it."
The party gathered and looked at the map. Indeed, three locations in a triangle around what appeared to be the location of a gate was visible on the map. However, doubtful eyes were aimed from Artion at Tytanios. "Due to the risk of you telling the truth, we will investigate this further. However, you will have to accept custody to the people you've oppressed. With the Loathens defeated, everyone will have complete freedom within the island of Helves until further notice, only this tower guarded by our forces." Joirn twitched lightly with the sword in his hands, knowing that he would probably be taken in as well as his leader, while Tytanios raised his voice a bit, surprising people.
"Ah, that I cannot." Frowns were directed at him. "You cannot?" Artion repeated, putting the map down into his pocket and grabbing his shiny hatchet. Following this lead, the rest prepared their weapons. Diverga gripped her spear, Embervi charged some magic into his staff and took a step back, Atta took a stance with her gauntlets ready, Morgerad drew an arrow. Joirn blinked a bit and raised his sword, letting a bit of dark magic power flow through him to empower him. Tytanios looked at the heroes, and declared. "Should the barrier fail, I must stand here. I am the only one who can do something about a failing barrier. Should you wish to remove me, then I will have to fight to remain standing. I will not leave this place."
"So be it. Because you're coming with us, leader of Loathens, Tytanios." Artion declared. Tytanios sighed, seemingly believing this is a waste, and two large shadowy blades manifested in his grip, making the party shy back a bit as similar dark power that flowed through Joirn now flowed through Tytanios, but with much greater potency. "If that is what you desire, 'Chosen One'." And then the great oppressor raised his blades to emit a shadowy wave, when he suddenly flinched and his eyes widened. "Ah."
In a move that surprised the battle-ready heroes, Tytanios dropped his blades and raised his hands upwards to the barrier. "SH-SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEK!!!" A cry was heard from above, and an extremely loud sound of impact resounded as giant talons crashed into the barrier from above, a wave of force rocking all those placed on top of the tower. "Wh-what...!?" Atta cried out in surprise, still staggering from the force of the impact, and all of them looked up. A giant, flaming bird, easily the size of this enormous tower, had descended with full power trying to break through the barrier. Tytanios stood, hands raised, using power to reinforce the barrier. "What in the name of..." Embervi murmured, staring up in disbelief. Joirn, having stood just next to Tytanios and the impact of the blow, had been sent flying and now sprawled to get back up on his feet.
"Oh, no..." Diverga uttered, holding a hand above her mouth, staring up in disbelief at the giant bird that practically proved everything that the Loathen leader had said. "Th-the barrier is weaker than I thought. No, wait, the monster is stronger than I thought?" Tytanios would smirk, holding the monster at bay, but expanding his magical power rapidly. Artion stared up in disbelief for a moment, holding an axe ready to defend. "I thought you said this barrier was defending us!" Morgerad shouted out at the man holding off the giant bird, who smirked back. "Th-the greater barrier was, in turn, supported by the eight smaller barriers within it. By breaking the eight smaller barriers, you've weakened the great barrier, and given this bad boy the chance to try to break through!" Tytanios explained, holding off the enemy, but. "Ah!"
Suddenly, a smaller bird shot down with the speed of a meteorite. It hit the barrier to Tytanios right, the little beak of the burning bird hitting with much greater power, and it burned through a small portion of the barrier and seared through, about to strike at the spire. Should it hit, the barrier would be gone and the world of Helves would be in the talons of this enormous bird. However, just before hitting, the back of an axe bashed the bird aside as Artion had launched himself to defend it, and the smaller, but still four times the size of a human bird waved itself up to its talons, glaring on the top of the tower. "T-take it down! Quickly!" Tytanios called to them, but looking at his arms he felt his own strength waning holding the barrier up. "Ah..." That was when Embervi, the magician of Artion's group, raised his hands as well and supported the enemy leader. "Your magic is more suited for self-empowerment. Let me help, my magic is well suited for support...!"
"We're down one guy!" Morgerad said, while firing arrows at the great bird within the barrier, while Atta had already launched herself in a spray of punches at it, Diverga stabbing at it while muttering smaller healing spells or protective spells to protect her allies against the fire the bird shot out, with Artion standing guard should the bird try to slip past, on multiple occasions needing to dash in to smack the bird back into place. With but a single glare, Tytanios got Joirn to realize, dash over and support those who were his enemies, his accurate and deadly sword-strikes supported by the dark magic within him defending their lives while striking powerful blows against their opponent.
After a long, exhausting battle, the smaller but yet great bird within was slain, the five who had fought it exhausted and torn. "D-damn it." Atta complained, the normally powerful girl on all fours before the beaten body of the big bird. "We wouldn't be able to handle two of those." Morgerad stated in a stale, to the point voice. "Thanks for your help." Artion said, beside Joirn, giving him a small, slightly changed look of appreciation, both quite worn down. "D-don't take it the wrong way." A drained Joirn said, catching his breath after having used that taxing magic on himself to boost his power. Then they looked back at the two magical individuals holding the barrier up.
"Y-you may have to leave me behind, I think I'm needed here." Embervi told, sweat breaking out as he held his hands upwards, as a series of birds like the one they had just barely beaten were trying to break through along with the humongous bird trying to sink its talons into the barrier. Artion frowned, looking over his best friend and then at Tytanios. "It's over. They're going to break through." This caused Diverga to look at her former leader with a surge of fear. "Can't you do something!?" Tytanios smirked, looking up. "There's... actually something I can do."
"Wait, you can't do that!" Joirn shouted out in panic at his leader, obviously knowing what was happening. "Wait, what? What's happening?" Atta asked, just now coming back from having been infuriated with how much energy is had taken to take down a single one of those birds. "I'll transform my life-energy into magical energy, and reinforce the barrier. It should last... about half a year. Yeah." Embervi glared at him, arms still raised, but he smirked at the Loathens leader. "Add mine to it, and it'll be a whole year." Tytanios took a moment, then smiled back at the young magician. "Really, you'd give your life for that...?"
"No, both of you!" Artion shouted out, angry at their idea of sacrificing their lives. "We'll come up with some other way. We can't just-" He was interrupted by his friend. "There is no time! Artion, you must take the others and leave! Converting life-energy into magical energy creates a huge shock-wave, which will probably obliterate the tower!" Embervi declared. Tytanios smirked. "I'll put a smaller barrier around the spire to protect it, after the tower is destroyed the barrier will hold it floating up here for a year. During that year, you must disable the three seals on the gate to the Gods of Magic, go through, obtain their power, and come back to defeat the monsters!" Artion grabbed his axe and dashed for the two, intending on getting Embervi away from there, but was grabbed by Joirn and Morgerad, preventing him. "Embervi...!" He shouted out. "I-it was an honor to be... your friend, Artion." Embervi said, with his eyes growing slightly watery.
Artion was growing really desperate, but Joirn and Morgerad held him back. "C'mon, this tower's going to blow!" Morgerad declared, lifting Artion up and carrying him away. Atta looked at Embervi for a moment, who smiled at her back, before she swore and turned around, knowing this was for the greater good. "I-it was an honor, to fight alongside such a brave man." Diverga managed to creep out, as she looked with teary eyes towards Embervi. He smiled back at her. "I'm sorry for putting you all through this." Meanwhile, Joirn turned and looked at Tytanios, fear for his leader's life in his eyes similarly. "Go with them, they need all the help they can get." Tytanios smiled at his only remaining soldier, who fought back his tears, declaring. "I know. I will do you proud, father." Upon making this little reveal that made at least one turn her head to look in surprise, Joirn spun around and dashed out with the other heroes, Tytanios nodding, as the party made their descent.
Later, on a hill with a view over Tytanios' Tower, the five stopped. Morderad finally placed down Artion, who immediately spun towards the tower, angry that his friend had been left behind. Just as Diverga, Atta and Joirn turned to look at him run, a shock-wave blasted from the top of the tower, making the entire structure collapse and any hope of any survivors left behind was lost. In the top of it, a small bulge signifying a new barrier on the top of the other signified where their life-energy held the spire in place, safe for now. Artion stomped the ground in anger, taking his time to take deep breaths after to calm down. "Artion..." Diverga looked after him, worried, feeling the pain of loss in her heart as well. "It was a heroic sacrifice." Morgerad declared, bitterness in his voice. "Damn it, I' so... weak!" Atta hit with her gauntlet into the ground, creating an indent, annoyed at this result.
Joirn say, looking up at the barrier, momentarily silent and expressionless. Atta walked up to him, a frown on her face. "Father, huh?" Joirn made no change of expression. "Tell you what, I still hate you and your father. However, I now understand what you were trying to achieve." Joirn made no effort to tell her that he didn't know all that, either. "I won't approve of it, but I understand it. I expect you to repay us in turn, now. Understood?" Joirn stood up, and looked at the fierce little girl, and sighed.
"Yes, I will do my best to repay for the deeds of my father." Joirn said, a wound audible in his voice. By now, Artion had come back, and thrown them a glance while holding the map he had been given. "That's right. As I think back, there wasn't a single time he had actually actively ordered to kill a single individual." He said. "Except us." Atta corrected with a little 'hmpf'. "I will respect that, and we can use all the help we can get. Welcome to the party, Joirn." Artion gave a little smile at Joirn, and lifted his hand to shake, and after a moment's hesitation Joirn lifted his and shook as well.
Diverga looked a little unsure of herself, thinking back to how much older she might be than she thought, but she soon had Artion's hand on her shoulder. "Hey, no matter where you come from or how long ago that might have been, you're my friend and ally now, and you're working with me. Do you need anything else?" They had already had that conversation before in this adventure, and Diverga smiled upon the reminder, and continued on without worry. "The challenges ahead is probably the most dangerous you've ever faced." Joirn informed, looking at where the map directed them. "No matter. We'll break down anything they throw at us." Atta stated with surety, hitting her gauntlets against one another. "We have one year." Morgerad informed, his analytical mind still in full control. "Then let's get moving." Artion declared with a held smile, determined not to waste Embervi's and Tytanios' sacrifice. And so the party got moving, towards a new adventure.
__________________________________
Two men were sitting crouched on the floor of a barrier. They were sitting with their legs crossed, arms folded, staring at one another with blank stares. One was wearing dark clothes and had two shadowy swords lying to his left and right, the other had brighter clothes and a staff hanging diagonally across his grip. Below them was an absolutely wonderful view of the island of Helves, not that the tower was gone it was easy to look around all of it without trouble. The two men remained staring blankly, until one of them spoke.
"Yo." Embervi said, casually to the man in front of him.
"Been a while." Tytanios replied, his eyebrows raised a bit.
"They took it." Embervi stated as a simple fact.
"Hook, line, sinker, rod and fisherman." Tytanios nodded approvingly.
It took a few more moments of both men staring at each other before they both couldn't hold it anymore and both burst out laughing, Embervi leaning forward over his staff as he laughed his lungs out while Tytanios leaned back and laughed straight up into the air. It would take several nonsensical moments of laughing uncontrollably before the two men could refocus once again and look at each other.
"Man, did you see their faces? They totally thought I was sacrificing myself for their sake!" Embervi rubbed tears of laughter from the same ducts which he had previously pretended to cry through when looking at his party.
"Indeed, that was the part I was most afraid of, but you're one heck of an actor. Infiltrated and befriended the hero as soon as there was even the slightest disturbance in the public, amazing." Tytanios praised his ally, looking at him with an appreciating smile.
"Not as amazing as you, my friend. All those images of birds? Added with extra magical shock-waves for realism? That wasn't an illusion. That was a work of art! Well done!" Embervi held up a thumb pointing upwards, smirking right back at Tytanios. "Still, that was way too close." He added, thumb still held.
"Yeah. All they would have had to do would have been strike me down along with the spire, and the barrier would be gone and the Ferian Empire would have found the island, no doubt rescuing them all and doing horrible things to us." Tytanios sighed, thinking of that specific issue.
"To you, maybe. I'd just have continued being their friend, and hanged out with them as they travelled to Diverga's country of origin, which they'd have found completely safe." Embervi grinned. "Where DID you come up with the idea that she was really 500 years old?"
"I had to explain her hazy memory SOMEHOW. That damaged piece that should have vanished entirely was their shining beacon of hope, damn it." The Loathen leader laughed out loud, looking forward at his friend.
"You just had to sacrifice our strongest monster to seal the deal, too." Embervi leaned on his arm staring with a smile at the man in front of him.
"Yes, the Monstrous Phoenix, triumph card of the Loathens, the monster that should be able to destroy any hero!" Tytanios raised his hands in dramatic gesture. "I used it as a sacrificial pawn to make the hero think the monsters outside the barrier were stronger than he could handle."
"It'll be more importing monsters from the mainland now, eh?" Embervi asked with a smile, to which Tytanios could only nod to. That's when the magician tilted his head a bit, staring at the dark lord. "Was that guy really your son?"
"Joirn? Gosh, no. He thinks so, though. He believes all I say. It is to drive the illusion further home." There was a bit of bitterness in Tytanios' voice as he said so, which caused Embervi to become a bit more curious about a certain thing.
"Say, what are they headed to? This 'gate' leading to the Gods of Magic guarded by three seals." Embervi questioned, inspecting his friend's expression as he asked.
"Oh, the seals work perfectly, the 'gate' can only be opened when they're lifted." Tytanios waved a finger around as he explained, and then... "Though, the door is an incinerator. It doesn't look like one, it looks like a gateway somewhere, but the reason nobody comes back is because they've been burned to nothingness."
"So, that's what you've sent them to." Embervi confirmed, nodding a bit about that the heroes had been sent to burn themselves in an incinerator. How brutal.
"Hm? You haven't started to care about them, have you?" Tytanios questioned his friend in turn, leaning forward a bit. To this, he just got a little laugh from him.
"Nah, I was more wondering about you caring about Joirn." Embervi explained, causing Tytanios to shake his head a bit to deny the accusation.
"No way. In any case. I've now got a year to get some men back to extracting all possible resources from this island that they can. In the meantime, it is about time for your miraculous survival so you can go and make sure they get into that incinerator. Just don't enter yourself, alright?" Tytanios aimed a stare at the staff-wielding magician in front of him, who smirked.
"Yes, yes, that's right. Let's see, how did the story go again? We were transforming our life-energy into magical energy, then, out of the kindness of your heart, you used some magic to put some life-energy in me after which you kicked me out of the small barrier, letting me glide down with a floating spell?" Embervi ran through the implausible explanation.
"Something like that." Tytanios shrugged. "Make sure to make your appearance as dramatic as possible. Message me if the plan to make them go into the incinerator fails. Then we'll need to come up with a new last-minute lie to cover everything with. Until then, take care." He gave a little wave to Embervi, who felt how the barrier was weakening beneath him.
"I will. Don't you worry. We'll have our happy ending before this is over, oppression and all." And with that, Embervi waved back to Tytanios before he fell through the barrier, falling towards the ground so very far under him, but it didn't even matter because a floating spell was prepared to take the fall, ensuring the magician's survival. Meanwhile, Tytanios remained seated for a while longer, looking down over the world as he could see it. Green, blue, more. Quite beautiful. To think he had been so mean to so many people just to harvest some materials from this island nobody knew of due to his barrier. To think that it had almost been broken by just a young boy with a hatchet and a girl's memory that shouldn't even have existed. Tytanios played with his lips a bit, thinking about it.
"Eh. Nothing a good lie can't solve. After all, heroes are quite gullible." And with that, Tytanios jumped from the barrier himself, descending down towards the ground and more operations of bringing monsters and soldiers to be Loathens of Helves, operating under his command. He'd have to be more careful next time.
This story takes place in the world of Helves. This world, surrounded by a great barrier, was an island. The people on the island were held within smaller barriers, supposedly to protect them against monsters from outside. However, few believed this was the case, and in its place an oppression from a government known as the Loathens took place. The Loathens held everyone within the eight barriers within the larger island barrier, and kept them working under unfair conditions. They only received the minimum amount of food needed to survive and severely punished anyone who would dare to break their line. The Loathens all wore head-pieces with a visor which glew red over their eyes, their uniforms black, and never once did they seem to have an ounce of humanity as they kept the people oppressed. All under the watchful eyes of the Loathen leader, Tytanios.
However, something changed when a young man caller Artion swung the hatchet he was supposed to use to cut wood at the Loathen watching him. He broke her visor and struck off her helmet, and the female Loathen fell onto her back. This was when he discovered that she, as well as the other Loathen, were all being manipulated from beyond their visors. In addition, the girl Loathen named Diverga could remember a place with bountiful amounts of food, complete freedom, and a free world of happy people that existed way differently from how it looked here. It should be located past the island, out over the sea that the barrier prevented them from crossing. Inspired by this discovery, Artion resolved to break out of their little bubble, destroy the oppression of the Loathen and free as many of them as he could, as well as break the barrier that they were locked into.
Breaking all odds, the young hero managed what people considered impossible. Gathering a party of like-minded individuals from all manners of places, Artion managed to break the first barrier and lift the oppression in it. They found that the supposed monsters that the barrier protected them from to have been greatly exaggerated. With their new-found freedom and the support of the people behind them, including a rumor of a supposed 'Chosen One' coming to free them from the dark rule of Tytanios, Artion continued his quest. Fighting against the minions of Tytanios and freeing more Loathens on the way, the hero went through untold perils to finally break all eight barriers and defeat all of the oppressing force, the cheers of the people at his back. Now, only a single barrier remained. The one surrounding the island, emanating from the top of Tytanios' Tower, placed dramatically and ominously in the middle of Helves. They made their way up, until finally...
"Your days are up, Tytanios!" Artion announced as he came up to the roof from the stairs, pointing a shiny new hatchet at the figure standing by the middle of the tower. Behind him stood Diverga, the woman Loathen he had freed to start this all, standing ready with a long spear. Along as well was Embervi, his male best friend standing tall with a magical staff, along with Atta and Morgerad, a tiny girl wielding elemental battle-gloves for close quarter combat and a large man wielding a bow with blades positioned along the outer rims, for both close combat and ranged.
Tytanios, a large man himself, stood with his back against them next to a spire, the generator of the final barrier. Beside him stood Joirn, a Loathen man and greatest servant of Tytanios with his long-sword raised and a determined look on his face, who had in the past had multiple encounters with Artio and his group, but lost every single one. While a Loathen, Joirn had never been mind-controlled. The barrier above was close enough for them to reach up and touch it, it spread out from the top of this tower. Tytanios turned, a grim expression on his face as he looked at the band of heroes that had come to stop him.
"So they are, huh." Tytanios sighed, staring ahead at the individuals, making Artion wince at how well he seemingly took it. "So, 'Chosen One', do you feel proud over what you've accomplished?" He asked, a certain tiredness in his voice.
"Don't you mock him, you-!" Atta started, fueled by a very personal reason why she'd be angry at him, her gloves burning in fire before the much calmer Morgerad held a hand in front of her to pause her. Artion threw a glance at his two party-members before replying.
"I've freed all the people that were under your oppression. All those Loathens doing your bidding through your controlling visor..." Like Diverga right beside him, who held her spear leveled and ready for a final battle. "All those barriers keeping the people from seeing each other..." Like Atta, who'd been separated from her family for many years. "All those resources you kept from people, keeping them starving and desperate..." Like Morgerad, who had been forced to do crimes against his own people to keep his family alive.
"I've freed all those Loathens, broken your barriers and given all the resources to the people who need them. So if you ask me if I'm proud of what I've done, then I'll have to answer. Yes, yes I am." His friend Embervi smiled at him from behind, murmuring "You've come a long way." Artion glared at Tytanios. "But I'm not done yet. There is one barrier left to take down."
"You complete fools." Joirn muttered, sword raised at them. "Do you truly think you stand a chance against-" But he was silenced by Tytanios waving a hand over his minion's mouth. The large tyrant glared right back at Artion, a frown quite clearly visible. "This has gone on far enough. I've-" Tytanios took a little break, taking a deep breath. "I've been keeping a secret from you all. Including you, Joirn." Joirn would blink in surprise, his sword lowered a bit and staring in surprise at his commander. Artion would also stare, unconvinced, along with all his party-members. "What kind of secret?" Was the obvious question.
"This is a little late to admit, but I did tell you that this barrier was set up to keep monsters at bay, correct?" Tytanios placed a hand on the spire generating the barrier, causing Artion to frown, and Diverga to speak up. "That's a lie!" She announced. "I remember it clearly! As a little girl, I lived in a peaceful village by the sea, with no Loathens or anything like that, before I was captured and made to serve on a distant island! This island! That free land is still out there! You're keeping them in here for your own profit!" This caused Tytanios to grimace, and stare directly at Diverga.
"I'm sorry to say, Diverga, but you're 500 years old." The girl flinched backwards a little, staring at him in chock. "What, you didn't think we could slow aging when we have the technology to make unbreakable barriers or mind-controlling visors?" Tytanios laughed a bit, looking at the party that clearly didn't think it was funny, and the man lost his smile as well. "Your memory is accurate, but a lot has changed since. All that which you remember is gone. Destroyed by monsters beyond your scope of imagination." The man explained, making Diverga breathe heavily in agitation, thinking back onto her memory, and wondering if...
"Y-you could just be making this up!" Atta angrily screamed out at him. "Besides, if you were keeping us safe from monsters on the outside, why press us down into the dirt like we're nothing but bugs to you!?" She demanded an explanation. Tytanios sighed, a sigh which made even Joirn flinch beside him, before the man came with his explanation.
"I was afraid. People with freedom can do stupid things. In a mass of 100 people, there is always the chance one of them becomes a terrorist and blows up this tower with a home-made bomb. If that happened, the entire barrier would collapse and we'd all be dead. That's why." He got multiple stares of wonder, and a few were changing how they were looking at him, including Artion. "I resolved to simply keeping humanity alive, to make sure no free will had the power to suddenly rise against me, sorry about that." He apologized to Diverga, who still stood shaken from the realization her memory might not exist anymore. "Th-that's why we were oppressing them?" Joirn asked, making Tytanios give him a small nod.
"It was all for the greater good of the species. I realize I may have been in the wrong, but it was better for you to not have the power to do anything. I told you WHY the barriers existed. You knew all along I said there were monsters out there!" Tytanios pointed outwards, upwards. "I lost control of this all, all because..." He slowly directed a hand to point at Diverga, a tired stare aimed at her. "All because of an ancient memory, residing in the back of my eternal guard, which I had failed to take into account. It became your symbol of hope, and allowed you to strike back. A lie, hiding in the depths of a person's brain, giving you a goal to strive for." Tytanios sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head upwards. "Such a mistake."
"... Then, if we for the moment presume what you've said is true, what would you have us do?" Morgerad asked, staring at him unblinking, making Atta spit out. "What are you talking about, of course it's all-" However, she was stopped by Embervi this time, who held a hand in front of her, looking towards Tytanios for an answer.
"The monsters out there are far beyond the scope of which you can handle." Tytanios informed. "However, there may be a way to secure the victory you so desire." He looked at the crowd. Morgerad frowned unconvinced, but listened to what he had to say. Atta had become somewhat more unsure, but kept her guard up. Embervi stood brave but nervous, throwing glances at Artion. Diverga was still stunned from her age being declared, looking back at her former commander in fear. Artion held a calm, thinking expression, yet filled with determination. Tytanios smirked, and continued. "The Gods of Magic. Should they see fit to bless you with power, you may stand a chance."
Embervi recoiled. "Th-them!? Those that brought elements and magic into the world!? Monsters EVOLVED due to them! They're far more dangerous than any monster out there! You wish us to TALK to them!?" Tytanios grinned at the mage of the group. "Yeah. Guess why I didn't try that option. There just happens to be a gate in this world, though it is sealed from three places guarded by the most powerful monsters imaginable... within this barrier, that is." The Loathens leader pulled a map from his back pocket and threw it forward, Artion catching it, three locations marked on the map. "Should you pass through the gate, you will end up in the world of the Gods of Magic. There, you may grow infinitely stronger. However, you may also die. None I've sent through have ever returned. But if it is you guys... you who have already defeated all of my forces, then maybe, maybe you can do it."
The party gathered and looked at the map. Indeed, three locations in a triangle around what appeared to be the location of a gate was visible on the map. However, doubtful eyes were aimed from Artion at Tytanios. "Due to the risk of you telling the truth, we will investigate this further. However, you will have to accept custody to the people you've oppressed. With the Loathens defeated, everyone will have complete freedom within the island of Helves until further notice, only this tower guarded by our forces." Joirn twitched lightly with the sword in his hands, knowing that he would probably be taken in as well as his leader, while Tytanios raised his voice a bit, surprising people.
"Ah, that I cannot." Frowns were directed at him. "You cannot?" Artion repeated, putting the map down into his pocket and grabbing his shiny hatchet. Following this lead, the rest prepared their weapons. Diverga gripped her spear, Embervi charged some magic into his staff and took a step back, Atta took a stance with her gauntlets ready, Morgerad drew an arrow. Joirn blinked a bit and raised his sword, letting a bit of dark magic power flow through him to empower him. Tytanios looked at the heroes, and declared. "Should the barrier fail, I must stand here. I am the only one who can do something about a failing barrier. Should you wish to remove me, then I will have to fight to remain standing. I will not leave this place."
"So be it. Because you're coming with us, leader of Loathens, Tytanios." Artion declared. Tytanios sighed, seemingly believing this is a waste, and two large shadowy blades manifested in his grip, making the party shy back a bit as similar dark power that flowed through Joirn now flowed through Tytanios, but with much greater potency. "If that is what you desire, 'Chosen One'." And then the great oppressor raised his blades to emit a shadowy wave, when he suddenly flinched and his eyes widened. "Ah."
In a move that surprised the battle-ready heroes, Tytanios dropped his blades and raised his hands upwards to the barrier. "SH-SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEK!!!" A cry was heard from above, and an extremely loud sound of impact resounded as giant talons crashed into the barrier from above, a wave of force rocking all those placed on top of the tower. "Wh-what...!?" Atta cried out in surprise, still staggering from the force of the impact, and all of them looked up. A giant, flaming bird, easily the size of this enormous tower, had descended with full power trying to break through the barrier. Tytanios stood, hands raised, using power to reinforce the barrier. "What in the name of..." Embervi murmured, staring up in disbelief. Joirn, having stood just next to Tytanios and the impact of the blow, had been sent flying and now sprawled to get back up on his feet.
"Oh, no..." Diverga uttered, holding a hand above her mouth, staring up in disbelief at the giant bird that practically proved everything that the Loathen leader had said. "Th-the barrier is weaker than I thought. No, wait, the monster is stronger than I thought?" Tytanios would smirk, holding the monster at bay, but expanding his magical power rapidly. Artion stared up in disbelief for a moment, holding an axe ready to defend. "I thought you said this barrier was defending us!" Morgerad shouted out at the man holding off the giant bird, who smirked back. "Th-the greater barrier was, in turn, supported by the eight smaller barriers within it. By breaking the eight smaller barriers, you've weakened the great barrier, and given this bad boy the chance to try to break through!" Tytanios explained, holding off the enemy, but. "Ah!"
Suddenly, a smaller bird shot down with the speed of a meteorite. It hit the barrier to Tytanios right, the little beak of the burning bird hitting with much greater power, and it burned through a small portion of the barrier and seared through, about to strike at the spire. Should it hit, the barrier would be gone and the world of Helves would be in the talons of this enormous bird. However, just before hitting, the back of an axe bashed the bird aside as Artion had launched himself to defend it, and the smaller, but still four times the size of a human bird waved itself up to its talons, glaring on the top of the tower. "T-take it down! Quickly!" Tytanios called to them, but looking at his arms he felt his own strength waning holding the barrier up. "Ah..." That was when Embervi, the magician of Artion's group, raised his hands as well and supported the enemy leader. "Your magic is more suited for self-empowerment. Let me help, my magic is well suited for support...!"
"We're down one guy!" Morgerad said, while firing arrows at the great bird within the barrier, while Atta had already launched herself in a spray of punches at it, Diverga stabbing at it while muttering smaller healing spells or protective spells to protect her allies against the fire the bird shot out, with Artion standing guard should the bird try to slip past, on multiple occasions needing to dash in to smack the bird back into place. With but a single glare, Tytanios got Joirn to realize, dash over and support those who were his enemies, his accurate and deadly sword-strikes supported by the dark magic within him defending their lives while striking powerful blows against their opponent.
After a long, exhausting battle, the smaller but yet great bird within was slain, the five who had fought it exhausted and torn. "D-damn it." Atta complained, the normally powerful girl on all fours before the beaten body of the big bird. "We wouldn't be able to handle two of those." Morgerad stated in a stale, to the point voice. "Thanks for your help." Artion said, beside Joirn, giving him a small, slightly changed look of appreciation, both quite worn down. "D-don't take it the wrong way." A drained Joirn said, catching his breath after having used that taxing magic on himself to boost his power. Then they looked back at the two magical individuals holding the barrier up.
"Y-you may have to leave me behind, I think I'm needed here." Embervi told, sweat breaking out as he held his hands upwards, as a series of birds like the one they had just barely beaten were trying to break through along with the humongous bird trying to sink its talons into the barrier. Artion frowned, looking over his best friend and then at Tytanios. "It's over. They're going to break through." This caused Diverga to look at her former leader with a surge of fear. "Can't you do something!?" Tytanios smirked, looking up. "There's... actually something I can do."
"Wait, you can't do that!" Joirn shouted out in panic at his leader, obviously knowing what was happening. "Wait, what? What's happening?" Atta asked, just now coming back from having been infuriated with how much energy is had taken to take down a single one of those birds. "I'll transform my life-energy into magical energy, and reinforce the barrier. It should last... about half a year. Yeah." Embervi glared at him, arms still raised, but he smirked at the Loathens leader. "Add mine to it, and it'll be a whole year." Tytanios took a moment, then smiled back at the young magician. "Really, you'd give your life for that...?"
"No, both of you!" Artion shouted out, angry at their idea of sacrificing their lives. "We'll come up with some other way. We can't just-" He was interrupted by his friend. "There is no time! Artion, you must take the others and leave! Converting life-energy into magical energy creates a huge shock-wave, which will probably obliterate the tower!" Embervi declared. Tytanios smirked. "I'll put a smaller barrier around the spire to protect it, after the tower is destroyed the barrier will hold it floating up here for a year. During that year, you must disable the three seals on the gate to the Gods of Magic, go through, obtain their power, and come back to defeat the monsters!" Artion grabbed his axe and dashed for the two, intending on getting Embervi away from there, but was grabbed by Joirn and Morgerad, preventing him. "Embervi...!" He shouted out. "I-it was an honor to be... your friend, Artion." Embervi said, with his eyes growing slightly watery.
Artion was growing really desperate, but Joirn and Morgerad held him back. "C'mon, this tower's going to blow!" Morgerad declared, lifting Artion up and carrying him away. Atta looked at Embervi for a moment, who smiled at her back, before she swore and turned around, knowing this was for the greater good. "I-it was an honor, to fight alongside such a brave man." Diverga managed to creep out, as she looked with teary eyes towards Embervi. He smiled back at her. "I'm sorry for putting you all through this." Meanwhile, Joirn turned and looked at Tytanios, fear for his leader's life in his eyes similarly. "Go with them, they need all the help they can get." Tytanios smiled at his only remaining soldier, who fought back his tears, declaring. "I know. I will do you proud, father." Upon making this little reveal that made at least one turn her head to look in surprise, Joirn spun around and dashed out with the other heroes, Tytanios nodding, as the party made their descent.
Later, on a hill with a view over Tytanios' Tower, the five stopped. Morderad finally placed down Artion, who immediately spun towards the tower, angry that his friend had been left behind. Just as Diverga, Atta and Joirn turned to look at him run, a shock-wave blasted from the top of the tower, making the entire structure collapse and any hope of any survivors left behind was lost. In the top of it, a small bulge signifying a new barrier on the top of the other signified where their life-energy held the spire in place, safe for now. Artion stomped the ground in anger, taking his time to take deep breaths after to calm down. "Artion..." Diverga looked after him, worried, feeling the pain of loss in her heart as well. "It was a heroic sacrifice." Morgerad declared, bitterness in his voice. "Damn it, I' so... weak!" Atta hit with her gauntlet into the ground, creating an indent, annoyed at this result.
Joirn say, looking up at the barrier, momentarily silent and expressionless. Atta walked up to him, a frown on her face. "Father, huh?" Joirn made no change of expression. "Tell you what, I still hate you and your father. However, I now understand what you were trying to achieve." Joirn made no effort to tell her that he didn't know all that, either. "I won't approve of it, but I understand it. I expect you to repay us in turn, now. Understood?" Joirn stood up, and looked at the fierce little girl, and sighed.
"Yes, I will do my best to repay for the deeds of my father." Joirn said, a wound audible in his voice. By now, Artion had come back, and thrown them a glance while holding the map he had been given. "That's right. As I think back, there wasn't a single time he had actually actively ordered to kill a single individual." He said. "Except us." Atta corrected with a little 'hmpf'. "I will respect that, and we can use all the help we can get. Welcome to the party, Joirn." Artion gave a little smile at Joirn, and lifted his hand to shake, and after a moment's hesitation Joirn lifted his and shook as well.
Diverga looked a little unsure of herself, thinking back to how much older she might be than she thought, but she soon had Artion's hand on her shoulder. "Hey, no matter where you come from or how long ago that might have been, you're my friend and ally now, and you're working with me. Do you need anything else?" They had already had that conversation before in this adventure, and Diverga smiled upon the reminder, and continued on without worry. "The challenges ahead is probably the most dangerous you've ever faced." Joirn informed, looking at where the map directed them. "No matter. We'll break down anything they throw at us." Atta stated with surety, hitting her gauntlets against one another. "We have one year." Morgerad informed, his analytical mind still in full control. "Then let's get moving." Artion declared with a held smile, determined not to waste Embervi's and Tytanios' sacrifice. And so the party got moving, towards a new adventure.
__________________________________
Two men were sitting crouched on the floor of a barrier. They were sitting with their legs crossed, arms folded, staring at one another with blank stares. One was wearing dark clothes and had two shadowy swords lying to his left and right, the other had brighter clothes and a staff hanging diagonally across his grip. Below them was an absolutely wonderful view of the island of Helves, not that the tower was gone it was easy to look around all of it without trouble. The two men remained staring blankly, until one of them spoke.
"Yo." Embervi said, casually to the man in front of him.
"Been a while." Tytanios replied, his eyebrows raised a bit.
"They took it." Embervi stated as a simple fact.
"Hook, line, sinker, rod and fisherman." Tytanios nodded approvingly.
It took a few more moments of both men staring at each other before they both couldn't hold it anymore and both burst out laughing, Embervi leaning forward over his staff as he laughed his lungs out while Tytanios leaned back and laughed straight up into the air. It would take several nonsensical moments of laughing uncontrollably before the two men could refocus once again and look at each other.
"Man, did you see their faces? They totally thought I was sacrificing myself for their sake!" Embervi rubbed tears of laughter from the same ducts which he had previously pretended to cry through when looking at his party.
"Indeed, that was the part I was most afraid of, but you're one heck of an actor. Infiltrated and befriended the hero as soon as there was even the slightest disturbance in the public, amazing." Tytanios praised his ally, looking at him with an appreciating smile.
"Not as amazing as you, my friend. All those images of birds? Added with extra magical shock-waves for realism? That wasn't an illusion. That was a work of art! Well done!" Embervi held up a thumb pointing upwards, smirking right back at Tytanios. "Still, that was way too close." He added, thumb still held.
"Yeah. All they would have had to do would have been strike me down along with the spire, and the barrier would be gone and the Ferian Empire would have found the island, no doubt rescuing them all and doing horrible things to us." Tytanios sighed, thinking of that specific issue.
"To you, maybe. I'd just have continued being their friend, and hanged out with them as they travelled to Diverga's country of origin, which they'd have found completely safe." Embervi grinned. "Where DID you come up with the idea that she was really 500 years old?"
"I had to explain her hazy memory SOMEHOW. That damaged piece that should have vanished entirely was their shining beacon of hope, damn it." The Loathen leader laughed out loud, looking forward at his friend.
"You just had to sacrifice our strongest monster to seal the deal, too." Embervi leaned on his arm staring with a smile at the man in front of him.
"Yes, the Monstrous Phoenix, triumph card of the Loathens, the monster that should be able to destroy any hero!" Tytanios raised his hands in dramatic gesture. "I used it as a sacrificial pawn to make the hero think the monsters outside the barrier were stronger than he could handle."
"It'll be more importing monsters from the mainland now, eh?" Embervi asked with a smile, to which Tytanios could only nod to. That's when the magician tilted his head a bit, staring at the dark lord. "Was that guy really your son?"
"Joirn? Gosh, no. He thinks so, though. He believes all I say. It is to drive the illusion further home." There was a bit of bitterness in Tytanios' voice as he said so, which caused Embervi to become a bit more curious about a certain thing.
"Say, what are they headed to? This 'gate' leading to the Gods of Magic guarded by three seals." Embervi questioned, inspecting his friend's expression as he asked.
"Oh, the seals work perfectly, the 'gate' can only be opened when they're lifted." Tytanios waved a finger around as he explained, and then... "Though, the door is an incinerator. It doesn't look like one, it looks like a gateway somewhere, but the reason nobody comes back is because they've been burned to nothingness."
"So, that's what you've sent them to." Embervi confirmed, nodding a bit about that the heroes had been sent to burn themselves in an incinerator. How brutal.
"Hm? You haven't started to care about them, have you?" Tytanios questioned his friend in turn, leaning forward a bit. To this, he just got a little laugh from him.
"Nah, I was more wondering about you caring about Joirn." Embervi explained, causing Tytanios to shake his head a bit to deny the accusation.
"No way. In any case. I've now got a year to get some men back to extracting all possible resources from this island that they can. In the meantime, it is about time for your miraculous survival so you can go and make sure they get into that incinerator. Just don't enter yourself, alright?" Tytanios aimed a stare at the staff-wielding magician in front of him, who smirked.
"Yes, yes, that's right. Let's see, how did the story go again? We were transforming our life-energy into magical energy, then, out of the kindness of your heart, you used some magic to put some life-energy in me after which you kicked me out of the small barrier, letting me glide down with a floating spell?" Embervi ran through the implausible explanation.
"Something like that." Tytanios shrugged. "Make sure to make your appearance as dramatic as possible. Message me if the plan to make them go into the incinerator fails. Then we'll need to come up with a new last-minute lie to cover everything with. Until then, take care." He gave a little wave to Embervi, who felt how the barrier was weakening beneath him.
"I will. Don't you worry. We'll have our happy ending before this is over, oppression and all." And with that, Embervi waved back to Tytanios before he fell through the barrier, falling towards the ground so very far under him, but it didn't even matter because a floating spell was prepared to take the fall, ensuring the magician's survival. Meanwhile, Tytanios remained seated for a while longer, looking down over the world as he could see it. Green, blue, more. Quite beautiful. To think he had been so mean to so many people just to harvest some materials from this island nobody knew of due to his barrier. To think that it had almost been broken by just a young boy with a hatchet and a girl's memory that shouldn't even have existed. Tytanios played with his lips a bit, thinking about it.
"Eh. Nothing a good lie can't solve. After all, heroes are quite gullible." And with that, Tytanios jumped from the barrier himself, descending down towards the ground and more operations of bringing monsters and soldiers to be Loathens of Helves, operating under his command. He'd have to be more careful next time.
@Ellri
“Do you know what it feels like to be reanimated, mortal?” The voice said, hollow, as if it did not come from the woman speaking. As if it were speaking from far, far away. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to listen. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her sky-blue silk dress utterly without wrinkles or dirt. Her face was soft, smooth and preternaturally pale, as if she hardly ever saw the light of the sun.
“No...” the other person replied, a bit unsettled. He wasn't sure he wanted to know either. But at the same time, he really wanted to hear her speak. She had come out of the forest, all alone. As a lowly shepherd, he had never seen her like before. And she actually chose to speak to him. To him!
“It is extremely painful. Especially if you, like I was, are still alive when it starts.” Again the voice made his bones ache. It just wasn't natural. But it was achingly beautiful, like her smooth, unblemished skin.
“You generally get to watch the mage carving runes like these into the air surrounding you.” She said, sketching a complex series of runes into the air around her companion. Cold blue lines like fire remained behind where her finger had traced.
“Uh... is this safe? Are those runes supposed to remain visible?” he said again, even more worried. Something told him there was something very wrong here. She just smiled at him, shaking her head slowly.
“By the time this last rune has been carved, you will realize it is already too late. The magic circle is then complete and nothing short of the highest magics can break it. Your heart will start pumping rapidly. Your breath will be frantic.” She did not pay attention to just those symptoms showing themselves in her companion. “After about ten seconds, you will see that the pores of your feet open up and the ground beneath you gets stained with your blood.”
He screamed, for as he looked down, he saw that his feet were bleeding hard. He could literally feel as the blood was pushed out of his arms and down towards his legs, where it left his body behind. His limbs rapidly went from thick and healthy to a pale, desiccated shadow of their former selves.
“As the blood leaves your body, you will feel the æther entering your body. To your desiccated circulatory system, it will feel like someone is pouring molten steel into your veins. Again, it will hurt.” She paused for a second, still ignoring his screams. “As your body nears saturation, it will take on an æthereal gleam, an otherworldly glow. You will never again pass for a mortal. Your eyes will glow brightly with the same gleam, typically an icy blue. At that point, you will feel your new purpose settling in as your transformation finishes up.”
He kept screaming as his skin and eyes took on the otherworldly cast, until he suddenly stopped. He raised his arms, looking at them. They were pale, almost white, but glowed faintly to his eyes. He looked over at the woman seated before him. She too glowed, only far more brightly. He felt he had to obey her every whim. She smiled at him, raising her arm and pointing towards the nearby village, where he had once grown up. “Go. Feed. Kill.”
To be given an order delighted him. The necromancer had honored him. He delighted in the idea of feeding on the flesh of mortals. He could feel the newfound strength within his body. He hated the living. He could not imagine doing anything else.
The woman got to her feet, letting the mask fade. Her clothes, a few moments before the finest sky-blue silk, was instantly replaced by a dark green robe marked with arcane sigils. She laughed. “Mortals. So easily tricked. The ghoul, as she had turned the man into, would gleefully rip his own family apart for the sake of getting at their hearts and livers. He might remember once being alive, some of them did, but he would not have any connections to them. With but a stray thought, she summoned her other minions, instructing them to prevent anyone from escaping. It would not do for anyone with any real power to notice her arrival so soon.
~|~
Within an hour from the start, the entire village had been pacified. The vast majority of its inhabitants, slaughtered. The rest, captured. The necromancer moved among her children, approaching where the captives were held. She smiled the whole way. To her surprise, the village's overlord and his wife, were among the captives. She grinned as she approached the two.
They looked up as she approached, straining against the inhuman strength of her children. “You'll ne'er get away with this, Baroness!” he shouted up at her defiantly.
She only smiled back, making a curt gesture for her children to raise the two up and separate them. “I already have, count... I already have.”
The baroness, as the necromancer apparently could once have been identified as, thought for a few moments. The husband or the wife first... After a few seconds, she decided on the wife. Before she had been raised, the countess had always been spiteful to her, mocking her and belittling her. She did not truly care any more, but revenge, no matter how unmotivated by need, would be delicious.
“Your wife will serve me well, count.” she said with just a hint of spite. Both of them screamed and tried to fight their captors at those words, screaming insults and such at her. The necromancer didn't care enough to even listen. Instead, she walked up to the countess and began carving runes into the air surrounding her.
First the runes of binding. Then the runes of loyalty. Finally, the runes of turning. She finished it all off with a rune of sealing, and her minions instinctively pulled back from the countess. To the count's horror, she did not try to flee. The magic had too firm a hold on her now. She simply stood there. Then she began screaming in agony, writhing as it began its work.
Within seconds, the ground at her feet was stained crimson with blood. Her body rapidly desiccated as it dried out, only to swell seconds later with æther. After but a few minutes, the woman's heart stopped beating, her lungs stopped breathing. Then the woman's gown began to transform. Once, it had been a gem-encrusted ensemble of crimson and purple silk, it rapidly twisted and turned, becoming a dark green robe, not unlike the Baroness' own robe. A necromancer's robe.
There were subtle differences, like smaller and fewer runes glowing upon its surface, but there was no doubt to anyone well-educated about its meaning. Anyone with understanding of the powers magical, that is. Not that understanding the symbolism it represented would matter to most, seeing how they would be dead soon afterwards. Or rather, undead. The runes surrounding the former countess faded into nothingness. She looked at her mistress for instructions. “Take care of him.” was all the first one said.
“Therese! What are you doing!” he shouted as the thing that had been his wife approached, sketching lines in the air surrounding her former husband. “My purpose. I exist to serve. Soon you will too.”
She continued carving the runes, oblivious to his objections. Moments later, the turning began. Same procedure as with everyone else. As he turned, his gaze and pose went from defiant to frantic to feral, even as he screamed the whole time. After but a few minutes, the man who had been a count was gone from the world. Neither of the necromancers cared, for they had what they needed. In his place, stood a feral beast, a ghoul of unusual size.
The necromancers advanced, one in each direction, rapidly turning the last captives into ghouls. Then they let their minions feed upon all that remained. Ghouls were loyal creatures, but as undead, they needed to feed to remain whole. If there had been any survivors hiding throughout the village, They soon died at the hands of the ghouls.
She looked over at the countess. “Countess?”
The newly formed necromancer looked up. “Yes, mistress?”
“Return home. Do what must be done.” The command was seemingly vague, but in truth quite distinct. A complex like the countess' could not be taken by force without someone noticing. Unfortunately for the mortals, a necromancer was a master of illusions, and the illusion of still being alive was the easiest of them all. By the time any of them noticed, it would be too late.
“As you command, mistress.” Though once higher in noble ranks, the countess now ranked under the former baroness, for just as the living had ranks, so too did the dead.
“Do you know what it feels like to be reanimated, mortal?” The voice said, hollow, as if it did not come from the woman speaking. As if it were speaking from far, far away. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to listen. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her sky-blue silk dress utterly without wrinkles or dirt. Her face was soft, smooth and preternaturally pale, as if she hardly ever saw the light of the sun.
“No...” the other person replied, a bit unsettled. He wasn't sure he wanted to know either. But at the same time, he really wanted to hear her speak. She had come out of the forest, all alone. As a lowly shepherd, he had never seen her like before. And she actually chose to speak to him. To him!
“It is extremely painful. Especially if you, like I was, are still alive when it starts.” Again the voice made his bones ache. It just wasn't natural. But it was achingly beautiful, like her smooth, unblemished skin.
“You generally get to watch the mage carving runes like these into the air surrounding you.” She said, sketching a complex series of runes into the air around her companion. Cold blue lines like fire remained behind where her finger had traced.
“Uh... is this safe? Are those runes supposed to remain visible?” he said again, even more worried. Something told him there was something very wrong here. She just smiled at him, shaking her head slowly.
“By the time this last rune has been carved, you will realize it is already too late. The magic circle is then complete and nothing short of the highest magics can break it. Your heart will start pumping rapidly. Your breath will be frantic.” She did not pay attention to just those symptoms showing themselves in her companion. “After about ten seconds, you will see that the pores of your feet open up and the ground beneath you gets stained with your blood.”
He screamed, for as he looked down, he saw that his feet were bleeding hard. He could literally feel as the blood was pushed out of his arms and down towards his legs, where it left his body behind. His limbs rapidly went from thick and healthy to a pale, desiccated shadow of their former selves.
“As the blood leaves your body, you will feel the æther entering your body. To your desiccated circulatory system, it will feel like someone is pouring molten steel into your veins. Again, it will hurt.” She paused for a second, still ignoring his screams. “As your body nears saturation, it will take on an æthereal gleam, an otherworldly glow. You will never again pass for a mortal. Your eyes will glow brightly with the same gleam, typically an icy blue. At that point, you will feel your new purpose settling in as your transformation finishes up.”
He kept screaming as his skin and eyes took on the otherworldly cast, until he suddenly stopped. He raised his arms, looking at them. They were pale, almost white, but glowed faintly to his eyes. He looked over at the woman seated before him. She too glowed, only far more brightly. He felt he had to obey her every whim. She smiled at him, raising her arm and pointing towards the nearby village, where he had once grown up. “Go. Feed. Kill.”
To be given an order delighted him. The necromancer had honored him. He delighted in the idea of feeding on the flesh of mortals. He could feel the newfound strength within his body. He hated the living. He could not imagine doing anything else.
The woman got to her feet, letting the mask fade. Her clothes, a few moments before the finest sky-blue silk, was instantly replaced by a dark green robe marked with arcane sigils. She laughed. “Mortals. So easily tricked. The ghoul, as she had turned the man into, would gleefully rip his own family apart for the sake of getting at their hearts and livers. He might remember once being alive, some of them did, but he would not have any connections to them. With but a stray thought, she summoned her other minions, instructing them to prevent anyone from escaping. It would not do for anyone with any real power to notice her arrival so soon.
~|~
Within an hour from the start, the entire village had been pacified. The vast majority of its inhabitants, slaughtered. The rest, captured. The necromancer moved among her children, approaching where the captives were held. She smiled the whole way. To her surprise, the village's overlord and his wife, were among the captives. She grinned as she approached the two.
They looked up as she approached, straining against the inhuman strength of her children. “You'll ne'er get away with this, Baroness!” he shouted up at her defiantly.
She only smiled back, making a curt gesture for her children to raise the two up and separate them. “I already have, count... I already have.”
The baroness, as the necromancer apparently could once have been identified as, thought for a few moments. The husband or the wife first... After a few seconds, she decided on the wife. Before she had been raised, the countess had always been spiteful to her, mocking her and belittling her. She did not truly care any more, but revenge, no matter how unmotivated by need, would be delicious.
“Your wife will serve me well, count.” she said with just a hint of spite. Both of them screamed and tried to fight their captors at those words, screaming insults and such at her. The necromancer didn't care enough to even listen. Instead, she walked up to the countess and began carving runes into the air surrounding her.
First the runes of binding. Then the runes of loyalty. Finally, the runes of turning. She finished it all off with a rune of sealing, and her minions instinctively pulled back from the countess. To the count's horror, she did not try to flee. The magic had too firm a hold on her now. She simply stood there. Then she began screaming in agony, writhing as it began its work.
Within seconds, the ground at her feet was stained crimson with blood. Her body rapidly desiccated as it dried out, only to swell seconds later with æther. After but a few minutes, the woman's heart stopped beating, her lungs stopped breathing. Then the woman's gown began to transform. Once, it had been a gem-encrusted ensemble of crimson and purple silk, it rapidly twisted and turned, becoming a dark green robe, not unlike the Baroness' own robe. A necromancer's robe.
There were subtle differences, like smaller and fewer runes glowing upon its surface, but there was no doubt to anyone well-educated about its meaning. Anyone with understanding of the powers magical, that is. Not that understanding the symbolism it represented would matter to most, seeing how they would be dead soon afterwards. Or rather, undead. The runes surrounding the former countess faded into nothingness. She looked at her mistress for instructions. “Take care of him.” was all the first one said.
“Therese! What are you doing!” he shouted as the thing that had been his wife approached, sketching lines in the air surrounding her former husband. “My purpose. I exist to serve. Soon you will too.”
She continued carving the runes, oblivious to his objections. Moments later, the turning began. Same procedure as with everyone else. As he turned, his gaze and pose went from defiant to frantic to feral, even as he screamed the whole time. After but a few minutes, the man who had been a count was gone from the world. Neither of the necromancers cared, for they had what they needed. In his place, stood a feral beast, a ghoul of unusual size.
The necromancers advanced, one in each direction, rapidly turning the last captives into ghouls. Then they let their minions feed upon all that remained. Ghouls were loyal creatures, but as undead, they needed to feed to remain whole. If there had been any survivors hiding throughout the village, They soon died at the hands of the ghouls.
She looked over at the countess. “Countess?”
The newly formed necromancer looked up. “Yes, mistress?”
“Return home. Do what must be done.” The command was seemingly vague, but in truth quite distinct. A complex like the countess' could not be taken by force without someone noticing. Unfortunately for the mortals, a necromancer was a master of illusions, and the illusion of still being alive was the easiest of them all. By the time any of them noticed, it would be too late.
“As you command, mistress.” Though once higher in noble ranks, the countess now ranked under the former baroness, for just as the living had ranks, so too did the dead.
Poetry
@mdk
Observe, a grisly middle-aged man,
His soul adrift to mercies of the fates.
‘Twas orchestrated by none other than
The President of these United States.
In guise of accident, of happenstance,
Conspirators would run the victim down
With automotives – leaving not a chance
Of evidence to implicate the crown.
Perhaps those with’ring eyes did once behold
A dark conspiracy, or some black sin,
But never shall the mystery be told,
For all his secrets sleep interred within.
Thus dies this shocking embryonic drama,
His final words a censure – “Thanks, Obama!”
Observe, a grisly middle-aged man,
His soul adrift to mercies of the fates.
‘Twas orchestrated by none other than
The President of these United States.
In guise of accident, of happenstance,
Conspirators would run the victim down
With automotives – leaving not a chance
Of evidence to implicate the crown.
Perhaps those with’ring eyes did once behold
A dark conspiracy, or some black sin,
But never shall the mystery be told,
For all his secrets sleep interred within.
Thus dies this shocking embryonic drama,
His final words a censure – “Thanks, Obama!”
Reality Checkmate
Life is chess, you always say.
Hard to trick and hard to play.
A game of lies and true deceit;
Hard, but not impossible, to beat.
Lying is the way to win;
And trying, tempting, taunting sin.
If you do not risk, you cannot play;
And without the game, you’ll waste away.
Your goal was firstly to succeed,
Through trial, triumph, heroic deed.
But alas, you’ve failed, your lie too great
And your power faltered, and sealed your fate.
For your lie was of pages old,
Of ebon keys and stories told.
Your lie was great, your lie was tall,
But the strong are predisposed to fall.
You could not pass, you could not win,
And thus you committed mortal sin.
Your lie too big, ‘twas no reprieve
And thus from me you had to leave.
But I was guilty too, you see;
I had both love and hate for thee.
You wrote and wrote your life away;
And I both prayed and rued the day.
And now you’re gone; I need you here.
The end of lies is drawing near.
My game of chess is almost through;
And all I long for now is you.
Alas, I know, it cannot be
For death is not a lie, I see.
I’ve told too many lies to bear,
And you are dead, my one who cared.
I suppose I shouldn’t cry,
For I smiled when I said goodbye.
I know I wasn’t thinking straight,
But now you’re gone, and it’s too late.
“Reality” is simply chess;
Lie and care and try your best.
Don’t dwell on events passed;
Think for the present, and you might last.
But alas, I digress.
Is life a lie, in endless rest?
Is it perhaps, just a dream?
Or is that just the way it seems?
I do not care, I do not know
But now it is my time to go
The end of my lie is finally here
And now, at last, I have no fear.
To you, my dear, I simply say,
Though this is the most hateful way,
You hurt yourself and pushed my fate
And now, my love: It’s check, and mate.
Life is chess, you always say.
Hard to trick and hard to play.
A game of lies and true deceit;
Hard, but not impossible, to beat.
Lying is the way to win;
And trying, tempting, taunting sin.
If you do not risk, you cannot play;
And without the game, you’ll waste away.
Your goal was firstly to succeed,
Through trial, triumph, heroic deed.
But alas, you’ve failed, your lie too great
And your power faltered, and sealed your fate.
For your lie was of pages old,
Of ebon keys and stories told.
Your lie was great, your lie was tall,
But the strong are predisposed to fall.
You could not pass, you could not win,
And thus you committed mortal sin.
Your lie too big, ‘twas no reprieve
And thus from me you had to leave.
But I was guilty too, you see;
I had both love and hate for thee.
You wrote and wrote your life away;
And I both prayed and rued the day.
And now you’re gone; I need you here.
The end of lies is drawing near.
My game of chess is almost through;
And all I long for now is you.
Alas, I know, it cannot be
For death is not a lie, I see.
I’ve told too many lies to bear,
And you are dead, my one who cared.
I suppose I shouldn’t cry,
For I smiled when I said goodbye.
I know I wasn’t thinking straight,
But now you’re gone, and it’s too late.
“Reality” is simply chess;
Lie and care and try your best.
Don’t dwell on events passed;
Think for the present, and you might last.
But alas, I digress.
Is life a lie, in endless rest?
Is it perhaps, just a dream?
Or is that just the way it seems?
I do not care, I do not know
But now it is my time to go
The end of my lie is finally here
And now, at last, I have no fear.
To you, my dear, I simply say,
Though this is the most hateful way,
You hurt yourself and pushed my fate
And now, my love: It’s check, and mate.