Hello Reader…
… or should I say, “lost soul.” I truly hate to be the bearer of bad news, but since there’s no tender way to deliver the blow, I’m just going to come right out and say it. You see, you and I, well… we’re dead, or if it makes it easier to hear, we have perished. And, if a softer delivery is still necessary… your bucket has been kicked.
We can no longer call Earth our home. Our souls, whether good or evil, now exist inside the Book, and we’re waiting for our chance to be reborn, possibly on one of many new worlds.
Yes, I know (oh, believe me, I know) none of this makes any sense and you’re probably asking yourself, “Phillip, what on earth are you talking about?” And I would be forced to answer your question by saying… Earth is gone! You’ll just have to deal with it.
But know this, I’m not without compassion. I’m glad your soul was retrieved from the darkness and placed in here with me, inside the Book. I know you’re confused and have many questions, not to mention a fair amount of stress which I’m sure has suddenly surfaced because of my revelation, but it will get better, I promise. You should hang in there while I try to explain further.
The Book, known as The Book of Immortality, has a second name, Gabriel. He has asked me to explain some extremely important things which are for your benefit.
First, there was a series of God Wars which lasted nearly 3,000 seasons. It was during this period of constant battling by these so-called “deities” that the entire Cosmos ceased to exist. (I say ‘so-called’ because I’m still not convinced they should be called gods at all.)
Second, along with our beloved Earth, the places you knew as Heaven and Hell, everything you ever loved, everything you understood, and everything you cherished as your own, exploded into countless pieces of mass, most of which still wander aimlessly through space.
Yeah, this news really sounds like one big pile of garesh… not to mention it’s thoroughly depressing to know that your soul is stuck inside a book, but again, hang in there, many answers will be revealed as I move forward with the telling of The Crystal Moon.
You see, prior to The Great Destruction of Everything Known, I was an author back on Earth. The Book, after learning this, has asked me to gather the facts necessary to tell a series of stories. I get to share the knowledge I’ve gained from speaking with the souls residing inside Gabriel’s pages, including the deities who perished, most during the God Wars. I will reveal the information acquired from questioning hundreds of fascinating creatures, as well as numerous other races, some of which are immortal, living on the new worlds.
I’ve taken great care to understand everyone’s emotions, their desires, their thoughts, and the reasons for doing the things they did, and will now share these delightful, and in some cases devilish tales with you.
Thus, I welcome you to: The Worlds of the Crystal Moon. Let us begin with the first of many stories; Crystal Moon, World of Grayham. I do hope you enjoy my recollections.
Your friend, and fellow soul inside the Book of Immortality,
Phillip “Big Dog” Jones.
Allow me to take you back to a period
just over 14,000 seasons ago… to a series of days
just before the destruction of Earth.
The Hometown of Sam Goodrich
Los Angeles, California
Dr. Sam Goodrich put the cold stethoscope on the boy’s chest and asked him to take two deep breaths. The child jumped. Once it had been determined that the boy was in good general health and his flu-like symptoms could be treated with simple over-the-counter medication, Sam wrote out a recommendation and handed it to the boy’s mother.
“Mrs. Taylor thanks for bringing Bobby in to see me. This should do the trick. He’ll be fine in a few days.”
Forcing a smile, he gave a few more words of encouragement then shook the woman’s hand before leaving the room. As he left, his smile faded and he grimaced at the thought of his next patient.
Sam was a muscular man with washboard abs. At five-foot ten, 205 pounds, he was in amazing shape, and his cardio, not to mention his diet, was impeccable.
He was not what many would consider a normal doctor. Sam had a bit of a dark side, though he did not fully know it. For the last six and a half years, he worked tirelessly, training in the world of Mixed Martial Arts Combat to develop his skills as a fighter. As a result, today was Sam’s big day, the day of his first professional fight.
He had fought as an amateur for the last four years and, prior to that, spent two years learning the basics. When he started in the sport, now his passion, his good friend, John, had used him as a life-sized punching bag. He grew accustomed to being turned into a human pretzel, quickly learning that his body could bend in ways he never imagined, and John took great pleasure in teaching him.
It was this friend, also a professional fighter, who had been instrumental in Sam’s transformation into the machine he was inside the cage. John was nine years his elder and one of the few people who took Sam seriously when the decision was made to learn the sport. He benefited from John’s experience and knowledge, savagely absorbing it.
Today would hopefully be the beginning of Sam’s rise to stardom, paving the way to leave the medical profession, a profession he now loathed and had never really desired, for a career in professional Mixed Martial Arts.
Sam was a different breed of fighter and had a reputation for potential greatness outside the cage. He was already known across the globe for his superior intelligence, with an IQ higher than every well-known scholar. He graduated high school at the age of ten, and then finished his Bachelor’s in Science at the age of thirteen. He had even earned a medical degree just before turning sixteen. In short, he was a walking book of knowledge and smart as hell. His unparalleled ability to rapidly retain data amazed his professors, and the world.
But Sam often failed to show his intelligence, intentionally holding back at times to try and fit in, studying only what was necessary to appease his father. But the effort to blend was often ruined by his desire to take charge, creating the very opposite effect.
Despite his desire to please his father, Sam was barred from practicing medicine at such a young age by the courts, but only after the medical community had turned their backs on him. To Sam, they were all prejudiced; an evil empire bound and determined to hold him back.
The medical world had ganged up on him. They agreed that a sixteen-year-old kid was too immature to perform any type of patient care, let alone surgery. He was simply too young to handle real world responsibilities until turning eighteen and was considered unhirable.
The court supported this assessment after a number of private interviews, ruling that Sam had to be of legal age before becoming a surgeon.
The ruling turned out to be the right call. Although a genius, Sam was over-confident, hot-tempered, quick to react, and lacked common sense, at times. He stormed out of the courtroom cursing, slapping the heavy wooden doors as he left.
Sam’s father fought the court’s ruling, appealing the decision to a higher court. With this appeal came another rejection, which thrust an even deeper jab into Sam’s pride and fueled his anger, testing the relationship between him and his father.
Unable to control his hostility, Sam’s anger finally got the best of him. His father, again trying to help, believed Sam needed guidance from someone who could remain objective about his growing hostility. A counselor was brought in to assess Sam’s inability to handle everyday life and determine a course of action.
Tammy, his counselor, suggested a physical outlet, one where he could use his body to release his bottled-up emotions. After many conversations, the decision was made to learn Mixed Martial Arts as a way to channel the rage. The plan worked. In fact, it more than worked. Sam discovered another gift. He could fight, and fight well. A real smile once again found his face.
Not only was he a good fighter, but he soon learned that he was an adrenaline junkie and Mixed Martial Arts Combat was the best thing he thought could have ever happened to him. He no longer had to look for an emotional release. Along with healing people as the doctor his father always wanted him to be, he would silence the hatred for the medical profession by beating people up, unknowingly scarring his soul and feeding a demon hidden within the deepest shadows of his mind.
His medical career developed, despite his pleas to the family to give up medicine. He hated the decision his father had made to open a practice. But family money was to be obeyed, so he shut his mouth and did as instructed.
Besides, the old man’s decision wasn’t without flexibility. He would be able to continue training with John. He manipulated the situation and abandoned his father’s plan for him to become a trauma surgeon, a position his dad revered and, in actuality, would have been a better career choice to appease Sam’s massive ego.
Sam’s plotting would give more time for the sport he loved and his father accepted the compromise, despite his disgust for Sam’s barbaric choice to find fame in the cages of M.M.A. Now, Sam’s life had become a balancing act between the business, his patients, his training, and his new love, fighting.
Thanks to Sam’s worldwide reputation for brilliance, the family’s practice was an immediate success. Just as his father imagined, other eager, high-achieving doctors came to work for them because of the publicity they would receive. Sam’s reputation was a gold mine. But even with all the fuss, Sam kept his personal patient load at a minimum, always keeping time for his passion.
Now, not that it really matters since everything would eventually cease to exist because of The Great Destruction of Everything Known, the family’s practice employed one hundred thirty-three people, including doctors, nurses, and therapists of different medical backgrounds. Sam’s parents, business-minded people with administrative experience, handled the day-to-day operations, giving Sam the time necessary to pursue his fighting career.
Tonight, Sam’s first professional fight would be in Las Vegas. He would leave work early to catch the family jet, and be in the ring within an hour and a half after landing.
Emotions flooded him as he arrived at the MGM Grand. The press and fans of the barbaric sport swarmed around the stretch limo. He hadn’t even fought professionally yet, but was already on the cover of ESPN The Magazine. He had to laugh at the headline: The Smartest Athlete in the World: Dumb Enough to Enter the Cage of Mixed Martial Arts Combat.
Tossing the magazine on the seat, all he could do was hope to give a good show and live up to the hype. He would hate to be the first athlete on the cover with a losing professional record. He grinned at the thought and stepped out of the limo.
The surging crowd pressed in as he walked up to the MGM’s arena entrance.
He laughed inside, thinking, “These people are nuts. I can’t believe this frenzy. I bet if I lose, they won’t be so interested in me then!”
Women were shouting out marriage proposals, which startled him. One woman lifted her shirt.
“Sam Goodrich, marry me and I’ll take care of you, baby,” she screamed.
Like any red-blooded male, Sam was not immune to a beautiful woman. He admired her brown flowing hair, long shapely legs, and curvy hips, all perfect. The coolness of the night only added to her beauty, all that is, except her teeth. Her wretched smile exposed twisted gaps you could drive a bus through. Quickly moving on, he forced a smile and hurried in.
A barrage of flashing lights greeted him as he stepped through the door. Almost blinded by their intensity, he somehow managed to work his way through the mob. Not stopping to talk, Sam went to the locker room to prepare for the fight. The press would just have to wait until the show was over.
The locker room door closed, shutting out the noise, and was a welcome quiet as he changed.
“Hey, Jerome, give me a minute, will you? I need to think before getting warmed up. I wish John were here. I need him!”
Jerome, Sam’s conditioning trainer, gave an understanding nod, the light glinting off the small gold ring in his ear. “Sure thing man, but we need to start warming up, so think fast, alright? You don’t need John. You know John boy sends much love. Got to take care of the fam first. Besides, I got your back. We got this under control!” Jerome slapped him on the shoulder.
“Okay, okay… give me a minute.”
Sam watched Jerome leave the room. He knew John’s daughter needed her father after the accident. Little Gabby was in stable but serious condition after a hit-and-run as she crossed the school crosswalk with her bike. Sam would not have come to the fight, but John had insisted. Since the accident, he had said a number of prayers for her. She was simply too young to end up paralyzed for life.
His opponent was tough, a man from Brazil who held a Mixed Martial Arts Combat record of eighteen wins and three losses, with seventeen of the wins by K.O. This guy was a literal nightmare to face for his first professional fight, and everyone was betting on the Brazilian to hand Sam his first trip to the mat, knocked out cold. The press joked that the good doctor would be able to stitch himself up and save on medical bills.
After getting ready and warming up properly, the time came to enter the cage. Sam’s stomach was uneasy. He bent over in the hallway outside the locker room, grabbed the nearest trashcan, and vomited uncontrollably. He wondered if he could even make it to the cage. He felt weak and chilled, but he stood up, wiped his mouth, and leaned against Jerome’s shoulder.
The trainer pushed him back and snapped. “Man up! You got this, dog. Use that genius head of yours and get it out of the clouds… focus!”
Sam knew Jerome was right. It was time to start thinking through this. He had to take charge of his body and control his emotions. It was time to own the situation.
As they began making their way to the cage, Sam realized that the Pay-Per-View cameras had caught him throwing up. He was sure that his little puddle of puke would become the cover story for all the sports writers, no matter if he won or lost.
Gaining further composure, he continued to walk down the corridor into the arena, enjoying the idea of the press twisting his weakness into a good laugh.
Most fighters would have been excited by now, trying to psych themselves up, but Sam’s mind would no longer allow him to do anything but concentrate. He refused to let the fast-paced environment rule him any longer. As he walked, he focused on the task at hand, taking note of everything.
As the cage door closed, Sam stared at his Brazilian opponent and nodded. He felt nothing, not fear nor excitement. He simply stood still, evaluating all the weak points of the man’s body, systematically calculating how he was going to take advantage of each area to attain victory. It was as if a switch had turned on inside of him and he knew his body was prepared from his perfect 12-0 amateur fight experience. With confidence in this fact, the rest of the sport was entirely mental, the easiest part of the sport for him. The Doctor was ready to go to war!
The fight started. The two men met at the center of the octagon cage. They touched gloves and circled one another, sizing each other up. The Brazilian threw a couple jabs, which Sam brushed off with no real damage and countered with a powerful slapping kick to the Brazilian’s right inner thigh. The loud smack energized the crowd.
Again the Brazilian attacked, this time lunging forward with his knee, only to pull back and strike with an accurately placed right hand. Sam arched his back in an effort to soften the impact, but his reaction was too slow. He stumbled backward and into the chain links of the cage behind him.
The Brazilian followed, aggressively attacking and searching for the next opening. Knees, punches, and elbows rained down hard, but somehow, Sam managed to push away and create the distance necessary to regain his composure.
Sam shook out the cobwebs. “Damn, this guy is good,” he thought. “Think! Think! I can beat him! He’s just a man!”
The two men moved in, locked up, and grabbed hold of one another’s necks in a Muay Thai-clinch. The Brazilian tightened his grasp, pulled Sam close, and now the doctor’s stomach found a new meaning for the word, pain. His body screamed from the impact of a crushing right knee and, before he knew it, three more rotating knees followed, one of them finding the bridge of his nose.
Dazed, everything seemed to be one big blur. Punches were now coming from all angles. He could feel the control of his muscles fading. But, he had been trained to fight back and with one big lunge, he swung hard and somehow managed to find the chin of the Brazilian.
Both men, now hurting, backed off to regain their breath. Nearly 10 seconds went by, an eternity for this type of sport, before they re-engaged. Again the Brazilian grabbed his head and scoffed in a heavy accent, “You’re not ready for this. Go home and leave the fighting to real men.”
The Brazilian’s insult hit deep, opening old wounds and awakening a dormant rage within the doctor. Everything in the arena began to melt away as the fight continued. It was as if his foe had begun to move and fight in slow motion. Sam’s brain was now processing each movement.
Once again, the Brazilian taunted him. “I said go home, amateur. You don’t have what it takes, boy!”
At that, Sam pulled back and surrendered to the anger rising from the center of his being, allowing his inner junkie to be fed. He struck the Brazilian with a clean, solid left hook, causing his opponent’s ribs to burn.
They separated and again circled. Sam landed a methodical jab, followed by another powerful left hook. The Brazilian countered with a jab of his own and followed this up by diving in for a takedown.
Lifting Sam high into the air, the Brazilian slammed him hard into the mat. A barrage of punches followed as the Brazilian worked to push him towards the cage. It wasn’t until after a gash had been opened above Sam’s right eye that he was able to counter the Brazilian’s weight. He quickly stood, backed off and wiped the blood from his now squinting eye. So much for everything moving in slow motion. He was still getting his butt kicked.
The Brazilian, sensing the advantage, followed. Again he jabbed and lunged in for another takedown, but this time Sam was lucky. Despite his wooziness, he brought up a strong right knee, pulverizing the Brazilian’s face. Blood spewed from his forehead and now, the Brazilian fell limp to the mat.
Suddenly, Sam could smell a victory of his own. A gloriously pungent aroma emanating from the adrenaline that refueled his body.
“I am ready for this! Don’t ever doubt me again,” he hissed as he threw all his weight on his opponent’s back and rolled him over.
Surrounding the Brazilian’s body with both legs, Sam listened to the crowd screaming as he buried the heels of his feet deep into the man’s groin and threw his right arm under his chin. His arm sunk into the throat while his left elbow cupped his right hand, locking it in place.
To finish the hold, the upper part of his left arm continued upward, placing his hand behind the Brazilian’s head. He squeezed with all his might. With a momentary loss of control, he appeased his inner demon, losing his sanity.
“Never doubt me!” he hissed. With a hidden wickedness he didn’t know existed inside him, Sam tightened his grasp for the kill. “Die, bastard… die!” The demon within the deepest shadows of his mind was now poking out its head.
It took only seconds for the man to tap and the fight was stopped. Sam had just won his first fight with a rear naked choke submission—but his arms had to be pried from the Brazilian’s throat.
As Sam rolled free, he screamed, not because he was happy about his win, but more because he was angered that the fight had been stopped and his enjoyment of the kill had been stolen from him.
Eventually, he rose in victory from the mat. As he did, he appeared relaxed, even though his mind was still scrambling to quiet the rage pounding inside.
Jerome ran to him. “You did it, bro! John boy would be proud. C’mon, man, show the fans you appreciate them and enjoy the moment!”
It took a second to sink in, but once it did, Sam knew his fame was about to take yet another giant leap forward and his genius mind wondered what this new roller coaster would be like. He knew that most men would be thinking about the moment and living it up, but Sam was not like most men. Despite the rage he had just unleashed, his mind was already months ahead of today, planning his next move.
True, he was pleased with his victory, since no man had ever taken a path like this. He was in full control of his own destiny, and the world was his for the taking.
Sam turned to face the announcer to answer his questions, but something was not quite right. He fought the awkwardness and shook the man’s hand. As he did, an unexpected, evil thing happened.
The announcer’s eyes turned a glowing red. Further, he exposed a mouth filled with razor-sharp, pointed teeth. Sam’s heart began to pound recklessly. He tried to react, but was unable to lift his hand to strike at the threat. He was helpless.
He was unable to respond to the orders coming from his mind. His eyelids became heavy, as if he had gone days without sleep. The overwhelming weight of his body made his knees nearly buckle. He did not know or understand what was happening.
Then… as fast as the sensation came over him, it went away. The next thing Sam knew, he was being congratulated on a nice fight and asked how it felt to accomplish such a great victory.
Realizing that he was not on his knees, he took a second to regain his bearings. He looked again into the announcer’s eyes, but this time they were crystal blue, accompanied by a large bright smile.
Confused, Sam quickly shook the cobwebs out. “I am happy,” he replied. “I have a huge amount of respect for my opponent. It’s too bad that one of us had to lose. I’m just glad it wasn’t me.” After speaking, he managed an unnerved smile.
The crowd cheered and for that split second, he felt larger than life. He lifted his hand skyward and absorbed the energy.
Leaving the cage, he turned and looked again at the announcer. The man looked back from across the mat. Sam watched as the red glow returned to the announcer’s eyes, and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth began to once again scream their silent threats.
Sam’s face clearly showed his fear as he hurried back to the locker room with his trainer. His thoughts raced wildly, but no rational explanation could justify what he had seen. His mind was stumped and his brilliant intellect knew that, somehow, the red glowing eyes of the announcer and his sharpened teeth seemed familiar. But how and why they seemed familiar, he didn’t know. As Sam said in his own words on the day that I, your storyteller, interviewed him to learn the events of this story, “I was scared beyond all imagination! How could I possibly recognize or feel that something so sinister was familiar to me?”
Entering the locker room, Sam laid down on a bench. As he tried to quiet his mind while allowing his wounds to be tended to, a hissing sound filled the room, seemingly coming from nowhere. It pierced Sam’s body and reverberated within the essence of his soul. A chill slithered up his spine as everyone in the room heard the words, “Your wish is granted,” and then he fell into a coma.
Filled with terror, Jerome and Sam’s cut man ran for help, leaving the needle to stitch his wound dangling from the gash. They raced down the hall and out of sight.
The red-eyed announcer appeared in a cloud of smoke beside Sam’s motionless figure. He leaned down and whispered in the fighter’s ear, “Shall we see how long it takes before your memory returns, old friend? Can you believe that the idiot doesn’t know I’m onto him? I’m far too clever, and have plans for us! You simply need to be reminded of who you really are. I have missed you. All will be revealed when the proper moment arrives.”
Sam’s body vanished.
The Hometown of Shalee Adamson
Austin, Texas
Shalee Adamson, a shapely blue-eyed blonde, pulled into the driveway of an old rundown house, rushed up to the front door and walked in without knocking. “Hurry up, Chanice! I’m running late! Our dinner reservations are in thirty minutes and it’ll take most of that to get there.”
A large woman, sitting on the living room couch, began to cough. “Hello, Mrs. K, how are you?” Shalee asked. “Are the pain meds still making you nauseated? Can I get you anything?”
Kelly lifted her head and managed to respond between coughs. “I’m sick as a dog, darling girl. Serves me right, I guess. I should stop sucking on these stupid cigarettes. Thank you for taking my baby with you. She loves you to death, you know. I can see that you’re good for her. Child, you have the kindness of an angel.”
Shalee smiled. “It’s easy to love that little girl. She has such a good spirit.”
Kelly groaned as she shifted in order to find a better position, one that did not hurt as much. “That’s good to hear. I can’t tell you how much my baby has grown since meeting you. That Big Brothers Big Sisters program is a godsend. Chanice has said more than once that she wishes you were her real sister. She admires everything about you. She especially loves your style and fashion sense.”
Again Shalee smiled, then turned her attention toward the hallway. “Chanice, we need to go! Do you have on the new dress I bought for you?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming already, geeeesh. I got it on,” the ten-year-old yelled from the bedroom. “Mother threw up again. I’m almost done cleaning it up.”
Shalee looked around. The house was a dump, along with the rest of the neighborhood, overrun by gangs. It was the kind of place she herself had worked hard to get out of.
Her family, a bunch of rednecks, had become a statistic, a real-life tragedy. Only two of her seven brothers broke free from the dive they grew up in and actually made something of their lives. The rest followed in their drunken father’s footsteps; drinking, shooting up and multiplying like rabbits. They made a bigger mess of things by adding more children to the world and these innocent little babies were growing up without proper role models.
Despite the obstacles put in front of her, Shalee had grown into a confident woman. She still lived in Austin, like the rest of her family, but put her education to work. After graduating from the University of Texas with a 3.1 GPA, she was now working on her master’s in structural engineering and held a position at a prestigious architectural firm for the last three years.
She had grown accustomed to her new life and was enjoying success. Childhood poverty had taught her to appreciate the finer things in life, right down to her exotic leather Jimmy Choo clutch handbag. But she never forgot where she came from and gave her mother money on a regular basis.
Shalee opened the passenger door to her new, solid black Lexus. Chanice plopped down inside and immediately began to cry. “My mother is killing herself. I don’t understand why she’s still smoking. It’s horrible! Can I come live with you, please? I don’t want to live with my uncle when she dies. He’s so mean.”
“Let’s take this one step at a time, okay? You know I’ll do whatever I can to help you through this. Now, let’s focus on some happier thoughts, shall we?”
Shalee wiped a tear from Chanice’s face and, as always, the young girl gave a brave smile.
“Chanice, I will always be there for you, no matter what. I love you. Do you understand that?”
“I know you do,” Chanice said, brushing away the tears.
“Well, alrighty then… since today’s my birthday, what do you say that us clever little girls go and celebrate… and shop. Shopping will make everything gooooooooood,” she said in her best Jim Carrey impression. “High-five, little sis!”
“Yeah, I’m starving… Happy Birthday, big sis!”
Shalee grabbed a CD and popped it into the player.
Lately when I look into your eyes
I realize, you’re the only one I need in my life . . .
Swaying to the music, Shalee grabbed her hairbrush from the console and used it as a microphone while she lip-synced. Chanice burst into laughter and started dancing in the car. Then Shalee started singing, making up her own lyrics to the music.
My little sister and me . . . oh, oh,
We . . . don’t know how to describe
How happy we feel inside.
Chanice gave her a high five, took the brush and made up her own lyrics.
We’ve got butterflies
We’re going to fly higher in the sky
We can become anything wonderful we want . . . we’re like butterflies
“You got it, my little sister! That rocks!”
Around ten p.m., Shalee walked into her home, threw the keys on the buffet table, kicked off her Marc Jacob shoes and made a cup of tea to unwind before heading up to bed.
“If I could only get a good night’s sleep,” she thought, whining inwardly. “I just need one good night’s rest before facing another hectic day of presentations, clients and umpteen phone calls. Thank God Mother’s taking care of Pebbles. I’m just too tired to deal with her tonight.”
She looked at the picture of her little dog sitting on the coffee table. “What a cute poodle you are… yes, you are,” she thought in her best doggy voice.
Later that night Shalee woke in a panic, sweat pouring from every pore. She wiped her forehead with her pillowcase and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Putting her feet inside the soft pink slippers beside the nightstand without bending over, she lifted her arms behind her head to help catch her breath. It took a minute before her pulse slowed and her breathing returned to normal. It had been 187 days since the nightmares had begun, and her doctor was stumped as to why her mind was taking her on these horrific trips.
Somehow, tonight’s nightmare did not seem like the rest. Everything felt a bit off, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. The woman in her dream seemed familiar, yet distant all at the same time and the woman’s fashion sense was god-awful. It was bad enough to dream such things, but a dream with terrible Prada simply wouldn’t do.
She slowly stood up from the bed, stretched her arms and arched her back. No `relief, at least not like it normally gave. She lowered her arms and looked into the dresser mirror. A frosty breath filled the air as it escaped. She touched herself, somehow feeling confused as she tried to determine if any of her parts were missing. To her surprise, everything was there. She sighed as she once again watched the chilled air billow in front of her face, embracing her body with both arms.
What’s wrong with me, and why is it so cold in here?” she thought.
After a moment, she started to laugh and speak aloud to her reflection. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you letting yourself act this way? Pull yourself together. Go turn up the thermostat, and get back to bed.” She reached out to the mirror and slapped at the reflection of her hand. “High-five, oh yeah!”
She winked sassily as she flung her head back with a rejuvenated cockiness and continued to laugh as she walked across the room. Passing the bedroom door, she bumped it out of the way with her hip and glided happily down the hallway, passing two other bedrooms and a guest bathroom. All she needed now was a quick drink before going back to sleep. As she passed the thermostat, she turned it up.
The blue-eyed beauty was, despite her age, already enjoying the respect of her superiors at work. When she designed her home, Shalee had created a great room where the kitchen and living room flowed into each other without separation. Her sense of taste was impeccable; granite countertops from Africa, top-of-the-line carpet from Europe, imported tile from Spain and trims to match.
But, tonight, as she turned on the lights, the colors on her walls seemed dull. She stopped to take note, but as she did, it began to grow colder for no apparent reason and, not only that, it began to drop so rapidly that she became frightened. She headed for the closet near the front door to grab a coat, but before she could finish crossing the room, a rush of pain entered her body.
Shalee collapsed, falling to the floor. As she did, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. Her head slammed hard into the edge of the coffee table. The glass surface shattered, almost knocking her out.
As she struggled to pick herself up with weakened arms, blood escaped from a wound torn open on the left side of her forehead by the splintered glass.
Shalee’s fear magnified, filling her mind with a sense of helplessness as the red liquid pooled in front of her. She slipped into unconsciousness as the image she never clearly saw, faded into darkness.
Near the fireplace, a tiny little man sat on the sill of the window. No more than two feet tall, his eyes glowed red and his teeth ended in sharp points. He laughed as he scampered across the room, waddling from side to side. He jumped up and landed in a sitting position on Shalee’s stomach.
“Your wish is granted, my lady,” the dwarf said. “I wonder why they chose you. I bet HE had something to do with this. You don’t appear to be special. Well, no matter, I shall find out the answer soon enough. You must be more to him than a baby maker.”
Leaning forward to touch her chin, the dwarf’s eyes flickered. Disappearing in a cloud of fiery smoke, an echo of laughter was all that was left behind as the home exploded, waking the entire neighborhood. Shalee was now in a coma, in storage for later use.
The Home of George Nailer
Orlando, Florida
George Nailer, a fit, dark-haired, blue-eyed man, and always well dressed, was sitting on the bed next to his sleeping daughter as he ran his fingers lovingly through her hair. She was the apple of his eye. They had spent the day going from store to store looking for the cupcake maker she had been asking for over the last month.
George tried hard to be a good father, loving his daughter with everything he had. She was the only person he had never lied to, or manipulated. He may have been scum, but this little girl was his shining light to goodness.
He had named her Abbie, my father’s joy, since that’s how he felt on the day that she was born. Her ten-year-old heart was angelic, and that cute little smile… she really knew how to pull him in every time she wanted something. Yes, he was wrapped around Abbie’s little finger and even though he would never admit it, all she had to do was ask and she’d get anything she wanted.
Growing up as the only child of a cruel father, George’s life was filled with constant beatings and sexual abuse. George knew he was emotionally scarred and had been forced to fight his way through his childhood just to get the things he needed. Even getting food was a challenge, since his father and mother constantly snorted all his father’s paychecks up their noses.
At an early age, George turned to hustling and stealing. His perfected skills of manipulation helped his mother pay the rent. But still, his mother often wasted the money on her drugs, but this wasn’t her fault. His father was to blame for her addiction.
The past played with his head, an endless loop of loathing, degradation and shame running through his veins like a poisonous venom.
Finally, on the eve of his 15th birthday, the poison spilled over and took control. George jumped his father from behind as he threatened to abuse him while watching TV. He swung wildly, beating his father ruthlessly over the head with his fists and anything else he could get his hands on.
His father wailed in pain and shouted for help as George’s fists rained down again and again. George slipped further away from reality with each swing.
“You’re a piece of crap!” he screamed uncontrollably. “You’re nothing but an abusive loser. I hate you! I’ll make sure you never touch me again, or anybody else! I’m not your toy! Who do you think you are? I hate you!”
The police charged in and struggled to pull George off. A moment later would have been too late. He intended to kill his father. He thrashed wildly, fighting against the cops to break free. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “Let me kill him—that scum deserves it! Let me put him six feet under! Let me kill him! Let me kill him!”
Five months later, George’s stay in a mental hospital had given him time to think. With his father serving twenty-five years in prison, he finally had some peace. He had recouped some of his sanity and swore an oath—one he cherished and whispered a thousand times, writing it down to carry with him always: “If I ever have children, I’ll protect them. They’ll never want for anything. And I’ll never touch them in anger or make them suffer. I’ll never touch them in an inappropriate manner. My children will NOT suffer like I have!”
And now in his adult life, he had struggled in his marriage to Abbie’s mother, which caused him to break his oath. Instead of creating a sanctuary of safety for his daughter, he gave her a broken home. He hated himself for that. But even more, he hated taking his daughter to her mother’s home after their visits together. The guilt of failure constantly tore at his heart.
His apartment was small, only two-bedroom, but expensively decorated. He rarely spent any time in it, though, because his hunger for the finer things in life was insatiable. He used others to get what he wanted, including countless women, spending most of his time living in their homes, emotionally tearing away at them until his needs were met. Once he had everything he wanted, he moved on without a goodbye or backward glance.
George took one final look at his beautiful Abbie, smiled, and pulled her door shut. He made his way to his own room and fell across the bed. Tomorrow morning he would press his Gucci clothes and drop his little girl off at her mother’s home before heading to work. A big-time client was coming in from out of town and George smiled at the thought of the large commission he would make.
As a salesman for Turkman’s RV & Marine, he could sell ice to Eskimos if he needed to, and he’d lie at the drop of a hat to do it.
Finally, after a long day of anticipation, George’s client arrived at the dealership to make her purchase. The RV was fully loaded, right down to the 40-inch flat screen TV with satellite. Brenda Olsen had just come into a pile of money, and George’s mouth watered as he sized her up.
A Southern beauty with a soft accent, Brenda’s pinned-up blonde hair revealed an elegant neck with an expensive pendant accenting it. She smelled of Victoria’s Secret Pure Seduction lotion and her body matched that smile’s personality. She was class with a capital “C.” But, before she arrived, George had taken the price sticker off the RV and quoted Brenda a price almost $30,000 dollars over list. His new price was $970,000 and he held to every penny of it.
Brenda was an out-of-state referral who had driven all the way from Georgia. He knew from her prequalification over the phone that this would be an easy sale. He knew exactly what model to show and how to go about reeling her in before she ever set foot on the lot.
During the sale, Brenda asked to see other models, but George looked her dead in the eye and replied without hesitation, “You don’t deserve anything less than the best. This is a once-in-a-lifetime purchase. Settling for something beneath your class just wouldn’t be right,” he insisted as he smiled through his perfect white teeth.
George spent years developing his silver tongue, the tongue of a liar and a cheat, both used to perfection. He was the self-proclaimed King of Deception. Even his own family bought into his tangled web hook, line, and sinker. And even worse, he was the kind of liar who remembered everything he said, which made him dangerous.
He took the initial paperwork to his boss and placed it on his desk. Once the manager signed off on the deal, the two shared a laugh over the buyer’s ignorance. Then George took Brenda into the finance manager’s office to get final contracts drawn up.
As George and Brenda waited for the documents, he buttered her up some more. “Why don’t you let me make it easy on you. I can deliver the vehicle to your home in a couple of days, and then fly back.”
“Oh, George, would you? That’s so generous. Thank you ever so much. You’re an adorable little peach,” Brenda said as she threw her arms around him in a big hug.
“Well, of course, anything to keep the customer happy,” George replied, as he thought about a woman from an old run down bar that he had been in a few nights earlier. He quickly decided he would ask her along for the trip and they would have a swinging time. The RV was perfect for such an occasion.
Even as Brenda stopped hugging him, George continued making plans. He would drop the woman off at one of the local restaurants before arriving at Brenda’s home. He would go in alone and make a play for Brenda’s affections. He knew she was a multi-millionaire and could imagine spending her fortune. He wanted the money badly, and would even marry her to get it. He smiled inside as he rejoined the conversation and nodded at something Brenda was saying.
They finished the deal and Brenda prepared to leave, but not without giving George another big hug before lowering into her car.
“Drive safely, Georgie, and bring my ‘baby’ home in good condition.”
George smiled. “I’ll do just that, Brenda. You take care now. I look forward to seeing you again. Don’t miss me before I get there, okay?”
Brenda giggled and pulled away.
The next day, George rounded up the lady from the bar, and after a few minutes of smooth talk, she agreed that a road trip sounded fun. It was noon when they hit the road and the drive was smooth for the first few hours. But George suddenly felt tired and wanted to rest. He had told Brenda he needed a couple of days to get the RV to her home, so he could relax a little with no worries. He had plenty of time to spend with his new friend before arriving in Albany.
He looked at her and asked, “Mind driving for a bit so I can rest?” Smiling back at him, she said, “No problem.” He pulled over and let her have the wheel.
“Now… what did she say her name was? “ he thought. “Oh yeah, Tiffany.”
George had not made much of a mental note of the fact, since his attraction to her was purely physical. He figured he would never see her again once they returned to Orlando, so what did it matter if he failed to commit her name to memory? Nothing would be gained by manipulating her further.
He admired her body and longed for it from the passenger’s seat. She was soft in all the right spots. And, although she was older, she was still young enough that gravity had not taken its effect. He knew it would be a great night and was looking forward to every minute of passion he imagined they would conjure up.
Tiffany had only been driving for a few minutes when George heard her mumble something beneath her breath.
“What was that?” George asked. “I didn’t hear you, say that again?”
The woman pushed her soft brown hair behind her ear and smiled. Without moving her mouth, George heard her voice echo inside his head.
“Your wish is granted,” the voice hissed with a wickedness that frightened him.
The air in the RV cabin suddenly turned cold to the point of being painful. The woman’s eyes began to glow red and George could see the razor-sharp points of her teeth. She was pure evil, and as George tried to catch his breath, he realized that he was in big trouble. His eyes were becoming heavy and as the sensation overwhelmed him, he slipped into unconsciousness, all the while hearing the echoes of Tiffany’s laughter in his mind.
“I have plans for you, George,” Tiffany said as her eyes gleamed bright red. “Shall we leave this pathetic Earth of yours?”
Suddenly, the RV twisted into a pile of metal as it collided with an oncoming semi. The large tanker, filled with fuel, poured its liquid everywhere from a gaping hole torn into its side. As the semi exploded, it took the RV with it, throwing the surrounding vehicles everywhere.
The explosion was a horrific force and tore a six-foot crater out of the concrete. In some areas, the hole was thirty feet across. The cars were thrown in all directions, some landing as far as one hundred twenty feet away.
The police investigating the scene accounted for the body of the man driving the semi, along with the other nine drivers the blast consumed. The victims were scattered in every direction, landing in small, charred, bloody pieces.
“It seems as if there was no one driving the RV,” the Chief of Police told reporters. “It’s almost like the driver has vanished.”
The short, chubby man of the law estimated that, in total, there were over fourteen dead, but there was no accounting for the missing souls in the destroyed RV.
10. Mar, 2010 
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