by Jon F. Merz
"My God," said Jeff. "This is really my only chance?"
Gustav shook his head. "No. But it is your only chance for this woman. She was denied the opportunity to enjoy love when she dies before her time. She's languished in the spirit world for years, lamenting the lack of love in her life and in her afterlife. She's never found a na worthy of her. But now she has.
"And you, Jeff, you've lamented much the same. Your early years were filled with the meaningless flings of youth with no substance, no everlasting qualities of actual love. And you're convinced you've past your prime. Now, here, here, Jeff, you have this golden opportunity yo finally attain that state you've so long dreamt of. Are you going to throw it away simply because Maria is a spirit and not a living person? Are you that sure of yourself that you could live with that decision? Think hard, Jeff. This is it."
Jeff sighed and looked at the ground. And then he looked at Maria. As much as he didn't want to look at her, her beauty captivated him so entirely. "You are so beautiful."
She smiled at him. "I'll be yours forever, Jeff."
"Forever's a long time."
"Even longer if you're alone," said Gustav.
Jeff nodded. "All right, then."
Maria beamed. "You're sure?"
Jeff shook his head. "No. But I've never been sure of anything in my life. And Gustav's right. The options don't seem particularly good right now."
Maria grasped his hand. "Then walk with me, Jeff. Walk with me into forever's tomorrow."
Jeff looked at Gustav one last time. "What the hell are you anyway?"
Gustav shrugged. "Me? I'm simply someone who finds true love for people."
"What, like Cupid?"
Gustav smiled. "Maybe a different kind of cupid."
Jeff nodded and turned back to Maria. "Let's go."
And in an instant, they faded from sight, leaving Gustav behind in the chilly night air, moonlight filtering through the trees.
He smiled then. "To be young and in love." He sighed once and walked off into the darkness.
A Friendlier Place
This story is a result of my sudden love for the X-Files back before the series went seriously downhill. I wrote this up and the magazine “Altered Perceptions” grabbed it. I think it was published some time in 1997.
“You still working on that thing?”
Richard Ellworthy looked up from his computer screen. “Yeah, Harrison says it’s gotta be done by nine Monday morning. I’m bound to this thing until it’s finished.”
Gary frowned. “Well, you get it done, we’ll be at O’Leary’s slugging some back. Trish and Katie are supposed to be bringing some of the girls from Personnel there tonight. We might stay long enough to get buzzed and then go do some dancing. You may want to hurry.”
Richard shrugged. “Can’t. Tell the girls I send my love and affection but this thing’s precedence. I got no choice in the matter.”
“Luck of the draw, huh?”
Richard grinned. “No luck here, pal. Justa straight up boning. I got fucked on this, plain and simple.”
“Well, I catch you Monday, then. Take it easy.”
Richard watched him leave and sighed. A bit of partying would really hit the spot tonight. But there was so much to do.
He saved his file and exited from the LAN. He’d already completed the project.
His clothes felt ridiculous and he began removing them in a calm manner. He folded his slacks and shirt in a neat pile on his expensive office chair and then hung up his suit jacket by his cubicle entrance. He balled up his socks and stuffed them into his loafers. He relaxed a bit more and then dropped his boxer shorts and placed them carefully in the top drawer of his desk.
There were two lights on. They cast pale orbs of light into the surrounding darkness. Richard ignored these and walked quietly around the floor, feeling the freedom of movement, the hard carpet under his feet and the pleasant draft of air circulate around his genitals.
As he walked, his body shifted easily. His muscles grew thinner and elongated as did his skeletal structure. His bones were pliable and adjusted easily to his musculature changes. His skin began to change color and eventually became the color of opal.
Richard felt his face stretch as his hair receded and withdrew into his scalp. His eyebrows vanished as did any trace of facial hair. Finally, his eyelashes dropped one by one to the carpet below. The epicanthal folds of his eyes disappeared, giving him a decidedly Asian look, while his ears grew slightly, though stayed closer to his head.
The noise made him drop into a crouch.
The cleaners were on this floor.
He’d forgotten about them in his desire to get rid of his human form. Damn the luck! Now he’d spend all night dodging them until they finished their work. They weren’t very fast either.
He could have taken one of them, but they made unsatisfying meals. Richard had his heart set on other things tonight.
He bounded past them. They never noticed him above the music they played, he was that quiet. Outside their range he knelt by the ventilation shaft and listened to it. No sounds, only the soft flow of air. This one would do just fine.
Richard placed the tip of his finger against on of the screws holding the grate in place and watched as his finger conformed to the metal head of the screw. Slowly, he began twisting until the screw popped free. He repeated this action three more times.
It was cool in the ventilation shaft as he worked to pull the cover back into place. When he was done, he slithered around and then began easing his way down several floors, below where the cleaners would be working.
On the fifth floor he stopped.
Listened.
Sniffed.
Smiled.
He reached out and slowly began the task of extracting himself from the grate. It was tough to get to the screws, but his hands could shape into almost anything he needed.
Five minutes.
The perfume tickled his nostrils. It teased his taste buds. Made him salivate even more. Riding the wave of floral scent was the undeniable smell of flesh. Soft and delicate and so utterly delectable it nearly drove him mad with anticipation.
He could hear the radio. Soft music. Heard the touch of flesh against flesh. Realized she was rubbing her legs together and knew her pantyhose were off.
His legs moved him closer.
Saw the faint light from the computer screen. She was working in the dark. He smiled, tasted the air with his tongue. So close.
Turned the corner and lowered himself all the way to the floor. He slithered into the area and then poked his head around the corner of the cubicle.
Her desk faced the entrance. He saw calves, thighs, and panty. His drooling became unstoppable. He moved slower still, determined no to attract attention. He felt certain she would not be able to see him over the top of her computer.
He could feel the heat emanating from her legs as he moved closer. Such silken luxury so close to his mouth. He crouched under her desk and moved his head up closer to her thighs. He breathed quietly and took in the musky scent of her sex.
And then reached for her, his mouth already opening wide.
Jaws unhinging.
Swallowing.
***
It was tougher going back through the ventilation ducts.
He had gorged himself, belching appreciatively in the near absolute darkness of the labyrinthine ductwork. His burps echoed off the aluminum walls, bouncing away into the furthest reaches of the building.
On the fourteenth floor he stopped.
Sniffed again.
Frowned.
Different scents were invading his consciousness. Smells that hadn’t been there before.
Danger.
Then the footsteps sounded. Close.
He huddled in the darkness. He heard the bleeping sound. Then voices.
“Over here!”
And then knew he had to run. The voices chased him, screaming into the vents.
“In the ventilati
on shaft! He’s here!”
Slithering all the while he came to a juncture and started up instead of down, hoping to throw them off. Whoever they were. They knew who he was. That scared him.
At the fourteenth floor he stopped and listened. He heard nothing.
The most important thing was to escape from this building and get away. He couldn’t go home. They knew who he was. They knew where he lived. What he had done.
The floor was dark and quiet. He sat still for a long time, at least twenty seconds, listening and smelling the atmosphere. Finally he felt better and moved out of the ventilation shaft.
There were hundreds of cubicles here. The workers had left hours ago, gone home to families and dinner. Left behind their corporate umbilical cords.
The windows let the moonlight stream in and he knew immediately how he would get away. On this floor there was always one open window. It was small, but not too small. Large enough for him, anyway.
He squeezed through the opening and looked a long way down. Fourteen floors. Down to the street.
The pads on his fingers and toes pulsated silently as they gripped the exterior of the building. He moved down the side of the building headfirst. His opal skin glinted faintly in the moonlight.
Gradually the sidewalk loomed closer and he increased the speed of his descent. At the second floor he leapt from the side of the building, feeling the air rush around his skin and landed on top of a streetlight.
He gripped the light and swung to the ground, feeling his feet touch the cement first, flexed his knees and then crouched low.
The alleyway to his right beckoned and he crept over to it.
Heard a muffled pop.
Felt the heat in his abdomen. The wince of pain.
Saw only blackness.
***
When he awoke he was in a moving vehicle. A large van.
The interior of his glass cage held his clothes. There was a small opening near the front of the van covered by what looked like a flimsy mesh screen. He was startled and disgusted to find he had resumed his human form. Abruptly aware of his nakedness, he clutched for the pants and pulled them on in haste.
Laughter from the front of the van.
“Well, we’ve decided to wake up, have we?”
Richard looked up to the front and saw a smiling face. Forty-something, graying at the temples with a receding hair line. Heavy-set.
“What do you want?”
“Tsk tsk tsk, Richard, that’s not very nice.” There was a brief pause. “It is Richard, isn’t it? We assumed that’s what you were calling yourself now. Yes, indeedy. Richard Ellworthy. Clever. Had a good job, too. Made it more difficult for us to find you. Stayed away from the mundane crap you used to try your hand at.” He started laughing again. “You know, I do believe that corporate America agrees with you. At least it did last night. Did you know her, Richard? Was she just a lonely secretary? Some Miss Nobody that you deprived of life?”
Richard looked at him. “Man’s gotta eat.”
“You aren’t a man, Richard. You’re a goddamned experiment. You gave up being a man when you signed on the dotted line. You are a freak. An abnormality of nature. A callous mutation that feeds on the normal people.”
“Normal? You call yourself normal? You work for them, whoever you are. You’re no better than the ones that made me what I am.”
The man turned back around in his seat. “Regardless. We don’t take well to experiments that escape. You’re in deep shit, buddy.”
Richard stopped pulling on his clothes. “Where are we going?”
The man lit a cigarette. “A nicer place, Richard. A friendlier place. You’ll like it there, I think.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“Tough shit. You don’t like it, who cares? Try to escape, we’ll kill you. That simple.”
Richard nodded. “I suppose retirement isn’t an option.” He sighed and began changing again. The tranquilizer had worn off completely.
“You were designed for one thing, Richard, that is to kill who we say. Retirement is not an option for you.”
Richard’s fingers shot through the vent and stabbed into the driver’s eyes, spewing blood all over the driver’s compartment. The man in the passenger side turned and tried to punch a button on the dashboard. Richard’s other hand grabbed at his throat and dug into his trachea, killing him.
The van smashed into a streetlight, crunching the front of the van. Richard withdrew his hands, covered with blood. Smiling, he licked them clean and then slithered through the vent into the driver’s compartment. He paused and looked at the dead man in the passenger seat.
“It is now,” he said opening the door and disappearing into the gathering crowd outside.
Balance
“Balance” is one of those stories I wrote to try to reason out, in my own mind I sometimes think, the relationship between good and evil in our world. I had no idea, of course, that the concept of the “Balance” would eventually find its way into my Lawson Vampire Novels. Still, it’s an interesting piece.
James cocked his ear in appreciation as the orchestra slipped into Vivaldi's Winter, allegro non molto. The smile was invisible to everyone else in the darkened hall, but James smiled anyway, if only to further respect the sensuous strings that swept into his mind. He closed his eyes and dropped his jaw slack. The music filled his head and slowly, effortlessly enveloped him whole.
It was here, alone under the cavernous ceilings of the concert hall, where James found his peace. Free from the stress of his life, away from the pressures that haunted him. Away from it all.
Well, almost.
The bulge under his left armpit nagged him constantly that reality was forever close by. That simple, yet brutally effective polymer and metal tool of mankind's violent side sat snugly in the chamois holster, waiting to be used. It was a small caliber, only a .22, almost unobtrusively forgettable. But for James, it could have been as small as a postage stamp, and it would have still been too large. Freedom from his life, his sole compulsion, drew him to these concerts every week in a vain attempt to shut out his occupation. He came close to succeeding sometimes, depending on the piece of music and the conductor, but not always. And even if he could turn off the howling moans that filled his mind, the shouts and screams of agony, even then, his pistol still dug into his side. Still reminded him of all the death.
But sometimes, just sometimes, if he concentrated just so and allowed his soul to be so completely permeated by the essence of music, James could be somewhere else. And at the moment, he was almost there.
"Nice, isn't it?"
James jerked his eyes open. Instantly, his solace vanished. His oasis nothing more than mere mirage plaguing his insatiable thirst for salvation. He sighed, disproportionately so, hoping to convey a sense of extreme disgust at this virtual rape of solitude.
"Yes," he said. Now go away.
The man sitting next to him smiled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. It's just that you looked so enraptured. Nowadays, it's rare to find someone who appreciates music as much as I do."
His tranquility too far gone to recapture, James sighed again. "And you appreciate Vivaldi?"
The man nodded. "Absolutely. The Four Seasons is one of my favorites. But Winter is the best season, in my opinion."
James allowed himself a small grin. "I'd agree. It's hard to think of another piece that so exquisitely captures the mood of the season. The staccato play on violins-"
"And the harmonious integration of the cello," smiled the man.
"Exactly," said James. "It's perfect."
"It's nature," said the man. "Few things are perfect. Nature, for all her apparent faults, is perfect nonetheless."
"Really?" asked James. "How so?"
The man leaned back in his chair. James could see that he wore a severe looking black suit, almost charcoal with a herringbone weave. Underneath the suit jacket, a dark turtleneck completed the outfit. In the darkened interior of the hall,
the man's head appeared disembodied.
"Take as example the constant onslaught of storms and hurricanes and other natural disasters. Most people would be inclined to think these are not perfect events since the calamity and loss of life and damage would preclude such observations."
"Not you, though," said James, mindfully keeping his voice low.
"There is perfection at work there," said the man. "Subtle, relentless perfection. If one is given to accepting all things as they appear externally, then perhaps such events appear as flaws. Grievous occurrences that distort harmony, wreak havoc and cause suffering." He leaned closer to James. "I'm more inclined to delve deeper than that."
"How deep?"
"Deep enough to realize there exists a rhythm so perfect nothing disturbs it. Nature clings to it, worships it, and obeys it without question. And in doing so, seemingly tragic events occur all the time."
"So, you're saying natural disasters are good things?"
"If you prefer using such conventional terminology, yes. You could phrase it that way." He smiled. "I prefer to think of it as remaining true to the earth's essential spirit."
"That being?"
"Preservation."
James frowned. "But those disasters cause untold loss of life. How can you argue that it's good?"
"Because by destroying some, greater amounts are preserved."
"Example, please," said James.
"The earthquakes that happen in California," said the man. "What would you say if I told you they happen because several indigenous species of animals are in danger due to man's developing of their natural habitats?"