by Rob Shepherd
“Elizabeth. Don’t do it! They took so much from me. I am a ghost now. I wish I could go back and live a different life. I wanted a baby, but they wouldn’t let me be a mother. It wasn’t worth it. All the fame, and glory wasn’t worth it. I was so lonely, Elizabeth. They worshipped me, but no one loved me. Not like the pure love between you and Ella. The love between a mother and child is the greatest love in the universe. That’s why they try to crush its light. They took my unborn so many times. They took so much from me! I am trying to help you, Elizabeth. Don’t be like me! Don’t sell yourself short. You can make your dreams come true with out them. You don’t NEED them! Yes, they will make it happen fast and crazy, but you can still have a great career with out their help. I have seen Paradise. It is so beautiful Elizabeth. I am paying for my deal now even though I broke it. It will take me thousands of years to heal the holes in my soul but one day I will get there. There is still hope for me, Elizabeth. The seed of pure love in my soul will eventually heal and regenerate my depleted energies. But I have to help souls; I have to keep saving souls like you. If you choose to break the seal with Satan today then my reward is light. Energy. If you refuse him…then there will be a celebration in the heavens, celestial bouquets of splendor. A holy chorus will sing with gratitude. A new pure soul will be born on the side of good, and I will be given strength to heal. You will help me, and something divine will happen because of your faith in goodness. Believe in your self and your dreams will come true. “
Elizabeth woke up gasping, panting and scared. Did that really just happen? Did Marilyn Monroe really just come to me in a dream? She looked at the clock 7:20 in the morning. Ella was still asleep. The phone rang, she jumped out of bed still feeling exhilarated. She picked it up, “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was energetic. “Hi! I am looking for Elizabeth O’Sullivan. Are you Elizabeth?”
“Who is this?” Elizabeth screened. “Well, my name is Leonard T. Roberts. I am a casting director for a film producer. I saw some photos of you in my email this morning, and I’m impressed. You have an old fashioned Hollywood beauty that is hard to find. We would like to fly you out, and have you do a test shoot for us. How does that sound?”
“Uh, yes, I am Elizabeth. How did you find me? I mean my number?”
“Well, it was in the email of course! Didn’t you send it to me?” asked the man on the phone.
“Um. Yes, I suppose I did. It’s just…I must have forgotten. I send out so many.”
Leonard laughed. “Well, I guess today is your lucky day then huh? You might be a big star soon! Are you willing to come to LA?”
Elizabeth stayed quiet, longer then normal quiet. “Ms. O’Sullivan? Are you still there?”
She snapped out of her silence. “Yes! Yes, I am still here. No, Mr. Roberts. I live in Georgia and have a two year old. Los Angeles is just too far, and too much drama for me, but I thank you for the offer. Good bye, now.” She hung up the phone. Ella was waking up. She could hear her mumbling in her crib, the phone must have woken her up. She rushed to her room and picked up her daughter.
“Hi Mommy!” Ella threw her arms around Elizabeth’s’ neck.
“Hi! My beautiful baby girl. How are you?”
“I’m okay. I love you mommy! Can I have some marshmallows today?”
Elizabeth felt a lump in her throat. “ I love you too Ella, and today you can have anything you want. Okay?” She covered her with kisses.
“Yay mommy! Thank you.” Ella pounced to the floor, and started jumping up and down.
“We can both have any thing we want. Right?” she asked the toddler. “
Yep.” Ella nodded.
After she placed a small bowl of marshmallows on the tray, and Ella in a high chair, Elizabeth stepped outside. She looked up at the cloudy sky, then at the ground beneath her bare feet.
“Temptation! Satan, whatever or whoever you are. The deal is off! You cannot have any part of me, and I don’t want your help ever! Leave me and my family alone. I am going to be praying to whomever created my baby and me. And Norma Jean? If you are up there listening. Thank you!”
She heard faint but definitely female voices in a blustery gust of wind. “You are welcome Elizabeth. You made us so happy.” She suddenly smelled roses in the air. In the sky she saw a perfect rainbow. A white butterfly even flitted past her. For a moment her life felt so perfect. In an instant, Elizabeth felt something coming up her throat, and she threw up over and over again on the cement. She smelled the musty stench of mildew and spoiled food. She noticed small smoke trails and a dragonfly flapping away from her. She could hear the faraway miserable shrieks of Temptations’ laughter…
Stephanie Wolfe is a live performer & freelance journalist. Her music has dominated the Atlanta Electronica charts for 3 years straight on Reverbnation.com. She is the founder of Paw Cinematic Indie Network, an underground organization that connects indie films to indie music.
https://www.facebook.com/StephanieWolfeStar
The White Knight
By Andrew Katz
I sprinted between aisles of cardboard boxes in the rundown warehouse, shoulders hunched, head down, and bullets ricocheting off my armor. Baseball sliding underneath an overhang, I came up on a decent sized concrete pillar that would have to pass as cover. Hot lead ripped into old concrete, blasting huge chunks out of the surface. Running’s not something I hold particularly dear, but fighting on the other hand – well – I love fighting.
A round metal canister came easily from my belt as the stupid goons kept me pinned down with their automatic fire. My canister rolled across the floor, the sudden movement drawing fire, and a chance bullet hit it from a particularly trigger happy man. Perfect.
The smoke grenade blasted apart, throwing shrapnel out as the pressure was released with a bang. Thick, hazy grey smoke filled the air and confused shuffling and silence quickly replaced the sounds of gunfire. A few shots went off, quickly followed by angry shouts from nearly hit companions. Gearing up my enhanced senses and creeping out from behind my post, I carefully made my way through the boxes.
My Vision cut easily through the smoke, I could Smell their confusion, Hear their breathing, Taste a hint of fear, and Feel all the world around me. I was just a little out of their league. Silently, I found each man among the stacked crates, patiently waiting for the smoke to clear, thinking they had me over a barrel. The first goon actually had the nerve to light up a cigarette while he waited. He went down with one hard strike from an armored elbow.
‘Thud’ his body went, attracting a menial amount of attention from his accomplices. They all brought their rifles up; feigning alertness, but really they didn’t have a clue. It was the easiest thing in the world to systematically work my way through the smoke, dishing out pain and unconsciousness on all the men who had been rude enough to shoot at me. There had initially been fourteen goons and a head man. There was now only a head man. Smoke clearing, I sauntered up to him and rested my elbow casually on a stack of boxes. “So,” I drawled. “What’s going on with you?” He was a scrawny, rodent-like man, with an eye patch and a bushy shock of red hair. The eye patch wasn’t very distinctive as all of the little lieutenants that the Basilisk employed wore them. This moron thought he’d pull a gun on me and maybe take me out for his boss, but I’d had enough of play time. As he brought the barrel of a Colt 1911 in a clumsy arc towards my face, my sword, Laniatus, leapt up and sheared the barrel clean in half.
Mr. Rat (that’s what I’d like to think his name actually was) looked at the ruined gun with wide eyes, and then threw the thing at me. It bounced harmlessly off my breastplate and clattered to the floor.
I tilted my head at him curiously. “Really?”
He actually hissed at me. “You think you’re something, huh? You ain’t nothin’. Nothin’, ya hear? Basilisk is gonna wipe the damn floor wit’ you.”
His voice was appropriately squeaky, and although I’m sure he thought his little dialect made him sound tough, it did
n’t. I placed a hand gently on his shoulder, just to let him know who was in charge.
“Is he now? How about this? Tell me where he is, and he and I can figure out who will wind up on the floor.”
Mr. Rat spit in my face. Now, I had taken to wearing a helmet, which normally I wouldn’t be caught dead in, to conceal my identity. There was currently a little war waging between a criminal organization and myself, and it just wouldn’t do to have thugs showing up at my home trying to kill me. Helmets are heavy, hot, and in my humble opinion, inefficient due to the hindrance of hearing and sight. Then again, it had saved me from a few bullets and now some mucus, so it would seem to have certain advantages.
I wiped the glob lazily from the grilled mask covering my eyes, and lifted the visor. Something told me that my normal knightly charm wasn’t going to work on this fellow, so I drew on a bit of power from my demon, Remalus (he was hereditary and not in any way welcome, but he did come in handy on occasion).
Just cosmetic, OK? I thought to the demon.
My thoughts were answered by a wordless snarl, but I felt the changes taking place. I knew without need of a mirror that my normally burgundy eyes had gone jet black, retina and all. There would also be an additional set of eyes projected on my forehead just above my own; these would be black as well, but with a blood red iris. And when I spoke, the voice was not entirely mine. Instead it came out mixed with the demons in a very frightening duality.
Mr. Rat shirked from me in fear as I spoke. “I did not appreciate that very much. Tell you what, you let him know that I’m coming for him, and that when I find him things are going to look very much like your face.”
“My face?” He squeaked.
Then I head-butted him as hard as I could.
The head-butt is an excellent maneuver. Our brains are very important, and as such, evolution has made it so a very thick bone protects them, this being the front of the skull. There is also the fact that the arc is one of nature’s strongest structures, dispersing pressure throughout to each end. When you drive from your heels to deliver such a blow, it becomes possible to get all the potential momentum of your body moving forward to meet your target. And I was also wearing a five pound hunk of metal on my head.
Mr. Rat’s face exploded into a bloody mess under the impact, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. I checked his pulse, just because I was worried I might actually have killed the little guy. Once it was determined that he was still alive, I stripped his eye patch off to see underneath. No eye, just like the rest of them. This Basilisk character was one pretty sick dude.
And who am I, you ask?
Well, I go by the name of Sir Godric Patronar, Knight of the Realm, Anointed Warrior, Master Blacksmith, General Smartass, Former Heir to the Kingship of North America, and Bringer of Vigilante Justice.
Sitting in my tiny apartment, I opened up a copy of the Inquirer. Front page again, boom. The headline read “Mess at 22nd: White Knight Cleaning Up Streets”. Accompanying the article was a picture of the police with goons in handcuffs and several heavy bags of the drug they were calling ‘Stone’.
I sipped at my coffee and dropped the paper back onto my coffee table. The morning had come and went through sleep, and the sun was slowly setting outside my only window. Watching from the sill, the time was drawing near again and there was only one thing on my mind.
I’d found plans for tonight’s shipment of Stone during a quick search of Mr. Rodent, and was anxiously awaiting the sun’s full departure. In the mean time I occupied myself by drilling my body and mind. A thermostat sat idly on the wall, but came to life with blue light under my touch. I punched in an eight digit code and a bookshelf on the adjacent wall swung inwards.
My armory was full of fun toys. There were swords, maces, suits of armor, and since technology rests for no man, guns, grenades, and some other high tech weaponry I’d managed to get my hands on. If only so other people couldn’t. A heavy bag hung next to my old fashioned forge, and it occupied me to work my adrenaline up beating the crap out of the thing. Once my knuckles were good and raw, I unwrapped them and set to preparing for the night’s activities.
The new armor I’d made went on with practiced ease. It fit perfectly, and to be perfectly honest (and a bit arrogant since I did make it) it looked really freaking good. It was pure white plate, etched in midnight blue. The detailing was mostly sentimental based on the fact that my former suit was rusting away somewhere at the bottom of the San Francisco Bay. A thick belt of dark blue and black alloys sat on my anvil. I loaded it up with some goodies and buckled it on. Then a thick black cape clasped on at the shoulder, and Laniatus was hung in its scabbard.
Finally, I dropped my helmet on and fastened it, and took a quick glance in the mirror. Damn. I looked good, imposing, and exactly the way I intended. With a nod to my reflection, I left the armory and locked up. My window slid open to admit my passage, and the ground rushed up to meet me after a short three story leap. The cape caught the wind and slowed momentum to the point where a well-timed roll left me unscathed.
The alley was pitch dark, and there was no moon tonight. Perfect. I darted from alley to alley, shrouded in my cape, and came upon an old abandoned garage. The address was the right one, but it seemed I was a little early to the party. A good rooftop stood to the left, so taking a grapnel and rope from my belt; I slung it upwards and caught an edge. One short climb later, I was perched in shadows, patiently watching.
It wasn’t long before the trucks arrived. There were two of them. Big, burly sixteen wheelers. Three men piled out of each cab, all armed with M16 rifles and sidearms on their hips. They had the trained look of professional killers, and it was a safe bet that they were. Two men stood in front of the trucks, two stood behind, and two went to begin unloading their haul into the garage.
Grunting, each man started pulling out decent sized plastic bags full of the Stone. The drug looked like dark grey pebbles, and I knew from experience studying the stuff that it was extremely heavy. The easiest way to ingest it was to crush it into a fine powder and snort it, but it could also be smoked, eaten, or liquefied and injected. The stuff was bad news.
Stone is a highly addictive synthetic drug that causes hallucinations, uncanny strength, the destruction of brain cells and nerve endings, and usually after a short period of time, death. It had popped up on the streets a few months ago and was already the new rage. Right around with the drug came the now infamous crime lord, Basilisk. All that I’d been able to find out about him so far was that he was the manufacturer and main distributor of the drug. And that he was not a nice man.
Once the trucks were unloaded, each sweaty man lit a cigarette and joined their companions at the rear of the trucks. They climbed back into the cabs and drove off, leaving no obvious signs that they’d ever even been there in the first place. My grapnel was still in place, and I dropped the rope back to the ground, rappelling down quickly. I made my way to the garage and tried the large shuttered doors, but the truckers had locked both of them. Around back was a thick metal door, also locked.
Picking locks isn’t so much a part of my skill set, brute force on the other hand, is. Laniatus sliced easily through the handle and deadbolt, and the door swung in on its hinges.
Normally destroying that door would have been a dead giveaway that this particular location was compromised, but I don’t use Master Blacksmith in my title for no reason. A quick welding job with a torch from my belt, and the door was good as new. The garage, however, was a mess. There were cracked rusting pipes everywhere, hanging wires, stains all over the concrete floor, some probably motor oil, some most likely blood. Plus the smell was awful. It was probably a pretty ideal place to do illicit dealings.
Locating a small, abandoned office in a corner of the garage, I planted myself in the darkness.
Finally, after what seemed like decades of waiting, one of the huge shuttered doors rolled up, allowing the moonlight to pour in. Someone flicked the bright halogen lights on in the ma
in room, and I stood up from my lazy seat on the floor. Sounds of scuffling feet and muffled voices came through the closed door of the office. They ceased once I kicked the door off its hinges and strutted into the brightly lit room.
“What are you all doing in my home?” I screamed in mock outrage.
I do love an entrance.
A few of the thugs immediately opened fire on me with handguns, so I thought maybe I’d send them a message. Just like my senses, my abilities allow me to severely heighten my reflexes. Laniatus sliced the first six bullets clean in half, then I drew on Remalus slightly and simply grabbed the seventh out of the air.
They stared at me with wide eyes as I dropped the bullet to the floor with a clatter.
“Any more takers?” I asked. One man raised his weapon again, but another grabbed his arm and pulled it down.
All the goons were looking at me with equal parts fear and apprehension when their Lieutenant walked up. He was a broad guy in a neat baize suit, and of course, an eye patch. He marched straight up to me and cockily prodded a finger into my chest.
“It’s high time you learn whose city this is,” he said.
I looked down at his finger and made a show of scratching my head. “I don’t know about you, Eye Patch, but last time I checked no one owned it.”
He stepped back and removed his jacket, handing it off to one of the goons standing idly by. Eye Patch then rolled up the sleeves of his light blue shirt and started stretching. “That’s where you’re wrong. Tonight’s the night you’re gonna learn once and for all.” He pulled several heavy looking rings from his hands and dropped them into a goon’s palm. “These are the Basilisk’s streets.” Eye Patch cracked every one of his knuckles, neck, and rolled his shoulders confidently. “Armor or not, it don’t matter to me. You’re done.”