by R W Sowrider
Bishop Palovick, head of the St. Petersburg church, nodded. “I agree,” he said, his ruddy jowls jiggling. With his long grey hair, ruby robe, and hippopotamus-like frame, it would not be out of line for someone to mistake him for Saint Nicholas. “Rasputin is immorality incarnate. He is a false prophet … nay, he is the Antichrist. With his incessant drunkenness, sexual promiscuity, and willingness to accept bribes, he is the antithesis of all that is good. He is the bane of a righteous Mother Russia.”
“Yes,” Purishkevich agreed. “I can forgive drinking and womanizing to a degree, but it is those bribes that will be the downfall of our entire society. They grease his palm and he uses his undue influence to get them appointed anywhere they want. And those that speak up, he has dismissed from their posts. Mother Russia is crumbling.”
Felix’ lips curled into a suitably evil smile. He had invited the right people. Purishkevich and Bishop Palovick fueled each other’s fire, and the inevitable conclusion was a conflagration to engulf and consume that beast of a man, Rowen.
“We cannot allow him to continue,” Felix said, scowling. “His excessive influence over the Tsar … his dissolute ways … his utter refusal to engage in rumpy-rumpy. We must put an end to him!”
“I’m sorry?” Bishop Palovick said. “What was that last one before the ‘put an end to him’?”
“Hm?” Felix replied, with an oh-fuck-I-did-not-mean-to-say-that look.
“We got the first part about the excessive influence,” Purishkevich said.
“And the second part about his dissolute ways,” Bishop Palovick followed. “But the third part …?”
Purishkevich furrowed his brow. “Something about rumpy-rumpy?”
“No,” Felix replied, backpedaling. “Not rumpy-rumpy. I said … uhhh … lumpy-lumpy. You know … like with the marionettes. Lumpy-lumpy.”
“I do not see what lumpy-lumpy has to do with marionettes,” Purishkevich replied.
“You know … with the manipulating strings … and … they get all … lumpy-lumpy …” Felix was desperate to get the conversation back on track and abruptly turned to his third guest. “Gentlemen, may I present the solution to our problem. That problem being Rasputin’s excessive influence, moral depravity, and the tremendous threat that he poses to the survival of our beloved Mother Russia. Here he is, Doctor Lazovert.”
Felix pushed the doctor into the middle of the circle and the other two gentlemen sized him up. He was bald, bespectacled, and wore a knee-length white coat so that there was no doubt about his being a doctor.
And while the good doctor felt more or less indifferent toward Rowen, it was not as if he liked him. So he was more than happy to go along with any plan where he would be able to unload a batch of pharmaceuticals at an absurd profit.
“Doctor Lazovert,” Felix explained, “will provide us with the proper medication to eradicate the disease.”
Catching Felix’ drift, Purishkevich and Bishop Palovick smiled and nodded. “I’m in,” they said, simultaneously.
“Then it is settled,” Felix said, rubbing his fingertips together. “I have the perfect bait: my lovely wife Irina. As that brute has been so insolent as to make insinuations about her to my very face, there is no doubt that she will be able to lure him here without him suspecting a thing.”
***
At the precise moment that Felix began to unveil his plan to Irina, Aphrodite happily took control of her body.
“And so you see,” Felix said, “because of Rasputin’s undue influence and moral depravity, he must be stopped.”
Aphrodite, needed no further persuading. “I see, my sweet,” she said. “It will be no problem. I’ll simply put on an enticing dress and my favorite jewelry to seduce him, and I will bring him here.”
“Excellent,” Felix replied, once again rubbing his fingertips together.
***
“I had a feeling you’d come knocking,” Rowen said, greeting Irina at his door. “What can I help you with?”
“I only wish it had to do with me,” Irina replied, looking ravishing in Marie Antoinette’s Tears of Paradise pearl earrings and Venus Infinity necklace. “But it is my husband. I know that you two have not got along, but I need you to save him. I’m desperate.”
“Hmph,” Rowen sighed, disappointed that she had not come for a lesson in salvation. “What is it that you wish me to do for the fruit?”
“As you have discerned, he is not well. He never has been. From before I met him, he had always lived a morally dubious life. At the age of 12, he began wearing his mother’s gowns. At 15, he started putting on lipstick. And at 19, he traveled to England. Need I go on?”
Rowen shook his head no in disgust.
“I desperately need your help,” the beauty continued. “Please. Come to our home and cure him of his disease.”
Rowen gave her an I’m-not-really-sure-it’s-worth-my-time look.
“He needs a miracle that only you can perform.”
Rowen responded with a still-not-interested look.
“I’ll do anything. If you can straighten him out, I am yours for a night.”
Rowen immediately flashed her a shit-yeah-I’m-in look. “You’ll indulge my every desire?”
“Yes. For one night. Anything you want. Your wish is my command.”
Rowen leaned back and let out a hearty laugh. “I have the distinct sensation that a trap has been laid.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Baahhhh, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
***
At roughly the same time, Felix and his three conspirators were busy setting the trap.
Dr. Lazovert put on rubber gloves and ground cyanide potassium crystals into a fine powder.
Felix instructed him to sprinkle a dose on the vanilla pudding cream cakes.
He did so with a perverted smile. “This dose is big enough to kill a full-grown elephant almost instantly.”
Next, he doubled the dose and dropped it into a decanter of 1902 chianti.
***
Irina led Rowen through their palace entrance and into the dining room where Felix was waiting. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said. “I need to … wash my hair.”
“Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” Felix called out.
“I am happy to be here,” Rowen replied, eyeing Irina’s rump as she exited.
Felix sidled up next to Rowen and whispered into his ear. “I will give you one last chance.”
Before Rowen could even comprehend what Felix had said, Felix planted a kiss on him.
“You bad boy!” Rowen replied, shoving Felix away. “But it’s nothing. I am here to help. Your wife and I, when she returns, will sort you out.”
Felix, spurned yet again, took a defiant yet pleasant tone. “Some pastries while we wait?” he said, offering Rowen the vanilla pudding cream cakes.
Rowen eyed them suspiciously. “I am more of a chocolate pudding cream cakes man.”
“I’m afraid we’re all out.”
Reluctantly, Rowen snatched a vanilla pudding cream cake, but before eating it, he eyed it suspiciously. “This pastry looks a little poisony to me.”
Felix’ eyes widened.
“Baahhhh,” Rowen blurted out, leaning back and letting out a great laugh. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Felix smiled with anticipation as Rowen wolfed it down. “How about some fine chianti?” he offered. “To wash it down?”
Without hesitation, Rowen assented.
“It’s from ’02,” Felix boasted, handing Rowen a full glass.
Rowen took a deep sniff. “This smells quite a bit poisony.”
Felix flashed an oh-shit-he’s-on-to-me look.
“Baahhhh, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Rowen said, leaning back laughing yet again. “To good health!”
Felix watched with glee as he downed the wine and held out his glass for a refill.
***
“You will not believe it,” Felix cried to his conspirators in the upstairs study. “He has eaten all the pastries
and consumed both decanters of wine. It’s been at least a half an hour and yet nothing. He just sits there gloomily, waiting for my wife to return. I can discern no effects from the poison whatsoever. He just belches every now and then and dribbles a bit. What shall we do?”
Purishkevich nodded resolutely and handed Felix one of his nine revolvers. “Finish him.”
***
Upon returning to the living room, Felix pointed to an expensive painting of the Messiah. “You’d better have a look at the crucifix and say a prayer.”
Rowen stood and took a few steps toward the depiction. “Looks painful.”
No sooner did the words leave his mouth than did Felix shoot him in the back, twice.
Rowen fell to the floor.
After what seemed like an eternity had passed, Felix approached Rowen’s motionless body and reached his hand out to check his pulse.
As Felix was just about to touch Rowen’s neck, Rowen rolled over and grabbed hold of Felix’ wrist. “You naughty boy!”
Felix tried desperately to withdraw his hand.
“I’m not gonna let you stop me from taking what is mine!” Rowen roared.
Through the grace of God, or, to be more specific, through the grace of Aphrodite, Felix was able to free his hand and flee upstairs.
“You’ll not believe it!” he cried. “I’ve registered two shots into his chest and yet he still lives.”
“He is the devil,” Bishop Palovick replied as Purishkevich swiftly distributed fresh pistols to everyone.
As the group raced down the stairs, they heard the front door slam shut.
“After him!” Felix shouted needlessly as everyone was already in full chase.
As Rowen neared the courtyard gate, a flurry of gunshots rang out. The majority were true to the mark and Rowen collapsed in the snow.
Purishkevich, being the fittest, arrived at Rowen’s limp body first and unleashed a hurricane of kicks and punches to Rowen’s chest, neck, and groin.
Felix pulled Purishkevich off and the assassins sat in silence hoping that Rowen would move no more.
After what seemed an eternity, Felix returned inside to retrieve a throw rug. The group then wrapped Rowen in the carpet, carried him to the nearest bridge, and flung his limp body into the freezing river.
***
Within the year, Tsarina Sandra and the entire royal family were shot, bayoneted, and clubbed to death at the direction of political revolutionaries dedicated to creating a classless society that would not only afford prosperity to everyone, but do so in exactly equal measures.
They managed to do so in just a shade under seven centuries.
Verixion V
“Is the Miracle-Working MaleWhore finally back with us?” Delemor boomed as Rowen rubbed his eyes, slowly reacclimating to the resplendent chamber.
Through the mist, Delemor’s crocodile face was beaming at him, most likely in irony.
“What happened?” Rowen asked, racking his brain for details of his demise.
“What happened was that all your moral and political corruption ticked off people from all walks of life. The range was quite impressive. In the end, a priest, a politician, an aristocrat, and a doctor banded together to assassinate you.”
As bits and pieces of his life slowly but steadily came back to him, Rowen winced. It was like he was watching someone else. Someone with whom he had absolutely nothing in common. Not mentally, not physically, and certainly not emotionally. He was instantly questioning how he could have been such a person.
“So how did you enjoy that ending?” Delemor inquired, smiling wickedly. “I thought it was quite riveting.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed me getting shot in the back like 20 times,” Rowen replied, dispiritedly.
“Only six, your Holy Devilness. Only six. But it was more than that. First, you ate and drank enough cyanide to kill a brigade of black bears.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Someone up here must have been looking out for you. Cause it wasn’t the poison, it wasn’t the gunshots, and it wasn’t the wanton ass-whoopin’ that killed you. It was the water … You died from drowning.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, check the autopsy. It was one of the most epic deaths ever. Clearly, all those people you provoked really wanted you dead.”
Rowen’s head slumped down as he recalled the backlash against him. It seemed as if anyone not under his spell found him morally repugnant and politically corrupt.
“Ahhh, don’t be so glum, kid. There were areas where you showed enormous growth.”
Rowen’s head shot up and his eyes widened, desperate for even a dash of virtue to cling to.
“When you were young,” Delemor explained, “you could hardly even talk to a girl. But by the time you arrived in St. Petersburg, without even saying a word you would walk up to a woman and just kiss her on the lips. And once you made it to the top, you’d just walk up to one and grab her by the pussy. Re-markable!”
Rowen sighed deeply and clutched his head with his hands. His entire being was engulfed in shame. “Did I … did I do anything right?”
“Right?! What are you talking about?”
“I feel utterly awful. I feel so ashamed of everything.”
Rowen heard a loud thud on the table in between him and Delemor, and he watched as a diamond tear rolled off and onto the floor.
“I mean, I feel completely different now and wouldn’t be caught dead doing half of those things.”
“Yeah, the dancing was pretty bad.”
“But … did I … was there anything that I did right?”
Delemor eyed him for a beat. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“… No.”
“Yeah,” Delemor replied, his voice now thick with disappointment. “I didn’t think so.”
“Do I … ummmmm … do I at least get another shot?”
“Sure, buddy. If that’s what you want.”
Rowen let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God!”
“You’re welcome. Now go have a wash so we can discuss your next shot. ”
Rowen did the usual walk of shame down to the bathing facilities with mixed feelings. He was demoralized by the person he had been, but at the same time felt grateful for another chance and was eagerly awaiting the revitalization that the shampoo brought.
As he basked in the sublime tingling of the crimson suds, he felt a pair of eyes staring at him from the third highest pine cluster of the miniature evergreen tree.
At first glance, he saw in the reflection of a hand mirror the cartoon face of an extremely good-looking man with wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a chiseled chin. Upon making eye contact, the cartoon face smiled at him and his teeth sparkled like the stars.
Rowen shifted his eyes ever so slightly to the cartoon creature that was holding the mirror and was astounded to see a gap-toothed donkey with bloodshot eyes and what seemed to be a few strands of pubic hair hanging down over its forehead.
“Nice, right?” the donkey said, nodding its head up and down in self-satisfaction.
Rowen furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of the bizarre creature before him.
“Care for a drink?” a sultry voice sounded.
“Yes, please!” he replied, spinning around expectantly.
While Rowen took in the beautiful vision that was Aphrodite, a bizarre sensation washed over him. He felt as if his mind was being warped by radiation as Aphrodite’s face transmorphed in and out of familiar faces from his previous life.
“Oh my God, it was you!” he exclaimed as the strange sensation almost overwhelmed him. “I mean, they was you.”
Aphrodite smiled. “I enjoyed seeing you down there.”
“The first time I saw you there, you were like no other. So dazzling. It was like … I got the same exact feeling then that I have looking at you now.”
“Oh, Rowen,” Aphrodite replied, coquettishly. “You’re such a sweetheart.”
�
�Oh my God!” Rowen yelped, as his recognition deepened. “But then that other time! I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I pushed you out of bed with my foot.”
“You naughty boy!” Aphrodite replied, teasingly. “But it’s fine. To be honest, I liked the way you were. So kind and flattering and hypnotic sometimes, and so unpredictable and cruel and revolting at others.”
“Wait a second,” Rowen blurted out, the full picture coming into focus. “It was you! You set me up! You led me like a lamb to the slaughter. If you liked me, how could you do that?”
Aphrodite flashed a wicked grin. “Revenge.”
“… Yeah, I guess I had it coming.”
“To be honest, it was more pride than revenge. After you kicked me out of bed, I never heard the end of it from the other Gods. I had to do something.”
“But we’re okay now? You don’t hate me?”
“Of course not. How about you? How do you feel?”
“I feel … fine. No ill-will whatsoever. This is great! It’s like another fresh start.”
Aphrodite nodded toward the water. “Shall we take a dip?”
“Yes, please!”
Rowen’s mind wandered as they drifted along a soothing current. He had been in this situation before but everything felt different. It was strange how quickly he could change from self-conceit in his prior life to self-loathing in Delemor’s chamber to complete and utter serenity upon bathing.
“Rooooowen! You the man, baby!”
Rowen was brought back to reality by a group of girls screaming his name.
He looked up to find a small luxury yacht cruising by. From the second story deck, a throng of gorgeous, bikini-clad women were waving and calling out to him .
“Thank you so much for getting us on the list!” one cried.
“We totally owe you one, big cheese!” another screamed.
The girls were difficult to make out not only because of the mist, but because they were encircled by a horde of deeply tanned males with glistening muscles and little circles of light radiating behind them.
There was one exception, however. Rowen barely made out a male mortal at the back of the yacht who was mooning him. “Hey Rowen!” he screamed, slapping his cheeks. “I put the ‘asses’ in assassinate. See you around, bitches!!!”