Warning: violence, murder, graphic sex and language.
RJ sat huddled in his chair over the writing pad. His pen was busy
scribbling and his mind was totally absorbed in his task. He had the uncanny
ability to tune out everything around him, much to the chagrin of his
ex-girlfriend Deborah. His pen halted momentarily as he pushed away thoughts of
that unpleasantness. He’d been writing much more since he had come home early
from work that fateful evening, only to find Deborah in bed with the landlord.
At first, RJ had been too stunned to react. The mall had flooded days
before, but they still wanted security to show up—God only knew why. Soon it
became evident that no one was interested in trekking through the cold rain in
order to ransack a half dead mall. So he had been told to leave. He’d been cold
and wet and hadn’t even paid attention to the grunting noises coming from the
bedroom. He assumed she was in bed watching television because—let’s face it,
that’s pretty much all she was good for. But when he opened the door it was to
see the old, fat landlord humping his girlfriend.
He wasn’t even mad, at least not initially. It was just too impossible.
Deborah was fucking the creepy landlord that leered at all the women and that
smelled like mothballs! He had just stood there and stared as the landlord leaped
to his feet and darted right past him, causing him to slam into the door jam in
the process. And still RJ had just stared in shocked disbelief. It wasn’t until
Deborah started bawling and explaining that he was giving her money that he
realized that his girlfriend was a straight up ho!
Then he remembered the night that the sheets had smelled of Ben-gay and
Deborah said it was some new lotion. Oh the bitch! That’s when he grabbed some
bags and began stuffing his belongings into them. Deborah was hanging on to him
and he didn’t say one word—barely looked at her. The sight of her naked body
just so recently fucked caused him to want to vomit—that along with the smell
of sex and Ben-gay.
Three months later he was a totally different man. Sometimes he awoke at
night in cold sweats, dreaming of the violence that he should have done to that
fat fuck. He should have pounded him until he was pulp. You don’t fuck another
man’s woman in his own bed and get away scott free! For Deborah, he had
nothing. He was so disgusted by her that he had nothing to say to her. He’d
written her off completely and soon she stopped calling and stopping by the
mall hoping to weaken him. She moved out of town when everyone found out that
she fucked for money.
RJ’s brow furrowed and he continued to scratch out his latest story. It
was about revenge and destruction and chaos. In a very short time RJ had become
a writer that had developed a large and loyal internet following. He’d always
enjoyed writing and had been working on a novel for a couple years, but his
stories had lacked something … and now he knew what it was; rage.
RJ filled his story with the violence that he should have wreaked on the
two people that deserved it. But even as he thought this he knew that it wasn’t
his way. His way was to turn his back on those that had fucked him over and to
wipe them out of his world.
His eyes narrowed as he wrote about his latest character; a bitch that
had just cheated on her boyfriend…
Pamela hurried down the darkened street as the
steady footsteps of her pursuer followed. How could it be possible? His
footsteps never became faster, but they still sounded just as close! Too afraid
to look over her shoulder again, she began sprinting. She’d had too much to
drink at the bar and Pamela was not wearing shoes made for running. She was
wearing her usual fuck me pumps and soon her ankle twisted and a searing pain
ripped through her ankle. She screamed as much from that pain as the pain of
her body slamming into the hard cement.
Finally, she had no choice but to look back at the
approaching man. All she could see was his big, dark form silhouetted against
the street lights. And the way he walked towards her, unhurried, but with a
sinister intent made her blood run cold. She stumbled to her feet and with a screech
tried to hobble away. The pain was excruciating! She looked back and he was
closer.
“Please!” She screamed. “Leave me alone!”
As if in response, he reached into the folds of his
coat and withdrew the largest knife that she’d ever seen. She began to scream,
but it was only for the briefest second. And then the knife slashed at her
throat, transforming the sound of screams into that of gurgles. The last sight
that Pamela would have on this earth was that of the psychic that had read her
palm days before! But why…? She wanted to ask. He answered her unspoken
question.
“Because I know what you will do if you are allowed
to live. I have seen your past and I know your future. You were going to get
into a car tonight and murder an innocent family in a drunken accident ... just
like…” His eyes flashed in rage. “Just like what had been done to my family!”
He was insane, she had time to think before the
knife sank into her body repeatedly. And then there was nothing but the sound
of the knife burying into her body time after time…”
~***~
Working
in ‘merchandise control’ allowed RJ to write because once the mall closed he
couldn’t leave until each shop-keeper left. That gave him plenty of down-time. He
might complain about his job because on a daily basis he had to chase down at
least one schmuck that had tried to walk out of a store with something that
they’d failed to pay for. But for the most part just one look at the six foot
three inch security guard with his sinister devil goatee and shaved head seemed
enough to keep the peace.
 | |
| ...not the real RJ Cree... |
On
those unpleasant days when he had to apprehend someone with light fingers, he
found himself more perturbed at the fact that they were risking a criminal
record over a damned Little Wayne CD! When someone had the good taste to loot
some good metal tunes he was much kinder and even found himself discussing how
good a certain song was over another. At times the thief thought he would
let them go just because he was shooting the breeze—but his new colder, meaner
self wouldn’t allow someone to get away with a crime during his watch.
He
liked his job despite the fact that whenever he apprehended someone they would
invariably refer to him as a mall cop. He’d grown to dislike teenagers and now watched
them with suspicion. RJ was thirty-three and despite his joy of beer, he kept
himself in good shape because there was nothing worse than having some young
punk outrun you with an armful of merchandise. His job was best when he was
able to recover thousands in looted property. It required him to go to court,
but even that was fine. His job gave him a lot of down time-and that was
valuable to an aspiring writer.
Later
that night, he was on his laptop when he got an IM.
“Hey RJ, long time.”
Bonita!
“Hey
Mami! Where you been?!”
RJ had
a particular fondness for Latino women and though Bonita was a bit older he’d
always been attracted to her. But they were friends and he’d been with Deborah
and so … well nothing had ever developed between them.
“Lol, I’ve been around Papi. What have you been up to? You still writing?”
RJ grew
serious as he told her about his recent breakup.
“I’ve been writing more than ever! You should read
some of my new stuff.” He decided to take a
chance. “Hey, Mami, I don’t work Wednesday. You should meet me for lunch and I’ll
print up one of my stories for you.”
RJ
waited anxiously for her reply.
“Sounds good!”
He blew
out a relieved breath. Things were looking up.
After
they chatted for a while and made their date plans, RJ pulled up a fresh word
doc page and began to write a new story. He wouldn’t give her one of his
slasher stories. He wanted to try his hand at something different. He’d always
had a fantasy of him and Bonita; one particular fantasy …
~***~
RJ Cree
wrote everything from sci-fi, to fantasy. But what he wrote best was erotica.
He printed out the story that he’d been writing for the last two days. He was
nervous because he’d never written anything so erotic and yet so honest. He
didn’t want to offend Bonita or put her on the spot—but at the same time, she
was hot and he was an aspiring writer so …
He
checked himself in the mirror one last time and
winked at himself and with a chuckle grabbed the story and hurried to his date.
RJ
arrived at a local pub a bit early and sat in the chair where he faced the
entrance so that he could watch for her arrival. Five minutes later a brown
skinned woman walked into the restaurant and looked around anxiously. Her black
hair flowed in waves just over her shoulders and her chocolate brown eyes
looked around the darkened room.
Damn,
she was every bit as desirable as he’d remembered. Bonita was that
voluptuousness that women thought they should exercise away. He thought her
rounded body was perfect. He felt himself stir as he thought about the things
he’d written in the story that now sat on the table. He sighed and stood hoping
that his slight erection wasn’t noticeable, and then he waved her over. She
seemed delighted to see him and gave him a strong hug that made his day.
They
had a great date and she wanted to read the short story right then but he told
her to wait. After lunch they promised not to let so much time pass before
hanging out again and the two parted ways.
After
the date RJ ran some errands and when he got back to his apartment several
hours later, he was surprised to be greeted by Bonita who was sitting on the
stairs waiting for him.
“Hey,
Mami. What are you doing-?” He was further surprised when she came to her feet
and wordlessly placed her arms around his body. He felt her lips on him and
blinked in surprise. “Bonita…”
And
then he stopped asking questions and pulled her into his apartment. Her hands
were all over him and soon his were on her. He palmed her full ass and groaned
against her lips. Damn, he’d wanted to do this for years.
She
slithered out of his grip and dropped to her knees. His eyes practically bugged
out of his head when she unzipped him and pulled out his cock. Jesus … he never
knew that she was so bold! Not that he was complaining. He reached down and
slipped his hand into her bra and fondled her taut nipple as she sucked him
into her mouth.
Moments
before he was going to cum, she released him and standing, she stripped out of
her clothes while giving him a smile.
“Spank
me, amante, because I have been very naughty.”
RJ
threw his head back and chuckled in understanding. Bonita was recreating what
he’d written in the story. In the story he’d given her, the sexy woman comes to
the house and gives the hero the blowjob of his life, then he spanks her
thoroughly before burying himself into her plump bottom. After hours of wild
sex he confesses his love and she does the same. Happily ever after ensues.
Damn … he
smiled at her. And then RJ joined in the re-creation of the story that he’d
written for the lovely Latina that he’d been secretly attracted to for so long.
When their night ended Bonita looked at him tiredly, but with a smile on her
face.
“I’ve
been wanting this for a long time, RJ. Did you know that?”
He
snuggled up to her, burying his face into her neck. “You never let on.”
“You
were with that girl-”
“It’s
just us now.”
The
ringing of the phone pulled him from his sleep and Bonita’s arm. He looked at
the clock. 3 am? He picked up the phone and went into the next room so that he
didn’t wake up his new girlfriend. He smiled to himself as he thought that.
“Hello?”
“RJ.”
It was
his mother. “Mom? What’s wrong?” Someone was dead. He already knew. Because why
else would his mother call him at such an hour?
“Sweetheart
… I don’t know how to tell you this but it’s Deborah.”
“What?”
“Honey,
Deborah is … dead. Some maniac murdered her!” It felt like the air had been
knocked out of his body as he slumped to the couch. “They caught him though!”
RJ
rubbed his head and tried to understand. “But what happened?”
“Some
crazed lunatic stabbed her in the middle of the street. Oh honey, it was so
horrible! The man was an ex-mental patient who was committed after his wife and
child were killed in a drinking and driving accident. The police think that he
went to the bar that Deborah had just left searching for someone who might
drink and drive to kill. Oh RJ, I know you and Deborah broke up on a bad note
but-”
RJ hung
up the phone. His heart was beating a mile a minute. He had been in the process
of transcribing that very story so that he could post it online. He felt a cold
sweat break out over his body and began an uncontrolled shivering.
Oh god,
it was crazy what he was thinking but what were the chances that what he’d
written and what had happened to Deborah would match? He felt something
touching his back and spun around with a jolt.
“What’s
wrong, baby?” Bonita said, practically jumping herself.
“Oh
shit … Bonita, something terrible happened.” He explained about what his mother
had told him but was reluctant to mention the story that he’d written. He was
suddenly ashamed that he’d written something like that—especially now, after
what had happened to Deborah. He didn’t love her anymore, but he hadn’t wanted
anything bad to happen to her … well that wasn’t true. Had he … had he wanted
Deborah to be murdered?!
Bonita
hugged him, soothing some of his fears as she led him back to bed. After making
love again he began to convince himself that this was all just a coincidence.
Days
later, RJ was trying his hand at writing something new. He’d written much more
erotica and Bonita had become his biggest fan. Everything he wrote she was
anxious to try which caused him to write some pretty daring things, like sex in
the mall in one of the dressing rooms. She had delighted him by showing up
wearing a garter and corset beneath her clothes. They had some crazy, wild sex
there and then walked out as if nothing had happened.
But recently
he had decided to put away the slasher stories and to try writing an
apocalyptic story about the last man on earth. Being military, he’d always
thought about what would happen if all of the sparring nations decided to let
their bombs fly at the same time.
He was
writing about the catalyst; a terrorist act in the UK when Darryl Madison came
running into the security room.
“Dude!
Did you hear? A terrorist bomb just went off in a subway in England!”
RJ’s
eyes grew big and round. No no no!!! “In Picadilly Circus?!” He asked while
leaping to his feet.
“Yeah. How’d you know?” Darryl asked.
“Was
anybody hurt?!”
“I
don’t know. It just happened…”
RJ sat
down and quickly picked up his pen. He began writing furiously.
“…the strategically placed bombs, meant to bring the optimum in carnage,
miraculously caused no fatalities. Weeks later, people would call it a miracle
that not one person was hurt in the multiple explosions. Some would later
describe feeling as if they’d had a premonition and had fled the tube. Others
would describe seeing the terrorists and feeling that they were suspicious.
Many heroes were made that day as the crowd sought out and chased down the
would-be killers and brought their own brand of justice upon their heads.”
RJ was
sweating as he finished writing, and then he hurried out of the room to the
break room where several people were gathered watching CNN.
“Early reports indicate that there are no fatalities, however, it may
take days to dig through the ruins…”
RJ
collapsed into a nearby chair. Good God almighty … He was a freaking killer. He
left work shortly after and went straight home and opened his laptop. He had
story after story about slashers, murderers and revenge. He began to
investigate the online headlines about recent killings. It wasn’t hard to see
that his stories had come to life.
RJ
moved to his kitchen and grabbed a beer and had it drained before realizing it.
He was on the second beer when he realized something that devastated him nearly
as much as the fact that he was an unwitting murderer. He’d written Bonita
falling in love with him.
He
squeezed his eyes closed. Bonita would have never done any of that if he hadn’t
written it.
The
next day he showed up at her house and it saddened him when she flashed her
beautiful smile and gave him a lingering kiss.
“Bonita
… ” he sighed and she gave him a curious look.
“What’s
wrong, papi?”
Swallowing,
he got the story out. Bonita listened and even read the story that he’d
partially written about the terrorist attack. He showed her the slasher stories
and then had her pull the actual events up on her computer. When she still
hadn’t made much of a comment he finally just spun on her.
“Well
what do you think?! You haven’t said a thing. You can see how closely my
stories resemble what’s been happening!”
She
licked her lips and glanced away. “Yes,
they are similar. But that’s because you wrote them after it happened. Baby, I think you’re just over-worked-”
His
eyes grew wide. “No. You think I’m insane.”
“No,
not insane but tired. Overworked, stressed.” She pulled him into her arms and
hugged him. “Sweetheart, I love you not because you wrote it but because you’re
a good man. I’ve been attracted to you for years, RJ. Hell, I read your story
and knew it was about us. Re-enacting it was my way of telling you that I feel
the same way. So there. That wasn’t part of your story.”
He
stared at her. “You promise that you had feelings for me for years?”
She
smiled. “I promise.” They kissed and he pulled back. “Bonita, hand me something
to write with.”
“What?”
He didn’t explain and she did as he requested. He sat down at her dining room
table and began to write.
“What
are you writing?”
“You’ll
see.” He muttered as he scribbled. Fifteen minutes later he turned the paper
over so that she couldn’t see it. “Let’s turn on the television.”
She gave him a curious look but turned on the
television. He instructed her to turn to CNN. They watched for nearly an hour
before there was an emergency interruption in the regular scheduling.
“Breaking news. We have a report of a strange
occurrence in the Gulf of Mexico. In a small town on the Alabama Gulf Basin a
very strange phenomenon has begun. A few moments ago there were reports that
the water has turned pink. That’s right. The entire Gulf Basin has turned a
pink tint that some have described as Pepto Bismol pink.”
Bonita’s mouth turned dry. She looked at RJ
and then leaped to her feet and picked up the paper that he’d been scribbing on. She covered her mouth with
a shaking hand as she read. The last line read; “Two days later the hoopla
would die down when it was discovered that a local company had illegally dumped
its waste in the waters, which had caused the pink color.”
“Oh my God!” She started pacing as he followed
her with his eyes.
“I know.”
“RJ … Deborah … ” He closed his eyes and
placed his head in his hands. He felt Bonita’s hands on his shoulders and it
was a welcomed distraction. “You have to write her back to life. RJ, it’s the
only way.”
His head popped up. “No fucking way! I don’t
want it turning out like The Monkey’s Paw!”
“The what? What are you talking about?”
“The Monkey’s Paw. Don’t you know that story?”
He shivered as he thought about how a man had come to own the mummified paw and
despite hearing about the ill-fate of the prior owners he made a wish for
money. It turned out that his only son had been killed in a horrible accident
by falling into machinery. The insurance pay-out was the exact amount that he’d
asked for. Putting two and two together, his wife had begged him to wish for
their son to be alive and so he had and that is when the sound of something
slithering up the walk caused them to remember that their son had been horribly
maimed. His wife didn’t care but he did. He didn’t want her to let the thing
that had once been their son into the house and he searched for the paw to make
the third and final wish before she could open the door.
“And what was the third wish?” Bonita asked
softly.
“No one knows. He made it and the sound ended just
as his wife opened the door.”
“Okay, you’re right.” She stood up and began
pacing. “We can’t write her back to life.”
She reached for his hands and gripped them.
“Honey, do you think that you could maybe use your talents for good. Maybe you
can write world peace or-”
He was shaking his head. “Bonita! I don’t want
this power!”
“Okay, baby, calm down. How long have you been
able to do this?”
He shrugged and stopped pacing. “Well, the
crap that I used to write never came true. So I guess after Deborah and I broke
up and I started writing all of that slasher shit. I think that’s when it
began.”
She asked to read them and he reluctantly
agreed. Now that he knew his stories had caused people to die, he was ashamed
that he’d ever written them. Something niggled at his mind but he couldn’t
quite get to it and so he left her alone to read.
The next day she called him on his cell phone
and met him at the mall. “Those stories are so violent. They aren’t you, RJ.
They were filled with so much anger and—”
“I was frustrated back then!” He tried to
explain. “After finding Deborah and my landlord together I didn’t know what to
do with my rage so I just … wrote through it.”
She gave him a curious look. “You never wrote
about the landlord?”
He grimaced. “I try not to think about it.
No.”
Then he knew what had been niggling in his
mind. He gave Bonita a quick kiss. “That’s it! I need to do something. I’ll
call you!” He hurriedly left the mall and drove to the apartment complex where
he and Deborah had lived. It was just early evening and he could hear the
sounds of the television so knew that someone was home.
Tony Marcone was the epitome of a slimeball.
He was an opportunist that had spent the majority of his life taking what
belonged to others; whether it be money, women, or opportunities. His greatest
passion was women; no matter what size, age or color. Unfortunately, he wasn’t
the type to attract most women. Fortunately for him, he had learned that every
woman had their price. This worked to his benefit as the landlord of a complex
that had several single women—and some that weren’t quite so single.
He was expecting one of his tenants. She had
been exchanging sex for reduced rent for a year now. He rubbed his crotch and
hurried to the door. He opened it with a look of confusion when he saw RJ
instead of the pretty blonde that he’d been expecting. He tried slamming the
door shut but RJ had already pushed himself inside.
“Hi asshole. Remember me?”
“Dude, you better get out of here if you know
what’s good for you.” Tony said while using his best big boy’s voice. He hoped
it masked the fact that he was scared shitless. He’d slept with a gun under his
pillow after this guy had burst in on him screwing his girlfriend. Deborah
liked snorting some cocaine and had developed quite an appetite for it. She
didn’t want this guy to know about it, which had given him quite the
opportunity.
He figured the guy was a punk-ass when he’d
simply moved out without confronting him. Now he knew that he’d counted his
luck a bit too quickly. RJ placed his hand around the Tony’s fat neck and drew
back his fist. He punched the older man with as much force as he’d ever
mustered and felt the satisfying crunch of Tony’s nose breaking beneath his
knuckles.
“That’s for Deborah.” He released the wailing
man who clutched his nose and fell to his knees. Using his feet he pushed the
man over to his side and kicked him in the ass. Tony cried out again and then
RJ spat on him.
“And that’s for making me doubt myself!” He
left the apartment and went straight to Bonita’s place. He rapped on the door,
which she opened immediately. She jumped into his arms.
“Where’d you go?! What’d you do?!”
He kissed her. “I figured out what I’d done to
cause this thing to happen to me.” He ushered them into the house, not
releasing her, but watching her openly. “I held it all in; my rage and … I
guess I channeled it all into my writing.”
“Write something!” She exclaimed. The paper
and pen were still on the dining table and he quickly wrote a few words. He
handed it to her and she read it out loud.
“And they lived happily ever after.”
She chuckled. “RJ, for real. Write something.” He took the paper back and began
writing in earnest. A few minutes later he gave it to her to read.
When RJ went home that night he checked the mail
box. Inside was the letter that he had been waiting for for months. It was the
letter from one of the publishing houses that he’d shopped his novel to. With
shaking hands he tore open the envelope and began reading it right there in the
hall. He whooped loudly and turned to the woman that he loved.
“Baby, they want my novel! I’m published!” Bonita kissed him proudly.
Bonita handed the paper back to him. “Come on,
let’s go and see if it really happens.” The couple climbed into his car. He was
shaking when he pushed his key into the lock on his mailbox. And when he saw
one white envelope sitting within it his heart began to drum rapidly in his
chest. He reached inside and stared at the envelope, reading the writing on the
outside.
He looked at Bonita with a confused frown.
“It’s my insurance bill.”
She smiled and began jumping up and down. “It
worked!” She jumped into his arms. “RJ, you ended it.” He held her quietly.
“What?” She said after a moment, pulling back.
His face was turning white. “Baby, what?!”
“Why didn’t I write myself winning the
lottery?!”
…or is it?
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