THE VENETIAN BRIDE copyright m.s. 2012

 

It was here on the Beach that Dave and Hilda found the plush colored stone. Gary was visiting, actually living at the cottage just below Dave and Hilda, who owned not only the cottage and beach house on the cliff above, but the beach front as well. After Gary's bad turn at marriage, only two years of screaming and uncontrollable jealousy, he'd sought solace in his oldest and dearest friends. He'd known Hilda from Sherwood college. She studied English and Drama, Gary was a History major. The two of them met during a terrible double date.

Dave was holding the stone between two fingers and Hilda was picking the seaweed from his hand. Gary laughed, shook his head.

“It seems every time I'm here, you two find something extraordinary on the beach. What was that..? five years ago?”

“Finding a pair of boots washed up on the beach is hardly extraordinary, Gary,” Hilda said.

“Unless those boots bring an abundance of good luck to a poor soul without any shoes to start with,” Dave quipped.

“There he goes again,” Hilda stole the tiny stone from Dave's hands. “Trying to be witty.”

There was a struggle between the two which, as usual, ended with Dave on top of Hilda tickling her. For Dave, it was something to be envious and glad to see still going on in a marriage that has lasted twenty-one years. When Dave kissed Hilda, Gary had to look away. Hilda noticed Gary being awkward, she whispered to Dave to let her up.

“Would you like to come over later for dinner?” Hilda pulled herself up from the beach, wiping sand from her brown shorts. She took Gary's arm. They walked on. Dave trotted to catch up.

“Maybe he's busy, Hilda,” Dave said.

“I don't want to trouble anyone. You guy's have already given me a place to stay.”

“Gary...you're no trouble. Is he, honey?” Hilda turned to Dave.

Dave shook his head. “No trouble at all, Gary. We like having you here.”

Gary stopped, took the stone from Hilda. “This stone...” He looked at it in the sunlight. The plush color had changed to a green now. Swirls of green overtook red particles in it's crevices. “I've seen this before...I just can't remember where.”

“You can stop being a Professor, Gary,” Hilda smacked him on the arm. “You're with friends who care for YOU, not what you know.”

Gary laughed. “I know that. I can't turn this off,” He pointed to his head. “It's who I am, Hilda. I have this need to know.”

“Know what?” Dave laughed.

“Everything, my friend. Everything.”

Later at their house, after going out to Andre's for drinks, Dave and Hilda found their front door wide open. They stood in the doorway. Hilda reached in and turned the lights on, but remained with Dave outside the house. Nothing seemed out of place. It was as they had left it.

Hilda sighed. She looked at Dave. “You think anyone took anything ?”

Dave shook his head. “So far, no. I don't think anyone is still here or we would have heard them...”

Hilda walked in, Dave followed. “Would've seen them as well. Only other door beside this one is the backdoor in the kitchen.” She checked in there, Dave went upstairs. Hilda heard a knock at the front door. The door was now shut. Dave rushed downstairs. They stared at each other. “Did you shut the door?”

“No,” Dave said. “I was going to ask you?” He opened the door cautiously. Gary was standing there.

“Okay, guys. I've got the board games. You got the wine, right?” He walked in with three boxes under his arms. No one answered him. “What's going on?” Gary looked worried.

Hilda grabbed his arm, showed him to the couch by the fireplace. “The front door was wide open?”

“Somebody broke in?” Gary's eyes sought glances from both of them.

“As far as I can see, no one took anything,” Dave placed a bottle of wine on the coffee table. Then he took three wine glasses from the bar that was under the staircase.

“That's strange,” Gary said. “Why would anybody break into a house and not take anything? You have enemies here?”

Hilda laughed. “Not enough people in the town to have enemies.”

“I'm retired from the insurance business. I don't have any enemies anymore.”

Gary was solemn. He rubbed his eyes with a hand.

“What?” Hilda asked him.

“Jessica,” He said. “Jessica came back here looking for me.”

“She couldn't,” Dave poured a glass of wine. “You said two hours ago she called you  from LAX airport telephone.”

“Yeah,” Gary smiled. “Paranoia set in, I guess.”

“Let's...just chalk it up to a weird incident....nothing more.” Hilda took drink of wine.”

Dave nodded. “How about that game of Clue, then?”

“Can I have that stone you found on the beach?” Gary glanced at both of them.

Hilda looked at Dave. He nodded. “Yeah,” She shrugged. “Sure.”

“Just for the night. I want to look something up on the internet.” Gary opened up the box for Clue, placed the board on the coffee table.

The door to his cottage was wide open. Gary stood in the doorway, in the half-light of the moon, he saw a woman with hand toward him, beckoning him. She was in a black gown that exposed the olive skin of her shoulders and frills that hung past her heels. Her long dark hair was like waves in a black sea. But her face was for the most part covered by a Venetian Moretta Mask, which was a black oval shaped mask, usually held in place by the wearer biting a button or a bit.

The woman did not walk toward Gary, she floated. She was inches off the floor and swayed slightly as she came at him in a slow minute flight. She spoke to him. Or rather, he heard a deep voice as if it were coming from under water.

“Vieni, il mio amante,” She said. “Ho bisogno di possederti .... si tiene fino a quando non siamo più.”

Gary ran, tripping over his feet. He fell over backwards, landing hard on the ground. He picked himself up, sand that had gathered in his shirt and trousers rolled down his back and legs. He ran. Looking over his shoulder he saw the woman floating above the beach and was right on his heels.

He lost his footing again, falling face first. Gary blacked out.

He awoke and the sun was rising. Two pair of hands were shaking him. He heard Dave and Hilda's voices. Slowly, Gary rose to a sitting position. A blurry vision of his friends apeared, Hilda dabbing at the large bloody gash on his forehead with a her blouse.

“What happened to you,” Hilda said. She was in her black lacy brassiere and once Gary's eyes could focus, he couldn't stop staring. Dave noticed, feeling his blood boil slightly. His eyes were two daggers aimed at Gary.

“I had something strange happen to me,” Gary said.

“Looks like someone attacked you,” Hilda kept dabbing, then blowing on the cut.

“Someone did. A woman.” Gary looked up at Dave. He saw him looking at indignantly. Gary's eyes moved slowly back to Hilda.

“A woman..? You don't think it was--”

“Jessica?” He finished Hilda's sentence. “No. It wasn't her. This woman you could practically see through her. She spoke in Italian, wore a black gown and a carnival mask. Oh, by yhe way, did I mention she floated in mid-air?”

“The hell you say,” Dave said through flared nostrils.

'What?” Gary stood, his body language was the attack style of a gorrilla.

“Okay you two, stand down,” Hilda rushed to get in the middle of the two of them.

“You're saying a ghost—excuse me—a woman in white attacked you? Bullshit.”

“No. I said a woman in black. You think I'm lying?” Gary stepped forward. Hilda pushed him back.

“Not saying, I know you are. You did it for more attention.”

“More specifically Hilda's?”

“You got it. I want two things from you, Gary. 1) Get out of my cottage by tomorrow. 2) Give me the stone.”

“Please, Dave, no, please,” Hilda begged. Tears had formed in her eyes and cheeks were stained by mascara.

“I don't want this bum drooling over you anymore, Hilda!” Dave screamed in her face.

Gary tossed the stone at Dave's sandaled feet. “Have it your way,” He said, walked away.

“I always do,” Dave fired back.

They argued. Dave and Hilda, argued all day, kept silent in between arguements. She mostly stayed upstairs in the bedroom, he stayed in the living room, watching TV with the sound off. Neither cared about food, both drank heavily as they did in the past. Throughout the string of arguements, Carol 's name was brought up. Hilda never forgave Dave for that month long affair fifteen years ago.

Carol never wanted to give Dave up, even after Hilda knew about everything. So Carol gave up her life for Dave. They lived apart from each other for three months, when Hilda gave up and came back to him. Dave cut his buisness schedule in half. Ten years later he retired, bougt the beach, house, and cottage.

Eventually Hilda let things slide by, Dave let things slide by. Arguements were fewer, not as constant, as well as the drinking. Neither was in charege, both agreed to live in the moment.

Dave realized that jelousy monster never left him, it was just well hidden.

Hours later, both had fallen asleep. He rose from the couch to find a blanket draped over him. She still cared. He rubbed his eyes, noticed it was dark outside. He looked at his cell phone, it was well after midnight. He had slept that long? He felt hunger pains and wondered if any chinese left overs were still in the fridge.

Dave stood, walked around the coffee table and rum bottles on the floor. He was startled to see a woman in a black gown standing in front of him. She wore a moretta carnival mask. Her flowing dark hair rested on her olive-skin shoulders.

“Vieni, mio amante,” She said.

Dave went to her. She touched his chest with a hand. Dave sighed.

“Si sarà mio ... sarò tua ... per sempre.” She removed her mask. The right side of her face had been destroyed somehow, and the skin had grown over her eye and part of her blood red lips. The skin had turned a sick gray, sores embedded over the spongey exterior.

“Ci deve essere uno,” She drew him close to her, pull him by the shoulders, and kissed him.

The longer she held Dave 's lips in place with hers, the more it burned. The right side of his face taking on her damaged skin. Dave tried to pull away. He tried to scream. The flesh seered over his right eye, cheek, and bottom lip.

Hilda appeared at the top of the stairs. “Dave!” She screamed. Hilda saw the steam rising from his face. She ran down the stairs to him.

The woman in the black gown let go of Dave. He fell in Hilda's arms. He was wimpering, hid his face in Hilda 's nightgown. The woman floated up in the air high above them, inches from the ceiling. She hovered a few seconds, disappeared.

They heard a voice say, “Lui è mio ... la mia vendetta ti distruggerà.”

Hilda held Dave close, kissing the top of his head, as they both wept.

In the morning, Gary had everything packed except his laptop. He searched for hours for any information about that stone. Finally he found a website regarding fameous jewls and trinkits that were cursed throughout history. The Hope diamond was among them. The story that caught his eye was The Venetian Bride.

Born in Milan in 1756, Maria Christina, daughter of Maria Theresa, ruler of the city. She was wed to French Duke Antoine Louix in 1775. He'd given her the Lui è mio ... la mia vendetta ti distruggerà, Ring of Eternal Love. A red stone set in a solid gold band with enrgavings of the Alpine Swift, a bird in his native France. On their third year of marriage, during a carnival in venice, the ballroom that hosted a party, caught fire. The Duke Antoine, died in the fire along with several hundred. Maria was one of the few that survived, but not without damage to the right side of her face. It is said that she lived on another six years roaming the streets of venice in a black gown and a Moretta mask. She'd drowned herself in a canal on western side of venice. It was said she was wearing the Ring of Eternal love when they found her body, the stone was missing.

Years later, stories were told of The Venetian Bride haunting those who found the stone--

Gary turned off his laptop. He sat there a few moments, lost in thought. He lept from his chair and rushed out the door.

He ran across the beach just as the sun was rising, up the hill where Dave and Hilda's house was. He found their door wide open. Inside, he saw Dave curled up in a fetal position sobbing at the bottom of the stairs. Gary rushed to him. He pulled Dave's arms away from his face. He saw Dave's face and recoiled.

“Where is Hilda?” Gary asked with immediacy.

Dave didn't answer. He just crawled away from Gary to a dark corner and continued to weep.

Gary stood back, looked at the top of the stairs. Something told him to check the bedroom. He dashed up those stairs, nearly tripping over the well-worn steps. The door to the bedroom was ajared. He saw a shadow on the wall near the canopy bed. The shadow was hunched over another shadow laying in the shadowy bed.

He ran in. The woman in a black gown and moretta mask was overtop Hilda, holding Hilda by the shoulders in the bed. Hilda struggled, her arms flailing in the air. She was gasping for air. On the nightstand by the bed, Gary saw the stone next to a lamp laying on it's side.

Gary grabbed the stone. The woman immediately removed her hands from Hilda. Hilda sat up, her body dripping wet, she spat out water and tried desperately to catch her breath.

The woman turned to Gary. She spoke to him, easing toward him.

“Amore mio, sei tornato da me,” The woman said.

Gary held the stone just enough from her, backed out of the bedroom, into the hall.He led her down the stairs, past a weeping Dave, and out the house. They went down the hill, and out to the tides rolling in, recreating the edge of the beach.

“Voglio solo stringerti ... un ultimo bacio ...”

With a great wind up, Gary threw the stone into the ocean. The woman in the black gown walked into the coming tide, disappearing under the currents.

Gary sighed. He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment. Then he turned to the beach house on top of the hill. He watched for Dave or hilda to appear. No one came out.

Gary turned from the beach house on the hill that looked down him. He walked away, feeling drained.

EVEN IN ASHES, SHE SMILES copyright m.s. 2012

Martine sat uneasily in her chair as a moth fluttered around, trapped in her florescent clear body. Martine would listen to it's humming as it drew closer to the glowing light bulb situated near her furiously pumping heart. One of Arthur's inventions, keeping his wife alive.

The darkness fell quickly on the city outside Martine's window. Decayed and depraved gray buildings that lined up beside each other for as far as the eye could see. Martine never went out of her apartment. She only sat at her window and watched the world go by. Watching blue-pink spheres rotate in the sky, leaving a gray film over the city. The poisonous gas in the air would shatter her clear plastic body, if Martine would step outside, others, without a gas mask, would turn into a lump blackened flesh as if they had been in an oven.

She would sketch the happenings out there, people walking along the sidewalk, to their jobs, back to their homes. Children playing in the streets, or going off to school. It was a way to try to forget all their troubles, especially the bills.

Arthur came home.

Martine was glad to see him. She ran to Arthur and hugged him. He took off his gas mask and threw it in the corner of the small one room house. He stood there, gently shut the door as he put his arms around her. She looked up smiling at him. Arthur kissed the top of her head.

“What have you been doing all day, then?” He went to the kitchen table with her hanging on to his arms. He sat down, tossed his duffel bag on the bed that was only a few inches from the table.

“Just drawing,” Martine said. She sat next to him. “How was your day?” She handed him her sketch book.

“It's always the same at the factory, Martine,” Arthur thumbed through the pages quickly until he came across a picture he liked. He laughed. “Mrs. Quran and her awful kids. This is a real good one.”

The sketch was more of a caricature than a resemblance. It showed a large woman with three heads, one smiling at a man on street, one crying, another with large teeth biting at her children.

“What did you make today?” Martine asked. She went to the stove and stirred a brown liquid that bubbled to the top of the rusted pot. She returned to the table, placed the pot in front of Arthur. She sat down, her eyes transfixed on him.

“It's the same everyday, darling. Creating the perfect flower and planting it to restore oxygen to the atmosphere here in our city.” No. That wasn't what he was making. He was mass producing the Police cameras, a robotic EYE.

“Eat,” Martine touched his hand.

“Are you having any?” Arthur took the metal spoon and scooped some of the brown goo out. He put it to his lips and cringed. With eyes closed, holding his breath, Arthur swallowed the only nourishment the Uppers allowed his people to have.

“No,” She shook her head. “I ate yesterday. I'll be fine for the rest of the week.”

It was true that brown muck was made from a wheat germ grown inside the testicle of a pig, which itself is grown in laboratory; has all the requirements a human body needs to survive.

Arthur ate the entire pot, immediately he felt his stomach ache. He ran to the bathroom. Just a room with a non-working commode, a cracked mirror, and a rusted sink. He sat on the commode just in time.

There was a knock at the door. Martine answered it, precariously. Standing in the doorway was a tall, thin man in a black trench coat and a gas mask, which was surgically attached to his face.

She screamed and slammed the door shut. Martine ran to the bed and crawled underneath the cot. There was the sound of continuous rapping. A voice calling out Arthur's last name. Martine was shaking. She closed her eyes and wished the situation would disappear.

She felt hands on her. She was being pulled from under the cot. She opened her eyes and saw Arthur. She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing loudly.

“I'm sorry,” Martine said.

“It's okay.” Arthur whispered. “You didn't know who it was.”

“I just thought it was one of the neighbors...Mrs. Quaran. or her kids.”

“Mr. Hope...you owe the City Corporation four thousand crowns,” The voice was computerized with no human touch involved at all. “Pay or face the consequences.”

Bill collectors were Automated beings. Once activated, you either pay what you owed, or everything inside the building is destroyed. You can not argue your way out of the situation. But, they can not come inside the building unless invited in or acknowledged.

Martine acknowledged it.

Now the second faze has been activated. It will find entrance at all cost.

They heard it on the roof of the building. Footsteps echoed, the ceiling bowed. Tile and dust fell upon Martine and Arthur's heads. Arthur was not going to be a sitting duck. He left Martine and went to the window to see if the lights from the Police vehicle the Bill collector had rode in was still shining.

Martine rolled back under the cot. She closed her eyes, still wishing it would all disappear.

Arthur slipped on his gas mask. He put on his bomber jacket and took a screwdriver with him. Outside, the sky was a velvet cover no stars could enter. The only light the city was allowed outside was the EYE, a Police vehicle that a huge silver ball-shape with long spider-like legs and a camera attached that could see up to a thousand miles from it's resting place.

Arthur approached the EYE, it lowered a it's gun, it's target was set. An automated voice sounded off a warning. Arthur ignored it.

Arthur fell to the ground on his stomach, just as the EYE fired a green beam from it's gun. The beam just barely missed Arthur. He rolled left, another beam shot past his face. It burned a larger hole in the city street than the first. Arthur was still holding his screwdriver in his right hand. He placed the point of the screwdriver into a crevice between the the ball and the legs.

As soon as Arthur could feel electricity move from the EYE to his fingertips, he dropped the screwdriver and rolled from underneath the machine. Blue and pink sparks covered the EYE, an electrical prism had been born.

The EYE crumbled from the lack of stability. It's front leg fell to the asphalt, wires still attached to it's now exposed hardware, a circuit board going haywire.

Arthur watched the machine fall apart completely, dust and rubble enveloping it. Soon the human Police will arrive. An entire army. He will be shot on sight. But who will take care of Martine?

Then he remembered Martine. He remembered the Bill collector. He remembered

the danger she was in.

He ran inside the house, or what was left of it inside. The table was obliterated as well as the bed, where he left Martine. Large holes in the walls , sharing the outside world, poisonous gas and the red glow from other Police EYES swarming the night skies.

There, in the middle of a mattress turned to pulp, was what was left of Martine's body...pieces of her...her clear plastic chest cracked wide open....her internal organ lay disconnected from her circuit board.....the light bulb that was once beside her beating heart, now in shards next to her along with remnants of dust from the Atom ball. She had a peaceful smile on her partial face.

From behind him he heard the Bill collector's voice. “Paid in full—or suffer the consequences....” The Bill collector held in both open hands the particles from the personal Atom ball he'd just cracked open.

Arthur was motionless. Stunned. Only his hands shook, his mouth was left gaping, a tiny gurgle meant as a scream rose from his dry throat.

A moth fluttered by Arthur, momentarily taking his eyes from the Bill collector.

The moth flew to the Bill collector and disappeared into a tiny crack on the left side of his gas mask. He flinched, began waving his arms desperately. The Atom particles fell to his trench coat and immediately blew him apart. A small mushroom cloud formed from detached body.

The moth flew from his gas mask and fluttered around Arthur's face. He opened up a hand. It gently fell on the palm, crawled to the end of his index finger. He brought it up to his gas mask. It crawled around until it found a slight opening on the right side, eased itself inside.

Arthur heard it whisper his name and he knew it was Martine's voice.

THE HUNGRY FACE copyright m.s. 2012

Franz could not rise from his chair, nor leave the table, for the Face on his stomach would not allow him to leave a feast especially prepared for him.

Every time he would try to stand, the weight of the Face on his mid-section was so great, he would have to sit again or fall forward on the table. The Face would screw up it's eyes and laugh heartily.

“You can not leave the table until you are full,” It told him.

“But I am not hungry,” Franz spoke in weak voice.

“Make yourself eat!” The Face growled.

The Face had always been with Franz. It's horrible scowl on it's large square pink canvas. It spread as far as Franz big round belly was wide, but not as tall as his chest. Even when he was a baby, that old man- face, wrinkled and dimpled forehead, had been born as a birthmark. Or as the wet nurse said a curse. Franz Father turned to the bottle, which caused quite a bit of problems being the village school headmaster. Franz Mother refused to believe the Face ever existed. She pushed for Franz to be treated as normal as everyone else. She never allowed him to acknowledge the problem.

“I never liked your Mother,” The Face said. Mira, his maid entered She put more dishes down containing more vegetables, corn, eggplant, asparagus. The Face made lewd sounds at her. Mira wrinkled her nose at him.

“Shut up about my Mother,” Franz picked at a turkey leg that had been placed on his plate by Mira. She leaned across him, letting her breast brush against him. “My Mother was a saint to put up with things.”

“You are speaking of your Father, aren't you? Not me, of course. Now, your Father, that was a fellow only bums and cheap guys could have respect for.”

“Are you alright, Mr. Franz? Should I gag him?” Mira smiled big, those lovely ruby lips sparkling under the lights. She put a hand upon her dark hair, making sure it was still in the bun she'd fixed. Her green eyes danced back and forth between Franz and the Face.

“No, Mira, thank you. It wouldn't help matters now. He still wouldn't permit me to leave the table.”

“As you wish, sir,” Mira pranced to the door of the kitchen. She stopped, turned to Franz, blew him a kiss.

The Face felt stirrings in Franz nether parts. It laughed. “You know she only likes you for Uncle Havel's money.”

“Leave it!” Screamed Franz. He placed his hands over his head and wished there was something he could do with The Face. Perhaps, it was right. Mira only found Franz attractive because of the vast family fortune Havel made from black market electronics he sold on the streets of Prague in the nineties.

“Eat!” The Face demanded. “I'm starving!”

“God have pity on me! You are always starving! Please let me up...give me back the use of my legs. Just for a few minutes. I wish to go to bed.”

“Eat! Damn you, you're trying to starve me. I know it.”

“All right! I'm feeding you, you demon from hell!” Franz grabbed a bowl with potatoes and sucked them down. He ate like a wild man, just as much turkey fell on the floor and his clothes as it entered his mouth.

Then Franz stopped eating. He heard The Face enjoying the food from Franz plate. The sounds it was making was sickening and annoying. Franz threw his hands over his ears. Still, he could hear The Face gurgling and cooing. Smacking it's lips.

“More!” The Face growled once more. “Feed my face! Or you will never leave your chair!”

Franz could take no more. He had snapped. He laughed uncontrollably, tears welled up in his eyes. Franz had made up his mind.

“Yes,” He said, ringing the bell and Mira swashed in. He motioned for her to bend down. Franz whispered his diabolical plan in her ear. “Let's both never leave the table.”

Mira was horrified.

“What do you mean?” The Face said. “Have you lost your mind. Yes I can tell that by your pernicious laughter. You always want to leave the table.”

Mira left. Ten minutes later she returned with two mirrors. She set one on a smaller end table she'd moved to the right of the table. She placed another mirror on the other side of the first mirror to catch the image from it, pointed the second mirror toward Franz midsection.

She drew a chair next to Franz, pulled him and his chair away from her.

“What madness is this?” The Face said nervously.

“Madness indeed,” Franz retorted with a small giggle.

Mira carried on with her work, an infinite amount of sadness overtaking her emotions. She took from pockets a large spool of thread and a needle. She pushed through the eye of the needle the end of the thread, weeping softly.

Franz looked in one of the mirrors and saw The Face closing it's eyes. “Oh, no, you demon. Don't close your eyes, by all means. You wouldn't want to miss this for the world.”

Mira forced the needle into the left side of Franz lips, pulled the thread through. He winced, blood dribbled down his chin. Mira carried on, with a shaky hand, tears falling from her cheeks, the needle and thread made a long zig- zag across Franz lips.

“Nooo...” The hungry Face cried out, petrified by the terrible mirror images.

SANTA'S BAG copyright m.s. 2011

On a lonely street corner, off Main and 3^rd, a bag lay on the opposite side of the trash cans scattered in a dark alleyway. Once in a while a street light would shine it's florescent blue light on the pavement to reveal movement inside that bag. Just tiny inklings that something was definitely inside it. The sound of scratching, and a low growl. But the bag never moved from it's spot.

On other street corners in the city, the hustle and bustle of people and cars making their way to their destinations. On one of those particular streets, Dave Lomax was fighting his way through a crowd outside an Adult theater to find a seat to spend his third night of restless sleep while men in trench coats explored themselves watching people have sex on the screen.

Just as he was sneaking through a side door, a hand grabbed him. The hand belonged to extremely large black man in a leather coat.

"You don't think you were goin' in there without payin', were you, Chief?" He said pushing Lomax into a brick wall outside the theater.

Lomax felt the pain in his back surge. He shook his head no. "I actually got confused what door to go through." Lomax smiled.

The black man's nostrils curled up. He sniffed the air. "Shit, man. Go get cleaned up. Look, I don't want to be a hard on, but you can't keep sneakin' in my house smellin' up the place. You need a place to sleep, I know the Boys club has some beds open for the holidays. If I give you a twenty, you promise not to drink it all up?"

"You'd do that?" Lomax was stunned. The couple months he'd been kicked out of his house by Lisa, he'd witnessed the dregs of humanity. He'd gotten a place at hotel with a roommate, Charlie Day...a real scumbag-drunk---stole the last fifty from him, then kicked him out when Lomax couldn't procure the rest of the rent.

The black man smiled. "Dude, I know what it's like on the streets. I might run a movie house that shows tits and ass, but I still follow the laws of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Here you go. Don't--" He placed the twenty in Lomax's hand, pulled it away, Lomax still had a piece of it. "Don't drink it up. Understand?"

Lomax nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah. I don't usually drink, just lately--"

The black man shoved Lomax into the gutters. He fell into the icy snow caked on the vents.

"Merry Christmas. Get cleaned up," The black man wagged a finger.

Dave Lomax just sat there. "Merry Christmas," he whispered, his spirit crushed.

Lomax picked himself up and headed down the street the opposite way. He stopped a minute to stare at the many HD Tv's that were in a store window. On the screens was the Charlie Brown Christmas.

Christmas is not what it used to be, he thought.

He shuffled along, kicking snow with his boots, letting some of it ride on the top for a few feet. Before he realized it, Lomax was down an alley that had no outlet. He looked up and he was on Main and 3rd. He heard a noise behind the trash cans. He saw a stray dog sniffing at a yellow bag that resembled potato bags at grocery stores. The bag moved to the left and the dog jumped at it, wagged it's tail.

"I'm not drunk," Lomax said to himself. "I haven't even started. But that bag....oh....it's cat in it." He rubbed his tangled, greasy hair. He laughed, walked toward it. "Hey, you dumb dog. That's just a cat in that bag--"

A thin green arm reached out. It's three fingered claw took hold of the stray dog by the back of it's neck and pulled it inside the bag. The dog gave out a yelp and disappeared into the dark opening of the bag.

Lomax stopped dead in his tracks. Stunned, he staggered back a few steps. "What the hell?" He cried out, his voice bounced off the cold dark night.

Lomax looked behind him. No one there. No one saw it. He rubbed his three day old stubble, put a hand in his pocket. His eyes grew wild. He felt in a once empty pocket and found paper there. He pulled his hand out. Lomax was holding several hundred dollar bills. A few minutes before the event with the dog and the bag, he was thinking about having money--lots of money---so much, in fact, his pockets would never be empty. The twenty was still in the other pocket.

Lomax knew this to be strange. I'm not dreaming, he thought. Because he'd just pinched himself. He looked behind him, no one standing there. He trotted to the bag, which was still moving on the pavement. He heard rustling, a low growl. He hesitated at first. Then decided to scoop up the bag.

"Funny," He said. "On Christmas eve I find Santa's bag." He slung over his shoulder and heard the thing growl louder. The stray dog yelped. "Hey," Lomax yelled at the bag. "I don't know what you are, but you be nice to that dog."

He walked to the other side of Main and hailed a taxi.

The hotel room was dingy and smelled of garlic salt. That was because Lomax's roommate , Cedric, cooked everything with garlic salt. Even toast. Lomax didn't need a key to get in, the lock never worked. All he had to do was jiggle the door knob and the door was open.

Cedric was sprawled out in the middle of the floor, a bottle of Jack Daniel in his hand.

The room was a mess. Take-out boxes from various places littered floor along with dirty laundry. The TV was on, the weather man showing a map where Santa Clause was last spotted, Turkey it seemed.

Lomax sat on the torn sofa, bag beside him. He kicked Cedric a few times. Cedric looked like a gulley dwarf from the latest Peter Jackson movie. His brownish-red beard hung past neck, inching toward his chest. He must have grown it to make up for the lack of hair on his head. His round, plump body heaved and he coughed every time Lomax kicked him.

Cedric shot up, ready to run. He yelled out something inaudible, waved his hands around wildly.

"Cedric," Lomax said. "It's just me. Cedric, It's Dave."

Cedric looked confused, staggered where he stood. Clarity came to him. He looked at Lomax, snarled.

"I kicked you out, you bum," Cedric tried to pick up the bottle twice without falling. The third go was success. But he soon tossed the bottle when he found out it was empty.

"Yes, you did, my so-called friend. I'm here to pay my share of the rent," Lomax threw down a hundred dollar bill on the floor. Cedric's eyes grew big, he leaped for the money, fell on his face.

"Oh, yeah, and tell you to fuck off." Lomax stood grabbed his bag. Cedric held on to his legs. "Get off!" Lomax shook Cedric off.

"Don't go, my friend! Please take care of your Cedric! He will do anything--well almost anything--for you! For you!" Cedric was on his knees, pleading, praying to Lomax. "I don't care how you get financial aid, even if you sell yourself on the street--"

"I don't do that, you idiot."

Cedric's eyes moved back and forth, he was thinking. "No?"

"No. I think it's this bag."

Cedric stood. He only came up to Lomax's chest. he scratched his bald head. "A Santa bag?"

"I thought the same thing when I saw it," Lomax said happily. "I found this bag---I was thinking of money---oh, you wouldn't understand."

"Stay. Explain it to me. I know I could relate--we'll order a pizza. Yes?"

Lomax thought about it. He was hungry. Oh, Cedric was alright.

"Yeah. Okay."

Lomax turned his back to call from Cedric's cell phone when he heard a scuffle and Cedric screamed.

Lomax turned back around. On the phone a voice kept repeating "Hello, hello?" His Santa bag dropped to the floor.

Lomax sighed. "Shit," He said, pressed a button on the cell phone and the voice disappeared. He threw the phone on the sofa and picked up the bag. He heard a low growl from the bag and more scuffling. Then he heard Cedric call out for help.

"Hi," he heard a female voice.

Lomax nearly jumped out of his skin. A short brunette was standing in front of him. She was wearing a blue halter top and and short mini skirt. Lomax dropped the bag. His mouth was hanging open. He couldn't believe it. Just as he was calling for pizza his mind roamed. he began thinking about sex, then his thoughts became a lot more specific.

"You called for a date," the brunette kissed Lomax.

Later on, Lomax just sat in the hotel room, bored out of his skull. It was eleven pm now. The brunette had long disappeared. He was sick of hearing the dog whine, Cedric cry and beg for help, and whatever that thing was in the bag growl and terrorize the dog and Cedric.

"This is shit," He said. He should be with Lisa and her kids, getting smashed, opening presents. He should be with Lisa. Yes. She should not had kicked him out, settled in with Jack. All because he lost his job at the plant and he couldn't handle her taking his spot as the breadwinner.

Well, all that has changed now, Lomax thought. I've got money. Endless money. Now I can take Lisa back, buy her anything she wanted. Jack can be out on the street, like Lomax was.

"Yeah....I'm going over there and bring loads of presents...food...booze...."

Lomax stood in the driveway of his ex's trailer, the only trailer in an upper-middle class neighborhood. Her father had left it to her, never thought of building a house because he thought it was too much work and a waste of money, he already had a home. The trailer was old, at least twenty years, and the aluminum siding was not silver anymore but a depressing rust color.

Good, Lomax thought. Lisa is home. He could see her Toyota in the driveway, but he also saw Jack's Prius.

"Shit," He said to the thin layer of Christmas lights on the telephone pole. The lights blinked on and off, telling Lomax not to worry about Jack. It told him he was in charge of the situation. Plus, he had two plastic bags of groceries and his Santa bag.

The trailer was lit up with way too many lights, at least ten strands crossing each other. And in the front yard was a snowman missing an eye and his plastic carrot meant for his nose, was now comfortably in his crotch.

Lomax knocked on the screen door.

Lisa opened the front door. She stepped outside on the step, shut the door. Her short brown, wavy hair was stirring slightly in the cold breeze. She was cold, the Christmas sweater exemplified her best assets, but those green eyes always melted Lomax's heart.

"Hi, Lisa," Lomax grinned at her.

"What do you want, Dave?" She said coldly, folded her arms.

"I wanted to see you and the kids," Oops. I didn't get the kids anything. He thought. Trish, 9, Cory, 6, what would I get them anyway? I never took time to get to know them---

"You know Jack is here. And after the last shenanigan you are not welcomed here." She turned to open the door, Lomax touched her shoulder. She shot a cool look his way that was like a knife through his heart. Lomax withdrew his hand.

She was referring to a drunken incident when Lomax climbed through their bedroom window and passed out in their bed. Jack beat Lomax with a baseball bat, thinking he was burglar. After the ER room, Jack was apologetic.

"Who is it, Lisa--Oh, it's Dave. Let him in, Lisa." Jack was the best looking guy Lomax had ever seen and the nicest. That's one of many reasons he hated him.

"He was just leaving--" Lisa's nostrils flared up, and that cold stare--all Lomax could do was avert his eyes.

"Nonsense, Lisa. Come inside, Dave. God, the kids really miss you. They will be glad to see you."

oh yes, they were glad to see me, Lomax thought. He'd been there thirty minutes and the kids said hi, rushed off to bed. Lisa went to her bedroom. Jack was the only one happy to see him. loads of endless fucking questions. It was a slow death. Being with a man who stole your life and he was happy to eat his cake too. The fucker.

"So, what's with the bag? Are you playing Santa this year?" He was smirking. Thinks he can tell a joke. The fucker. "Is my present in there?"

Suddenly an evil grin overthrew a depressing scowl on Lomax's face. "Actually...it is. Would you like it now?" Lomax stood from the couch and walked toward the corner where the Christmas tree was. Jack followed closely on his heels.

"You didn't have to--yes. Yes. I'm honored....look I really want to be friends, Dave...could that...?"

The bag was gone.

They heard a noise in the hallway to the bedrooms. Something loud hitting the tin floors of the trailer. Lomax and Jack rushed to see, they found the bag there. It was inching across the floor. They heard Lisa's voice, the kid's, of course the dog and Cedric. All of them simultaneously making a horrible mash of noise. Then there was the growling, the sound of something scraping the inside of the bag, followed by them screaming.

Jack backed away from the bag. "What's in there, Dave? You've got the devil there haven't you?"

Lomax didn't know what to say. He shook his head half-heatedly. "I don't know what's in there. I don't...maybe it is...but I don't think it hurts anyone...all I know is it takes things, then whatever you wish for...magically appears..."

There was a knock at the screen door, very loud pounding.

Someone has called the police on us, Lomax thought. Jack ran to answer it. Lomax pushed him out of the way. They found a short, over-sized man in a monk's frock. The Monk bowed, removed his hood.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late. I think you have something that belongs my temple." The Monk said.

Lomax was pushed aside as the monk made his way through the front door. The monk smiled. He nodded. "Yes, you surely do have it."

"Is that the devil in that bag? Your here to do an exorcism, right?" Jack came to the monk, wild-eyed.

The Monk laughed. "No, far from it. Gumar is not a devil...but a poor unfortunate creature that seemingly tricked one of my brothers to take him into the city."

"Will he--does he hurt anyone in the bag with him ?" Lomax interrupted the monk's jolliness.

"No, by all means. Gumar loves to have fun---well his fun is scaring people, holding them in the darkness. He harms no one. He is a bit aggressive. It was terrible for Brother Sella. He apparently was robbed at gunpoint, beaten and left in an alley. He came back to Temple with that story."

" How did you know where the bag was? " Lomax said. "Can you get them out of the bag?"

The Monk shrugged smiled. "I followed the smell. Do you not smell the terrible stench?"

"I thought it was Dave, since he is homeless." Jack said.

Lomax cut his eyes at Jack.

"As far as releasing everyone," The Monk sighed. "That depends on you," He turned to Lomax. "Would like to keep receiving presents from Gumar? Or...give the bag back to the Temple. It's up to you."

Lomax thought a minute. "Yeah...I'd like to give the bag back to the Temple."

The Monk smiled. Lisa appeared, as did the children. They immediately clung to, she hugged them nervously.

Then Cedric appeared, the dog ran from one person to another, happy it was out of the bag.

The Monk threw the bag over his shoulder. Lomax saw him to the door.

"Look, " Lomax placed a hand on the Monk's arm. "I don't get it. Where was my last present when Lisa and the kids were in the bag?"

"Remember," The Monk walked outside. He turned to Lomax, laughed. "You wished this would be over. And it is."

SIN-AWAYcopyright 2011 m.s.

Otis Brinkley walked confidently in the offices of Cromwell Industries, a five story building on Pinkerton ave., demanding to see the head of operations.

The secretary looked at this old tramp with a beat up suitcase and stifled a laugh.

“He's not in Mr...?” Ms. Jeffers fiddled with her blouse lapel with a hand. She kept the other hand over her mouth as so Brinkley couldn't see her smiling at his presence.

The little old man beamed. He pushed the mismatched frame of glasses back on the brim of his nose. “Otis Brinkley,” He said proudly.

Ms. Jeffers cleared her throat. “You can only see Mr. Cromwell by appointment,” She crossed her legs, still fighting back her giggles at this ridiculous little old man.

Brinkley opened his suitcase. He smiled at her, pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I've been exchanging letters with Mr. Cromwell.” He tossed a small stack of envelopes on Ms. Jeffers desk. “We've discussed my new product at length.”

Ms. Jeffers rummaged through the dusty papers, mystified. She opened the first one, unwrinkled the yellow paper.

Brinkley stood briefly. “That one has told me to come to the office....” Ms. Jeffers threw him a look, Brinkley sat back down. He put up his hand apologetically.

“Well, the office is closing in a few minutes as you can see it's nearly five---”

“Mandy!” A man screamed from the adjoining office.

Brinkley looked toward the office, smiled. “He's in after all.”

A second later a man with a receding hairline, dark circles under his eyes and a girth hanging over top of his belt waddled in the lounge. Immediately Ms. Jeffers sprung from her chair and ran in her stockinged feet to Cromwell, still holding one of the letters in her hand.

“Mr. Cromwell, a Mr. Brinkley is here to see you.” She flashed an uneasy smile.

“I don't remember any Brinkley--” Cromwell looked at his digital watch that hung snugly to his wrist. “It's nearly five--”

Brinkley stood, rushed to insert himself between Cromwell and Ms. Jeffers. “We exchanged letters a few weeks ago. To discuss a new soap product?”

Cromwell looked at Ms. Jeffers. “Oh,” She shrugged. “It says it all here, Mr. Cromwell. Your signature is at the bottom and I suppose I forgot to schedule the meeting.”

Cromwell's upper lip curled up. “Oh, for cryin' out loud. Okay, okay.” Cromwell stormed off to his office. Brinkley smiled sheepishly at Ms. Jeffers. She resigned, her face fell.

She walked toward the adjoining office. “If you'll follow me.” She said.

After Brinkley went inside, Ms. Jeffers closed the door. She looked at the upper right hand corner of the letter. The date on the letter was March 15, 1985. She was taken aback.

Brinkley sat gingerly in a small plastic chair opposite Cromwell's desk. Cromwell sat there in silence, a finger on his lips, sizing Brinkley up. Cromwell swiveled his heavy set body in his leather chair. The chair squeaked in pain.

“So what is it your selling, Brinkley? Make it good, make it fast. I'm almost out of time.” Cromwell snorted.

Brinkley nodded, “Yes, yes.” he opened his battered briefcase and retrieved a a small square cake wrapped in green paper. “This,” He tossed it on Cromwell's desk. The hard shell of the square clanged on the desk, bounced a few times, slid toward Cromwell.

Cromwell picked up the square, turned it a couple of times in his hand. He then unwrapped the green paper to reveal a bar of soap. He looked at Brinkley, scouring. Cromwell laughed heartily. He balled up the paper and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Soap?” Cromwell lifted an eyebrow. “Your selling me soap, buddy? I already own Hand print who makes several scented soaps---”

“My soap is not scented, Mr. Cromwell.” Brinkley adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Then what can you possibly have to interest me, little man? The market in gutted with all kinds of soaps from body wash to your baby's ass-wash. Soap is nothing new.”

Brinkley waggled a finger. “Oh, my soap only clenses one thing.” Brinkley nodded his head. Cromwell started to get seasick from watching the old man's head bob up and down so much. “It cleans the soul. But only use it three times....or it will be too much.”

Cromwell glared at him for a few seconds, blinking rapidly. His disposition turned sour. He no longer thought the joke was funny.

“Get the fuck out of here!” He railed at Brinkley.

“Wait, hear me out,” the little man put his hands up.

“Don't come in here and tell me some bullshit to con me!” Cromwell tossed the soap at the little man.

“Look, I'm telling the truth. I stumbled on it. This soap---i swear to you, Mr. Cromwell. You have committed a discrepancy of some kind---”

“I did what?” The large man stood from his desk in a threatening manner.

“Only saying it as an example--- well...you bathe in my soap and all is not only forgiven, but forgotten. I call it SIN-AWAY.”

The color of Cromwell's face was a bright red. His eyes were strained, cataracts

and veins were definitely showing. “Get out of here,” He whispered at first.

“Mr. Cromwell...”

“Get out of here!”

Brinkley hopped out of the chair and grabbed his briefcase. “I'll just leave you a sample,” Brinkley said as Cromwell rushed him out of the office. Brinkley scooted past Ms. Jeffers in the hallway. She sniggered and leaned against the wall, watching the little old man disappear around the corner.

Cromwell stood outside his office, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “Can you believe the nerve, tryin' to swindle me.”

“I take it the meeting didn't go so well,” Ms. Jeffers said.

“If I ever see that candy-ass again, I'll break both of his legs.”

Ms. Jeffers reached out, took hold of Cromwell's tie, pulled him toward her. “Shh...” She said. She touched his face with her fingers, touching his cheek and slid down to his chapped red lips. Ms. Jeffers felt Cromwell's hand steal up her skirt. She leaned in and kissed him soundly on the lips. She turned, still holding his tie, led him inside his office.

She was adjusting her skirt, re buttoning her blouse. Cromwell was trying to catch his breath and zipping up his fly. He'd backed away from her, when he realized the best way to have sex with a woman like Ms. Jeffers was to bend her over his desk just he'd done.

The theme to the GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY sounded off, Cromwell's

cell phone lit up.

“Who the hell could that be?” Cromwell tucked his shirt in.

“Maybe it's Don to tell you about Singapore,” Ms. Jeffers rescued the cell phone from under scattered papers and files. Her smile disappeared when she read the name to herself. She sighed, closed her eyes. She handed Cromwell his cell phone. “Delores,” She said solemnly. “A missed call from Delores...”

Immediately, Cromwell panicked. He ran to the window of his office, opened the blinds, looked out. Delores was standing at her BMW smoking a cigarette. She was a tall blonde, dressed to the nines, and although no one could see her eyes for the sunglasses, Cromwell could see she was furious from her body language.

“You have to get out of here,” He swallowed hard, closed the blinds again.

Ms. Jeffers was already playing back the message Delores left on his phone. “Oh, you snaky son of a bitch! I know you and that slut secretary are carrying on in there. You idiot. You didn't think I'd find out---Ms. Jeffers shut it off.

“You better go take a shower. Say your getting ready to come home to take her out,” Ms. Jeffers ushered Cromwell to the Men's room in his office.

Nervously, Cromwell did as he was told. Out of haste, she tossed him the open bar of soap.

Ms. Jeffers ran out of Cromwell's office only to meet Delores in the hallway. Delores back into the office, right into a chair, where she promptly sat.

“I know exactly what's going on, you slut.” Delores actually had forgotten, but ten years before, she was in Ms. Jeffers shoes. She'd been the other woman, working as Cromwell's secretary. She was being screamed at by his third wife. But that didn't mean she would cut the whore any slack, she knew for sure someone was gonna pay for her unhappiness.

“He's not all that,” Delores snarled. “He's a lousy father. All his kids hate him. He pays through the nose to three ex-wives, all of which he's cheated on. You wont be the last if you win him.”

Ms. Jeffers was unemotional. “I don't want to win him.”

“Don't try to sell me on a crap campaign, Missy. I know how good that fat man is in the bed. For what it's worth, he always said I was the best piece of ass---” Delores suddenly stopped speaking. She looked as if she was in a daze. Her thoughts were far off. Then she seemed to loose balance and Ms. Jeffers was quick to help, placing her in a chair.

Cromwell appeared, drying what was left of his hair. “Hello girls,” He said with a nervous giggle. “Talking about anything interesting.” He was ready to face the firing squad named Delores.

“I don't think she feels well,” Ms. Jeffers said, taking a few steps back.

“You okay, Delores? What happened?” Cromwell pretended to be concerned.

“I felt faint is all. I don't even remember why I came here.” Delores put hand to her forehead and massaged.

“You don't?” Cromwell and Ms. Jeffers said together.

Delores blinked a few times. “No...I don't. Someone called me and in no time I was in my car driving here...for what...I'm not sure of.”

Cromwell was confused for a minute. It dawned on him and a big ugly smile crawled on his face, the kind that frighten children. “Ms. Jeffers, tomorrow, get a hold of that nutcase I saw today. I think we can do business.”

“Are you sure?” She said.

Cromwell shrugged. “Yeah.. I'm sure. In the meantime, I'm taking my wife out to dinner.”

On the other side of town, through the heart of the city of iron and steel, high rises and subway system; was a broken down house with no windows and the top floor almost completely gone. Cromwell stood in the middle of the street staring at the weather beaten black house, avoiding a game of stick ball. He approached the house with much disparagement. His phone went off.

“Hey, sugarlips...what? Some men...police...oh. Yeah. They in the room with you...good....your in the toliet...oh, yeah, don't let them hear this. I did move some funds from the company bank account to my account. Yes, I know that's stealing from the company. It doesn't matter. Look, baby, with this soap all my sin's will be washed away. Yes. I do believe it. You saw what happened...Delores forgot about us...yesterday morning hit someones car and drove off. That afternoon I fired Benchley's son---yeah I know the twirp is on the board of directors....everything will be fine. In the morning we can hop a plane and off to the Carribean, baby! I gotta go.”

He stood on the porch, briefcase in hand, stepping in a black oil slick of some kind. Cromwell cursed under his breath. The door swung open. The little old man peeked out. He was delighted to see Cromwell.

“You came!” Brinkley stepped out on the porch. He pointed at the oil slick. “Watch your step. Another interested party tried to steal my soap and was caught in the rain.

“Did I have a choice?” Cromwell snarled. Brinkley ushered him inside the house, slammed the front door shut. Cromwell looked around the drafty house. Cobwebs at every corner, very dim lighting. Cromwell felt uneasy.

Brinkley locked the door. He smirked at a surprised Cromwell. “Can't take any chances.”

“Chances?” Cromwell looked around himself.

“Someone stealing my ingredients. No one can know the recipe...” Brinkley laughed. He took the stairs to the top floor, Cromwell following close behind.

“Where are we goin', pop's?”

“To my lab—where I make that wonderful soap.”

Cromwell stepped in the dank room. Half the floor was missing, one could see the downstairs. Ceiling was coming down, the beams were barely holding it up. Books littered the floor, several animal parts lay on a counter beside a knife stained with crimson. Jars on shelves lined the walls all around. He could only guess, but Cromwell wasn't sure, more animal parts. In the middle

of the room was a large black cauldron, steam rising from the top. A black book was next to the cauldron on a stand, opened to right page.

“You gotta be kiddin' me,” Cromwell said. “This is a joke.”

“No, Mr. Cromwell. This is serious business.” Brinkley looked into the cauldron,began stirring with a wooden plank as long as his arm. The water simmered, boiled to the top. It turned an orange- white when he popped in what looked like the foot of a dead dog.

“Oh, no,” Cromwell shook his head. “This is bullshit. You can't mass produce this soap this way.”

“I'm afraid this is the only way to make my soap. No other way, Mr. Cromwell.”

Cromwell rubbed his face with a hand. “I guess we can start slow. Go for the Organic market. Specialize in small shops first.” Cromwell opened his briefcase. “Get these signed. How much you want for this?”

“Two million.”

“What?!” Cromwell screamed. “We're not that big of a company..” It wasn't true, he was just cheap.

“I guess I could take it somewhere else..” Brinkley was smirking at him. “For my troubles.”

“What troubles? Hey, you never said where you came up with this--”

“No, no, Mr. Cromwell. I didn't come up with anything. You see, this recipe is an old family recipe...thousands of years old...I believe Jesus knew one of one of my family members.”

“Your crazy...but I think I can make something of your product. I need to know what does the trick.....tell me the recipe.'

Brinkley laughed again. This time the sound cut right through Cromwell. His face grew even more red with the look Brinkley was giving him.

“Your small mind wouldn't even comprehend it's concoction.”

“Your gonna tell me, you little fart.” Cromwell grabbed Brinkley by the throat with both hands. He squeezed as the little old man struggled to finish the last of his merriment. He squeezed until Brinkley's lips had released his last sigh. Cromwell let go of the old man, his limp body hit the floor.

Cromwell stared at the cauldron. Then at the book. “Shit,” He rubbed his face with a hand. “He's right. I don't understand it. Should have let him finish more soap, then killed him. Oh, well. Just hire someone to finish it.”

Cromwell's phone went off, the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly echoed throughout the house. It was Ms. Jeffers. He answered it quickly.”I'm comin',” He said.

Cromwell walked through the offices, through the lounge, past Ms. Jeffers and a plainclothes officer with two uniformed policemen. Ms. Jeffers tried to speak just as the all three policemen, all simultaneously. Cromwell put his hand up for quiet. He went into his office, smiling at them. They followed him in.

“Hey,” Cromwell said. “Can you give a guy a little time in the john?”

“Mr. Cromwell, I need to speak---”

Ms. Jeffers said, following him to the bathroom.

“Don't even think of any funny stuff--” The plainclothes officer said.

Cromwell slammed the door shut in every ones face. There was the sound of water running from the shower.

The plainclothes officer sighed and folded his arms.

“Mr. Cromwell needs several showers a day,” Ms. Jeffers flashed a smile.

“I'll bet he does,” One of the uniformed officers said sarcastically.

Cromwell screamed. They rushed to the door. Ms. Jeffers banged on the door, called out for him. The plainclothes officer nodded to the other two policemen. They brushed Ms. Jeffers aside. It took three tries, but the bathroom door was Jarred. The officers went inside, opened shower curtain, turned the shower off.

“What the hell?” One of them said.

Ms. Jeffers rushed in. Cromwell was no where in sight. Ms. Jeffers peered in the shower. All she could see was a large oil slick spread out on the shower mat.

Wide eyed, she threw both hands over her mouth to stifle a scream.