Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings (10 page)

Travis looked the grey little man straight in the eyes. “I had to see for myself what he did to her. I had to know exactly what it is that I need to do to this fucker when I finally catch him,” Travis said, his voice as cold and bleak as everything around him.

The man began to say something, then stopped himself, and instead gave Travis an understanding nod as if this weren’t the first time he heard someone say something like that. Then he grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it up.

««—»»

“Dude! Seriously, what the fuck?”

“Huh?” Travis snapped out of his memory and was shaking. Dew had his giant claw on Travis’ shoulder and was giving him a good jostling.

“Where the fuck do you keep going, my man?” Dew asked still shaking Travis.

“Please stop shaking me.”

“Oh, sorry.” Dew stopped. “But seriously, you having seizures or something?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Travis said absently.

Dew shrugged. “Whatever, man.” He tried to seem cavalier about it but Travis detected a slight hint of concern in the demon’s voice. He didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing.

As Travis gathered himself he started looking around and found he was standing in the middle of a bloodbath. Or at least it seemed that way as everything around him was awash in a deep, bloody red. From floor to ceiling, everything…red.
 
It made the narrow
 
tunnel they were in even more claustrophobic.

“Like stepping into a vein. Ain’t it?” Dew said.

“Kind of—” But Travis realized Dew had kept moving and was almost out of sight. He hurried to catch up, not wanting to be left alone.

Travis started to turn to catch up with Dew. He came around a slight bend to the left and barreled through a velvet curtain. The first thing that hit him was an assault of bass that threatened to burst his eardrums. The next thing to hit him was Dew’s back. It was like hitting a brick wall. Travis staggered back, dazed.

“Easy, boy.” And Dew took a step to the side. “We’re in…” And he held up his massive arms to the air and spun around. “This is gonna kick so much ass!”

No one seemed to notice the giant demon bellowing in the middle of the room. The room looked how you would expect a club in an old abandoned warehouse to look: dim, bleak, minimal. The low light hid the dirt and age. Long, plush couches lined the walls, while round sofas dotted the floor in little islands of comfort. All were littered with a human menagerie. Travis had kind of expected to see nothing but Goths in here. He had been to many clubs like this over the years looking for willing souls to participate in his little rituals. But Painfreak was different. There were Goths, sure, but the crowd was more than just that. The only word that seemed fitting to Travis was…normal. Most of the people here looked
normal.
No leather, vinyl, piercings, tattoos or bondage gear. Just normal people dancing, making out…fucking.

Travis was unimpressed. And Dew, as he always seemed to know what Travis was thinking, said, “Don’t be disappointed yet. This is just the warm-up area. Let’s get some drinks.”

Travis shrugged and said, “Alright.”

The bar was packed, but a nice wide opening seemed to miraculously appear as Dew approached. And just as he reached the bar, the bartender slid gracefully in front of the demon. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green and lit up like neon beneath severe black bangs even Bettie Page would envy. Her hair cut off just as severely at her creamy white shoulders. Travis let his eyes wander down the bartender’s figure as far as the bar would let him. From what he could tell, she was perfection in female form. And as she parted her dark red lips, Travis waited to hear what the voice of an angel sounded like.

“S’up, Dew, ya fuck?”

Turns out the “voice of an angel” sounded like a 50-year-old trucker from the Bronx named Sal. And apparently, Sal had been smoking since he was in the womb.

Dew turned and looked at Travis who stood there, jaw to the ground, slobbering. You would have thought it was the funniest thing Dew had ever seen as he let loose a belly laugh that rivaled the bass pumping throughout the air. Travis tried to gather himself up as he realized everyone was looking at him now.

Dew slapped his hand on the bar laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. He eventually pulled it together, “Travis, this here is Bobby. And don’t let those eyes and that body fool ya. Bobby’s packing enough meat to put even
me
to shame.”

Bobby gave Travis a smile that would make any man hand over his wallet, car keys and stock options in a second and followed it up with a neon green wink. Travis almost swooned. Then the voice: “What’s da fuck ya doin’ with dis shitbag? He ain’t nuthin’ but trouble…with a capital FUCK YOU!” Then Bobby and Dew exploded with laughter again as the gap at the bar widened a little more.

“Bobby! Set us up with some Mind-Fucks. Travis and I are gonna get tore up and then
tear up
some serious dick warmers.”

Bobby snorted. “You’se sure gots a way wit da words, Dew.” Then to Travis, “Dis fuck’s a real charmer, ain’t he?” Then Bobby didn’t walk away so much as disappear, only to return in a second with two giant glasses, filled with a purple liquid that Travis could have sworn screamed when Bobby set them on the bar.
 
When Travis blinked, Bobby was at the other end of the bar. Dew crammed one of the drinks into Travis’ hand.

“A toast to…”

“…pussy?” Travis said, seeing where this was going.

“TO PUSSY!” Dew yelled. And the rest of the bar joined him, everyone screaming back: “TO PUSSY!”

Travis took a big swig of his Mind-Fuck and…

««—»»

When Travis came to he found he was staring himself in the face. He quickly looked around only to discover he was standing in the middle of a large room. The relentless bass pounded in the distance. Travis could feel sweat sliding down his back and finding its way into his ass crack.
God it’s hot in here,
he thought. His eyes tracked around the room until he saw himself again. He jumped a little, then felt foolish as he realized he was staring into an enormous mirror. “Shit,” he said softly, lowering his head shakily. If he had been more observant, Travis would have noticed his reflection
not
do the same.

Travis raised his head again and stared at himself. He was old. But he didn’t look as old as he actually was. No, years of dark magic and rituals to extend his life so he could see his plan to the end had hidden his true age. But still, he almost didn’t recognize the man in the mirror anymore. Oh, it was him, he knew that, but even with the magic, the years of darkness had had its affect on him. Where once Travis stood well over six feet tall and straight as an arrow, his shoulders now slumped making him look smaller, turtle-like. His eyes sat behind smudged, thick glasses, making them look freakishly large. His bald head was peppered with dark brown spots, and his skin shone white in the dark room as though being lit from inside his body. “I am one pale-ass motherfucker,” he said to his image.

“You got that right, brother,” agreed his image.

Travis jumped back as if shot.

“And you peed yourself,” said his reflec…well it wasn’t really his reflection was it—definitely more his image—it didn’t mimic Travis’ actions at all. In fact, Travis felt hot piss streaming down his leg, but didn’t see his image in the mirror doing the same.

Travis stumbled back a couple of steps and quickly found himself on his ass. The fall stunned him as he looked to find out what he had fallen over. He began immediately backpedaling when he saw the young girl painted with the whitish-blue of death at his feet.

Travis’ image raised an eyebrow. “Nice work, my man.”

“I
 
d-d-didn’t…”

The image, grinning and eyes wide, nodded its head. “Oh yeah, you d-d-did.”

Travis looked at the girl’s body. The first thing he thought was,
no blood
. He followed the curvy contours of her shapely body up, up and up until he saw the necklace of hideous black and blue bruises she wore.

“You sure showed that bitch, huh, buddy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Travis retorted shakily.

Travis’ image adopted a confused expression. “You’ve killed before. I know,” he said with a slight grin while tapping his finger against his forehead. Then he shrugged: “What’s another dirty whore, right?”

Travis pushed himself up onto his knees. “I said, shut the fuck up!” His voice laced with venom.

The image held up his hands in defeat and took a step back into the darkness of the mirror becoming slightly smaller. “Okay, okay. Easy, buddy. Who am I to say what happened? I mean, after all, I was just there.”

The image took a step forward and leaned down a little and looked at Travis sideways. “Wanna see?” He moved off to the side and disappeared from the mirror, all except his hand, which gave a sweeping motion as an usher directing someone to their seat. Then the hand swept itself right out of the scene and all that was left was what Travis guessed was the same room he was currently in. Only there was a lot more light and a lot less death.

Travis sat on the edge of a bed, his head lolling to one side, the effects of the Mindfuck evident on his face by a stupid, wide-ass grin of drunkenness. The door to the room opened and the girl, who was currently dead in front of Travis, walked in. She was dressed in a typical fetish schoolgirl outfit. Travis saw his face appear from the edge of the mirror and toss him a wink. “Fucking love the naughty school girl, don’t we? Ironic, huh?”

Travis returned the comment with a cold stare.

“Okay, maybe not ironic. Just fucked up.” Then the head disappeared again.

Travis watched as the scene unfolded in front of him like low-grade, homemade porn. The girl danced around, asked if she was naughty and if she would be punished. “Oh, you’ll be punished,” the drunk Travis said. Then the same voice from off screen, “You show that bitch, boy!” Followed by loud laughter.

Travis didn’t appreciate commentary from the audience. The laughter faded as drunk Travis ordered the girl to strip. Which she did, like a pro, all the while performing the shy, scared, little girl act. The girl was ordered to the bed. Travis watched himself bind the girl to the wrought iron headboard with straps he hadn’t noticed before. None of this really surprised him as he had done this and worse over the years.

Travis watched himself clumsily strip naked and cringed at his white and shriveled body.

His face appeared again. “When this is all over, we need to do some serious crunches and shit. We look like crap.” Then he shrank off to the side again shaking his head in shame.

The scene had continued and Travis saw himself mounting the girl. He pushed her legs up and placed his hands on the back of her knees and pushed them up as far as he could until her knees were pressed tight against her shoulders. She made some pleasure groans, sticking to the script. Travis laid his weight onto the girls legs to hold her in place so he could fumble his half-hard cock into her exposed and wonderfully-shaved pussy. It was a sad sight, like watching a teenage boy try and fuck for the first time.

“Need a little of the magic Blue-V, my man!”

Travis winced, ashamed that he agreed. He watched himself unromantically and mercilessly pound into the hot, little whore. He kind of wished he remembered some of it; but not for long, because the tone of the scene began to change. Travis’ thrusts grew harder and more desperate, he laid into the girl, pinning her beneath his body. He may have been old and not what he once was, but he still weighed a lot more than her and it was clear she was trapped. Then the drunk Travis began yelling. He pounded into the girl, lying directly on top of her. She tried to push him off, but with his body he held her fast as he fell onto her again and again. “Fucking bitch! You like that, whore? Fucking take it! I’m gonna fuck ya til you scream, you fucking whore!”