Fear Factors

by Peter Sacco

  The days in my life were becoming a painful eternity. My being was slowly eroding away. I felt that sooner or later, I would be relieved of this misery and no longer be a part of this earth. At least as far as I knew, the deal with the redhead was off because she did not keep her part of the bargain. And that was when she appeared in my penthouse once again. It was late Wednesday night, I was camouflaged in the darkness of my living room when she came to torment me with her sadistic charm. She was dressed in a black body suit, fiery hair tossed about her shoulders. Her ruby red lips radiated from moonlight which crept in through the venetian blinds. She started to laugh at me when she saw me. “Whatever is the matter with you these days, David?” she asked mockingly.

  I just stared at her and did not respond. “What is the matter? Cat got your tongue? And your teeth?” she smiled.

  I could feel my rage burn. I wanted to scream, but I could not stand the pain.

  “Well, aren’t you glad to see me, David? Wanna screw?” she asked in a mocking seductive voice.

  I just looked away out through the slit in the blinds. I thought to myself what it would be like to no longer be in this world. The very thought sent shivers down my back and burned a bottomless hole in the pit of my stomach.

  “Are you afraid to die, David?”

  Finally, I had to look at her. I glanced up to catch a sarcastic grin split the corners of her mouth. I struggled to find words as tears burned through the corners of my eyes. Hatred overwhelmed me. “I guess your deal is off,” I slowly whispered.

  “Off?” she replied.

  “Look at me,” I whispered.

  She stared at me for a moment and then shook her head. “We had a deal Dr. Jacob, and you signed the deed,” she snickered, holding the contract before me.

  “Our deal was I would live forever and never suffer. Look at me! I’m dying for crying out loud!”

  “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. You’re not dying,” she laughed.

  “Then what the hell is this?” I asked holding up my hands.

  “Well, it looks like you caught some sort of bug,” she smiled.

  “But I was supposed to have immunity to disease and pain,” I begged.

  “Oh, if you’re worried about the pain, that will go away eventually,” she offered.

  “It will?”

  “Of course it will, give or take a couple of centuries.” she chuckled.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen to me,” I pleaded.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’ve said that already.”

  “You said I was immune to all of this.”

  “I told you that you were immune to any disease known to man.”

  “Known to man?” I asked.

  “Yes Dr. Jacob. Seems you went out and contracted some disease that won’t be known for another decade and won’t have a cure for another century or so.”

  “So make it go away,” I groveled.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “What if I…”

  Before I could finish she interrupted. “It doesn’t work that way. I already own your soul.”

  I couldn’t believe what the hell I had gotten myself into. The witty, but uninhibited professor of philosophy had made a pact with the devil involving the use of his soul as collateral. This was all supposed to be a joke. Roger and the guys were supposed to have been the ones to send over the redhead to return the favor. This is not fair. It’s all too real It is real! This redheaded bitch from hell really is the devil. She really is screwing me. I tried to compose my thoughts and not get anxious.

  “I got it from that hooker, didn’t I?” I slowly asked.

  “You wanted to play and then you paid,” she chuckled.

  “What is it?” I asked with hesitation.

  “If you must know, it is the plague of the future that will attack sexually irresponsible beings like yourself.”

  “Where did the whore get it?”

  “She belongs to a black magic cult which has sex at the root of its rituals and worship. Let’s just say they screwed around with the wrong spiritual sacrifices.” She walked over to the window and peered at the skyline. “You know I think Freud was right when he said humans are driven by sex and the pleasure principle,” she said. She turned and faced me. “Look what it’s done to humans like yourself and others. You people are never content with what you have. You fools all want to be gods and live like gods. Stupid fools.”

  “Can you please help me?” I pleaded once more. Pleading was never one of my stronger attributes.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s all too late. Did your beloved wife get a second chance? How about Tanya, you’re little lover? This is eternity my friend. There are no second chances.”

  “What will happen to me?” I reluctantly whimpered. She shook her head and laughed. “You’ll live forever as you have requested.”

  “This, whatever I have, will not kill me?” I asked.

  “You will just go on rotting until your body can deform no more.”

  I could feel what was left of the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “Or you can surrender your existence, and come with me now and burn in hell.”

  “Why don’t you go to hell!” I shouted angrily.

  She looked at me and started to laugh again. “I think I might just take you up on your suggestion. In the mean time, I’ll keep a nice warm place there for you. I’m sure I’ll see you very soon.”

  “I doubt it,” I said trying to sound convincing.

  She knew my body was growing weaker but a fire in my soul had just begun to burn. She waved to me and walked to the patio door. “Well, my friend, I must be going for now but we’ll be seeing you real soon. Why don’t you go out cruising for some chicks tonight? I’m sure they must find you really attractive these days.”

  With her last comment, she disappeared through the door into thin air. I put my head between my bony arms and knees and wept. For the first time in my life I wanted to pray but did not know how. The months continued to go by slowly. My body was decaying more and more each day. The only consolation in this was that I knew this disease could not kill me, therefore the pain and suffering must stop sooner or later. I was now almost completely bald. I had lost almost all my teeth and I was wrinkled something fierce. My total body weight was no more than one hundred and two pounds. I felt like I should be living in Ethiopia. There was not much left of my penis. It had decayed and eroded away. What I had traded my soul away for I could no longer have. Talk about bittersweet irony. I suppose it was only par for the course.

  Let’s face it, I was no longer a sex symbol whose front door was getting broken down from sex-craved women. I didn’t think I would be engaging in any sexual activity, at least for another century. That was the key. I had to last another century or so, until they found a cure. I knew I could do it. Even though my body was deteriorating, my mind and spirit were still holding up. I had to practice mental gymnastics and make myself stronger.

  After a few more months, my misery was becoming unbearable. The nest-egg I had saved for retirement was dwindling. I was becoming the proverbial island. My mind and spirit were losing their will to endure this suffering. Was there really going to be a cure for this disease? Was this in fact a disease I had or was it a curse? Was there really a place called hell or was I already there? It couldn’t be any worse than it already was. I kept thinking to myself if I had the chance to go back and change things... Regrets, regrets! They only added to my pain. Where did I go wrong with my life? I had it all and I crapped it away.

  For the next few weeks I grew even more metaphysical and questioned my existence from the inside looking out. I could be a god and live for eternity! Ironically, it was my being this little god and my living eternally that was going to rob me of my existence from this planet.


  Three months later I was dropping like a rock. The physical rot was pureeing my spirit into mush. I didn’t want to spend eternity looking like one of George Romeo’s ‘Living Dead’ night creatures. I looked pathetic, a shell of the man I once was. She was beating the shit out of me. The bitch was winning the game because I was beating myself. It was time to put up or shut up. I didn’t want the bitch to win. This thing was going more rounds than I could tolerate. It was time to surrender. What the hell, she would eventually win. Why put myself through any more pain than I had to? I would jump off the Brooklyn Bridge and surrender my soul on the way down. I would, in fact, get everything I deserved.

  Life as I had once known it was truly gone for me, and this existence, and that’s all it was, was far from any sort of life. I believe I had truly died the minute I sold my soul. I played with fire and now I was getting burned. In jumping, I could at least soar one last time.

  ***

  To whoever reads this letter; I hope you will appreciate the pain I went through in my life, so you will never be tempted to chase after what was not meant to be, the woman read. The woman paused for a moment to catch her breath before reading on. She glanced over the railing where Jacob plunged.

  Her husband’s eyes met with an attractive red-head standing a short distance away. She stared back at him expressionless. She seemed so mysterious, yet so seductive. He felt lost in her.

  As his wife resumed reading the letter, he was snapped back into the moment. We all have lives to live, and live them to the fullest we can. If you are lucky enough to find true love, or any sort of love in your life time, hold on to it. It is so valuable. You never truly know how great it is until it is gone. Sex is nothing more than a momentary feeling that passes as quickly as it came. True love lasts forever.

  The woman paused for a moment then said “Amen to that.” She resumed reading the letter. His eyes were locked on the red-head. She stood closer. He was so enthralled with her flowing hair thrashing in the wind. Her eyes were so deep. She ogled him back. Her lips were so sultry and kissable. Finally, she winked at him as his wife resumed reading. It is time for me to endure my true eternity of suffering. Farewell. Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Especially if she has red hair.

  The woman finished reading David Jacob’s manuscript to the masses around her. The police had begun questioning people at the scene. The woman handed the manuscript over to a police officer.

  “Guy sounded like one hell of a winner,” her husband said as he watched the red-head move closer. Several of the onlookers nodded in agreement.

  “Typical man, screw their own life up and then blame it on a woman,” groaned a female onlooker.

  The woman who read the letter accompanied one of the officers to his patrol car to offer a description of David Jacob. “Just need to get your official statement, “ said the officer.

  Her husband felt the weight of the red-head’s stare. He could feel his loins start to tingle. Her eyes would burn through any man’s soul. Slowly and methodically she sauntered toward him holding a scrolled piece of paper in her hand. Her black tights revealed the curves of her buttocks below the black bomber jacket she wore. Her legs were so sleek and tight. His eyes were glued to her ass. He wanted right then and there. She seductively licked her lips and gently bit down on her lower lip. His erection pounded in his trousers. He unconsciously whispered to a man standing next to him, “I’d love to give her a ride.”

  The man nodded and sighed. “Yeah, you and me both.”

  She turned and strutted away from them. They read the glittery lettering on the back of her leather jacket “100 % DEVIL.”

  “I’d sell my soul for her any day of the week,” the husband moaned to himself.

  She raised her arm to him and waved, releasing the scrolled paper she held in her hand. It blew with tremendous force right into the face of the husband. He caught it and glanced at the red ink, “Paid In Full,” he mumbled.

  Chapter Two

  Open Season

  The city of Tarrenwall was still reeling from the news of its tenth murder. The flash point bulletin screamed of new information that an eleventh murder had occurred not less than one week later.

  All eleven of the findings had been grisly. Forty-four year old Ken O’Connell was the homicide detective assigned to the cases and he had been subjected to viewing each of the eleven bodies. The mutilation of the bodies was becoming worse with each killing. How someone could have that amount of evil in their nature was incomprehensible. How they had enough time to do that much damage to a human body and leave without getting caught was diabolical. Rumor through the Niagara region grapevine was they had a stalker on their hands.

  There had also been discussion about imposing a curfew until the perpetrator was caught. As long as O’Connell had been with the department, there had never been as much pressure to come up with a suspect as there was now. Sure, there had been the case a few years back involving the abduction of the two area teens and the region-wide search for their killer. In that case, however, they had leads to go on and they had their suspect under surveillance before he could strike again.

  There were also a couple of murders committed in the lower class ranks of Tarrenwall involving prostitutes and drug users. Like other murders of this type, they attracted little attention and were pushed to the back burner until forgotten. In this case there were no leads.

  There had been speculation made that at least two or more people had to be involved due to the nature of the crimes. Conjecture that satanic cults might be involved was also being tossed about. One area newspaper had also heard from unreliable sources there was a mad man on the loose believing he was a vampire. Given there was little or no blood left in the victim’s bodies, this rumor kept irritating the squad room. The eleventh victim, a twenty-seven year old waitress, was found in the front seat, back seat, dashboard and ceiling of her car. There was almost no blood left anywhere in her mutilated body which had been ripped apart and shredded. Toss out the vampire speculation and bring in the werewolf belief. The last four bodies were found in the same condition, little or no blood. Interestingly enough, the first seven bodies had not been severely shredded apart and mutilated. There was one hell of a mess at each scene. The coroner’s team needed a damn shop vacuum to clean up the gore so they could collect all of the missing body parts. The extreme mutilations puzzled the police, the coroner, doctors and psychologists involved with the case. Only two factors in the killings remained unchanged. One, the killings had taken place only at night. And two, all of the victims were female.

  O’Connell had just come into his office the morning after the last murder to learn a woman had called with possible information. Yeah, yeah, he’d heard it all before. However, something was different about this dame. She wasn’t hysterical, or crying like the others had been. Just as importantly, she wasn’t sporting the usual black eyes or bruised arms. He was informed the woman would come into the office around ten that evening before she went to work. The woman explained to the dispatcher she believed she was being stalked by a man she had seen lurking not far from where one of the victims was found. The woman did not leave her name or number. O’Connell had mixed emotions. He did not know whether to take whatever she had to say seriously or write her off as another woman calling in to warn about phantom stalkers. The city was under siege by some unknown psycho and O’Connell had to take every threat or report seriously. What was really distracting was the number of females calling in to report their common-law or husband as the stalker. It appeared that many of these women were growing tired of the abuse and were willing to name their own abusive mates as the murderer. As much as O’Connell despised wife abusers, he did not want to get into a witch hunt. The force had tried everything they could to curb abuse to dames. It still happened and probably always would, as sick and sad as it was. They could not stop it. As long as there were abusive
individuals, there would be abuse. However, abuse did not and should not lead to murder. It was their job to stop the perpetrator and this was something they were going to stop.

  Simone Joubé was the caller who provided the police with what sounded like their first possible lead. She came into the station at ten o’clock just as she had stated. She was a very attractive woman with dark hair and creamy white features. O’Connell pegged her to be somewhere in her late thirties. She had a very erotic demeanor about her which O’Connell found very charming. He also had a strange feeling about the woman. He’d had this feeling a couple of other times with possible leads. It was like a sixth sense. In the past, whenever he had this feeling with a witness, they proved to be the key to the case. He had this same feeling in the pit of his stomach now and believed this woman was possibly going to break the case open for him.

  “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Joubé,” he said, offering her a chair.

  “ Please, call me Simone.”

  O’Connell observed how calm and pleasant she seemed. She also seemed vaguely familiar. He was sure that he’d seen her somewhere before. The way she slithered into the chair and wrapped her arms in front of her bosom slightly aroused him. She was probably another one of the prostitutes or peelers busted and sitting outside one of the offices being booked as he passed by. At this point, it didn’t matter where he had seen her.