Archive for August, 2010

HUNGER: By Lori Titus

Wednesday, August 18th, 2010
The Marradith Ryder Series—The Art of Shadows: Part 11

“What do you mean it was a mistake? How does anyone even make a mistake of such proportion?”

Henry Pollard sighed. Fiona was a bundle of red hair, blushing skin, and bloodshot eyes from an overnight flight. She wanted to throttle someone.

Henry shook his head. “I wasn’t here at the time. You know as well as anyone, these things happen.”

“Our men knew what they were doing. We always assume any human that has been held by a Wolf has been bitten. So how did your people overlook it when that was in the paperwork?” Fiona yelled. Her eyes shined with anger.

“Natasha told me the person scheduled to do Jenny’s procedure was late; she was going to have her memory erased, as ordered. They were waiting and… Jenny went into her first Change.”

“Does anyone have any idea where Jenny might have gone?”

“We have someone working on it,” Henry said.

“Speaking of Natasha, where is she?” Fiona asked, fearing the worst.

“She‘s alright. She‘ll be home for a bit,” Pollard said. “Natasha wasn’t injured but she saw your men get killed. It was the first time she saw anything like that, and it shook her.”

“I need this to be handled. I can’t have news of such a thing getting out. A new Wolf loose in Los Angeles. As if I don’t have enough with Rafael…”

“We’ll handle it,” Henry said resolutely.

“You had better. Ramshead is a two timing son of a bitch, don’t think that I don’t know it. Tell him this mess gets cleaned up properly or I’ll have his ass.”

**

Jenny heard a ding and an automated voice.

“Approaching….. Wilshire.”

Jenny sat up. The passenger in the seat next to her was an elderly man holding a bag of groceries.

The bus was so crowded that she could barely see out of the front window.

She was wearing clothes that weren’t hers, she’d never buy anything so hideous – a pink running suit and old tennis shoes.

She was also carrying a leather bag, the kind she might ordinarily use for overnight travel.

In fact, she was sure this bag did belong to her.

As discreetly as she could, she opened the bag.

Just a peak.

Inside were tightly rolled wads of cash.

The bus stopped and she made her way out, pushing through the crowd of people that refused to move or back out of her way.

There was an old high rise hotel, with units that had been converted into apartments on the corner. When she asked how much, the manager looked at her suspiciously. “ Five hundred dollars a week. Cash. Up front.”

She paid him and he took the money with a sneer.

**

Once inside the furnished room, the first order of business was to go through her bag properly.

The money was separated in wads of twenties. All untraceable. She stopped counting when she got past thirty thousand.

She could remember bits and pieces of the previous days. She remembered the guards packing her bags and taking her from Marradith’s house. There was a plane trip, another ride in a black SUV, and she was brought to an office.

The girl there asked her if she wanted coffee…..

The next thing Jenny remembered, she was inside a house, standing over a dead body.

She could be sure it was a woman’s body only because what remained of her wore a dress.

Tears sprang to Jenny’s eyes, because she knew what she’d done.

**

Jenny closed the drapes, relieved to immerse herself in quiet and darkness. She stripped away all her clothing and lay down in bed. Her thoughts raced. She began to shiver. Even as she fell into an uneasy sleep, hunger began to take hold. She knew that when night came, she would go back down to the street.
 
Looking for food.

______________

©2010 Lori Titus

Werewolves, Shapeshifters, Vamps…and a teenager named Marradith. New episodes are posted weekly, and you can read past episodes here: http://flashesinthedark.com/the-marradith-ryder-series/

For the lowdown on  the cast of characters, see the bestiary for Ryder here: http://loribeth215.wordpress.com/2009/09/27/ryder-ology/

 

THE METAL BAR: by Melanie Browne

Tuesday, August 17th, 2010

Nobody noticed anything unusual when the Black Metal Band, Infinite Torment, played their first and second sets at the Texas Metal Bar on Lover’s Lane in Dallas.

Their drummer, Thoth-Amon, had called them to say he wouldn’t be coming because of a stomach bug but they had a drum machine and everything sounded great.

The club manager, Bill, had remarked that they looked tired, but you know how musicians are, they probably had partied till 3 in the morning the previous night. He wondered whether black metal bands got as many groupies as regular metal bands. He assumed they did, because there were always women clamoring for their attention when they hit the stage. After the last set he offered the band members free drinks and introduced them to some of his regular customers. He didn’t like black metal himself, but it was becoming more popular and he was able to fill the club most nights.

“Greg,” he yelled, “how the hell are ya?”

“Get your ass over here, come meet the new band.”

“This is ‘Infinite Torrent’ He said

The bands’ guitarist looked confused.

“It’s ‘Infinite Torment’ He corrected.

“Oh sorry about that,” he apologized.

“We get so many bands through here.”

Greg walked over to the band and shook their hands.

Their hands were chilly but they had just played a fiery storm on stage.

He frowned but said nothing.

The band sat down at the bar and requested a round of Vodka Shots.

They were sweaty but looked straight ahead with blank expressions.

Greg supposed that they were tired.

“You guys must be exhausted.” He remarked.

The lead guitarist grunted.

Greg thought that was unfriendly. These guys must think they are superstars, he thought to himself. He ordered another beer and eyed them suspiciously.

The beer took the edge off the horrendous flashbacks he was having about catching his wife in bed with another man that very evening . In fact she had flaunted it. It took all his strength to keep his mind off the bitch. She wasn’t worth it. He didn’t want to throw it all away on a pathetic act of revenge, but then again it was Texas.

As his thoughts flooded away from the bar he heard the lead singer grunt again.

He must have gas, Greg thought.

It was then that he noticed he was alone in the bar except for the band members.

The funny thing was that they were staring at him. Their untouched Vodka shots sitting neatly on their cocktail napkins. Their faces were still painted that ghastly white that he supposed must be that awful corpse paint that was so popular with the bands that played this club. Greg knew he was too old too be hanging around these types of clubs. This wasn’t his scene, but Bill was a good friend, and he had nowhere else to go, especially since his wife….

“Fuck it,” he said out loud.

He felt a bit wasted now.

“What the hell are you looking at?” He called over to the band members.

The Lead Singer, Kull, looked straight at Greg, and snarled.

The band stood up and walked over to Greg.

“What the hell,” he screamed.

They surrounded him and pulled his arms and legs from his torso.

He screamed in horror as they chewed pieces of his flesh in front of his very eyes.

They left him as they had found him, sitting at the bar alone.

They poured him a fresh beer and set it on the napkin in front of him.

They walked out of the bar with their glazed eyes shining.

The night was young, and they had autographs to sign.

______________________

©2010 Melanie Browne

Melanie Browne’s work has been published in various journals including Word Riot, Bartelby Snopes,Deuce Coupe,Five Fishes Journal, Glossolalia, and Ink, Sweat and Tears. She has work forthcoming in 34th Parallel, and The Northville Review. Her first Chapbook, Heaven is a Giant Pawn Shop, is published by Erbacce Press. She has a new Chap forthcoming by Bygawd Books. She lives in Texas with her husband and children.