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 Posted: Mon Sep 25, 2006 4:30 pm
Chapter 5.2
It took a moment for Bob to remember what had happened. When he recalled what had happened to Frank, his shoulders dropped. I have to find him, he told himself. I owe him that much.
Brushing loose dirt from his jacket, Bob stepped out onto the city streets. He shivered slightly as a chilling October gust blew passed his face. As he looked around, he saw that the van was nowhere to be seen. He resolved that it must have remained in the netherworld when he had been thrown out.
The more he thought over the night's previous events, the more it confused him. Why didn't she kill me? Bob thought. She had to have known both of us were hunters. And how did she know his name?
Passing by a cheap-looking cinema, Bob found himself in front of the hole-in-the-wall bookstore marked 'Mythologies and the Supernatural'. There had to be a thousand places like this scattered about Philadelphia, but he figured he might as well check it out while he had the chance. Maybe he could figure out what the demon had been rambling about. The way it'd been talking made it sound as though it had known Frank.
Probably nothing, but still worth looking in to.
Deciding it might be worth the time spent, Bob stepped off the streets and into the rundown shop.
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Posted: Mon Oct 02, 2006 3:50 pm
Chapter 5.3
The taste of blood and sweat was heavy on Frank's lips. His eyes, blindfolded and aching, did little to serve him in his present state of shock. Cumbersome iron shackles bound each of his individual limbs to the ceiling, suspending him in mid-air and inhibiting any attempt at movement. His t-shirt, torn open across the chest by sadistic claws, had changed from alabaster white to an abhorrent shade of maroon, rubbing cruelly against the festering flesh around his wounds.
A small bead of perspiration rolled down the curve of Frank's right temple and down onto his neck, where it soaked into the collar of his shirt an inch from the scorpion tattoo that also resided there. His head hung low, he called out. “Hello? Can anybody hear me? Anybody!” The only response was the echo of his own voice.
You never should have followed her, he told himself angrily. You knew who she was; how could you not have seen this coming? You should have let her kill you when you had the chance. Frank's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of light footsteps coming from somewhere up ahead. Though he couldn't identify the exact location of the intruder, he knew enough to be aware that whatever was coming was not going to be pleasant.
“Hello, Frank.” the visitor cooed. He knew immediately who it was.
His head rose a little so he could level himself with what he believed to be the demon's eyes. “Nashome.”
“The one and only,” she added, laughing to herself.
“Do you have a valid reason for barging in or did you just come here to torture me again?”
“Hmm, a little of both, but I suppose more of the latter.”
“Oh, joy.”
“I actually have a few questions for you, dear. A game, if you will.”
“I can already imagine the fun this is going to be.”
“The rules are very simple,” Nashome continued, ignoring Frank's interruption. “I ask a question, you answer it.”
“Wow, did you come up with that all by yourself? I must say, I'm impressed.”
Nashome sighed. “I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that.”
Frank made his best attempt at a shrug. “Works for me.”
“For each question you answer truthfully, you get one step closer to freedom. Got me so far?”
“Hmm, I'm not sure. You might have to repeat that part again. It seemed a little complicated.”
“Do you want out of here or not, Iero-san?”
“See, that's the thing that's really confusing me right now.” Frank answered. “You made such a big production with the whole other dimension thing and kidnapping me and whatever, but now you're just going to let me go? Doesn't seem your style.”
“I have my reasons.”
“Obviously.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, you get one step closer to safety with each answer. Five questions gets you out.”
“That's all?”
“That's all.”
“Well, that sounds pretty easy. But I'm still trying to figure out exactly what my incentive is. Isn't there some kind of stick to go along with the carrot or some crap like that?”
Without warning, a searing pain tore through Frank's foot, causing him to scream in anguish. The warm sensation of blood began to flow down over his ankle and to the hem of his jeans.
“What the hell did you just do?”
Frank hung motionless as Nashome lifted the cloth from his eyes, revealing herself standing before him. Clutched in her hand, held high like some sickening kind of trophy, was his own pinky toe, still bleeding profusely over the demon's fingers.
“Now then, is that incentive enough?”
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Posted: Mon Oct 02, 2006 3:53 pm
Chapter 6.1
Slanting nimbly through the hospital windows, the beams of early morning sunlight fell across the sterile white sheets of the room's three empty beds. In the fourth, sitting nearest to the chamber's only door, lay Gerard, his inert body cast into shadow by the awkward lighting. His chest, bound tightly in blood-soaked gauze, rose up and down slowly as he breathed. Countless needles and sensors were embedded in the skin of his arms, continually monitoring his blood pressure and pulse for any signs of abnormality.
It was about two hours passed sunrise when Gerard finally started to come back around. His respiration picked up gradually as his dark-lidded eyes flickered open, allowing him to survey his surroundings.
The large hospital room was frighteningly spartan and flawless. Every wall, every chair, and every tile on the floor was as pale as snow. Only the occasional gray hue took away from the feeling of being trapped in a mental asylum. Gerard felt out of place in the innocence of the stark medical wing, his raven hair and scarlet-stained neck contrasting heavily with the surroundings.
Gerard tried to raise his hand to scratch the itch growing beneath his chin, but found himself unable to due to the sleek set of handcuffs holding him to the railings on the edge of the bed. His other arm was held down in a similar fashion.
“Damn it...” he muttered. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any nearby objects he could somehow grab and use to pry the locks open. Instead, he caught sight of a tiny, almost hidden camera set discretely in the furthest corner of the room. The blinking red light was taped over and the lens had been paled to blend in with the environment. Doing his best to sit up, he winced as he stretched the healing cut on his back. They're watching me? He thought in disbelief. What the hell? If anything, they should be watching that psychotic chick.
Only a second after that thought ran through his head, the room's door opened wide, revealing a pair of white-clad (Surprise, surprise, Gerard thought bitterly) doctors followed closely by four armed police officers. None of them spoke. A few shot sideways glances at Gerard , who sat staring at them as they circled his bed like vultures. The doctors looked over the stationary monitors and charts, jotting notes down onto respective clip boards. Meanwhile, the guards stood motionless around the bed, their weapons held at the ready.
One of the two doctors whispered into the ear of the nearest police officer. He nodded, then stepped forward and grabbed Gerard by the right arm, holding it up for the doctor to work with.
“Hey, what the hell -” Gerard started up, but he was instantly stopped by the other three guards, who raised their weapons in unison, aiming squarely at his head. They didn't say a word, but they hardly needed to. He slumped back into the bed, allowing the doctor to remove one of the I.V.'s protruding near the wrist of his right hand. The man then took out a wad of cotton and placed it over the open wound, taping it down carefully against the raw skin.
As silently as they had entered, the small squadron departed the room. Gerard heard the latch on the door click shut, then a second, louder snap as the police locked the bolt on the other side. Guess they really don't want me getting out. He looked down at the handcuffs that bound him to the bed. Well, it's not like I'm going anywhere.
Drumming his fingers restlessly on the railings of the cot, he let out an agitated sigh. This is officially the greatest week of my life, Gerard thought bitterly. I just don't think it could possibly get any better.
A few minutes later, the lock outside the door snapped open again. This time, only one person walked in, carrying a small lined notepad and a pencil in her hand. Her shorts were standard, police-issue blue and he could see a small gold badge hooked to her shirt, but overall she was dressed very casually. A gun holster, carrying what appeared to be a loaded Magnum, was attached to the left side of her belt.
“Hello.” she smiled warmly, taking a seat in a nearby chair.
“Um, hi.” His face was blank. “And you are...”
“Trisha. I've been called in to interview you.”
“Interview? What, you a reporter or something?”
Trisha chuckled. “No, not exactly. I'm with the NYPD.”
“Ah. Hence the badge. And the uniform... and the gun.”
“Oh, what, that?” She reached down and took it out carefully. Looking it over for a couple of seconds, she then set it down on the table next to Gerard's bedside. “Just ignore it. They try to make us look all tough and intimidating. It's a load of crap if you ask me.”
“Huh.” Gerard mused, feigning interest.
“So, what's your name?” Trisha asked earnestly.
“John.” he replied sarcastically. “John Smith.”
Trisha smiled mischievously. “Now, Mr. Smith, are you going to cooperate or are we going to have to go to all the trouble of conducting a D.N.A. analysis when you could just as easily tell me right now and spare us the wasted time?”
“Well, I normally love to piss you government types off, but what kind of guy would I be to do that?”
“Certainly not a very nice one.”
“Tell you what,” Gerard leaned forward. “I'll tell you who I am if you tell me what the hell I'm doing here.”
“This is a hospital, you know. This is where we usually bring people when they're bleeding to death in the gutters.”
“That's not what I'm talking about.” said Gerard, indicating the handcuffs around his wrists.
“Ah, of course.” Trisha reached down into the pocket of her shorts and withdrew a set of folded papers. She opened them up and, scanning the top few lines, she began reading. “Says here you attempted to murder a miss Michelle Kitari. By means of knife, if I understand correctly.”
“What?”
Trisha shrugged. “That's what the police report says. I mean, if you don't believe me, see for -”
“No, no. It was self defense. She tried to kill me!”
“With what?”
“The knife. It- it was hers.”
“And you managed to get it from her?”
“What the hell, I never even touched that knife.”
“She said that -”
“So you believe her?” Gerard laughed in disbelief. “I can't believe it. What if she's lying?”
“Handy dandy polygraph.” Trisha replied matter-of-factly.
“My fingerprints aren't even on -”
Trisha held up the black leather gloves he'd been wearing.
Swearing quietly, Gerard slouched down again.
“Alright, I held up my part of the bargain. Now, are you going to tell me your name or is this going to have to get difficult? 'Cause we can always -”
“Gerard.” he interrupted.
“Gerard?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have a last name, Gerard?”
“Doesn't everyone?”
“Most people I'm aware of.”
“Way.” he replied dryly.
“Alright, Gerard Way. And where do you hail from?”
“Jersey, actually.”
“Really? Which part?”
“Newark.”
“Ah. Likewise.”
“Huh. Small world.”
The two sat quietly for a moment. Trisha tapped the end of her pencil on the writing tablet mechanically, as if waiting for something to happen.
“So,” Gerard started, breaking the silence, “any more questions?”
“None at the moment.” She stood up quickly. “Guess I should be going.”
“See you around, then?”
“We'll see.”
Just as Trisha reached the door, Gerard called to her. “By the way, did Michelle say why I 'attacked' her?”
“I'd think that'd be pretty obvious.”
“Not exactly.”
Trisha stood still, sifting through the papers until she found the one she was searching for. She removed it from the stack and set it face down on the bed next to Gerard's hand.
“A picture's worth a thousand words.” she said mysteriously, and she vanished out the door before he could utter another word.
For a second, Gerard just sat there. He glimpsed the colored flipside of the glossy paper. Think this over for once. Do you really want to see what's on the other side?
“Of course.” He whispered to himself.
Not allowing himself a second's hesitation, Gerard reached forward and turned the photograph over.
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Posted: Tue Oct 10, 2006 6:50 pm
I'm reading! Actually I've already read it on the other guild and I'm waiting for the rest to come out.
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Posted: Wed Oct 11, 2006 6:15 pm
That makes two of us. You're a better writer than I am, so consider yourself officially stalked. stare wecameinonthelatetrain.oh?
youmusthavejustmissedus.pity.
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Posted: Mon Oct 16, 2006 3:41 pm
Seriously?!?
Well then, better start a stalkin' list...
Next parts will be up soon!
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Posted: Mon Oct 16, 2006 3:49 pm
Chapter 6.2 Gerard's heart felt as though it had been ripped in two. He almost dropped the picture to the ground, but his trembling hands managed to hold tight. This isn't happening, he thought. This can't be real.
Printed out for his eyes to see in all its grisly glory was an image of the skin on his very own back, bearing an intricately cut marking that he recognized all too well. The shape was comprised of claw marks joined together to create a single, V-shaped symbol. The crests of the icon were angled to the outsides like scythe blades and two similar projections sprouted halfway down the length of the V, flanked below by short adjoining protrusions. At the bottom, a long, straight-edged needle as long as the main body of the figure stretched downwards, ending in a bloody, fine-tipped point. Three carefully placed dots occupied the negative space in the center of the V, decreasing steadily in size as they progressed. The Blood Icon, Gerard thought, his face an expression of horror. I don't believe it. They think I'm a frickin' vampire.
Rubbing his tongue over the canine teeth in his upper jaw, he felt relief upon finding them at normal length. The sunlight, falling against the skin of his arm, was irritably hot, but no more then usual. What the hell is wrong with these people? That would have killed me by now if I was a vampire.
Gerard's stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten in over a day. He looked around for some sort of call button. His eyes glanced over the bedside table, catching sight of what he swore had to be a hallucination. There, standing out prominently against the conflicting white around it, was Trisha's Magnum, glowing in the sunlight.
I'm dreaming. That's the only explanation. She couldn't just forget... could she? Gerard reached out towards the table, almost reverently, as if afraid the weapon would vanish when he touched it. Instead, his fingers pressed down onto the smooth, metallic surface of the gun. He wrapped his hand around the firearm, lifting it off the table and into his lap.
Gerard looked up at the video camera. They're probably watching me now. If I want to do something, I'd better do it fast. Without waiting for a reasonable thought to pass through his head, he set the gun against the chain of the handcuffs and pulled the trigger.
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Posted: Mon Oct 16, 2006 4:08 pm
Chapter 6.3
The sound of the successive gunshots exploded down the halls of hospital, reverberating off the ceilings with ferocity. Standing at the third floor circulation desk, Trisha jumped as the deafening sound shook the ground beneath her feet. Stunned for a second, she quickly realized what had just happened.
“Son of a b***h.” She whispered. Sprinting down the hallway, she screamed at the doctors she passed. “Get the police down to 318 now!”
The door to 318, now looming at the end of the corridor, flew open wildly, nearly ripping itself off its hinges. Standing there in the doorway, dark outline dominant over the snow white walls against his back, was Gerard, Magnum clutched in his mangled right hand. The wound across his back had opened up again, spilling blood onto the medical smock he'd tied over his injured chest. He held the gun close to his heart, keeping the nose aimed down the hallway. Spotting Trisha approaching from the other end of the hall, he lowered the barrel of the weapon and held his arm out further, targeting the spot on her chest where her lungs were positioned.
“Stay back.” he coughed.
“Gerard...” Trisha held her hands out defensively, trying to keep him calm. “You don't want to do this.”
“Who says?”
“Just think it over for a moment.” She started to back away, but Gerard tightened his hold on the Magnum and gestured for her to move forward. “Not including me, there are currently fifteen other cops in this building. You shoot that thing off and every one of them will be here in seconds.”
“Well, I shouldn't have to worry about that. After all, I am a vampire, aren't I? That's what this is about, right?” A tight grin flashed across his face, giving him the fleeting aesthetics of a lunatic. “I don't know what the hell Michelle told you, but I'm about the furthest thing from immortal you'll ever find.”
“Would you care to explain the icon?”
“I didn't even know it was there.” Gerard panted. “Look, you have no idea what I've been through in the last twenty- four hours. If I had time to explain it all, I would, but right now things are getting really out of hand and I need to leave.”
“The only way you're getting out that door is in a body bag.” Trisha threatened. “Turn yourself in now.”
Gerard shook his head weakly. “That's not going to happen.”
“If you just -” Trisha was interrupted by the sound of a bullet whizzing passed her ear, traveling harmlessly by her head and striking Gerard a hair's breath from his left kneecap. He cried out in pain, falling hard on his knees. Trisha wheeled around swiftly and caught sight of Michelle standing at the end of the corridor. Her hands were held tightly around the grip of a gun.
“Are you alright, Trisha?” she asked with concern.
“Fine.” Trisha replied. “Think you could go get some guys to put him under again?”
“I'm not leaving you here alone to watch him. I can do it.”
“I don't think you should -”
“Trish, trust me.” Michelle smirked. “You know me. I can handle myself.”
Trisha sighed. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Okee dokee.”
Setting off down the hall, Trisha took a look back. Michelle waved confidently, attempting to reassure her.
The moment that Trisha was out of sight, Michelle stormed over to where Gerard lay, crumpled and bleeding. Taking hold of him by the neck, she pressed the gun up under his chin and hissed. “End of the line.”
“Maybe for one of us.”
Gerard lashed out violently with his legs, breaking Michelle's grip and knocking her to the ground. She tried to stand up, but he stopped her by delivering a bone-shattering blow to her jaw.
“Agh!” she cried out, dropping her weapon and holding her throbbing chin with both hands.
Feeling little sympathy, Gerard grabbed both her arms by the wrist and held them tightly behind her back. He held the nose of the Magnum against her ear and growled, “That was a quick switcharoo, wasn't it?”
“Burn in hell, you b*****d.” she hissed.
“Ladies first.” Dragging her down the hall, Gerard made for the stairs up ahead. The entire floor seemed relatively empty and only a few frightened nurses passed by them as they moved.
”They're going to catch you. And when they do, I hope they drive a stake through that dust you call a heart.”
Gerard sighed long and hard. “You are some kind of crazy. I don't know what's wrong with you, but as soon as this whole mess is cleared up, I highly recommend you start seeing a therapist. That is, assuming you don't already.”
The walk down the stairs was difficult, as Michelle was attempting to pry herself free every waking second. Gerard nearly tripped and fell at least eight times on the way, giving him the urge to simply push the erratic girl down the steps. Instead, he held her tightly down both flights, never removing the gun from her skull. When they finally did reach the bottom of the stairwell, Gerard found several police officers waiting down the hall, weapons drawn.
“Hey!” one of them exclaimed. The other men turned their attention to Gerard and instantly jumped into action.
Damn it, Gerard thought. This is going to get messy. Pressing the Magnum harder into Michelle's head, he held her in front of himself like a shield and yelled, “Drop your weapons!” The cops faltered, most of them under-trained and unaware of what to do in a situation such as this. “I'm not screwing around here! Drop your weapons now or I swear I'll blow her brains across the floor!”
Hesitantly, the police set their firearms down.
“On the ground!”
Take it easy, he told himself. I think you're having a little too much fun. The cops crouched down slowly, keeping their hands held over their heads. The hallway's other occupants just stared in mute horror, some fleeing to the nearest room, others completely paralyzed with fear. Tightening his hold on Michelle's arms, he steered her passed them, fleeing towards the emergency exit up ahead.
“Great idea and all,” Michelle began, “but what do you intend on doing once we get out?”
“I have an idea.”
“Wow, I feel safer already.”
“That's not the point.”
“If you're going to kill me -”
“Wasn't planning on it, actually.” said Gerard, “However, I've been pondering the idea as of recently.”
The exit doors were automatic, saving him the trouble of using one of his inconveniently busy hands to open it. Directly outside the emergency exit was the parking garage, bustling with activity at this time of day.
“You're going to steal a car?”
“I'm already wanted for attempted murder and now, kidnapping. What's a little grand theft auto gonna hurt?”
“Depends. Have they created any sentences more punishing than life?”
“Not that I'm aware of. Unless you consider death.”
“Well as long as you don't off me, that shouldn't be a problem, right?”
“I hope not.”
At the VIP gate in the front of the garage, a large sedan was sitting idle as its occupant busied herself with presenting her parking ticket to the provided machine. She didn't notice as Gerard came up from behind the vehicle until he threw the driver's side door open and grabbed her by the sleeve.
“What the -” she started, but was silenced as Gerard tossed her out of the car and onto the asphalt. He climbed in first, moving up and over the center into the passenger's seat. Michelle was not far behind, but it wasn't like she had any choice. She sat down in on the driver's side and set her hands on the wheel.
“Hey!” The woman on the ground screamed.
“For the record, I'm really sorry about this.” said Gerard as he leaned over Michelle's lap and closed the car door.
“So I'm your chauffeur now?” Michelle asked cynically.
“If you'd prefer the trunk...”
“No.”
“Then let's get moving.”
Michelle looked down at the space between the two seats. “At least it's an automatic.” Peeling out of the driveway in a tight U-turn, the car left dark skid marks on the pale road behind it.
“Are you trying to leave a trail?”
“Why wouldn't I?” Michelle demanded. “After all, I am the hostage.”
“Victim.” Gerard corrected. “You're not up to that kind of status yet.”
“I see.” Michelle was silent for a while, watching the road and doing her best to ignore the fact that her very life was in danger. He won't risk killing me 'til he's back home, she thought. At least not while I'm driving.
“So,” she began after a few minutes had passed. “where are we headed.”
“Newark.” Gerard replied, a smile crossing his face. “Time for a homecoming.”
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Posted: Mon Oct 16, 2006 4:27 pm
eeeeeeeeeeee, this is so much fun! I really admire your work. It would make a great movie.... which gives me a load of ideas.wecameinonthelatetrain.oh?
youmusthavejustmissedus.pity.
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Posted: Sat Oct 21, 2006 6:06 pm
Chapter 7.1
That was a waste of time, thought Bob as he departed the dilapidated bookstore. He had been in there for nearly seven hours searching through volume upon volume on ancient creatures, rituals, and religions, but his search turned up nothing more than the products of overactive imaginations. He sometimes found it hard to believe how severed modern society had become from the spiritual world.
After hailing a passing cab, he checked his watch. The digital readout displayed “Saturday, October 21st, 10:17 A.M.” Ray and Mikey should be back in Newark some time today, he thought hopefully, climbing into the back of the parked taxi. He was looking forward to seeing a familiar face.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“You go as far as Newark?”
“Sure thing.”
The cab pulled away from the curb, blowing up a cloud of loose dirt under the wheels.
Over the course of the ride, Bob barely exchanged a word with the taxi driver. His mind was brimming with grim thoughts and ideas that he rather not dwell on, so he busied himself with paving over them with more appealing, lighter-hearted concepts. Instead, he drifted off to sleep, the repercussions of staying up late into the night finally taking their toll.
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Posted: Sat Oct 21, 2006 6:07 pm
Chapter 7.2
When Bob woke up, he found himself staring out the window of the cab into the heart of the New Jersey city. With most of the community's residents at work or at school, the traffic was light in most parts, allowing the brightly painted car to move through the streets easily. The sun was now arched high in the sky, shining weakly through the layer of cloud and smog that covered the region. Home, sweet home.
After fifteen more minutes of driving, the cab came to a halt.
“This the place?” the driver inquired.
“Yeah,” Bob replied.
“Your total comes to eighty-three dollars and thirty-two cents.”
Bob handed two fifties to the driver. “Keep the change.”
“Have a nice day.” He grinned, then drove off down the street.
Bob sighed as the taxi disappeared into the traffic. Haven't had a nice day in months. Not like today's going to be any different. He turned to face away from the street.
This part of town was remotely nicer than the area surrounding it, most of which was nothing more than overgrown weeds and low-income housing. Here, at least most homeowners managed to keep their grass cut and their bills paid. The terrain on this side of the street consisted mainly of a mass of irregular hills covered in short, recently-planted trees and well manicured shrubs. Houses were built atop the highest points on the ridges, their front walkways winding down the steep descent to the street where they merged with the sidewalk. Most of the houses themselves were small, two-to-three bedroom rentals with brick exteriors, standing only a story tall with another level below ground.
Bob walked down the paved avenue by the street until he came to the path to the house addressed on the mailbox as '1432 Sycamore Drive'. Two small red oaks grew on either side of the home's front steps, their branches stripped clean of foliage by the season's biting winds. A small box of wild roses hung from the windowsill on the residence's west wall, their scarlet flowers open wide to display to the casual public.
Seeing the flag on the side of the mailbox raised, Bob reached inside and took out the stack of mail that had accumulated in the days that nobody had stepped foot on the premises. At least half of the dull pile was comprised of bills and bank statements, while the rest seemed to be nothing more than the usual promotional junk that always ended up on the kitchen table.
The path up to the house was riddled with cracks and crevices where the roots from nearby trees had worked their way up through the soil. Bob stepped carefully over the spots where the concrete had been broken and had formed into hazardous depressions that had tripped him on more than one occasion. Most people would have been winded by the time they reached the front door, but he had taken this route so many times it was as natural as breathing.
At the front door, Bob bent down to flip over the corner of the welcome mat, exposing the emergency house key below. We're fighting demons and monsters twenty-four seven with the most high-tech equipment available and this is how we leave our house? Why the hell haven't we been robbed yet? It fit perfectly into the lock, allowing him to turn the handle and open the door. He set the key back where he'd found it, then stepped inside.
The interior of the house had a muffled atmosphere, a feeling which could be sensed seconds after entering. Dark velvet drapes blocked out the sunlight that attempted to intrude through the windows, bathing the living room in darkness. The light from the open doorway revealed three corduroy couches of varying sizes positioned around a 23” television set, their upholstery scarred with a range of soda stains and cigarette burns. A computer desk, bearing a lap top and printer, was set up against the back wall next to the copy machine it was linked to.
Dropping the mail on the floor by the door, he collapsed on the longest of the three sofas wearily. He glanced his watch again. 12:04. Time always passed too slowly when he was anxious.
Bob had barely laid down when the doorbell chimed. At first he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but when he heard the sound again, he got up off the couch and went to answer the door. The bell rang again.
I'm coming, damn it.
Again. What the hell's the hurry? Bob was starting to consider not even opening the door. However, he gave in to his better judgment and swung the door open. His eyes opened wide with surprise.
Gerard was standing on the front step, one hand clutching a pistol while the other one clung to a girl Bob guessed to be around twenty-four years old. The hospital gown over his chest was dyed crimson with his own drying blood, dripping down over his jeans and onto his bare feet. Another trail of ruby-red fluid began above his left knee, soaking the tattered denim around the wound. The woman, on the other hand, she seemed to be relatively free of ichor except the little that had rubbed onto her skin from his grip on her arm.
“Um...” Bob paused, not sure what to say. “Dare I ask what's going on?”
Smiling a little, Gerard replied, “If you've got time to hear a long story.”
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Posted: Sat Oct 21, 2006 6:14 pm
Some pics I've drawn over the course of the writing process. I've got more, but some of them are of characters that are in parts I haven't yet posted, so I won't "reveal" them just yet.  ^^Katie and Michelle (obviously...) Michelle's nose looks sorta Jewish, but she's actually supposed to be Latino (Equadorian descent ^_^) I just suck at those kind of details...  ^^Trisha McKee. She's based off me, but I'll be damned if I have that skinny of a bod. *tries to steal alter ego's body shape* crying Lucky imaginary wench
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Posted: Thu Oct 26, 2006 3:35 pm
Chapter 7.3
The taste of blood and sweat was heavy on Frank's lips. His eyes, blindfolded and aching, did little to serve him in his present state of shock. Cumbersome iron shackles bound each of his individual limbs to the ceiling, suspending him in mid-air and inhibiting any attempt at movement. His t-shirt, torn open across the chest by sadistic claws, had changed from alabaster white to an abhorrent shade of maroon, rubbing cruelly against the festering flesh around his wounds.
A small bead of perspiration rolled down the curve of Frank's right temple and down onto his neck, where it soaked into the collar of his shirt an inch from the scorpion tattoo that also resided there. His head hung low, he called out. “Hello? Can anybody hear me? Anybody!” The only response was the echo of his own voice.
You never should have followed her, he told himself angrily. You knew who she was; how could you not have seen this coming? You should have let her kill you when you had the chance. Frank's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of light footsteps coming from somewhere up ahead. Though he couldn't identify the exact location of the intruder, he knew enough to be aware that whatever was coming was not going to be pleasant.
“Hello, Frank.” the visitor cooed. He knew immediately who it was.
His head rose a little so he could level himself with what he believed to be the demon's eyes. “Nashome.”
“The one and only,” she added, laughing to herself.
“Do you have a valid reason for barging in or did you just come here to torture me again?”
“Hmm, a little of both, but I suppose more of the latter.”
“Oh, joy.”
“I actually have a few questions for you, dear. A game, if you will.”
“I can already imagine the fun this is going to be.”
“The rules are very simple,” Nashome continued, ignoring Frank's interruption. “I ask a question, you answer it.”
“Wow, did you come up with that all by yourself? I must say, I'm impressed.”
Nashome sighed. “I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that.”
Frank made his best attempt at a shrug. “Works for me.”
“For each question you answer truthfully, you get one step closer to freedom. Got me so far?”
“Hmm, I'm not sure. You might have to repeat that part again. It seemed a little complicated.”
“Do you want out of here or not, Iero-san?”
“See, that's the thing that's really confusing me right now.” Frank answered. “You made such a big production with the whole other dimension thing and kidnapping me and whatever, but now you're just going to let me go? Doesn't seem your style.”
“I have my reasons.”
“Obviously.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, you get one step closer to safety with each answer. Five questions gets you out.”
“That's all?”
“That's all.”
“Well, that sounds pretty easy. But I'm still trying to figure out exactly what my incentive is. Isn't there some kind of stick to go along with the carrot or some crap like that?”
Without warning, a searing pain tore through Frank's foot, causing him to scream in anguish. The warm sensation of blood began to flow down over his ankle and to the hem of his jeans.
“What the hell did you just do?!?”
Frank hung motionless as Nashome lifted the cloth from his eyes, revealing herself standing before him. Clutched in her hand, held high like some sickening kind of trophy, was his own pinky toe, still bleeding profusely over the demon's fingers.
“Now then, is that incentive enough?”
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Posted: Mon Oct 30, 2006 5:16 pm
Chapter 8.1
Mikey and Ray pulled up alongside the curb of 1432 Sycamore Drive, the dying sunlight glinting off the hearse's bumper. Both were completely worn out from the day-long drive, over the course of which they'd only stopped once for gas. As for Mikey, the only sleep he had managed to get had been filled with nightmares and disturbing dreams, most of which he'd rather not contemplate for fear of losing his sanity.
“Think anybody's home?” Ray asked casually.
“Hope so.”
They ascended the hill rapidly, wanting nothing more than to find themselves resting easily for the first time in a week. Ray caught sight of a muddy boot print on the welcome mat and grinned. “Looks like we're in luck.” He stepped up onto the front step and rapped three times on the door.
Gerard opened the front door. He beamed warmly, then the corners of his mouth dropped. He glanced from one to the other then laughed, “You guys look like hell.”
“Appreciate it.” Ray grunted. He pushed passed him and into the house.
“Hey man.” Mikey was grinning from ear to ear.
“Well, look who decided to show up.” Gerard patted his brother on the back. “Was starting to think we actually lost you.”
“What a sad day that would be, right?”
Gerard shrugged. “We'd get over it.” He steered Mikey towards the door. “Need anything to eat? We've got some leftover Chinese that should still be edible.”
“How long's it been in the fridge?”
“I don't know. Week, maybe two.”
“Alright. I'm starving. I'll risk it.”
Just as Mikey entered the house, Michelle emerged from the hallway. “Well, I haven't seen anything on the news about it, so it's probably not -” Her sentence cut off as she caught sight of him. “Oh, hello.”
“Um, hi...” Mikey didn't recognize her, but he had a feeling there was most likely a long back story to her presence. He decided that he'd prefer not to ask.
“Oh, right.” Gerard mumbled. “Mikey, this is Michelle Kitari. Michelle, this is my brother Mikey.”
“'Sup.” Michelle gave a curt nod, then dropped down onto the nearest sofa.
Mikey looked around the room. Ray was already busy turning his lap top on and Bob was reading on the smallest of the three couches.
“Where's Frank?”
Gerard hesitated. “We... don't know.”
“What do you mean? I thought he and Bob were...”
“There was a problem.”
“What happened?”
“That's what we're trying to figure out.” said Michelle. “Ever heard of an Imperial demon?”
“It... sounds familiar,” Mikey answered, “but I'm not sure from where. Have you searched the field guides?”
“All twenty.”
“Internet?”
“I can handle that.” Ray answered from across the room.
“So... is he alright, or... what?”
“That's –“ Gerard started, faltering a little, “ we can't know for sure.”
Mikey sighed. “Is there anything I can help with?”
Gerard shook his head. “You and Ray should get some rest.”
“I'm not going to get to sleep anyways.” Mikey persisted. “Please. I want to help.”
“If you can find something to do, have at it. We've searched every form of available media and we're running out of ideas.”
“Library?”
“Mikey, when I say everything I mean -”
“Sion?”
“Did you - wait, what did you just say?”
“Dr. Sion. Have you visited him yet?”
A look of surprise dawned on Gerard's face. “I don't believe it. How the hell'd we forget about Sion?”
“I have no clue.” Bob answered. He stood up, setting the book he'd been searching through down on the couch.
“I can go talk to him.” suggested Mikey. “If you guys want to keep looking here...”
“We don't have much left to see here.” said Gerard. “We might as well all go.”
“This Sion guy,” Michelle began, “who is he? I've heard his name before, but I can't say I've ever met him.”
“He's a historian of sorts. He's pretty much the most reliable source on the supernatural in this world and the next.”
“Will he help?”
“He's an old friend.”
“Are we going or are we just going to stand here and talk about it?” Ray asked, now standing impatiently by the door.
“The sooner we can find Frank the better.” Gerard answered.
“Then let's get going.”
The group got up in unison, moving towards the front door. Ray left his computer open on the desk, grabbing the car keys he'd set on the table and pushing in his chair all in one swift movement.
“Did you park it on the street?” Gerard asked cautiously.
“Yeah, because it blends in so well. It's in the alley a few blocks down.”
Ray set his hand on the doorknob, preparing to turn it to leave. The sound of a sudden thump outside the door caused him to stop.
“What was that?” He turned around to face the rest.
Bob shrugged. “Does the paper come on Saturday? At night?”
Flicking his wrist to the left, he pulled the door open and nearly fell backwards.
“H-holy s**t.” he managed to stutter.
The rest of the group moved to where they could see. Their eyes fell upon the pitiful form of Frank Iero, torn and bleeding on the doorstep.
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Posted: Mon Feb 26, 2007 10:09 am
Hey, people, long time no see. Bet you're probably wondering just where I disappeared to. The answer: my own terrible memory. I haven't posted on this thread in... *counts*... 4 months because I'm simply being forgetful. I didn't hang up on the story and I didn't abandon it. In fact, I've been posting it in the Fanfiction boards on Gaia's main forum. So, here's what I'm proposing.
I can either: a) continue to post on this thread and catch back up with where I'm at now ~or~ b) post a link to the thread here, you guys can make it more popular and a bigger hit, and I won't have to have a posting frenzy, and you'll have full access to the first 19 chapters of the story without the hassle of needing to post comments every couple of days to jog my memory.
(FYI: There's a link to the thread in my siggy if you're interested)
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