10
Scream Bloody Gore
Sunny and Seth
Sunny woke with a start, choking back a scream when she realized she was home, splayed out in her bed. The last thing she remembered was being in the back of the SUV as Armand did his best to calm her down. He hadn’t succeeded but her pipe had done the job. Must have passed out, she thought, but she damn well couldn’t remember how she ended up in bed. Shit. Armand.
She glanced down and sighed when she realized she was still fully clothed. Even her boots were still on, laced and locked like normal. Sunny crawled to a seat and hung her legs off the edge of the giant, four-poster bed. She’d give Armand a stack of cash for seeing her home and not taking advantage of her. Hopefully that would keep him from telling everyone he knew that she’d smoked herself unconscious after barreling out of church screaming her fucking head off about the Devil.
What a God damned day.
“Ooops,” she muttered.
Thoughts of what had happened at St. Basil’s started knocking on her cranium but Sunny headed them off with determined, “Fuck no!” and bolted for the kitchen, snatching up a bottle of vodka, downing a third of it in a couple of gulps. The liquor burning her throat, she set the bottle back on the counter with a thump and rubbed at her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to relive her attempted confession.
How the Devil had known she was there was a mystery but there was no way in hell she would try that again. Still, she wasn’t completely daunted. God forgave murderers and child molesters and rapists every day, didn’t he? Half the damn prison populations had converted and repented, hadn’t they? If they could do it, so could she. She hadn’t killed that little girl, no matter what the Devil said. No one could blame her for what happened.
Sunny downed more of the liquor to drown the hollow echo of her last thought, willing herself to believe it. The vodka tasted as bitter as the lie.
Despite that, she wasn’t going to let the Devil have the last laugh. No, she would find a way out of the deal if it killed her. She chuckled. It probably would.
The vodka scorching a hole in her stomach, she made her way to the fridge and pulled out some sandwich makings. She slapped a plate down on the counter and plopped a couple slices of sliced Italian bread on it, then proceeded to slather mayo across both halves. If the dust ain’t killing me, a little cholesterol sure as shit won’t. As she peeled open the package of deli turkey, she heard a strange gurgling noise. She glanced around the kitchen when she heard it again, zeroing in on the sink.
“What the fuck?” she muttered, glancing over at the shiny, stainless steel sink. It was empty. The maid had been by earlier that day and had left the sink gleaming. Sunny went over to it and saw soapy bubbles burbling up from beneath the drain plug that covered drain. Another gurgle echoed from beneath, bubbles trailing in its wake. Sunny plucked the plug out and watched as the bubbles popped and the soapy residue slipped away, back into the drain. Her first thought was that maybe there was some air in the pipes but the sound returned, wet and grumbly. She ran the hot water for a moment and watched as it swirled down the drain. The sound stopped and Sunny went back to her sandwich. She’d call the plumber in the morning and let him take a look. It wouldn’t be the first time one of her maids had shoved something in the disposal she wasn’t supposed to.
Sunny chuckled, remembering the ham bone the last dumb bitch had tried to grind down. The whole kitchen had flooded that time, two inches of water turning the floor into a swimming pool. That maid fled the house and never came back, deciding it was better to disappear than face Sunny’s wrath. She was right.
Sunny finished her sandwich and put everything away. It wasn’t until she was halfway to the living room before she heard the sound again, only this time it was dragged out, a resonate rumble from deep in the pipes.
“Seriously, what the hell?” She slammed her plate on the counter and stomped to the sink. “Somebody’s getting reamed if have to call another damn plumber out.” She reached for the drain only to think better of it, chuckling. “That’s some horror movie bullshit right there,” she told herself. Still laughing, she went to run more water through the pipes when she spied something in the drain. She narrowed her eyes and took a closer look. “What the fu—?”
She snatched her hand from the faucet as her brain registered what she’d seen. Her stomach roiled with recognition as a writhing mass oozed from the drain. Tiny black dots peppered the rising whiteness, each seeming to zero in on her. Sunny shrieked and jumped back as a geyser of maggots gushed from the pipes and spilled into the sink. She slammed into the center island, the marble hard against her back, while the drain continued its eruption. Her heart slammed into her ribs as the sink filled with writhing larvae, the stench of rotten flesh wafting up in their wake. Sunny hurked and slapped her hand over her mouth as a tide of pencil eraser-sized maggots crested the sink and toppled to the floor with a wet splat.
She bolted from the kitchen and down the hall, careening toward the downstairs bathroom out of instinct. Her stomach churned as she hit the door, a shaking hand barely able to life the toilet lid before her breakfast of vodka came back up. It seared her throat and she choked, tears robbing her of sight. She hacked a few more times before she could catch her breath. Sunny gasped for air as soon as she was able and wiped at her eyes so she could see.
Right then she wished she hadn’t.
There in the bowl, swimming right alongside the yellowed bile she’d vomited, were a dozen brown roaches, wings thrashing at the water. The pipes gurgled and more of the roaches swarmed into the basin, the stink of the sewer slapping her in her face as they skittered along the ceramic to be free, crawling straight toward her.
Sunny shrieked and jumped to her feet, slamming into the wall at her back, her elbow punching a hole in the plasterboard and knocking a towel rack from its mooring. She didn’t even notice. Tearing herself free of the wall, she darted out of the bathroom and crashed into the front door, desperately scrambling to undo the locks that held her inside. A ragged, wheezing sound punctuated her every movement and it took her subconscious a moment to realize it was coming from her. When she managed to get the door unlocked, she flung it open. It slammed into the narrow table and knocked one of the legs loose. It toppled over and dumped her keys, her cell, and a month’s worth of unopened mail on the floor. Sunny grabbed her phone and burst through the screen door, then barreled into the yard. Her gasping breath followed her out as she ran as hard as she ever had, running for the street—a good half mile away—and juggling her phone at the same time.
Iron Maiden’s “Run to the Hills” rang out and Seth started awake. He wiped the drool from his mouth and sat up, the world spinning around him. The song stopped and the opening riff started up again not a second later. It took a few repetitions, the song trundled through his skull, until he remembered that it was his ring tone. He inched forward on the couch and snatched his cell from the coffee table. The caller ID read: Bitchy McBitchface Bitchington. He sighed, hesitating for a moment before answering.
“Yeah? What the fuck do you want, Sunny?”
“God damn it, Seth. Do you always have to be a dick?” Sunny screamed through the phone, her voice raw and pinging the redline with its screech.
Seth eased the phone away from his ear and shrugged. “Not always. I sleep sometimes. Like I was doing right before you woke my ass up. So, again, what do you want?” He heard her inhale and it sounded as if she was ready to burst into tears.
“I-I…” She was quiet for a moment, only her quickened breaths sounding across the line before she went on. “I need you to come get me.”
“You need me, huh?” Seth didn’t bother to hide his chuckle.
“Damn it! Don’t do this now,” she said. “Yes, I fucking need you, for a fucking ride. There, you happy?”
“A little, yeah.” Before she could say anything else, he asked, “Where are you?”
“I’m down the street from my house.” There was a paus
e as Seth realized she was looking around. He bit back his laugh at her not knowing where the hell she lived. “Saxon and Burton.” Like he needed directions, the cross street named after the late, great Cliff Burton. Who could forget that?
“All right, I’ll be there in a bit.”
“Hurry…please.”
“Yeah, sure thing.” He ended the call and leaned back into the couch cushions, the low rumble of his laughter causing his hands to shake. Only after he got himself under control did he look back to his phone and dial. A gruff voice answered after two rings.
“Hey. We’re on, man. Gimme an hour.” The man on the other end acknowledged and hung up.
Seth sat up and inched toward the edge of the couch when he caught sight of the television. He reached over and unmuted it and the opening strains of the Robot Chicken theme song filled the room. Seth slumped back into the cushions and snatched a roach from the ashtray, lighting up.
“I fucking love this show!”
“About goddamned time you showed up.” Sunny jumped in the old Mercury and slammed the door, rattling the window in the frame.
“Nice to fucking see you too, princess.” He glanced over at her to see her cheeks puffy and eyes red, a layer of yellowed crust spotting her chin. “Fuck, girl. You look like the Oakland Raiders took turns at your face.”
She snarled and yanked the visor down, glaring at the dirty mirror there. “Just fucking start this beater and drive.”
Seth chuckled and did as ordered, pulling around the corner and rolling down Burton Street. He could smell vodka and vomit on Sunny, not that the odor was unusual, just a little more pronounced than normal.
“You looking for an intervention,” he asked, “because you reek like someone who was licking rock bottom and calling it Daddy this morning.”
“You have anything to drink?”
Seth grinned. “That a ‘Yes’ if I ever heard one. And no, nothing in the car.”
Sunny growled. “What about at your house?”
He raised an eyebrow and stared at her out of the corner of his eye. “Moving along a little quick here, aren’t ya? You just got in the car, sweetheart.”
“Cut the shit, Seth. This ain’t about us.”
“All right, all right.” He raised a hand in surrender, grinning. “You going to tell me what happened or what?”
She sighed and he spied a tremble rattle through her. She crossed her arms to steady herself. “I…fuck…I don’t know.” She swallowed hard, the sound echoing through the car. “Fucking maggots, man.”
“Maggots? You listening to Slipknot?”
“And roaches.” She shuddered again. “They were everywhere. Coming up out of the pipes in the kitchen and bathroom.” Sunny paled, her hand going to her mouth.
“At your house?”
She snapped her head to glare at him, not liking something in his voice. “Yeah, in my fucking house. Everywhere. I’m not fucking lying.”
“Whoa there, I didn’t say you were.”
“You damn well implied it.”
Seth shook his head. “Whatever. I believe you, shit. You call anyone?”
“You, motherfucker.”
He grinned. “I mean like an exterminator or little green Army dude with a flamethrower. I can’t do shit about bugs unless you need a shot for your crabs.”
She slunk lower in the seat, ignoring the jibe. “I-I just need someplace quiet to crash for a bit, all right?”
Seth nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll call someone to go check out your house when we get to mine. Got an exterminator friend.” Sunny offered up a shallow nod of thanks.
The car went quiet for a few minutes as Seth wound his way around the backstreets of LA to avoid as much traffic as possible. He aimed the car toward the house Sunny and the other band members knew about so there wouldn’t be any awkward questions about why he was living in a bomb shelter in the fucking desert. Not that he’d take her there anyway. She’d had her chance to be a part of his life outside of the band and she’d blown it. And not in a good, sloppy kind of way.
“You ever wonder if we’re doing the right thing?” she asked out of nowhere. “The band, I mean, not us.”
Of course she wouldn’t be talking about him. He grunted. “Shit hasn’t been right in a long damn time. Now Wex wants us to write another album and commit to a year long tour, digging our hole even deeper?”
She nodded. “Not like we have a choice.”
You might not. “It’s not all bad.”
Sunny sighed. “Maybe not, but have noticed things being a little…weird lately?”
“You mean besides you calling me up out of nowhere and asking to come over?”
“Yeah, asshole, besides that.” Seth watched her reach for her purse only to realize it wasn’t there. She growled again and slammed into the back of the seat, her hands clenched together to keep them from bouncing all over. Seth knew she was fiending. “I went to church the other day…”
“Thought you were going to church all the time now, getting right with God and all that crap.”
“Been trying,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Only it wasn’t God I found there this last time. It was…” her voice trailed off.
Seth didn’t need to ask who was in His place. He already knew.
“He told me there was no way out of our deal, Seth. That we are his forever, and he meant it.”
He shrugged. “Not like you’re telling me anything I don’t already know. You don’t sign shit in blood and expect to walk away from it. We just gotta give him what he wants until he gets tired of us.”
“What then?”
You make another deal. Seth offered her a soft smile, patting her on her leg. “Be patient, Sunny. Shit’ll get better.”
She slumped even lower. “Yeah. Patient. I can do that.” Her patented smile lit up her face, fake as all hell. “Gosh darn patience.”
Seth chuckled and pulled his hand from her leg, turning the music up a little, Dimebag Darrell soloing them from beyond the grave. Seth hummed along.
He hadn’t lied to her. It would be over soon. For her. He would make certain of it.
11
The Mirror and the Ripper
Wex
Three days and he wasn’t feeling any better about a damn thing.
He either had to shit or get off the pot, and the pot wasn’t something he was prepared to abandon. Not yet. Not while he had this sort of income. Nor the fact that millions of fans worshiped him. Not to mention the fact that he was completely trapped by a contract with the Devil.
But it was Payton and he had grown pretty fond of her. Wex had been in love exactly two times in his life. Once when he fell for a girl he worked with when he was eighteen. She was smart, funny, and laughed at his jokes. They had hit it off and he’d tried to pursue her. She’d had a boyfriend at the time and told him there was no way they could be together. Rejection had hurt. A lot. He’d spent months moping over her. She had faded from his life for years. Decades. Then she’d appeared at a CD signing. Wex hadn’t even recognized her at first, but that might have been because he was stoned off his ass and had put away half a fifth of Jack before the event even started.
She’d stood in front of him, like so many others, a CD insert in one hand. He had reached for it, not even looking up at her.
“Patrick,” she had said.
He looked up because no one used his name. No one was supposed to know his name. He was simply Wex, or Wexling.
“The fuck?”
“Remember me?” she had said.
He didn’t, but he had smiled anyway and nodded. What he had really wanted to do was have another long pull at the bottle under the table.
“It’s Anne Dileo.”
Wex has smiled. “Well holy fucking shit.”
“Yeah. Look at you. I had no idea you’d turn into such a star.”
“I always knew. Guess you should have dumped that boyfriend when you had the chance.” He had grinned from ear to ear.
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Her face had fallen. Not much to look at as far as he remembered. She’d put on some weight, probably popped out a few brats. Wasn’t his problem now.
It was only later that he realized her parting words were true. “I remember you but I don’t remember you being such an asshole.”
Then she was gone with her unsigned CD still in hand. Wex had regretted it the next day. Before she had appeared, he’d only had fond memories of his crush.
His second love had been killed in a bus crash while they were on tour in Switzerland. They were going to get married, settle down, and have a life together. They had talked, seriously, about him leaving Damaged, so he wouldn’t be on the road all the time.
But she was long gone and it was only a month later that their fame exploded after their second album had gone quadruple platinum. To this day, he wasn’t sure if her death had been an accident or because he was dealing with the Devil. The worst part was that he had seen her corpse. Face mangled. Arms at weird angles. Head turned all the way around. One leg bent at a fifteen degree angle at the knee. Blood everywhere. That was the last memory he had of her, and sometimes it haunted his dreams.
Since then, he’d sworn off relationships except for superficial. That was why he and Payton worked so well.
He’d added her to a bank account and set her up with a small allowance each month of a five grand. Someone once asked her if it made her feel like a whore. She’d laughed in the guy’s face and told him she wasn’t just anyone’s whore. She was Wex’s fucking whore.
Wex had been asked to do a lot of weird shit for the deal. He’d seen his share of blood and misery. Animals had been the hardest, but after they got used to it, making a small sacrifice had become the monthly norm. But he had made a fatal mistake, early on, that cost him his one true love. He hadn’t followed one of the commands.
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