by Jon Athan
In the fetal position, Ethan lay on the sofa with his head on his mother's lap. Tears trickling from his eyes, he held his hands to his face and stared at the television across the room. He didn't care about the news. It was all sociopolitical manufactured bullshit to him. He was lost in his thoughts, pondering the consequences of his actions.
He thought: was it really my fault? Did I kill Emiko and Mirai?
Without taking his eyes off of the television, he sniffled and asked, “What happened, mom?”
Brooke clicked her tongue and awwed upon hearing the question. She stroked her son's hair, coddling him as if he were an infant.
She explained, “I know it's hard to accept, baby, but what's done is done. Your little girlfriend is dead and the baby did not survive. That's the truth. You have to accept it.”
Ethan panted as he processed the news. He buried his face into his mother's thighs and bellowed. He kicked his feet and swung his arms as he indistinctly mumbled. He had hoped, by some miracle, the news would change.
Brooke said, “Calm down, darling, calm down. You can cry all you want, but it's not going to bring them back. It's your fault anyway, Ethan. You killed them. You should know all of this by now.”
“I... I didn't mean to hurt them. I was... I was just doing what you told me to do. You said to make her mine so I did. I didn't want to kill them. They weren't supposed to die.”
“Your father was right. You need to stop blaming everyone else for your actions. Stop acting like such a child,” Brooke scolded. Ethan remained silent for ten seconds, then he burst into tears. Brooke sighed, then she said, “Okay, okay. I guess I'm not really helping, am I? Maybe I had some hand in this, too. I can share some of the blame.”
Although he still felt a stinging pain in his heart, some of the burden was lifted from his shoulders. He felt some relief thanks to his mother's admission of guilt, despite her reluctance to self-incriminate. He continued to whimper and moan as he stared at the television.
Brooke said, “I should have been around more often – then and now. I should have raised you better and I should have met this woman days ago. I guess I pushed you a little too hard, didn't I? Well, I'm sorry about that.”
“I'm sorry, too. It was my fault.”
The pair shared a moment of silence, accepting the apologies without uttering another word. Crunching and popping sounds echoed from the basement as John cut into Emiko's body, but the afternoon was relatively tranquil.
Breaking the silence, Ethan said, “I'm scared, mom. I feel so alone, like I've been abandoned by everyone. I'm afraid I'll never find true love without Emiko. God, I loved her so much.”
“There are plenty of fish in the sea, Ethan.”
“But there was only one Emiko.”
“Believe me, you'll find someone better. You just have to keep your eyes open. You're an amazing boy, Ethan, and someone's going to be very lucky when they meet you,” Brooke said. She glanced over at the basement door, concerned. She said, “You have to stay free, though. This is going to be just like those other times, darling. The police are going to ask questions... if they haven't already.”
“They haven't.”
“Good. You know the drill, right?”
Ethan sighed and nodded, disappointed. He had been in the same situation before. His father could clean a crime scene, but he couldn't erase memories. Witnesses, like Burt and Charles, would surely link him to Emiko's disappearance.
Brooke asked, “What do you say if the police ask you any questions?”
“Nothing,” Ethan responded. “I say nothing. I invoke my right to remain silent. I ask for a lawyer if they want to ask questions and I ask for a warrant if they want to look around. Regardless, I never answer any of their questions.”
“That's very good. You know, most people end up in prison because they self-incriminate themselves. Prosecutors, detectives... They'll twist your words, even if you did nothing wrong. It's better for you to remain quiet the entire time. That is, if anything happens at all.”
Ethan asked, “Did I do something wrong?”
“It depends on who you ask. I think you're just misunderstood. Try not to think about it too much. We're cleaning everything up. As soon as we push through this, you can move on and start looking for a new mate. Then, you can bring me my first grand-baby.”
Ethan vacantly stared at the wall above the television. He thought about Emiko's death, he brooded over Mirai's unfortunate passing. He couldn't see a bright future, but there was a glimmer of hope in the darkness. I'll find someone who understands me, he thought, even if it takes me until the day I die. He was disheartened, but he would survive.
Chapter Nineteen
Love Never Dies
Ethan sat by his lonesome at the corner booth of a small diner. The scent of pungent coffee and fresh baked goods drifted across the eatery. A few people sat at the bar, bickering about the football game on the television, while some families enjoyed a freshly-cooked breakfast at the other booths and tables. A few waiters and waitresses walked around, happily serving their patrons.
The young author shoved some scrambled eggs into his mouth, then he took a sip of his coffee. He kept his head down and avoided eye contact, trying to keep a low profile. The manager and employees didn't know him, he rarely visited the diner, but he still tried his best to lay low. Four weeks had past since Emiko's death, but he still couldn't get over her.
“This place was really hard to find,” a male voice said from beside the booth.
Ethan glanced to his left – he could only see the man's black pants and polished dress shoes. He slowly lifted his head, examining his two-button coat, crisp white button-up shirt, and expensive tie. He recognized the man's golden locks, crystal blue eyes, and chiseled face. His agent, Paul Davis, stood beside him.
Paul asked, “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Go ahead.”
Paul took a seat across from Ethan. Elbows on the table, he clasped his hands in front of him and gazed at his client. Ethan furrowed his brow and leaned back, baffled by the awkward stare. He couldn't tell if he had good news or bad news for him.
Ethan asked, “What is it?”
Paul grinned and said, “You did it, Ethan. I finished reading through your manuscript and... you did it. We have a hit on our hands. This new horror book you wrote... It's exactly what we needed. It's a raw, disturbing, and emotional look into the lonely psychopath's mind. It's violent, it's gruesome... It's controversial, and controversy sells. Psychos are going to be lining up to purchase this.”
“They're not psychos.”
Paul cocked his head back and responded, “Excuse me?”
“The readers are not psychos. They just like the darker side of things. They enjoy the macabre like everyone else, they're just not afraid to admit it. Besides, I don't think you'd know a psycho if he sat across from you and looked you in the eye.”
Paul nodded and said, “I suppose you're right. Either way, there's an audience out there waiting to read something like this. I mean, it's just so... I don't even know how to explain it. How'd you come up with such a vicious idea?”
How do you come up with your ideas?–many authors were not fond of the question, but it was very common. The young writer sighed as he rubbed the nape of his neck. He could tell the truth – it was inspired by a woman I kidnapped and killed – or he could lie. The choice was obvious.
Ethan said, “It came to me in a dream. Just like the book, it was about a confused man who kidnapped a woman in order to fall in love and make a family. I just... I kept seeing this woman chained up like an animal in a basement. I had to write about it. I had to preserve it.”
Wide-eyed, Paul said, “Jesus, Ethan, it sounds more like a nightmare to me.”
Ethan shook his head, shrugging off the poignant memories. He asked, “Will anything have to be censored? Was it too violent?”
“I don't know, but I'm going to try to push the version you gave me. The people are going to w
ant the director's cut, not the pussy's cut.”
Ethan frowned and stared down at his coffee. He didn't care for the crass conversation, but he couldn't muster the courage to end it.
Paul continued, “We're going to make a lot of money off of this book. I'm going to start contacting a few more publishers so we can start selling the rights worldwide. Listen, we're going to push so many more units if we can get this translated to German. They love these types of stories over there. I'm telling you, I think we hit a gold mine. I won't have to hound you to write another book for months.”
“Good, good.”
Paul raised his brow and shrugged. He was selling dreams with his words, but Ethan appeared to be trapped in a nightmare. He expected Ethan to clap and hug him. The author, however, remained indifferent.
Paul asked, “Are you okay, Ethan? I thought you'd be celebrating. You could have a real hit on your hands.”
“I'm fine. I'm just thinking about the next book,” Ethan responded.
“You should be thinking about taking a vacation. You deserve it, man.”
“Thanks for the suggestion, but I just want to stay busy.”
Paul puckered his lips and nodded. Knowing he wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise, he withdrew from the conversation.
The agent said, “Alright, well, I'll call you when everything's settled. Enjoy your day, Ethan. Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
Ethan leaned on the window and stared at the busy street as Paul departed from the diner. People walked on the sidewalks and rushed across the crosswalks while drivers zoomed down the streets. The women were beautiful, but he was not aroused. He didn't feel any magic with the strangers – a spark did not ignite his love.
Depressed and exhausted, he imagined throwing himself in front of a semi-truck. It would be a bloody spectacle. Besides, suicide seemed like an appropriate ending to his story.
“Excuse me, sir,” a woman said from beside the booth.
For the first time in weeks, Ethan glanced up and made eye contact with a stranger. He found himself staring at a young brunette woman. The waitress wore a blue a-line dress under a white waist apron – an old-fashioned uniform. The quaint uniform was attractive. She had a sexy figure, too – curvy. Her dark brown eyes in particular caught the author's attention.
The young woman asked, “Will you be having anything else?”
Stunned by her beauty, Ethan stuttered, “Wa–Wasn't someone else serving me? A–A man?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. He had to run out for a minute and I couldn't just leave you waiting here. Do you want the check or would you like some dessert?”
“I–I'll have the apple pie.”
“Okay. I'll be right back with that.”
Ethan watched as the waitress strolled into the kitchen. He didn't leer at her ass or ogle her legs. He stared at the back of her head, hoping to catch another glimpse of her eyes. He could feel the butterflies swarming in his stomach. He could feel the magic.
The waitress returned to the booth. She smiled and nodded at Ethan as she placed a plate on the table. She wasn't giving him any special treatment. She treated him like every other customer – but her kindness was misconstrued.
The woman said, “Feel free to call me over if you need anything else.”
Before she could leave, Ethan grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to the booth. As the couple locked eyes, he nervously smiled and asked, “What's your name?”
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Dear Reader,
Hello! Thanks for reading Erotomaniac. This was a little different from my usual. I usually write books about extremely violent serial killers. I think this book was a little less violent and it was obviously focused on a stalker, who happened to be a serial killer. It's different, right? Still, it was pretty disturbing. I even had trouble writing the gory climax. So, someone out there might be offended. If you stumbled upon this book and ignored the warnings, please understand: it was never my intention to offend.
Erotomaniac was inspired by two things: classic stalker movies, like One Hour Photo, and erotomania. Erotomania is defined as an excessive sexual desire or a delusion where a person believes another person is in love with them; those suffering from erotomania may also believe that their 'lover' is communicating with them through telepathy. Ethan is the person suffering from erotomania in this case. He's also a violent serial killer who murders his girlfriends when he believes they are succubi—he's a maniac. So, yeah, I combined erotomania and maniac for the title and the premise of this book. That was my inspiration.
I tried to make this as creepy as possible by putting myself in the shoes of a stalker. The shoes didn't quite fit me, I don't have a knack for stalking, but I think I created a creepy experience. I used real stories of stalking and modified them. Sometimes I even thought: what would I do if I were stalking her? It wasn't the best mind frame, but it really helped me delve into the mind of a lonely stalker. Well, the lonely part was easy since I am lonely, you know, but... I digress.
Just to be clear: I don't condone the act of stalking. I write these type of human horror stories because they feel real, not because I think they're 'cool.' Stalking is also a crime and crime is interesting to me. For those of you who don't know, I'm a Criminal Justice graduate and I've always been interested in Criminology, so I'm drawn to the dark side of the human mind. Also, here's something to think about: this could be happening to you. Someone could be looking at your Facebook photos and doing the same as Ethan. It's an eerie idea, isn't it?
Anyway, if you enjoyed this book, please leave an honest review on Amazon.com. Your review is very important to me. In fact, my entire career depends on your review. Your review helps me improve on future books and it helps other readers find this book. In turn, the more readers I attract, the more I can write. So, if you liked this book, a review will help me release more – and it'll only take five or so minutes. This book is categorized as an 'extreme horror' book. Was it extreme enough? Was it too dark and disturbing? Did you like the focus on characters? Was it too personal and real? Or was it not authentic enough? Would you like to read another stalker story by me in the future? Answering questions like these will allow me to better understand you, the reader. Your words have the power to influence my writing – please use them wisely.
Also, feel free to share this book with your friends and family. Tweet it to your followers on Twitter, share it with your friends and family on Facebook, lend it to them, or even read it to them over the phone or video chat. Birthday, holiday, or special event coming up? Buy them a copy as a gift. Word-of-mouth is a superb method in supporting independent authors – and it's mostly free.
Your support has helped me immensely. Although I could be cutting corners and spending my earnings on myself, most of the money I make off of my books is reinvested into my books. I get better covers, I spend on marketing, and so on. So, yeah, I'm still poor.
Finally, if you enjoy scary stories, feel free to visit my Amazon's Author page. I've published over a dozen horror novels as well as some science-fiction/fantasy books. If you're looking for more disturbing horror, check out Mason's Television. If you'd like to read a psychological horror book, check out my next release, Madness at Madison Mall—it should be out in June 2017. Please keep your eyes peeled for my upcoming books since I release a new book every month. Feel free to check out my older novels in the meantime. I really apprec
iate it! Once again, thank you for reading. Your readership keeps me going through the darkest times!
Until our next venture into the dark and disturbing,
Jon Athan
P.S. If you have questions (or insults), you'll receive the quickest and most efficient response via Twitter @Jonny_Athan. If you're an aspiring author, I'm always happy to lend a helping hand. I know how difficult it can be to get started, so feel free to ask. You can also like my Facebook page and talk to me there. And, I also have a business email which you can use to contact me: [email protected]. Thanks again!