by R. C. Graham
Which made him perfect for the people that kidnapped him. They were members of a secret government project that meant to create a new type of soldier. Snatching him up one night, my opponent was carried to their lab and injected with the latest version of the drug they had created.
It worked. The result was the David Duke I saw in the hall.
They kept him around for study, to determine how full the effects were and if there would be any adverse consequences. Mr. Duke played along but barely. The newly altered man made it appear that his change wasn’t as severe as it looked. He was now clever enough to make sure the fact that his mental faculties were repaired were a complete secret.
So he learned a lot. Access codes, layout of the facilities, capabilities of all personnel. Most importantly he learned of the other drugs they were working on.
When the time was ripe, he murdered every person in the lab. Since Mr. Duke had access to the storage area, he stole all samples of the drug that created him as well as one other that had caught his attention. With access to all the project’s computers he printed out the formula for them. He then destroyed the lab.
The new superman cashed debit cards lifted from the facility and made his way to New York. With those funds he started dealing drugs. He also got to work on his grand plan.
Mr. Duke had always hated white people, blamed them for his life. Now he had a chance to get back at them. His plans required the drugs now in his possession. These drugs were code named Nhance and Nympho.
Nhance is the one that created Mr. Duke. It causes subtle changes to the subject’s DNA, in effect redesigning it. The subject’s body then transforms to meet the new blueprint. The result is the people I’ve been in conflict with for the last few days. The extremity of the change can be controlled by the dosage, and Mr. Duke has been careful that none of his creations match or exceed him.
Nympho is the drug responsible for the women I’ve been seeing. Simply put, it reduces women dosed with it into raving nymphomaniacs. Unlike Nhance, it can be used to spike other liquids. Any female so exposed have their libidos are pushed to levels where rational thought is nearly impossible. By administering the drug in places where one of his enhanced associates is the first man they encounter in this state the women quickly become addicted to them. All they’ll ever dream about is the next time an enormous, black phallus is thrust into them.
A side affect of Nympho is that it causes men, save those enhanced, to become impotent. Another factor in Mr. Duke’s favor.
As it turns out my adversary is here for reasons other than a vacation. First, he’s testing the next step of his plan.
One of his associates has obtained a job at the water provider here. This person had added a device that releases Nympho into the water system. Everybody in town is exposed.
The dosage isn’t high, but enough. Few men will be able to perform, and the women will be desperate for performance. It’s a playground for Mr. Duke and his cronies.
Secondly, there is a small pharmaceutical company nearby, which he has bought. One of his confederates is surprisingly well educated. This man has been entrusted with the formulae to Mr. Duke’s drugs, and the company is beginning mass production.
Why is he doing this? His diary makes it clear his goal is to destroy all white people. When he expands the plan to the whole country, only babies fathered by black men will be born. In a few generations, all people of European descent will be gone. Mr. Duke gloats frequently about this fact. How he feels about people not of European or Sub-Saharan ancestry he doesn’t say but I doubt they’ll fare well.
He also uses the women he’s changed to blackmail powerful people, as with the local police chief.
On top of that Mr. Duke just finds the whole thing fun. As many mortal men would. To refuse a woman who needed sex as badly as the ones Mr. Duke has made would be beyond the ability of most people.
A snort passes through my nose as I admit to myself that Mr. Duke is no fool, and ambitious. I would admire the man if what he wanted to accomplish wasn’t so evil. In some way I’m glad for I dislike conflict for its own sake. What I’ve discovered gives me a more important reason to stop him than personal survival and pride.
The door opens then and I look away from the computer screen in dismay. The sound proofing here is very good.
Mr. Duke walks in. It’s a credit to him that he shows only an instant’s surprise. “I’m impressed,” he says to me then.
“I’m not, I’m afraid, David Duke,” I retort with scorn in my voice. “Genocide doesn’t rate highly on my list of possible accomplishments a person can strive for.”
He shrugs. “Ask me if I care, white man. I can’t say I know your name though.”
“And you never will. It’s of no concern to a dead man.”
My opponent is not intimidated and grunts in contempt.
I smile at him. His ignorance shall make his passing more pleasurable. The discovery of what I am will be a delectable shock.
Mr. Duke reaches to a shirt pocket. As his hand stays in sight and is not moving quickly I let him continue. There’s no threat to me.
From the pocket he pulls a cell phone, flips it open and dials a four digit number.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to shout?” I ask him. “Not that anyone could get here in time to save you.”
“I’m not calling for help,” he tells me, and presses a button with his thumb.
Darkness.
* * * *
Sentience returns and my first thought is, Why is my face sitting in this mess?
The pain hits then. My consciousness almost fades under it again. But the agony is only above the waist. I can’t feel my legs.
My arms push and with great effort I succeed in sitting up. Despite my head wobbling on my neck I discover that there’s a large hole blown in me, my spine severed by what must have been an explosive charge in the chair. The mess that I awoke in was my stomach and its contents.
That thing inside smashes into my mind and the disguise I maintain fades from my features. That stupid human! He dies!
No longer aware of anything save my rage I concentrate. The little blood remaining to me is pushed to my wound, my spine and stomach begin to re-grow. It’s barely enough but feeling and motion return to my legs, and I’ll need my stomach to feed. I groan as I stand. Even in my state it’s anguish to move. Then I totter towards the door, starvation driving me to find a meal.
I’m almost there when voices drift from up the stairs, approaching me. I’m in no shape to fight straight up. It takes only an instant to form my claws. Then with a small leap I sink them into the oak lintel at the top of the door and lift myself up, parallel to the ceiling and flat to the wall. I doubt they’ll look up, they expect me to still be in the chair.
“Don’t know how he got in, but he’s dead.” Mr. Duke’s voice comes to me. “Ruined my desk and chair though, the fuck. Take the body, dump it somewhere. Don’t know where some dumb white boy thought he could stand up to us.”
I smile, showing my fangs, at that statement. I’m hardly ‘some dumb white boy.’
Two of Mr. Duke’s men come through the door, one at a time. They stop on seeing the empty chair. After a moment’s pause they step further into the room and apart a little. “Duke,” says one of them, “you better see this.”
“See what?” is the question from outside.
“He’s gone. No one here!”
“What the fuck?” With that exclamation, my enemy enters the room.
I drop to the floor behind David Duke and kick the door shut. My claws sink my claws into his neck and buttocks, lift him up and throw his massive body across the room. He hurtles between his thugs. A moment later his legs hit the desk with a ‘crack!’ that tells of broken bones. He cartwheels over it and disappears, smashing the chair in his careen.
Both his men turn towards me. The one on the left is a touch closer. My hand on that side stabs into his rib cage and I rip his heart out. Blood soaks me as it sprays fro
m the wound. His eyes roll up and he drops as if his bones have turned to jelly.
The expression on the other’s face shows that he knows exactly what I am. The wide eyes and blubbering lips transmit to me the utter terror I am. The feeling his terror give me is a base, vicious joy.
He shows courage though. The big man cocks a fist and throws it at me.
I catch it in my right hand and grind his bones to powder, sneering at his bravado. I care not at all what a human can do.
He goes pale with shock, falls to his knees and clutches his destroyed hand to his chest. Tears of pain and horror run down his face. The sensation that shivers through me is almost as wonderful as when I suck down someone’s life.
The smell hits me then. The smell of what I need. Blood. My food, my joy, my passion. I tilt my head back, bring the still beating muscle in my left hand to my mouth and squeeze. The red liquid in it drips out and I swallow it down. Mon Dieu! It’s delicious. I’ll never tire of the taste of it.
But there’s not enough. Lowering my head, tossing the empty heart away, I look at the man before me. I can hear the blood roaring through his veins, his life calls to me. The next instant I’ve snapped his head back and my fangs are in his neck. I can taste his terror, it flavors the blood with a sweet, dark savor.
It takes several minutes to drain a man this big. But soon I let the limp corpse fall. A sound catches my attention. Mr. Duke is trying to crawl past me.
“Yoo hoo!” I call to him. He stops moving, his head swivels towards me. He’s weeping in fear and pain. Again, malevolent joy shivers through me as I observe the effect I have on fools like the one blubbering before me.
“Watch.” I say, tapping the still ragged wound in my midsection. Then I exert my power. His eyes grow wide and his mouth slack at the sight of me repairing myself.
“You are a fool, David Duke,” I say to him when I am finished. “The secret to power is to use it sparingly.
“Take myself for example. You know what I am, how powerful I am. But there are forces in this world that would swallow me down as a shark would a minnow. I stay in existence by being careful.
“You weren’t. You acted as if you were the Almighty himself. So you attracted my attention. Now you suffer the consequences for that.”
“God,” he whines.
“My victims have called on Him for centuries. He’s never answered. I see no reason why He should start now.”
Then I’m at his throat.
He lasts longer than his hoodlum. Which I like. Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.
Finally I rise, full, and still angry. I smile as only one of my kind can smile. I’ve got a whole mansion of humans to play with. No time like the present.
I head off for my fun.
* * * *
I’m watching the mansion from a hundred meters away and waiting. I wish my nature allowed me to cry.
All that has happened in the half hour since I left Mr. Duke’s sanctum flashes through my head.
Charging down the hall I vaulted the railing. I landed on a young woman being taken on her knees and broke my fall, as well as her back. A quick swipe opened the throat of the man who was using her.
A second later I shattered the skulls of two women with a double punch.
One of the enhanced men grabbed a sub-machine gun from a pile of clothes, leveled it and let loose a burst. Stupid. Two bullets hit me and I hardly noticed. The rest put down three women and one of his cronies.
I leapt across the room and pulled his arm off. The muzzle of the gun went under his chin and I jerked the finger still on the trigger. The top of his head exploded in a spray of brains.
Then I ravened among them like a wolf in a coney of rabbits.
It was necessary to feed before I was done. In my state I burned my power like jet fuel. The drug in the woman’s blood gave an interesting flavor. A lighter taste than the cloying sweetness of the altered.
This gave the few survivors a chance to scatter.
It did them no good. I hunted them down one by one. The last was the police chief’s wife. She was halfway across the front yard when I landed on her back and snapped her neck.
The monster withdrew then. There was no more fun to be had.
My intellect returned to me. The grief and horror that came with it drove me to my knees. It had been a very long time since I had so lost control. I’d forgotten how good it felt, and how sick it made me afterwards.
Thank the Lord, Diane wasn’t here. Yet another layer of terror piles on my soul at that thought. How could she still love me if she knew what I was capable of?
I’ll think about it tomorrow night, I tell myself.
My waiting is done.
I’d broken open the very well stocked armory. Once the charges were placed I’d laid bodies across them, and soaked them all in gasoline.
With a loud thump and a tinkle of shattering glass the mansion begins to burn. There will be no evidence that something like me is involved. By the time the fire department arrives, there won’t be much more than ashes.
Another wave of anguish passes through me. I might have done some good here tonight, but the cost was so high. I straighten my back and shrug. That’s the way it always is. Console yourself with the thought that you prevented far worse than this. I don’t know if I’m lying to myself, but it helps.
However the killing isn’t done. One more person has to die to end Mr. Duke’s dream. His drugs are known to one other. As long as they exist, the genocide he planned could still come to pass.
I know where to look. Mr. Duke’s journal had all the information about his plans. I have five hours to dawn. Just enough time to end this. Turning my back on the massive funeral pyre I’ve created I fade into the darkness.
But I carry within me something far darker than black.
Table of Contents
Embrace
Beginning
Diane Patterson closed the door on entering her apartment, then slumped against the wall of her small abode. There was a fistful of mail clutched in her hand.
She was a petite, fair-skinned woman with what had once been rich auburn hair. That hair was now bedraggled from lack of care. There were deep bags under her eyes and her face etched with exhaustion. Her body was bent a little, seeming to carry a heavy weight.
Her thought, the one that consumed her was, Oh God. I miss him.
It had been a year and a half since they met. As so many times before, the sweet and sad reflections of him came flooding back.
Something close to joy flashed through her chest as Diane recalled the night they met, as memories of time spent together filled her thoughts. She’d almost been unwilling, which perhaps made what happened all the more wonderful.
Her womanhood warmed as she recalled the first time he had taken her to bed. It had been an experience beyond anything she had known. His delightful, passionate love making forged her affection into an attraction deep beyond measure.
A tightness wrapped around her throat as she recalled what happened next. Diane had awoken one morning from a nightmare, wandered in confusion, certain she had lost something. A student of her lover’s came by and when that woman left Diane no longer loved him. Instead there was a virulent loathing. The next time she saw him Diane drove him away, hating him for what he had done to herself and others.
The next night Diane went to the student’s house. She met another woman there, The Dean of the university where Diane worked and her lover taught. The student used them both viciously. It was an experience that came very close in joy to the first time with the man she loved.
A choked sound that resembled a sob squeezed out of her chest. The next morning what Diane had lost returned. She was horrified by what had happened and couldn’t fathom why she had done it. Desperate to apologize she had gone to her lover’s cottage meaning to plead for forgiveness. But there was no sign of him and she never saw him again.
After that, Diane spiraled downwards. She was unable to understan
d her actions, or to excuse them. Not having him in her life meant she drifted into a place where there were only tears and recrimination. At least until those things ran out leaving her with an aching emptiness where her life had been.
Diane refocused on today. Inside, she felt herself stoop a little more as another brick of shame and loneliness was added to her burden. She noted without real interest it would soon be too heavy for her to bear.
Without interest she checked the mail clutched in her hands. It was the usual; bills, junk…and an envelope that was neither.
She noted the stamp first, French. This puzzled her. It was unnerving as well. Her heart gave an extra twinge at the thought of France.
A glance at the return address revealed the letter originated from Paris. Who do I know from there? she wondered.
Then the name hit her. It was from him! Diane stared, trembling all over, not wanting to believe, almost wishing it were otherwise. But the letters of the name wouldn’t change.
The auburn haired woman found herself opening his message. Her hands seemed to be following their own impulse. She felt so disconnected that it appeared she was only a spectator to someone else’s life.
Three items fell from the envelope; a letter, a plane ticket and a credit card. Again, Diane watched her hands move of their own accord, flipping the letter open. She looked at the words and the sound of his voice filled her head once more.
Cheri,
Please come to Paris. We have much to discuss.
I shall be waiting at the café Le Fin de Sieclé every Saturday night at 11 PM for the next year.
The ticket is for the 10:00 AM flight that leaves JFK for Charles de Gaulle every Thursday morning. Again, this ticket is good for the next year. There is a room booked for you at Le Roi Henri IV. Everything at that hotel will be covered.
The credit card is in your name and has sufficient funds for a trip to New York. Plus a fair amount for any luggage, clothes, etc. that you might need for the journey.