Travis had to walk fast to keep up with the lumbering demon. They reached the end of the Strip and Dew kept going. The buildings got sparser and dirtier. The lights began to fade off into the distance. Dew made a turn here, a turn there and Travis realized he had no idea where they were or how to get back to the main street. He worried for a second before remembering he was with a fucking demon. Anyone jumped them, they were in for a big surprise.
“So where is this place?”
Dew stopped so abruptly Travis actually walked past him before realizing it.
“We’re here, baby.”
Travis looked around confused. All he could see were old warehouses. “I don’t see anything.”
Dew grabbed Travis by his head and turned it. “There,” he said flatly.
Travis saw him—a man in the distance, standing in front of a big metal door. “Oh. Kind of low-key, huh?”
“Wait until you get inside. It’s anything but.”
“Oh yeah?”
“T-man, get ready to experience every carnal pleasure you’ve ever imagined. ’Cuz you’re about to enter a myth, a legend.”
“Big build up.”
“You got that right. I already got a little drip on my tip just thinking about what’s going on in there.” Dew looked down at Travis. “You ready, T-man?”
Travis was concerned. If a demon was excited about the shit going in there it must be fucked up. But again, he had to admit, he was curious now. “Uh, sure.” And that slap on the back he expected earlier finally landed, propelling him forward unexpectedly.
“HA! I like you, T-man.” Dew clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Now… Let’s go fuck shit up.”
««—»»
The doorman stood silent as Dew approached. The guy was pretty much a flesh mountain—tall and wide and bald. If Travis hadn’t been hanging out with Dew all night he might have been even more impressive, but he was dwarfed by the demon. Still, something told Travis that even a demon would be in for some serious shit if he were to piss this guy off. Something about him screamed one bad-ass-mother-fucker. He offered the demon a slight nod. Dew returned the nod but didn’t say anything.
In a blink a slim Asian man slipped from the shadows next to the giant, startling Travis. Dressed completely in black, the man melded with the night. Travis had a hard time seeing him clearly until he stepped into the light hanging over the door. “Dew.”
“Horatio…my…man,” Dew said extending his hand.
“Been awhile, my demon friend.”
“Too long,” Dew agreed, still holding his hand out. Finally Horatio reached out toward Dew, but didn’t shake his hand. Horatio’s fingers closed tight around Dew’s wrist, but they didn’t stay there. They grew longer, snaking up and around Dew’s forearm, constricting tighter and tighter. Then with his other hand, Horatio placed his index finger lightly on Dew’s hand. The sickly sweet smell of burning flesh crept into Travis’ nose as smoke curled up from Dew’s hand.
Horatio looked at Dew with tired, lazy eyes. “About fifty years, or so.”
Dew nodded, “Yeah.”
“Your mark was almost gone.”
Dew laughed looking down as Horatio’s fingers slowly retracted back into his hand. “Well, shit, man, you know I’d be here every night if I could. But I have to wait ’til I’m called.”
Horatio shot Dew a quick grin before flicking his head in Travis’ direction. “This the one who called you?”
Dew grabbed Travis by the neck, picked him up and placed him in front of Horatio. “Yep, this is T-man.”
Horatio considered Travis for a few moments, then gave a slight courteous nod. “Will you be joining us tonight.”
“Ummm…”
“Hell, yeah, he’ll be joining you tonight,” Dew interrupted. “Travis here needs his pipes cleaned big time. Don’cha, T-man?”
“Apparently I need to get laid or something,” Travis said nervously.
“Meager desires for our establishment, but I suppose we can provide you with whatever you’d like.” Horatio looked Travis in the eyes. “Hand please.”
Travis hesitated.
“Come on, buddy. Give Horatio your hand so you can get your mark. It only stings a little.”
“I really don’t want to be scarred,” Travis said, pointing to Dew’s arm.
“What scar?” Dew said holding his arm for Travis to see. And it was true, there was no burnt skin, no harsh scar. Travis had to look closely to see the faint image of a bone. But as he continued to stare, the image faded away. “But I saw him burning you. I smelled your flesh…”
“No visible mark. Now stop being a pussy and give him your hand so we can get this party started.”
Travis slowly brought his hand up and, like a cobra striking, Horatio grabbed it—and before Travis could react—the snake fingers had traveled halfway up his forearm. He could feel heat on his skin.
“Man up, Travis,” Dew said, watching intently.
His flesh was burning. He could feel the fire penetrating deep down under the skin, making its way to the bone. He could smell his flesh as it sizzled under the doorman’s vise-like grip. Travis thought his teeth would break as the pain increased and he clenched his jaw, struggling to contain a scream. Then…
…it was over. Just like that.
“See, it only stings for a second,” Dew said patting Travis on the back.
“Stings?” Travis said irritably.
“Well, you know…” Dew shrugged.
Travis was rubbing his arm furiously. There was no mark, no burn, but he could still feel something there.
“Welcome to Painfreak, Mr. Burnsfield,” said Horatio.
“H-how did you know…”
“Horatio knows everyone. Don’t you, man?”
“It is my job. I wish you the best in there, gentlemen. May all your desires be satiated.” Then he stepped sideways and was gone. Lost in the shadows once more.
“Hell, yeah!” Dew bellowed, turning to the opening door. “Satiate the fuck out of me, brother.” Dew grabbed Travis by the neck again and shoved him toward the dark passageway. “Let’s do this.”
Travis felt himself being propelled into the darkness. And it was cold, so god damn…
««—»»
…cold.
Travis stood shivering in a waiting room devoid of…anything. The walls were pale grey, surrounding a pale green floor, topped by an even paler grey ceiling and all lit in soul-draining electric brilliance. Institutional was all Travis could think. Sucked dry of all life, all warmth. The perfect setting for what lay beyond its doors. Doors that Travis had been staring at for five minutes.
Crash!
Travis jumped as the doors exploded into the room, and through them came a man just as devoid of any detail or life as the room he entered. “Oh… Mr. Burnsfield. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Yes you did, you prick, Travis thought, trying to get his heart back to a non-heart-attack-inducing rate.
“We’re ready for you whenever you are, sir,” said the grey little man, flatly.
Travis wanted to punch the little shit in the face for his lack of caring. But then he figured the guy had probably done this a hundred times, likely even more. You probably had to be a cold-ass bastard to deal with what he did every day. So Travis gave an internal shrug and walked toward the man who was holding open one of the swinging doors.
The police told Travis he didn’t need to identify the body. They knew who she was. But Travis had insisted. He wanted to see his wife… Well, not wanted to. He had to. He had to see her as she was before the morticians got a hold of her and painted her up like a fucking doll for the public to see before hiding her away in the ground to become a distant memory to those who knew her: Hey, remember that woman we worked with who got killed back in ’64? Yeah, what was her name?
Her name was Sally, Travis thought, and she was my wife and I loved her more than life itself.
Travis found himself standing in front of
a gurney in another room even colder and more lifeless than the last. The coroner moved around to the other side of the gurney from Travis. “Are you ready?”
The question bounced around inside Travis’ head. No. No, I’m not ready, he thought. Then he shot the man a quick nod while the rest of his body remained board stiff.
The man grabbed the end of the sheet, lifted it slightly and then slowly pulled it back. He stopped just below the shoulders and set the sheet down gently. Travis saw the man’s hands move away, but he continued staring at the edge of the sheet so white against his wife’s grey flesh. Travis slowly moved his eyes down his wife’s body, seeing a slight rise where her breasts pressed up from under the sheet. Then back down briefly until the sheet rose again above the little pooch of belly. Sally had complained about it all the time. But Travis had always assured her she was perfect. He loved spooning her after sex, wrapping his arm around her and placing his open hand atop her stomach. She may have hated her belly, but she loved it when Travis caressed it. She would place her hand on top of his and press down while snuggling deeper into his embrace. And they would fall asleep like that, nestled into each other…perfection.
Travis could feel the tears building in his eyes. His chest was tightening. That hum of static growing louder. Then—
“…so we didn’t really need to do much except for clean up the wound.”
Travis snapped out of his memory, looking quickly at the coroner. “What?”
The coroner remained cool and repeated himself flatly. “I was saying that because we know how it happened we didn’t really need to do anything invasive in our examination. We just had to sew up the wound and prepare the body…er…your wife… for the mortician.”
Then he pointed down at the body and Travis followed the finger down, down, down. And there it was, what he came to see—what he had to see—a dark line of split flesh slicing through his wife’s neck from ear to ear. It was a brutal slap in Travis’ face. He had to tell himself to breathe. This was it. This was the image that would fuel his quest for vengeance for decades: Sally, his one and only true love, laid out on a cold metal table. Covered in a cold white sheet, surrounded by cold walls. All her life, all her warmth, her love…gone, stolen in one quick slash across her perfect little throat by some unknown bastard.
Travis stared at the harshly-stitched wound, his tears of grief replaced by tears of rage and hatred.
The coroner’s voice snapped Travis out of his daze. “Not sure why you wanted to see her this way, but I hope you got what you came for, whatever it is.”
Travis looked the grey little man straight in the eyes. “I had to see for myself what he did to her. I had to know exactly what it is that I need to do to this fucker when I finally catch him,” Travis said, his voice as cold and bleak as everything around him.
The man began to say something, then stopped himself, and instead gave Travis an understanding nod as if this weren’t the first time he heard someone say something like that. Then he grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it up.
««—»»
“Dude! Seriously, what the fuck?”
“Huh?” Travis snapped out of his memory and was shaking. Dew had his giant claw on Travis’ shoulder and was giving him a good jostling.
“Where the fuck do you keep going, my man?” Dew asked still shaking Travis.
“Please stop shaking me.”
“Oh, sorry.” Dew stopped. “But seriously, you having seizures or something?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Travis said absently.
Dew shrugged. “Whatever, man.” He tried to seem cavalier about it but Travis detected a slight hint of concern in the demon’s voice. He didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing.
As Travis gathered himself he started looking around and found he was standing in the middle of a bloodbath. Or at least it seemed that way as everything around him was awash in a deep, bloody red. From floor to ceiling, everything…red. It made the narrow tunnel they were in even more claustrophobic.
“Like stepping into a vein. Ain’t it?” Dew said.
“Kind of—” But Travis realized Dew had kept moving and was almost out of sight. He hurried to catch up, not wanting to be left alone.
Travis started to turn to catch up with Dew. He came around a slight bend to the left and barreled through a velvet curtain. The first thing that hit him was an assault of bass that threatened to burst his eardrums. The next thing to hit him was Dew’s back. It was like hitting a brick wall. Travis staggered back, dazed.
“Easy, boy.” And Dew took a step to the side. “We’re in…” And he held up his massive arms to the air and spun around. “This is gonna kick so much ass!”
No one seemed to notice the giant demon bellowing in the middle of the room. The room looked how you would expect a club in an old abandoned warehouse to look: dim, bleak, minimal. The low light hid the dirt and age. Long, plush couches lined the walls, while round sofas dotted the floor in little islands of comfort. All were littered with a human menagerie. Travis had kind of expected to see nothing but Goths in here. He had been to many clubs like this over the years looking for willing souls to participate in his little rituals. But Painfreak was different. There were Goths, sure, but the crowd was more than just that. The only word that seemed fitting to Travis was…normal. Most of the people here looked normal. No leather, vinyl, piercings, tattoos or bondage gear. Just normal people dancing, making out…fucking.
Travis was unimpressed. And Dew, as he always seemed to know what Travis was thinking, said, “Don’t be disappointed yet. This is just the warm-up area. Let’s get some drinks.”
Travis shrugged and said, “Alright.”
The bar was packed, but a nice wide opening seemed to miraculously appear as Dew approached. And just as he reached the bar, the bartender slid gracefully in front of the demon. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green and lit up like neon beneath severe black bangs even Bettie Page would envy. Her hair cut off just as severely at her creamy white shoulders. Travis let his eyes wander down the bartender’s figure as far as the bar would let him. From what he could tell, she was perfection in female form. And as she parted her dark red lips, Travis waited to hear what the voice of an angel sounded like.
“S’up, Dew, ya fuck?”
Turns out the “voice of an angel” sounded like a 50-year-old trucker from the Bronx named Sal. And apparently, Sal had been smoking since he was in the womb.
Dew turned and looked at Travis who stood there, jaw to the ground, slobbering. You would have thought it was the funniest thing Dew had ever seen as he let loose a belly laugh that rivaled the bass pumping throughout the air. Travis tried to gather himself up as he realized everyone was looking at him now.
Dew slapped his hand on the bar laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. He eventually pulled it together, “Travis, this here is Bobby. And don’t let those eyes and that body fool ya. Bobby’s packing enough meat to put even me to shame.”
Bobby gave Travis a smile that would make any man hand over his wallet, car keys and stock options in a second and followed it up with a neon green wink. Travis almost swooned. Then the voice: “What’s da fuck ya doin’ with dis shitbag? He ain’t nuthin’ but trouble…with a capital FUCK YOU!” Then Bobby and Dew exploded with laughter again as the gap at the bar widened a little more.
“Bobby! Set us up with some Mind-Fucks. Travis and I are gonna get tore up and then tear up some serious dick warmers.”
Bobby snorted. “You’se sure gots a way wit da words, Dew.” Then to Travis, “Dis fuck’s a real charmer, ain’t he?” Then Bobby didn’t walk away so much as disappear, only to return in a second with two giant glasses, filled with a purple liquid that Travis could have sworn screamed when Bobby set them on the bar. When Travis blinked, Bobby was at the other end of the bar. Dew crammed one of the drinks into Travis’ hand.
“A toast to…”
“…pussy?” Travis said, seeing where this was going.
>
“TO PUSSY!” Dew yelled. And the rest of the bar joined him, everyone screaming back: “TO PUSSY!”
Travis took a big swig of his Mind-Fuck and…
««—»»
When Travis came to he found he was staring himself in the face. He quickly looked around only to discover he was standing in the middle of a large room. The relentless bass pounded in the distance. Travis could feel sweat sliding down his back and finding its way into his ass crack. God it’s hot in here, he thought. His eyes tracked around the room until he saw himself again. He jumped a little, then felt foolish as he realized he was staring into an enormous mirror. “Shit,” he said softly, lowering his head shakily. If he had been more observant, Travis would have noticed his reflection not do the same.
Travis raised his head again and stared at himself. He was old. But he didn’t look as old as he actually was. No, years of dark magic and rituals to extend his life so he could see his plan to the end had hidden his true age. But still, he almost didn’t recognize the man in the mirror anymore. Oh, it was him, he knew that, but even with the magic, the years of darkness had had its affect on him. Where once Travis stood well over six feet tall and straight as an arrow, his shoulders now slumped making him look smaller, turtle-like. His eyes sat behind smudged, thick glasses, making them look freakishly large. His bald head was peppered with dark brown spots, and his skin shone white in the dark room as though being lit from inside his body. “I am one pale-ass motherfucker,” he said to his image.
“You got that right, brother,” agreed his image.
Travis jumped back as if shot.
“And you peed yourself,” said his reflec…well it wasn’t really his reflection was it—definitely more his image—it didn’t mimic Travis’ actions at all. In fact, Travis felt hot piss streaming down his leg, but didn’t see his image in the mirror doing the same.
Travis stumbled back a couple of steps and quickly found himself on his ass. The fall stunned him as he looked to find out what he had fallen over. He began immediately backpedaling when he saw the young girl painted with the whitish-blue of death at his feet.
Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings Page 6