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Mike lay on the bed with his hands behind his head. The TriV slid out, and the little devil’s face leered.
“Gracious unholy penis! A message from the glorious lady of your
sweetest wet dreams. May I attend it now?”
Mike grimaced. “Yeah.”
The red suit disappeared in a green fart, and Cindy drifted from
the screen.
“Mike, darling,” she said, smiling. Her face changed. “Is
there a problem?”
“Huh?” Mike forced a smile. “I have a fever.” His voice
grew husky. “And you got the cure. When is this going to end, honey?”
Face growing cold, Cindy glanced away. “I have it on good
authority another party is out for our pet.”
Her pet, maybe, but not Mike’s.
She drifted over him. The image began to shiver, the reception
going bad.
“Damn,” she muttered. Then the TriV slid back into the wall,
and she was gone. Lying on the bed, Mike frowned. The dull thump of mortars was
in the distance, coming closer with the dawn.
The sun was rising, and a cold wind whistled through the shattered
windows of the building. Wailing as he changed, the shon:gili fell over the remains of his meal. Staring down at it,
Carl groaned, trying not to vomit. He looked away, his head sagging between
hunched shoulders.
Just behind closed eyes he could see the pieces of the demon tied
to loose nerve endings. It was screaming and cursing, the voice tinny in
Carl’s mind. Carl tapped his head, and the body’s electricity hissed through
the nerves. The demon’s hair stood on end, and it wailed a shriek.
“Shut it, fruit,” Carl said. He stretched and rolled away from
the corpse. Eyes avoiding it, the man stripped the rags from the body, and Carl
dressed in them. The reek of burst intestines and blood was on the clothes, but
there was no helping it. His nails clawed at the glowing emblem of the
hunter’s blockhouse. Tiny sparks shattered under the nails, and the light
dulled; any signal it was sending did as well.
Carl stilled, staring into the rising sun. If there was a safer
place to spend the day, he didn’t know it. No one was going to come seeking
the body. Not here, even after sunrise.
And his kid was out there, somewhere.
“Please.” Harrison was weeping. “Don’t make me go back.”
“But, sir,” Henri said, his voice soothing. “You yourself
often said such treatment is good for the soul.”
Smiling at a couple of court officers, he shoved Harrison’s head
down and into the rear of the limousine.
“Please?”
"Look, you be manly about this. Think of it as your coming
out time. You know, pretend you are a man and not a sick little Party-boy. Take
the downers you got in the liquor cabinet there, and drink a bottle of
whiskey.”
"But it’ll kill me!”
Henri gave the judge a gentle, fatherly pat on the head.
“Hey, better than what Tommy got planned, ain’t it?”
A throaty, sweet voice called out to Henri.
“Driver? Is this Judge Harrison’s car?”
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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