CHAPTER ONE.
Pelios let the
curtain fall back across the casino office
window. They had found him. Two black suited men
had alighted from an equally black looking sedan
parked across the street. How they loved their
stereotypes, he thought.
“Trouble Boss?”
The question came from a Vincenzo Gordino, a
small time dealer of many things and full time
mouth on the criminal underworld that thrived in
Chicago.
“No Mr Gordino, just a minor inconvenience.”
Pelios pushed a button on the desk’s intercom,
“Mr Allasar, they have arrived. Have security
detain them as long as possible. Have yourself,
Mr Carrodan and Miss Anhar report to my office
immediately. It’s time we were leaving.”
Pelios ended the call and flashed a reassuring
grin to Vincenzo. Placated by Pelios’ obvious
ease Vinnie began to relax.
“I trust you brought the merchandise with
you?”
“Certainly did boss.” Vinnie patted the left
side of his jacket, “You want it now?”
Pelios dazled him again with another smile, “I
want it now Mr Gordino.”
As Vinnie fumbled beneath his cheap suit, Pelios
sat behind his desk and opened a draw. Vinnie
ceased his enthusiastic search and with all the
puppy dog affection he could muster produced a
small wooden chalice which he offered to Pelios.
Pelios shook his head and placed on the table a
black leather pouch. Vinnie giggled nervously as
he opened the pouch and placed the object
inside. As he tightened the drawstring words
began to appear on the leather. As he gazed at
their pattern and blood red hue he thought he
recognised some of it as latin, but his strict
catholic upbringing was years in the past,
comprehension was not forthcoming. As Pelios
reached across and took the pouch the office
door opened and in walked two men and a woman.
Al three were impeccably dressed, the men in
suits, the woman in a purple evening gown with a
slit up the left side that went way past the
thigh.
“My friends, it appears our work hear is done.
Thanks to the efforts of Mr Gordino we have what
we need.” Pelios stood and walked around the
desk hand extended to Vinnie. Vinnie, poster
child for any man’s ignorance is bliss
campaign, rose from his seat and accepted Pelios’
outstretched hand. The hand shake was warm and
friendly and progressed into a familial embrace,
accompanied by words such as ‘paisan’.
Vinnie was about to voice his thanks and elevate
‘arse kissing’ to new heights, when Pelios
grabbed him by the cheap lapels and forced his
mouth onto Vinnie’s. Being the career
homophobe he was Vinnie freaked. Unable to break
Pelios’ hold he started lashing out. He could
feel Pelios’ tongue wriggling between his
lips. Vinnie gritted his teeth and intensified
his struggles. The two of them began to lurch
about the room to the appparent hysterics of
Pelios’ associates. Vinnie’s panic was
overode by pain as he felt his teeth snap under
the pressure of Pelios’ probing tongue. !
Locked at the mouth all Vinnie could do was
choke down the blood as he gazed into his
attacker’s eyes. Pelios pupils seemed to
ripple then slowly expand to cover the once deep
green orbs. Vincenzo’s muffled screams ceased
as the invading member swelled and punched
through the back of his skull. His twitching
corpse hit the ground to a tirade of applause
from the onlookers. Pelios wiped his mouth with
a flourish as he recieved the adulation of his
peers,
“Catholics taste good!”
The office door splintering inward ruined any
chance of an encore.
“Infernal Affairs! You move you lose body
parts.” The two steroetypes from earlier
stepped in brandishing badges and heavy calibre
hand cannons. It was the older of the two that
spoke. At just under six feet he was dwarfed by
his six and a half foot partner, but his manner
and bearing seemed to scream authority.
“Hector Pelios, I have a warrant for your
arrest under the prevention of Demonic Arts Act.
You and your associates will remain were you are
and in your current forms, failure to comply
will result in lethal force.”
Pelios flashed the man one of his better grins,
“Agent Tobias, so good to see you, and with a
new partner to boot. Tell me John, how’s the
leg?”
“The scars are fading nicely thank you.
How’s the face?”
“Which one?”
Tobias let the jocular banter fly over his head.
This served no other purpose except giving he
and his partner the chance to give Pelios’
friends the ‘once over’. This would not go
well. As soon as he knew Pelios was involved
blood on the carpet was a certainty. Keeping it
on said carpet and not spilling over into the
streets and lives of the general public that was
going to be the hard part. As the tension in the
room built he cast a sideways glance at his
partner. Johnson was his name, Delroy Johnson.
He had been in the department for five years
following a distinguished if slightly covert
career among the United States Special Forces.
Today was his debut as Tobias partner. Ten hours
into the shift and he was still alive. Better
than the last guy.
“Quit while you’re ahead John,” Pelios
nodded towards his associates, “my three jacks
beat a pair of aces such as yourselves. Walk
away.”
“Not only are you a demonic abomination, you
also can’t count.” Johnson’s sentence was
full stopped by the roar of .475-calibre pistol
he had levelled at Mr Carrodan. The bullet
ruined Carrodan’s suit just above the left
breast pocket. The round lifted him off his feet
and slammed him into the wall, as with a scream
comparable to a soul being put through a
blender, heralded the Demon’s demise as his
corporeal form turned to dust.
Johnson continued, “Mmm Mmm, it’s like I
always say, if you’re going to say it, say it
with a consecrated round. Now you only hold a
pair,” Johnson’s gun turned toward Allasar,
“wanna’ go for jack high?”
Pelios noticed Allasar tense. He and Carrodan
had been close, closer than most in their line
of work. Unlike Carrodan though Pelios still had
a use for Allasar’s talents.
“I take your point. May I?” Pelios motioned
to his jacket pocket.
Johnson nodded, “Slowly!”
Tobias had noticed the almost imperceptible
moment of body language between Pelios and his
underling, he was sure Johnson had not. Johnson
however had forced the issue. Tobias had told
Johnson to follow his lead and not be too eager
for confrontation. Johnson had replied with
several expletives and informed Tobias he was
not dealing with a rookie and furthermore could
he keep his English opinions to himself. Yet
another descendant of African slaves who after
suffering generations of abuse at the hands of
white North Americans, still finds the time to
take it out on anyone who speaks the correct
form of the Queen’s English. Emancipation, one
has to love it.
Pelios had removed the leather pouch and was
letting it dangle by its drawstring. Johnson’s
manner seemed to relax, but he still kept his
gun levelled at Allasar,
“Very good Mr Pelios. Now, bring it over here
and we can all be on our way.”
Pelios flashed Johnson a perfect smile and took
a step forward. A split second before his second
foot landed Pelios flicked his wrist and sent
the leather pouch and it’s contents hurtling
toward Johnson, striking him on his gun hand.
There was a bright flash, a scream of pain and
the unmistakable aroma of burnt flesh. The
charge the diabolic runes inflicted on the
sadly, not attuned Johnson, flung him backwards
into what was left of the doorframe. Johnson hit
the floor like a string less marionette.
Tobias was about to open up on Pelios when his
instincts screamed at another course of action.
He dropped and rolled further into the room,
cutting down the charging Allasar and sending
him barrelling into the wall. Tobias rose in one
fluid motion, gun now trained on the desk Pelios
had dived behind. A blur of movement on his
periphery and high-pitched keening, heralded the
approach of an incensed Miss Anahr. The former
beauty’s features twisted and writhed as her
infernal nature came to the fore. Talons
reaching for Tobias’ flesh replaced nails once
highly manicured. Eyes still fixed on the desk
that hid Pelios Tobias let his other senses take
over. He heard the rush of breath from Anahr’s
snarling lips as certain of a kill she leapt. He
could smell her expensive body spray losing
it’s own battle against her natural scent as
her excitement rose. He heard and felt the
mechanism of a ten-inch spring-loaded blade fall
into place as he raised his left arm. Miss
Anahr’s inertia !
took care of the rest as ten-inches of
consecrated steel pierced her left breast. Her
final scream was as loud as it was abrupt. Miss
Anahr’s once elegant form turned to dust
around Tobias’ extended arm as with the
destruction of her corporeal self, her ethereal
self, or soul, was cast back to hell. There she
would languish in frustration and torment,
usually for the better part of a century, until
returning to the mortal coil. The ‘New
Arrivals’ bureau of Hell was based on one of
the more successful self inflicted torments man
had indulged in over the ages. Heathrow. Not
once had Tobias moved his gaze from the desk
that Pelios hid behind.
Johnson was in agony. Hell-fire runes hurt; that
is to say they hurt like hell. Through the pain
and borderline unconsciousness he could not
really tell just how damaged his hand was, or if
it was still there. His well-honed survival
instincts informed him he had other matters to
worry about. Four feet from where he lay was an
extremely annoyed Mr. Allasar, who in true Demon
tradition was looking for someone to vent his
frustrations on, namely Johnson. With his one
good hand Del frantically searched for his only
viable weapon. As Allasar loomed closer Del
found what he was looking for, a small black
aerosol, no more than four inches in length and
one in diameter. Even at such close range, his
pain-wracked vision could barely make out his
target. To compensate Del just popped the cap
and sprayed the immediate area.
Allasar had been set for an easy kill right up
until the wounded suited monkey sprayed him full
in the face and neck with the I.A.D. version of
mace, a.k.a. Holy water. There was some
speculation among agents about what it actually
was. All scientific examinations confirmed that
it was indeed water, H20, Adam’s ale, whatever
you want to call it. Some remained sceptical but
all agreed one thing; it worked like a bastard!
Allasar felt his skin crack and blister. Waves
of ice-cold fire wracked his body. Killing was
no longer foremost on his mind, survival was.
Allasar put his head down and charged over
Johnson, stomping down as hard as he could and
feeling slightly better when he heard and felt
bones and cartilage snap accompanied by the
monkey’s agonized screams.
Never one to give up, Del managed to get one
final barrage off before consciousness left him.
As Allasar dove through the nearest window
Del’s retributive strike caught him full in
the behind. The Demon known as Allasar fell into
the night, his reputation slighted, his face now
like a char-grilled pizza and his arse on fire.
“Don’t make me come behind there and get
you.” Tobias stood staring at the table as,
after a moments pause, two perfectly manicured
hands levered a slightly, ‘shaken but not
stirred’ Pelios from behind the desk. After
taking a moment to dust himself down Pelios
flashed Tobias his trademark smile,
“Did we win?”
“If ‘we’ means you, no.”
“Pity. Am I the last?”
“Your number two made it out the window with
the assistance of my partner, the others are
dust. Care to join them?” Tobias slowly cocked
the hammer on his ‘475.
“As much as I appreciate their company, no. No
thank you John.”
“Then give me the cup.”
“Of course! Where are my manners?” Pelios
made a meal of searching his seemingly endless
pockets for the item in question, but after a
few choice glares from Tobias said item was
retrieved. Pelios extended his hand. In his palm
rested a leather pouch, identical in appearance
to the one that struck Johnson.
“Well done Hector. Just put it on the desk,
I’ll pick it up when I’m done.”
Pelios’ smile wavered, “Done what John?”
“I’m sorry, I meant when you’re done.”
Pelios saw the stone-cold look in Tobias’
eyes, saw his opponents finger tighten around
the trigger. He knew what coming so he decided
not to be there. With all the speed his infernal
self could muster he leapt for the window.
Tobias had a perfect shot at the back of the
Demon’s head as he made his break for freedom.
John shifted his aim slightly, and then fired
twice. The first round tore off Pelios’ right
ear causing him to spin reflexively. The second
hit him square in the left shoulder, adding to
his momentum and blasting him through the
window. The Demon’s howls of pain and rage
were cut short by the sickening thud as he
impacted on the asphalt five storeys below. With
a satisfied smile on his lips, Tobias reached
into his jacket for his phone,
“Control, this is Tobias. Package is retrieved
and the fox is running. I put a tracer in him so
I need satellite and Magickal surveillance. Call
me when you’ve triangulated target’s final
position. I also need a clean up squad and
something federal to deal with the cops,”
Tobias paused and looked at the broken, but
still breathing, Del Johnson, “inform Director
Rushington that Agent Johnson passed the
audition, though he’ll need a few days in
hospital. Tobias out.”
John exchanged phone for cigar, then produced a
small windproof metal lighter engraved with the
words, ‘Not by strength, by guile.’ His
adrenaline began to subside after the first
exhalation of the sickly sweet smoke. As he
stood looking out of the shattered window he
hoped the clean up squad would make good time.
The local cable network was running a late night
sport channel that had recently started showing
the English football season. He could still
catch the tail end of Arsenal v Tottenham. Come
on you gunners!
Del awoke eighteen hours later. His private room
in Chicago’s general hospital was awash with a
sea of get well cards and fake flowers, sent by
various well wishers who were saddened to hear
about his barbecue accident, and offered their
full support. Said support belonged to the
plastic flower brigade who were urging him to
use their company to seek financial recompense.
He was not sure when the ambulance chasing law
practices that were rife in Chicago had stepped
into playing florists, but strangely it seemed
to make sense. Especially when he reached to get
a glass of water from his bedside table and
noticed their bill for the cheap imitation
jungle that was his room. As the expletives
began to burst forth the door opened and in
walked a nurse that caught the tail end of his
anatomically questionable statement concerning
lawyers and their ilk.
“Such language Mr Johnson! You must be feeling
better.”
Delroy glared at the nurse as she peered over
the plastic floral barricade that surrounded his
bed. Even with her regulation hair and sun
deprived complexion she was rather pretty, in a
matronly sort of way. Had to be the uniform. Del
was a great believer of women in uniform.
That’s partly why he joined up anyway.
“Come now Mr Johnson, don’t be shy. How are
you feeling?”
By now she had managed to clear a path through
the plastic jungle and stood at the foot of the
bed reading his chart. Her name badge said
Ellie. Her stance said yes I am this short but I
do not care. Her deep brown eyes scanned the
information on the chart with a detached
concern. As her eyes followed the information
before her, one lock of hair escaped the bondage
of pins and grips and slid delicately down her
brow to settle along her cheek. Del was in love.
“I’m feeling better Ellie. Thank you.”
“Well, now you’re awake I’ll have the
Doctor come take a look at you. Can I get you
anything?”
Del resisted the urge to suggest a gym mat, some
baby oil and a couple of hours of her time, and
just shook his head,
“No thank you Ellie.”
“Well, if you need anything use the call
button. I’m just down the hall.”
“Thank you Ellie.”
“Yes, thank you Ellie.”
Startled by the unknown voice behind her, Ellie
turned. Johnson winced and let his smile fade
away as he, unlike Ellie, recognised it.
“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.
I’m John Tobias, Del’s boss. How’s the
patient?”
“He’ll survive, but you might want to remind
him to take it easy. I must go I have other
patients.”
Both men took time to appreciate her departure,
as she strode confidently from the room.
“Nice girl Del. You might want to close your
mouth now.”
“Yeah, yeah, abuse a man when he’s down.
What the hell do you want?”
“I just came to see how my partner was.”
Tobias picked up Del’s chart, “Ouch! Smashed
patella, fractured femur, torn intercostals,
three cracked ribs and second-degree burns to
the right hand and forearm. That’s got to
hurt!”
“Damn straight! But I think I’m flying air
Demerol. I’ve got this god-awful taste in the
back of my throat and I’m actually pleased to
see you. I must be on drugs.”
“Probably for the best. It should help you
with the pain.”
“Excuse me?”
Tobias reached into his pocket and pulled out a
small wooden chalice engulfed in a red satin bow
“That’s not very damn funny!”
“Really? The boss thought you might appreciate
the irony.” Tobias removed the bow, and then
from another pocket produced a small silver
flask. Del heard a faint fizz as Tobias poured
some of the contents into the chalice, “Down
in one please Del.”
“What?”
“Del, the boss wants you on your feet and in
the office, in the next thirty minutes. It’s a
twenty minute drive.”
“Are you telling me this is the real deal?”
“I hope so, or it’ll be both our heads
adorning the boss’s trophy wall.”
“Trophy what?”
“Trophy wall. Now drink up, taxidermy is not
an option.”
Half expecting more of his work colleagues to
burst in shouting loud chorus of ‘SUCKER!’
Del did as instructed. He had no idea what to
expect. As the bubbles danced over his tongue
compared to mineral water, then he noticed a
slow smile start to spread across Tobias’
features. Certain now, of having been taken for
a fool, Del let his temper take the lead.
“You sonofabitch! Think it’s funny to mock a
‘brother’ on his sickbed? When I get out of
here you and I have some serious issues to work
out you sinister looking, ‘limey’ burnout
Motherfu…”
Del lost the power of speech as the first
convulsion took him. In total they lasted just
under a minute. To Del it was an eternity.
Unable to shout or cry, all he could do was ride
it out as each convulsion hit. Tobias during all
of Del’s berating had moved a chair closer to
the bed and made himself comfortable. Unlike Del
he had known what to expect as he’d seen it
before. He’d also endured it twice. Both were
events he had tried to forget. Initially he had
been surprised by his superiors’ instruction
to return his partner to active status as soon
as possible. Use of ‘The Cup’ outside of
sanctioned miracles was frowned upon to say the
least. Penalties ranged from excommunication,
imprisonment and sometimes death. The latter
often being the fate of the drinker. If ‘The
Cup’ deemed you unworthy, you died horribly.
Tobias heard the popping and snapping of
cartilage as ‘The Cup’s’ ministrations
reached a climax. Over the top of the bed’s
protestations at it’s wildly convulsing
burden, John could hear the faintest of murmurs
escaping Del’s throat. Tobias took this as his
cue, rose from his chair and retreated to a
safer distance. His timing was impeccable. Del
came off the bed with all the enthusiasm of a
scalded cat.
“GOD-DAMN!”
“Hardly appropriate considering the
circumstances, Agent Johnson.”
Del looked at his hands. The right one was
completely healed, no sign of burns or trauma,
just an everyday man’s best friend. The left
was still gripped tightly around a small wooden
cup.
“I’ll take that back now Del.”
Tobias extended his hand; Del reverently placed
the cup in Tobias’ palm.
“So that’s the genuine deal?”
“Yes Del. It’s the cup of Christ.”
“Holy shit!!”
“Exactly. Now get dressed, the boss wants a
word.”
The journey across town was quiet. Tobias
thought it best to let Del ponder, religious
epiphanies don’t happen every day, best to let
him savour the moment. As the black sedan weaved
through the seven p.m. traffic Tobias searched
the radio for something not born of corporate
greed. As the intro to Nazareth’s ‘This
flight tonight’ began, he lit a cigar and
croaked along as best as he could. Four blocks
from I.A.D. headquarters, Del broke the silence,
“Do you believe in God, John?”
“Which one?”
“God. Jehovah. Old guy with extensive facial
hair and a striking resemblance to a former
president of the N.R.A.”
Due to Del’s previous ordeal, Tobias let the
sarcasm slide, “Oh, that one. I believe in a
supreme force of good, for want of a more
accurate description, therefore I also believe
in a supreme force of evil.”
“All the years you’ve been in the field and
that’s all you can come up with? That’s
pretty damn vague!”
“You want vague, look at the organisation we
serve. All of those conflicting theological
beliefs, that after millennia of warring on one
another, enslaving one another and generally
being unpleasant, after all that they manage to
find one example of common ground. Unfortunately
unlike the song suggested, love was not all we
need. Fear was. As soon as they found their
particular brands of Angels and Demons could
come out to play, they formed us. Unfortunately
the people don’t know. Mother church, father
church, whatever flavour do not want their
congregations to know the truth. In the shadows
they cooperate, in the light they remain at each
other’s throats. People still die.”
“So you don’t believe in God?”
“A belief in God is not a prerequisite of our
recruitment procedures.”
“Can I just get a straight answer?”
“Possibly.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“I have one belief in God, or whatever name
he, she or it goes by.”
“And that is?”
“God is cruel!”
“Amen brother. Amen.”
Dwayne Beauregard Johnson was to all appearances
a slack jawed ‘yokel’. From his portly
dungaree clad frame, to his pronounced brow and
disturbingly lazy left eye. Usually the image
would not be complete without at least one
bucket of fried chicken, but tonight Dwayne was
working and that meant keeping his fat stubby
fingers free from chicken grease so he could
indulge in his one true passion. Poker. He
always had been good with cards, ever since he
was a little boy on his Grandma’s pig farm in
Alabama. Granny taught her little boy well. She
also taught him ‘the sight’. With Granny’s
tuition, he found he had a gift. He could see
future events. She taught him to use cards as a
focus to augment his talent and teach him a
living. Professional gamblers could live well.
Professional gamblers that could tell what card
their opponent will draw before they draw it
could live like a king. Sadly the one thing
Granny failed to teach Dwayne was temperance.
Shortly after she died, he sol!
d the farm for stake money and with a little
over twelve thousand dollars headed for Vegas.
By the end of the week he moved into the
presidential suite of a traditional Vegas
‘family’ run hotel. By the end of the second
he was a marked man with a price on his head.
After a good evening session at the tables
Dwayne had decided to call it a night. He was up
over six figures, everyone called him sir, and
the hostesses gave him preferential treatment.
Dwayne was a big tipper and word had got around.
As he stepped from the elevator onto his floor,
he saw her. She was crying softly to herself
outside the door to one of the suites. Startled,
she turned as she heard him approach. Her skin
was bronze, her hair raven black. She had the
deepest brown eyes he had ever seen. In some
strange way the smudged mascara accentuated her
beauty. Dwayne liked his women vulnerable and
dependant. As he stepped closer he noticed she
was not wearing any shoes. Even her feet were
beautiful, and the natural shape of her legs was
starting to make him sweat. The little black
dress she wore clung to a well-proportioned
frame, flaring over her hips, swooping in at her
waist and clinging to her ample bosom. Dwayne
had never liked the Hollywood, ‘Big is
best!’ stereoty!
pe. As Granny told him after she caught him with
a stack of men’s magazines, ‘Anything more
than a handful can sprain your tongue.’ Dwayne
liked her reasoning, which was why he was into
legs and behinds and as this girl turned to
leave he could see she was blessed in all
departments. To Dwayne’s delight he noticed
she was drunk as hell as she tried to stagger
away. He adopted all the southern charm he could
muster and made his move. By the time he reached
his suite he had learned her name was Luciana,
and she had just had a fight with her boyfriend,
some rich kid from Manhattan and daddy was not
returning her calls. It was all he could do to
stop drooling as he closed the door to his suite
and locked it. Luciana headed straight for the
booze and kept talking. As she settled onto the
couch and into yet another glass of bourbon,
Dwayne made his move. In the time it took to
cross to the couch he removed his shirt and
jacket and stood leering down at this beautiful
creature. He !
saw revulsion cross her face as she watched the
play of his belly over his waistline. Her nose
wrinkled in disgust as his body odour assailed
her senses. Finally disgust turned to fear as
she noticed something stir along his left inside
trouser leg. To Dwayne, her look of fear as she
noticed his crotch was the biggest turn on he
had ever had. All rational left him as he threw
himself on her. As 265 pounds of Dwayne drove
the air from her lungs he pinned her across the
shoulders and throat with his left forearm,
while he tore the dress away with his free hand.
His frantic stubby fingers, wrenched free her
strapless black lace bra then dove in search of
her matching panties. As soon as he had ripped
them away he struggled to free his painfully
erect penis. Luciana got her wind back just as
she felt her legs forced open. Dwayne thrust his
entire frame downwards as Luciana finally
managed to scream. Sadly it was not to be her
last. In Vegas everyone hears you scream. Only
no one!
gives a damn.
A little over three hours later Dwayne finished
for the last time. He left Luciana hanging over
the side of the king-sized bath. She had not
moved for almost an hour now. He supposed she
must be comfortable. As he stepped into the
destruction that had become the lounge, the
first of two searing visions took him. On a cold
mortuary slab attended by a grieving mother and
father, lay Luciana. Hundreds of mourners then
stepped from dozens of expensive limousines as
he found himself at her graveside amid a group
of dangerous looking, well dressed men. In their
left hand they each held a playing card, the
four of clubs. In their right they each held a
set of freshly severed male genitalia. Dwayne
reflexively cupped his hands towards his crotch
as, in unison, the men stepped closer. Dwayne
felt something slick and warm. He uncupped his
hands and turned them over. They were covered
with blood. His blood. The circle of men grew
closer. Dwayne retreated another step, and then
fell bac!
kwards into Luciana’s open grave. As he looked
up he saw the suited men looking down. One by
one they dropped the cards and severed members
into the grave, much to Dwayne’s disgust. When
the first severed penis began to move
independently, Dwayne started to freak. If it
had not been for two arms bursting forth from
the coffin beneath him and holding him like a
vice, he would have been off and running. Now
all he could do was scream and struggle
ineffectually against the arms’ unearthly
grip. Soon after the first one started to move
the rest-followed suit. He could feel them
crawling up his trouser legs, crawling over his
chest, his struggles began to intensify. From
the corner of his eye he noticed one focusing on
his ear. He felt it’s first tentative probes
as it nudged against his ear hole. His attention
changed when three began a slow crawl up and
over his belly. Sheer agony flooded throughout
his senses as his first orifice was compromised.
His eardrum burst under the pr!
essure from the intruding severed member as,
serpent like, it began to twist and writhe its
way in.
Dwayne’s senses snapped back to reality as the
first vision passed. He was sat on the couch in
his suite, his head was pounding and if his
olfactory sense was correct, he had recently
soiled himself. He found that he was reluctant
to use the bathroom, but things were getting
uncomfortable. As personal hygiene struggled
against his fears, Vision number two rode
roughshod across his senses.
He was packing. Desperately trying to force as
many of his belongings into his suitcases as
possible. He knew he was in trouble and from the
state of the suite he could tell that at some
point there had been a party of titanic
proportions, but through any vague recollections
there was an undercurrent of absolute terror. He
knew if he stayed, he would be dead by the end
of the day. Time seemed to slide, for in the
next instant he found himself outside the suite,
standing in the hall waiting for the elevator.
After what seemed like an eternity it arrived.
The doors began to open in slow motion. He heard
footsteps approach from down the hall,
accompanied by several mechanical sounds similar
to the cocking action of an automatic weapon.
don roach2002 |
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