The Woman on the Beast: A Season for Horror (The End Times Series Book 2)

by Macie Holloway

  Reading his mind, Haiku was quick with the damage control. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Sam was both a Republican and a Presbyterian.

  “Aw, that’s bullshit. Jesus said he could have come down off that cross if he wanted to, so technically Jesus committed suicide. Do you think Jesus went to Hell, Sam?”

  Sam exhaled with relief. He knew for a fact that Jesus didn’t go to Hell, which led to only one conclusion; Sam’s dad was with Jesus.

  He clicked to the gang porn porno that always cheered him up when he was having a bad day.

  “You bad boys! I want all of you to fuck me now.”

  Haiku laughed. Unlike Daphne, he was grateful for a pornographic icebreaker.

  “So even though he committed suicide, you think my Dad’s with Jesus?”

  “Of course he is. It all depends on why you commit suicide. If you do it because you’re a big whiny pussy who can’t handle life, you might go to Hell. Clearly your Dad did it out of love, which is admirable. He loved your Mom so much he wanted to be right behind her. They’re probably watching Wheel of Fortune in heaven right this minute.”

  Daphne rolled her eyes again. It was hard to believe, but Haiku’s preschool tactics were working like a charm. Sam was clearly not capable of challenging doctrine, and she was glad. The tension in the atmosphere had dissipated and Sam’s ruddy color returned to his handsome face.

  “I guess it makes sense. He always said he didn’t want to live without Mom. I guess I’m just an orphan now.”

  Haiku had to hold back his condescending thoughts.

  An orphan? Dude, you’re eighteen!

  But he didn’t laugh or say his thoughts out loud. He decided he’d give the poor bastard some time to process the news before telling him what a total pussy he was.

  He decided it was better to change the subject for now.

  Happy news.

  “So guess what? There is some good news.”

  Sam looked skeptical.

  “You have a brother!”

  “What? No I don’t!”

  Finally Sam completely closed out the porn and gave Haiku his full attention.

  “That’s not possible. My parents were virgins when they married.”

  “O.K., so not a full brother, but you have a half brother.”

  “That’s crazy. Dad would never cheat on mom.”

  “Sam, do you remember those joy sticks on the old arcade games? Well, alcohol is a joy stick that causes a man’s dick to take control of his mind. We both know that. Your Dad was only human. One night he got hammered with his army buddies and knocked up a prostitute. It could happen to anybody.”

  “Knocked up a whore? My Dad was the head church deacon!”

  “Which is exactly why he never told anyone about your illegitimate love child brother. Presbyterians don’t get the old saying, drunk dick is the mind’s joy stick.”

  Daphne knew that really wasn’t a saying, but Sam believed it.

  “Let me get this straight. Mom wrecked her car, which figures because she drove like Cruella Di Vil. Dad blew his brains out, but the good news is he fucked a whore a long time ago. So NOW, I have a long lost brother.”

  “You got it, buddy. Shit happens.”

  Sam had always wanted a brother, but his Mom always said she couldn’t have another baby.

  He’d always hated being an only child. He never had anyone to play with but the dog.

  “So where is he? My brother? He’s not dead, too, is he?”

  “Right here. I’m your brother, Sam.”

  “YOU? You can’t be my brother. You’re Chinese.”

  “I’m Japanese, Sam, and so was the prostitute. We’re HALF brothers. Same Dad, but different Mom. That’s how I got the slants, bro.”

  “Aww, man … I’m sorry I called your mom a whore.”

  “Why? She was a whore. She preyed on soldiers like a black widow spider. Your poor Dad didn’t have a chance in Hell with her gold-diggin’ ass chasin’ him down like a heat-seeking missile. Poor guy.”

  “Where’s she at now?”

  “She’s dead, too. Plane crash.”

  “Aw, man. So we’re both orphans?”

  Haiku finally snapped. He could no longer handle Sam’s continued use of the word orphan.

  “I prefer to say independent, Sam, so I don’t sound like a total pussy. You’re a man, not an orphan. Buck up, bro. Grow a dick.”

  A pathetic little smile finally spread across Sam’s face and brought out a trace of his right dimple.

  Truth be told, Sam would traded off both his uptight parents for a brother if he’d been given the choice. Haiku had a solid point with his grow a dick speech.

  “I was just bein’ stupid. Orphan. Ha!”

  Humiliated, Sam tried to play it off with a quick change of subject. “We sure don’t look alike for being brothers.”

  “Look closer, Sam.”

  Haiku lifted up his chin and pointed to a dimple identical to Sam’s. They both had a butt chin.

  “Ha! You’ve got the super gay ass John Travolta chin, too!”

  Now Sam was really feeling better. All his life he’d hated his butt chin. Now he wasn’t the only one.

  “It’s only gay if you allow it to be, Sam. I’ve always thought of it more as a superpower. I have the ability to moon people with my face. Talk to the chin, muthafucka.”

  Haiku stuck his chin out like a thug.

  Now all three were in stitches.

  Nothing funnier than an Oriental gangsta in a faded Polo and cargo jeans.

  “O.K., thug,” Daphne joined in. “What did you do? Rob the GAP?”

  No one laughed. Neither brother was even listening.

  “Did you know our Dad had an ass chin, too? Just like ours?”

  “No. I never got to meet him.”

  Haiku’s replied in a monotone.

  “I’m sorry, Haiku. You would have really liked him.”

  “No offense, Sam, but I really don’t give a shit. Like you, all I ever really wanted was a brother to box with. I was stuck playing Checkers with my Mom for eighteen years when I could have been sticking bottle rockets in your back pocket, atomic wedgies, purple nurples … but no … checkers. Chinese checkers at that! Brutal.”

  “Believe me, I know the feeling. My mom sewed me sailor suits until I was twelve and forced me to wear them to church. Dad watched Headline News in a trance as the same story played over and over. I used to pretend the trees where my imaginary friends.”

  “Yeah, well, I learned to play the spoon drums. I got pretty good after eighteen years.”

  “So, who is she? My sister?”

  “Uh, I’m right here, and no, I’m not your sister.”

  “Sweeeeet! So that means we can play Twister naked and not commit incest, right?”

  He was such a chauvinist, but secretly Daphne liked it.

  Sam was as warm and funny as Haiku was cold and dry.

  “That’s right, Sam. We can play Monopoly, Clue. No incest. Although we do live in Mississippi, so we’re probably at least second cousins.”

  “I can roll with that. Anything after first cousin is fair game for strip poker.”

  Haiku noticed Sam was flirting but as usual, he didn’t care.

  Daphne tried to fight back a flirty smile.

  He’s awfully witty to be Haiku’s brother.

  Her eyes darted to Haiku.

  As usual, Haiku doesn’t give a shit.

  Sam clicked the porn back on.

  “Check this out, bro. This redhead has a set of jugs I’d like tug on. Ha. Jug tugging. I can tell they are real, too.”

  Sam was wrong, but Haiku let him go on believing the lie since it was clear Sam took pride in his boob expertise. The redhead had a tiny scar not more than two centimeters peering out from beneath her arm pit. The scar only a revealed itself in a brief flash as she was changing positions often, but judging from the shape and position of the scar, Haiku knew she’d not only had implants, but also an a
ugmentation. The implants had been placed behind her pectoral muscles, producing the illusion of authenticity. Telling Sam would have only made him feel discredited and disappointed in himself.

  “Check this out. This chick right here has a big black strap-on she’s about to plow her down with!”

  Daphne felt like vomiting. How creepy.

  “Dang, Sam. You memorized the pornos?”

  “Daphne, my strange new friend, you clearly have no understanding of men. When you find quality porn, there’s no such thing as watching it too many times. A quality porno is like a diamond; it’s forever.”

  She had to crack a smile.

  For being such an idiot, Sam was witty.

  “O.K. Sam, so what exactly is so quality about this diamond in the ruff porno you discovered in your lil’ cave of wonder?”

  “Those DD tear drop titties on the redhead.”

  “The fake ones?”

  Dammit, Daphne! Ugh! Women!

  Haiku glared at her. How dare she question Sam’s boob expertise? He’d just found out his parents were dead. Now, she had to tell him his favorite tits on earth were fakes.

  What a bitch.

  Dumbass, he told her with his eyes.

  “Those aren’t fake!” Sam shouted in protest.

  Just as Haiku predicted, Sam was upset all over again.

  Daphne had just informed poor Sam his precious diamonds were cubic zirconias.

  And she was laughing over his pain. If he’d been a chick, he would have bitch slapped her.

  “You thought those were real? Oh for crying out loud she has stitches around her nipples. BDSM gets pretty wild nowadays, but if someone tries to sever my nipples, it’s time for a safe word, Sam.”

  Now she was cackling like a hen as Haiku shot arrows at her with his eyeballs and poor Sam looked crushed.

  Now that he knew they were fake, it just wasn’t the same.

  “Thanks a lot, Daphne. You just stole my diamond.”

  “How could I steal your diamond? I thought they were forever.”

  Why couldn’t women just shut up? Was it that hard to do?

  Now Daphne was in stitches.

  “What would you don’t know about diamonds, Sam? You probably give girls rings out of those quarter machines at the grocery store.”

  Note to self: Toss Daphne out the window on the way home, thought Haiku.

  Ignoring her completely, he changed the subject.

  “Let’s go grab a beer, bro. You look like you need a beer.”

  Sam did need a beer, but his number one concern was making sure he never lost his brother again.

  “I do need a beer, but then what? You guys can’t sleep here in this little dorm. Let’s all go back to Sterling Heights and play pool at my crib. My parents have a wine cellar underground and more liquor than God.”

  Daphne had to call him out on that one.

  “Uh… Sam… I think the saying goes more money than God.”

  “God needs money to buy liquor, though. Especially quality liquor.”

  Haiku patted his brother’s shoulder as if to say good one.

  This greatly encouraged Sam.

  “Furthermore, Ms. America, Jesus made water into wine.”

  Haiku was definitely going to have to stop himself from chunking Daphne out the window on the way home.

  “My house is still there, right y’all?”

  “It is, Sam. Three story mansions don’t disappear easily, and it comes with a trust fund so big you’ll never have to work again.”

  “AWESOME! Will you show me how to pay bills, bro?”

  “No need. Daphne can handle all that. Just hand her the money.”

  “SWEET.”

  Now Daphne was considering throwing Haiku out the window.

  She didn’t appreciate being reduced from girlfriend to secretary.

  “So what about the lawn? I bet it’s a jungle now!”

  “Your church members kept it maintained for about eight months because they kept thinking you’d come back to visit. So, the lawn’s only been let go about four months.”

  “I hope my Dad’s liquor is still in the cellar. And since I’m set for life, we should take a night out on the town. Just you and me, bro!”

  Daphne noted Sam’s rich kid priority list 1. Did the workers mow the lawn? 2. Hope the liquor is all there. 3. I have a trust fund? Awesome! Let’s pay some high-class hookers!

  DESTINY GAIL FLETCHER

  “Did you kill those boys, Atticus? It’s all over the news.”

  Destiny Gail Fletcher could neither read nor write, but could somehow sniff out a murder from a mile away.

  Atticus was looking through the cracked glass of his grimy bedroom window and counting stray dogs like sheep.

  Normally he knew better than to look up, but her question surprised him.

  “DAMMIT DESTINY!”

  He quickly turned his head and choked back vomit.

  Destiny was leaning against his door frame, completely naked as usual. Her long boobs practically covered her belly button.

  Her 70s porn star bush would be at eye level as he was sitting Indian-style on his floor.

  He swore that whore was going to burn out his retinas one day.

  Detective Nancy Drew could solve a triple homicide but couldn’t figure out how to put clothes on or throw away used condoms.

  Now Atticus kept his eyes glued to the floor for safety reason. It was bad enough the one second image would be burned into his brain for at least two weeks.

  God he hated her.

  “ANSWER ME, GODDAMIT!”

  “If I answer the question, will you put on some clothes?”

  She reached down and nearly slapped the freckles off his face.

  “How dare you talk to me that way? I am your mother.”

  His mother? Destiny had Atticus when she was twelve. When he was old enough to ask her who his daddy was, she answered, “Atticus, you know how bad I am with names.”

  Atticus was only four and a half. He had not yet figured out his mother had the IQ of a half-eaten corndog.

  “Do you know what he looked like, Mommy?”

  “Well, he probably had red hair, since no one in my family ever had red hair.”

  Probably?

  It seemed Destiny Gail Fletcher wasn’t good with names, faces, or hair colors.

  From that day on Atticus vowed to find the man with the red hair. After all, a four-year-old boy had no clue there was way more than one.

  His false assumption led to a very embarrassing experience at the local Chevron when he threw his arms around a stranger at a gas pump and said, “I knew I’d find you, Daddy!”

  The man had no clue how to respond, and appeared to be choked up.

  He hugged the little boy back with a big squeeze.

  “You know what, little chap? I’m not your Daddy, but you are so cute; I wish I had a son just like you.”

  “ATTICUS FLETCHER, GET BACK IN THE GODDAMNED CAR NOOOOOOOW!” she screeched in a voice so high-pitched it was like nails scraping down a chalk board.

  The man with the red beard cringed.

  His first instinct was to grab the poor child and run, but he knew that was not a valid option.

  “But Mommy, you said my Daddy was the man with the red hair,” he shouted back.

  It was the saddest thing the red-bearded man had ever heard. His green eyes glistened.

  “You know what, kid? Maybe I could be your Daddy. You never know,” the man lied. “Maybe if it’s O.K. with your mommy, I could even take you a baseball game one day.”

  Atticus’s chubby little face lit up with joy.

  “Really? A real baseball game?”

  Now the man was fighting tears as he closed his gas tank.

  “Really, kid. A real baseball game. We might even be the only two redheaded men at the game.”

  “I SAID, NOOOOOOOOOOOW!”

  Destiny wasn’t in the mood to make new friends.

  She’d been out of heroin
for two days and was even more unpleasant than usual.

  She snatched up little Atticus by his tiny freckled ear and dragged him to the car so hard she nearly ripped off his ear lobe.

  “Excuse me. Ma’am?” the man called after him. “I really would like to take him to a baseball game one day.”

  “Thanks man, but I’m in a hurry. Sorry about my fuckin’ kid. He’s mentally retarded.”

  She shoved him in the car so hard the man’s first thought was to follow them.

  He searched his pocket for a pen in the hopes he could write down her tag and report her to DHR, but cursed loudly as he realized he’d left it on the kitchen counter with the check book.

  Poor kid. If she abused him like that in public, there was no telling what she did behind closed doors.

  Not being able to rescue that boy haunted John O’Leary for the rest of his life, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was just as hard to find the random redheaded boy as it was to find the random redheaded man.

  Destiny sped off in her car so fast her deflated tires shot gravel shrapnel and left him in a cloud of smoky dust.

  “My God! That poor child!”

  John rushed backed into the Chevron station in hopes the attendant would have information. She seemed local enough.

  “Do you know who that woman is? The one who nearly ripped her little boy’s ear off?”

  “All I know is she’s a big time whore. I was outside on a cigarette break one night when I overheard a guy ask her name and she said, ‘just call me Black Widow.’ My buddy was like, ‘why do strippers and whores always have a double name?’”

  The hippy college kid laughed, but John didn’t.

  “Poor little fellow. That was NO mother.”

  “Yeah, no shit. She probably ate his dad.”

  “Well, here’s my number. I live in Sterling Heights, so if you see her around again, please give me a call. Somebody needs to check on that kid.”

  John O’Leary was right.

  Before leaving out to go find more heroin, Destiny beat Atticus with a baseball bat so hard she fractured his skull and cracked three of his tiny ribs. She’d make sure he never embarrassed her like that again.

  No one ever knew. She didn’t believe in hospitals and Kindergarten was still months away.

  Now he was 12, and things were finally about to change.

  Something about hitting him so hard his jaw cracked and then saying I’m your mother at the same time triggered the shiny new Atticus he’d recently discovered.