Post by Logan on Aug 20, 2013 18:31:50 GMT -5
The walls were made up of smooth river rocks; gracious enough in size to only require a few hundred to build a formidable structure. A tunnel of stone. This appearance resembled that of a cave, a quiet dark and musty dwelling hidden beneath the floors of Logan’s house. Beyond the hall of stones and the dimmed L.E.D lights that encased its walls, a massive steel door found shelter amongst the rocks, placed specifically on the tunnels dead-end. The door was ajar, candlelight dancing from within its cracks; dancing on the strings of Mei’s curiosity while she pushed on.
Logan: Lost?
His voice from behind startled her enough to take her off her feet from fright. She turned to him after settling down and letting the banging drum in her heart slow to a more steady comfortable rhythm.
Mei: Master Logan.
Logan: Ms. Jizzaboudle.
He was very fashionable for the day, clothed in a well-fitting gray buttoned up vest with an equally beautiful shirt tucked under it. He couldn’t have been calmer, crossing his brown leather wingtips, back pressed into the stone, arms folded with an electric cigarette hanging from his mouth. Every aspect from his posture to outfit fine-tuned, if only cut out for him and not another soul.
Mei: What is this place?
The end of the cigarette glowed blue light and puffs of vapor crept out from his lips.
Logan: Not a place for thieves.
Mei: Oh?
Logan: Or curious Japanese women. You are curious aren’t you?
Mei: Yes.
Logan: And are you a thief?
Mei: No, Master, but even so… I see nothing to take.
His eyes glanced past her and to the door harboring candlelight behind it.
Logan: Go on… have a look.
A layer of danger thickened the air. She had her reservations observing her Master’s scared treasures while still amongst his presence. He had gone through great lengths to have this place built and it was only by chance she discovered it when withdrawing a book from the library within his home. A piece of the floor sliding back to reveal a staircase underground still fresh in her mind and nothing but if difficult not to forget. If this was secretive and only to him, it might not be best to explore any further given his nature. She did not want to share his secrets. What of the consequences that followed? From her experience with him, she doubted he could genuinely trust an individual, and at times his range of paranoia was far too much for the sane. Her best option was to leave and not ever again look back to the hall of stones hidden beneath his house.
Logan: Second thoughts, Ms. Jizzaboudle?
Mei: I have no interest.
Logan: You’re a terrible liar.
She suspected the more time spent soaking in his presence would heighten her skills to the art of lying. He appeared to be so talented with it that she continually felt it to be difficult to know just when he was being truthful… or if he ever was.
Mei: Is it terrifying?
He pondered that for a mere second.
Logan: Well.. do you find witches terrifying?
Mei: Yes.
Logan: Then yes.
Mei: You have a witch down here?!
He nodded. The smile on his face telling her he quite enjoyed her panic.
Logan: A very mischievous witch.
Her eyes betrayed her and would not look away from the door despite her greatest efforts.
Logan: One who bathes in the blood of her victims.
The warmth of his breath blanketed her ear.
Logan: She’d kill her own Mother if it gave her a little joy to do so…
The jarred door spread open further, crackling madness from its hinges.
Logan: Maybe she did.
Fear gripped its razor nails into her shoulders and kept her immobilized while the two looked on towards the opening door. She half expected a mythical creature with crocodile skin and black teeth to lunge out from the darkness, but nothing of the sort happened. For what was revealed of the room was nothing better than a single red wig lying lonesome on the floor. Nothing else and nothing more.
Mei: Master Logan?
She titled her head to the side, finding his face there, compelled by the sight before them. He gently pushed past her, approaching the room with great awe, and bending over to take the red wig into both of his hands. She watched him become enchanted by its presence. He was drawn to it more than anything else she had ever seen. Why go through such great lengths, employ men to build a secret passage from your house to a stoned cave, only to hide a red wig and only that?
Logan: She…
He swallowed his words, never breaking eye contact from the wig within his hands.
Logan: She challenged me. She really challenged me.
Mei: Sarah Twilight?
Logan: Any soul could have walked through that black curtain, but it was her who wanted to return. It was her who wanted to face me… fight me.
Mei: And you despise her?
A bit of jealously danced over her hearts chords. Never had she seen him display such passion for another woman. Not even her, and that was when they were intimate. A wig she thought, he loved a wig more than her.
Logan: No.
Mei: … love her?
Logan: No.
That relieved her.
Mei: Then who is this Sarah Twilight that has brought you to your knees?
Logan: She has everything that I need.
Mei: And what is that, Master Logan?
Logan: A fight worthy of being great. Someone who will return the favor when I dig my fingers into her eyes and try to claw them out, someone to stand off before me when the blood that stains the ring is greater than what’s left pumping through her body. Does she understand that’s what I want? I think so. Isn’t that why she returned and picked me? I do like to believe so. She’s the half that I need to enjoy a good battle. Maybe even the only person here capable of filling such a void.
Mei: What’s glorious about violence?
Logan: I don’t know, but I like it, Ms. Jizzaboudle. I really do.
A terrible aroma lifted off the floor and into the air. She peeked over his shoulder to examine the source and found that he had set fire to the wig.
Mei: You’re burning it. Why?!
He looked over the red wig watching it curl up in tiny balls of black and smolder under the flame.
Logan: I no longer need it.
The day continued pulling the sun from the sky and replacing it with a moon. Mei left him earlier once the night came forth. He denied her a place to rest in his house. No one but him slept here. Alone by his computer, he checked over the days e-mails, and its tweets;
@ TheOnlyOne
Speak of hotdogs and proclaiming yourself a Messiah to the masses of sheep will not save you the suffering you are to endure. You cannot save them, nor can you save yourself. Even the very God believed by the sheep to be upon the heavens has an adversary.
@ TheOnlyOne
If you so desire to claim yourself a God among men, bear your cross and you shall become a martyr at my hands. The burden rests upon your shoulders. I am your adversary, and you shall drink from the cup of my wrath.
He went to respond to her tweet to him however nothing came. No threats of tickets or boudle name calling to entertain a tweet. Not a single word to pet the ego. He found himself in agreement with her message. Suffering, Sarah Twilight? That sounded right on track with what he wanted and what he would also give. His hands kept still over the keyboard.
Logan: Maybe I won’t reply at all.
Her message stared back at him.
Logan: Yes. She does not deserve a response, not today for that matter. I will make her wait for it. Maybe she’ll worry that I haven’t answered back with trash-talk. What’s the need? Why does this matter? Why am I overthinking this?!
A surge of rage burned in his veins and he pushed the laptop off his desk and watched it fall onto the floor. The screen on the device cracked into tiny lines that resembled spider webs.
Logan: She broke my computer…
He really had no one to blame for destroying the laptop other than his own self. With Sarah Twilight, all armor was removed. No guards to shield his brain. And was that what she had done? Somehow slipped into his brain?
Logan: No one gets under my skin. Maybe Torture. But I don’t mind him being there, and well, she isn’t no Torture. What if she’s watching this right now? Of course I can lead her to believe that she has gotten to me, and that I am genuinely unsettled by her. However what edge does this bring me? And why do I need an edge? To win? I’m not here to further a reputation or brag victory over Sarah Twilight. I only want to make her bleed.
His fist balled and knuckles whitened.
Logan: You will bleed, Sarah Twilight.
With all the resemblance of a rocket launching off, his tightened fist shot inwards and into his own stomach resulting in him hunching over and holding onto the desk for his own support.
Logan: Thank you.. Sarah..
He said in-between excited pain filled gasps. He dealt with another stiff shot of personal punishment to the gut. It was logical to him. Made him crave Sarah Twilight’s assault even more, and he only hoped her pain was equally satisfying. This was his way of filling the void until Sunday.
Logan: Thank you for returning for me. When I stood in the ring, waiting for a challenger, looking past the trashcan in a suit that is Eric Price… I dreamed of Torture walking through the curtain, glaring into my eyes. The yin to my yang. And then you came… and I was actually… happier that it was you and no one else. I couldn’t have asked for better. You’re all I need, Sarah Twilight. All I’ve ever really needed. So let me wait these torturous few days until Sunday comes. I’m patient. I can wait for the One. I’ve been waiting… for months…
The following is manuscripts discovered in the library of Logan’s house by a reporter while Logan was being treated at the Chesapeake Bay Mental Care Institute. He entitled the following, ‘Waiting For The One’. They’re now being released to the public for the first time. A true documentation of his mental break.
Whatever happened to me may’ve been tragic; tragic enough that I do not recall any life altering event of the sort. Mind numbing. I do not feel like a victim and never have. Maybe I was simply born this way and along the lines I developed an extremely bad memory of my youth. Surely if I ever had a parent worth a damn they would have claimed me by now given my national success and recognition. Do Jay Price and I really share a Mother? That’s absurd. The women forged those DNA results for publicity.
Telling me I was birthed from a jackal may’ve well been equally convincing, and speaking of creatures I can still recall the first time my eyes laid sight on the red headed one; Sarah Twilight. Not to jump off topic but… well… she is the reason I’m even writing this. I owe everything in here to her.
Around the time I returned to the ring she was just exiting. Those sparks in her eyes that led her through countless victories the months before now absent and lost. Had she lost her taste for it all? Felt betrayed by her inability to defeat Jonny Fly? Whatever the case she was gone. This is only speculation of course; maybe it was my return that drove her away and cast her out of the spotlight.
That’s selfish of me to say, really, but that’s what I like to believe. And a shame. Oh, what a shame. She had so much left to show us. More pints of blood to spill. Bye, Sarah Twilight. You are truly missed.
Was it her that entered my house while I slept and left her signature mark of red? When I awoke I discovered my bathroom mirror with graffiti of what appeared to be red lipstick. The message plain and simple, ‘Miss me?’. A question I found myself answering right then and there… yes, Ms. Twilight. I did.
Never recalled her wearing any makeup much less lipstick though I couldn’t imagine who else this could’ve been. It was my Sarah, the only one I missed. She even left the lipstick for me. A souvenir to treasure.
And despite the countless jokes of thrusts and jumbo hotdogs… never once did I find an ounce of sexual attraction for her. Yes she was a woman and yes she deserved a second look whenever she passed, but there seemed to be more to her than what a simple pelvic thrust could call for. Not only that, you see over the years I’ve found sex to be boring, just something to entertain another and not myself. It’s a waste of time for me. Sex is completely useless. I find my thrill in violence.
I believed she felt the same way. Was that why she was drawn to me and left this beautiful message for me to find? That evening another appeared in the exact spot colored in red. ‘Why did you leave?’ was all it asked. The message appeared more confusing to me than her entering my house and leaving it without me seeing her. Another item was left behind for me; a pair of rose tinted sunglasses. I couldn’t resist trying them on while attempting to decipher her question.
Wearing an item of hers made me feel oddly closer to Sarah. It was as if she deliberately left them here for me to wear and come to such realization. She just knew I’d pick them up. And I did feel closer. I could feel her in the room with me now, telling me how nice I looked in her shades. The mourning of her absence no longer felt so troubling, because she was here with me now… somewhere in this house. Where are you, Sarah Twilight?
I hadn’t been to work in over a month. Seth Lerch rang a few times but I didn’t answer. If Sarah Twilight heard my voice it might scare her off. I knew she was still here. I didn’t dare leave either; well not until those lazy bastards finished installing all the security cameras. Day and night I crept through the house, hoping to find her while she slept in one of the many bedrooms of my mansion. I never could. The signs of her lurking presence still continued however.
Going over seventy hours without a touch of sleep can really fuck with a person. The rings around my eyes were turning black and just today I lost balance while walking down the stairs and nearly fell over the side of them. Maybe I fell asleep while walking? It was hard to tell. Sarah however is persistent. She too has yet to sleep, and if she could endure so could I… she even left me a cheesy omelet on the kitchen counter. They were my eggs but hey, how generous of her to make sure I was fed during this game of cat and mouse. And how the hell did she pull that off? Maybe I did go to sleep and she made the meal then. Damnit! I don’t remember sleeping…
By this point I have lost track of time. People say that sometimes, use it as an expression. I really have. I’m not even sure if I’m actually awake right now. I think I am. I better be if I want to find her. She’s not going to pull another stunt again, not like before in the kitchen.
I broke. The witch has gotten the better of me. I heard her laughs echoing from the third floor while I cried out her name over and over again. She was taunting me. Why are you torturing me, Sarah Twilight?
A second wind. Back in the game. I caught the young kid that lives next door passing by and I called to him from my window. The hell if I’m leaving this house now and giving that bitch a chance to escape. I can’t remember how much I actually paid him but he returned later with what I requested… five gallons of white paint. With the paint I carefully poured it along the halls I believed she frequented the most. This would at least muddy her prints and make her easier to track. You’re mine now, Twilight.
A single foot print. Only one. The only one that mattered! I laid the paint in surprising places too, how had she been so careful to avoid them? And I knew the print wasn’t one of my own because it was far too small when I stuck my boot beside it and compared. It led to the bathroom where this hunt originally began. A red wig sat on the sink counter. Why did she need a wig? It was then that the corner of my eyes picked up on the real treasure. Just behind the shower curtain a figure stood still. The curtain blinded my vision, making it too dark to make out, but something was obviously there. It had to be her. I finally found her!
…
… help.
Logan? Pffft!
August 2012. Revenge.. this Sunday.. D-Day. D-Day will suffer. Donald Deruty does not matter. Only I matter. I’m the only one who matters!
Where did Logan go? I could’ve sworn I seen him. What does he think he’s doing lurking about in MY house?
A knock echoed from below on the first floor. Hank Brown had asked to come over today and pick Logan’s brain about Sarah Twilight. He agreed, and it appeared that Hank had arrived just on the time he promised. Logan answered the door, inviting Hank in and offering him a glass of unsweetened ice tea, to which Hank accepted.
Hank Brown: This iced tea is absolutely tasty, Logan. Thank you!
Logan grinned slipping an electric cigarette in-between his lips.
Logan: You’re most welcome.
Hank Brown: Mind if I have another?
Logan: Go on.
The interview reached forward grabbing the ice cold pitcher into his hand and poured another glass. He looked over Logan’s empty glass and nodded to him.
Logan: Please.
The tea rolled off the pitchers spout and into Logan’s glass.
Hank Brown: Last Sunday was a little shocking to say the least. Did you expect Sarah Twilight if not anyone else to answer your challenge?
Logan: Of course not. I was just as surprised as you.
Hank Brown: And how do you feel now that she has answered your challenge?
Logan: How do you feel?
Hank Brown: Me?
Logan: Yes.
Hank Brown: I feel great!
Within the moment of those final words escaping his mouth, Hank’s head fell backwards into the chair and his eyes closed. Logan thought such a presentation to be extremely comical. He muttered out a sharp crackle that he had trouble resisting. Hank, alive and full one second and snoozed out the next.
Logan: It’s about time. For a moment I thought I might have given you wrong the glass. You honestly had me concerned there for a while. You’re going to do more than just a simple interview today, Hank. Wait… you can’t hear me can you?
He leaned forward and patted Hank on the cheek.
Logan: Hank?
The sleeping interviewer failed to respond.
Logan: Wonderful! This stuff works pretty good…
He finished off his iced tea and then wiped off his mouth turning attention towards the kitchen.
Logan: Ms. Jizzaboudle!
She scurried out from the kitchen and knelt beside her Master’s side.
Logan: Did you complete todays task?
Mei: Yes, Lord Logan.
Logan: Let me see.
She ran back to the kitchen and returned with a black trash bag; needles peeked through protruding from all directions.
Logan: Brilliant.
Mei: Yes, Master. Very brilliant.
Logan: How did you find them?
Mei: I looked where you instructed me to.
Logan: I figured that would be a good place to find used needles.
Mei: Yes, Master. Lots of addicts occupy the area.
Logan: Is that a half broken crack pipe?
Mei: Yes, Master Logan.
Logan: Jackpot.
He moved to Hank’s head while Mei moved to his feet. They cuffed Hank by his arms and feet, and effectively smashed a strip of tape over his mouth to keep him mute.
Logan: I much prefer him this way. He is a horrible interviewer.
Mei: Very so, Master.
Logan: Pull the car around front and open the trunk.
The afternoon sun shined with full glory. Time had passed since the oh-so brief interview in Logan’s house that ended with a Hank Brown nap. Logan and Mei pushed their knees into the sandy surface of a playground sandbox in the yard of an elementary school. The trash bag full of used heroin syringes laid opened between them while they carefully placed each one into the children’s pit and brushed sand over it. After a slow tedious effort, only a few of the dirty needles remained, and Logan adoringly watched Mei hide one of the final needles into the sand.
Logan: I’m surprised neither of us have been pricked ye –
Mei: Ow!
He fell backwards and edged away from Mei as if she were suddenly turning zombie.
Logan: Don’t touch me!
Mei let her head fall back, letting out a very joy filled laugh.
Logan: What’s so funny about AIDS, Ms. Jizzaboudle?
Mei: A joke, Master Logan. I am fine. See?
She pulled the trash bag up and gave him a view to the emptiness that remained.
Mei: Joke.
Logan: Oh… ha.. ha.
He stared over her awkwardly. The comedic moment fell flat when a bell rang from within the school.
Logan: Quickly, Ms. Jizzaboudle. I think recess is beginning shortly.
She carefully stepped out of the sandbox full of used needles and hurried behind Logan. The two took cover around the side of his car, staying out of sight from the children as they rushed outside into the playground with the teachers behind them.
Logan: Don’t be so anxious, Ms. Jizzaboudle. They will get there eventually.
Mei: Sorry, Master Logan. I cannot help myself.
He reassured Mei, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Logan: This is your first sandbox isn’t it?
Mei: Yes, Lord.
Logan: It’s okay. We’ve all got to start somewhere.
Mei: I am glad that my first sandbox was with you, Master.
Logan: Indeed.
Mei: Master Logan?
Logan: Yes, Ms. Jizzaboudle?
Mei: What does Hank Brown have to do with this?
Logan: Nothing. I just wanted to put him in the trunk.
Much to the dismay of Logan, none of the kids have yet wondered into the disease ridden sandbox. A teacher stepped over near the trap, keeping an eye on the kids and a cellphone to her ear. The teacher’s eyes wondered down past her phone and into the sand, discovering the tip of a plunger poking from the sands surface.
Logan: Must have been one of yours. Damn rookie.
Mei’s face fell into her palms to cover her leaking eyes.
Mei: Sorry, Master Logan. So sorry!
Logan: Save it.
He feared that the teacher may call the cops while she further examined the sandbox, finding another dirty needle.
Logan: Stay.
He took action into his hands, tucking his fingers into the inwards of his vest and adjusting properly. He stepped out from the cover of the car and marched over to the teacher who had now only noticed him.
Logan: Detective Logan with the EPPW department.
He nearly pushed a backstage EPPW pass into her face, giving her only a spilt second to view it. He wanted to push her; push that party pooper straight into the bed of needles.
Logan: I see I am right in time. Have you called police?
Teacher: No.. I was just going to –
Logan: Don’t worry. I’ll phone it in.
Teacher: I’m sorry, you’re with what department?
Logan: EPP (cough). Let me guess, sandbox full of needles?
Teacher: Yes!
Logan: My God. That woman has no limits. Just look at all these children…
Teacher: A woman did this?
Logan: Not a woman. A damn witch.
The teacher was more than shocked.
Teacher: Who could be capable of such an act?
Logan: Sarah Twilight.
Teacher: Sarah Twilight?
Logan: Yes, ma’am. A very dangerous person. I’d advise you to tell all these kids to stay away from any woman with red hair. She may be back.
Teacher: Of course!
Logan: Step back, ma’am. This is a crime scene.
Reaching out an arm he purposely pushed the teacher back into the sandbox of needles. He acted amazed with shock upon hearing her pitiful yelp of humiliation and pain.
Logan: Jesus Christ. Ma’am, are you okay? Let me help you up.
He reached out another treacherous hand, grabbing hers, pulling her off the surface of heroin needle infested sand and then releasing his grip to watch her fall back down.
Logan: I’m so sorry. Are you wearing lotion, ma’am? Your hands are so slippery.
He had trouble battling off a smirk and soon it developed into a full-fledged grin. She noticed this, staring at the monster above her in horror.
Teacher: You did this!
Logan: Me?
Teacher: You evil fuck!
Logan: I’m a detective! Haven’t you been listening to me?
Teacher: Dear God.. where’s my phone? I’m afraid to move. Every time I do I get poked.
Logan: Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m a detective… I’ll find your phone.
His eyes scanned the surrounding area and soon lit up upon finding her device.
Logan: Is this it, ma’am?
Teacher: Yes! Give it to me please!
He dropped the phone into his pocket.
Logan: I can’t do that. This is evidence.
Teacher: You’re not even a fuckin’ cop are you!
Logan: HEY!
Teacher: What?!
Logan: SHUT UP! BOUDLE!
His hands went to cover his mouth – oh what was the point – his lips burst open and he let the uncontrolled laughter flow. She stared at him in amazement of witnessing such an act from another human being while he backed away from her, howling out with chuckles and awkward snorts. He left the infected teacher there, grabbing Mei from behind the car, and getting in to flee the scene.
Logan: Lost?
His voice from behind startled her enough to take her off her feet from fright. She turned to him after settling down and letting the banging drum in her heart slow to a more steady comfortable rhythm.
Mei: Master Logan.
Logan: Ms. Jizzaboudle.
He was very fashionable for the day, clothed in a well-fitting gray buttoned up vest with an equally beautiful shirt tucked under it. He couldn’t have been calmer, crossing his brown leather wingtips, back pressed into the stone, arms folded with an electric cigarette hanging from his mouth. Every aspect from his posture to outfit fine-tuned, if only cut out for him and not another soul.
Mei: What is this place?
The end of the cigarette glowed blue light and puffs of vapor crept out from his lips.
Logan: Not a place for thieves.
Mei: Oh?
Logan: Or curious Japanese women. You are curious aren’t you?
Mei: Yes.
Logan: And are you a thief?
Mei: No, Master, but even so… I see nothing to take.
His eyes glanced past her and to the door harboring candlelight behind it.
Logan: Go on… have a look.
A layer of danger thickened the air. She had her reservations observing her Master’s scared treasures while still amongst his presence. He had gone through great lengths to have this place built and it was only by chance she discovered it when withdrawing a book from the library within his home. A piece of the floor sliding back to reveal a staircase underground still fresh in her mind and nothing but if difficult not to forget. If this was secretive and only to him, it might not be best to explore any further given his nature. She did not want to share his secrets. What of the consequences that followed? From her experience with him, she doubted he could genuinely trust an individual, and at times his range of paranoia was far too much for the sane. Her best option was to leave and not ever again look back to the hall of stones hidden beneath his house.
Logan: Second thoughts, Ms. Jizzaboudle?
Mei: I have no interest.
Logan: You’re a terrible liar.
She suspected the more time spent soaking in his presence would heighten her skills to the art of lying. He appeared to be so talented with it that she continually felt it to be difficult to know just when he was being truthful… or if he ever was.
Mei: Is it terrifying?
He pondered that for a mere second.
Logan: Well.. do you find witches terrifying?
Mei: Yes.
Logan: Then yes.
Mei: You have a witch down here?!
He nodded. The smile on his face telling her he quite enjoyed her panic.
Logan: A very mischievous witch.
Her eyes betrayed her and would not look away from the door despite her greatest efforts.
Logan: One who bathes in the blood of her victims.
The warmth of his breath blanketed her ear.
Logan: She’d kill her own Mother if it gave her a little joy to do so…
The jarred door spread open further, crackling madness from its hinges.
Logan: Maybe she did.
Fear gripped its razor nails into her shoulders and kept her immobilized while the two looked on towards the opening door. She half expected a mythical creature with crocodile skin and black teeth to lunge out from the darkness, but nothing of the sort happened. For what was revealed of the room was nothing better than a single red wig lying lonesome on the floor. Nothing else and nothing more.
Mei: Master Logan?
She titled her head to the side, finding his face there, compelled by the sight before them. He gently pushed past her, approaching the room with great awe, and bending over to take the red wig into both of his hands. She watched him become enchanted by its presence. He was drawn to it more than anything else she had ever seen. Why go through such great lengths, employ men to build a secret passage from your house to a stoned cave, only to hide a red wig and only that?
Logan: She…
He swallowed his words, never breaking eye contact from the wig within his hands.
Logan: She challenged me. She really challenged me.
Mei: Sarah Twilight?
Logan: Any soul could have walked through that black curtain, but it was her who wanted to return. It was her who wanted to face me… fight me.
Mei: And you despise her?
A bit of jealously danced over her hearts chords. Never had she seen him display such passion for another woman. Not even her, and that was when they were intimate. A wig she thought, he loved a wig more than her.
Logan: No.
Mei: … love her?
Logan: No.
That relieved her.
Mei: Then who is this Sarah Twilight that has brought you to your knees?
Logan: She has everything that I need.
Mei: And what is that, Master Logan?
Logan: A fight worthy of being great. Someone who will return the favor when I dig my fingers into her eyes and try to claw them out, someone to stand off before me when the blood that stains the ring is greater than what’s left pumping through her body. Does she understand that’s what I want? I think so. Isn’t that why she returned and picked me? I do like to believe so. She’s the half that I need to enjoy a good battle. Maybe even the only person here capable of filling such a void.
Mei: What’s glorious about violence?
Logan: I don’t know, but I like it, Ms. Jizzaboudle. I really do.
A terrible aroma lifted off the floor and into the air. She peeked over his shoulder to examine the source and found that he had set fire to the wig.
Mei: You’re burning it. Why?!
He looked over the red wig watching it curl up in tiny balls of black and smolder under the flame.
Logan: I no longer need it.
The day continued pulling the sun from the sky and replacing it with a moon. Mei left him earlier once the night came forth. He denied her a place to rest in his house. No one but him slept here. Alone by his computer, he checked over the days e-mails, and its tweets;
@ TheOnlyOne
Speak of hotdogs and proclaiming yourself a Messiah to the masses of sheep will not save you the suffering you are to endure. You cannot save them, nor can you save yourself. Even the very God believed by the sheep to be upon the heavens has an adversary.
@ TheOnlyOne
If you so desire to claim yourself a God among men, bear your cross and you shall become a martyr at my hands. The burden rests upon your shoulders. I am your adversary, and you shall drink from the cup of my wrath.
He went to respond to her tweet to him however nothing came. No threats of tickets or boudle name calling to entertain a tweet. Not a single word to pet the ego. He found himself in agreement with her message. Suffering, Sarah Twilight? That sounded right on track with what he wanted and what he would also give. His hands kept still over the keyboard.
Logan: Maybe I won’t reply at all.
Her message stared back at him.
Logan: Yes. She does not deserve a response, not today for that matter. I will make her wait for it. Maybe she’ll worry that I haven’t answered back with trash-talk. What’s the need? Why does this matter? Why am I overthinking this?!
A surge of rage burned in his veins and he pushed the laptop off his desk and watched it fall onto the floor. The screen on the device cracked into tiny lines that resembled spider webs.
Logan: She broke my computer…
He really had no one to blame for destroying the laptop other than his own self. With Sarah Twilight, all armor was removed. No guards to shield his brain. And was that what she had done? Somehow slipped into his brain?
Logan: No one gets under my skin. Maybe Torture. But I don’t mind him being there, and well, she isn’t no Torture. What if she’s watching this right now? Of course I can lead her to believe that she has gotten to me, and that I am genuinely unsettled by her. However what edge does this bring me? And why do I need an edge? To win? I’m not here to further a reputation or brag victory over Sarah Twilight. I only want to make her bleed.
His fist balled and knuckles whitened.
Logan: You will bleed, Sarah Twilight.
With all the resemblance of a rocket launching off, his tightened fist shot inwards and into his own stomach resulting in him hunching over and holding onto the desk for his own support.
Logan: Thank you.. Sarah..
He said in-between excited pain filled gasps. He dealt with another stiff shot of personal punishment to the gut. It was logical to him. Made him crave Sarah Twilight’s assault even more, and he only hoped her pain was equally satisfying. This was his way of filling the void until Sunday.
Logan: Thank you for returning for me. When I stood in the ring, waiting for a challenger, looking past the trashcan in a suit that is Eric Price… I dreamed of Torture walking through the curtain, glaring into my eyes. The yin to my yang. And then you came… and I was actually… happier that it was you and no one else. I couldn’t have asked for better. You’re all I need, Sarah Twilight. All I’ve ever really needed. So let me wait these torturous few days until Sunday comes. I’m patient. I can wait for the One. I’ve been waiting… for months…
The following is manuscripts discovered in the library of Logan’s house by a reporter while Logan was being treated at the Chesapeake Bay Mental Care Institute. He entitled the following, ‘Waiting For The One’. They’re now being released to the public for the first time. A true documentation of his mental break.
Whatever happened to me may’ve been tragic; tragic enough that I do not recall any life altering event of the sort. Mind numbing. I do not feel like a victim and never have. Maybe I was simply born this way and along the lines I developed an extremely bad memory of my youth. Surely if I ever had a parent worth a damn they would have claimed me by now given my national success and recognition. Do Jay Price and I really share a Mother? That’s absurd. The women forged those DNA results for publicity.
Telling me I was birthed from a jackal may’ve well been equally convincing, and speaking of creatures I can still recall the first time my eyes laid sight on the red headed one; Sarah Twilight. Not to jump off topic but… well… she is the reason I’m even writing this. I owe everything in here to her.
Around the time I returned to the ring she was just exiting. Those sparks in her eyes that led her through countless victories the months before now absent and lost. Had she lost her taste for it all? Felt betrayed by her inability to defeat Jonny Fly? Whatever the case she was gone. This is only speculation of course; maybe it was my return that drove her away and cast her out of the spotlight.
That’s selfish of me to say, really, but that’s what I like to believe. And a shame. Oh, what a shame. She had so much left to show us. More pints of blood to spill. Bye, Sarah Twilight. You are truly missed.
Was it her that entered my house while I slept and left her signature mark of red? When I awoke I discovered my bathroom mirror with graffiti of what appeared to be red lipstick. The message plain and simple, ‘Miss me?’. A question I found myself answering right then and there… yes, Ms. Twilight. I did.
Never recalled her wearing any makeup much less lipstick though I couldn’t imagine who else this could’ve been. It was my Sarah, the only one I missed. She even left the lipstick for me. A souvenir to treasure.
And despite the countless jokes of thrusts and jumbo hotdogs… never once did I find an ounce of sexual attraction for her. Yes she was a woman and yes she deserved a second look whenever she passed, but there seemed to be more to her than what a simple pelvic thrust could call for. Not only that, you see over the years I’ve found sex to be boring, just something to entertain another and not myself. It’s a waste of time for me. Sex is completely useless. I find my thrill in violence.
I believed she felt the same way. Was that why she was drawn to me and left this beautiful message for me to find? That evening another appeared in the exact spot colored in red. ‘Why did you leave?’ was all it asked. The message appeared more confusing to me than her entering my house and leaving it without me seeing her. Another item was left behind for me; a pair of rose tinted sunglasses. I couldn’t resist trying them on while attempting to decipher her question.
Wearing an item of hers made me feel oddly closer to Sarah. It was as if she deliberately left them here for me to wear and come to such realization. She just knew I’d pick them up. And I did feel closer. I could feel her in the room with me now, telling me how nice I looked in her shades. The mourning of her absence no longer felt so troubling, because she was here with me now… somewhere in this house. Where are you, Sarah Twilight?
I hadn’t been to work in over a month. Seth Lerch rang a few times but I didn’t answer. If Sarah Twilight heard my voice it might scare her off. I knew she was still here. I didn’t dare leave either; well not until those lazy bastards finished installing all the security cameras. Day and night I crept through the house, hoping to find her while she slept in one of the many bedrooms of my mansion. I never could. The signs of her lurking presence still continued however.
Going over seventy hours without a touch of sleep can really fuck with a person. The rings around my eyes were turning black and just today I lost balance while walking down the stairs and nearly fell over the side of them. Maybe I fell asleep while walking? It was hard to tell. Sarah however is persistent. She too has yet to sleep, and if she could endure so could I… she even left me a cheesy omelet on the kitchen counter. They were my eggs but hey, how generous of her to make sure I was fed during this game of cat and mouse. And how the hell did she pull that off? Maybe I did go to sleep and she made the meal then. Damnit! I don’t remember sleeping…
By this point I have lost track of time. People say that sometimes, use it as an expression. I really have. I’m not even sure if I’m actually awake right now. I think I am. I better be if I want to find her. She’s not going to pull another stunt again, not like before in the kitchen.
I broke. The witch has gotten the better of me. I heard her laughs echoing from the third floor while I cried out her name over and over again. She was taunting me. Why are you torturing me, Sarah Twilight?
A second wind. Back in the game. I caught the young kid that lives next door passing by and I called to him from my window. The hell if I’m leaving this house now and giving that bitch a chance to escape. I can’t remember how much I actually paid him but he returned later with what I requested… five gallons of white paint. With the paint I carefully poured it along the halls I believed she frequented the most. This would at least muddy her prints and make her easier to track. You’re mine now, Twilight.
A single foot print. Only one. The only one that mattered! I laid the paint in surprising places too, how had she been so careful to avoid them? And I knew the print wasn’t one of my own because it was far too small when I stuck my boot beside it and compared. It led to the bathroom where this hunt originally began. A red wig sat on the sink counter. Why did she need a wig? It was then that the corner of my eyes picked up on the real treasure. Just behind the shower curtain a figure stood still. The curtain blinded my vision, making it too dark to make out, but something was obviously there. It had to be her. I finally found her!
…
… help.
Logan? Pffft!
August 2012. Revenge.. this Sunday.. D-Day. D-Day will suffer. Donald Deruty does not matter. Only I matter. I’m the only one who matters!
Where did Logan go? I could’ve sworn I seen him. What does he think he’s doing lurking about in MY house?
A knock echoed from below on the first floor. Hank Brown had asked to come over today and pick Logan’s brain about Sarah Twilight. He agreed, and it appeared that Hank had arrived just on the time he promised. Logan answered the door, inviting Hank in and offering him a glass of unsweetened ice tea, to which Hank accepted.
Hank Brown: This iced tea is absolutely tasty, Logan. Thank you!
Logan grinned slipping an electric cigarette in-between his lips.
Logan: You’re most welcome.
Hank Brown: Mind if I have another?
Logan: Go on.
The interview reached forward grabbing the ice cold pitcher into his hand and poured another glass. He looked over Logan’s empty glass and nodded to him.
Logan: Please.
The tea rolled off the pitchers spout and into Logan’s glass.
Hank Brown: Last Sunday was a little shocking to say the least. Did you expect Sarah Twilight if not anyone else to answer your challenge?
Logan: Of course not. I was just as surprised as you.
Hank Brown: And how do you feel now that she has answered your challenge?
Logan: How do you feel?
Hank Brown: Me?
Logan: Yes.
Hank Brown: I feel great!
Within the moment of those final words escaping his mouth, Hank’s head fell backwards into the chair and his eyes closed. Logan thought such a presentation to be extremely comical. He muttered out a sharp crackle that he had trouble resisting. Hank, alive and full one second and snoozed out the next.
Logan: It’s about time. For a moment I thought I might have given you wrong the glass. You honestly had me concerned there for a while. You’re going to do more than just a simple interview today, Hank. Wait… you can’t hear me can you?
He leaned forward and patted Hank on the cheek.
Logan: Hank?
The sleeping interviewer failed to respond.
Logan: Wonderful! This stuff works pretty good…
He finished off his iced tea and then wiped off his mouth turning attention towards the kitchen.
Logan: Ms. Jizzaboudle!
She scurried out from the kitchen and knelt beside her Master’s side.
Logan: Did you complete todays task?
Mei: Yes, Lord Logan.
Logan: Let me see.
She ran back to the kitchen and returned with a black trash bag; needles peeked through protruding from all directions.
Logan: Brilliant.
Mei: Yes, Master. Very brilliant.
Logan: How did you find them?
Mei: I looked where you instructed me to.
Logan: I figured that would be a good place to find used needles.
Mei: Yes, Master. Lots of addicts occupy the area.
Logan: Is that a half broken crack pipe?
Mei: Yes, Master Logan.
Logan: Jackpot.
He moved to Hank’s head while Mei moved to his feet. They cuffed Hank by his arms and feet, and effectively smashed a strip of tape over his mouth to keep him mute.
Logan: I much prefer him this way. He is a horrible interviewer.
Mei: Very so, Master.
Logan: Pull the car around front and open the trunk.
The afternoon sun shined with full glory. Time had passed since the oh-so brief interview in Logan’s house that ended with a Hank Brown nap. Logan and Mei pushed their knees into the sandy surface of a playground sandbox in the yard of an elementary school. The trash bag full of used heroin syringes laid opened between them while they carefully placed each one into the children’s pit and brushed sand over it. After a slow tedious effort, only a few of the dirty needles remained, and Logan adoringly watched Mei hide one of the final needles into the sand.
Logan: I’m surprised neither of us have been pricked ye –
Mei: Ow!
He fell backwards and edged away from Mei as if she were suddenly turning zombie.
Logan: Don’t touch me!
Mei let her head fall back, letting out a very joy filled laugh.
Logan: What’s so funny about AIDS, Ms. Jizzaboudle?
Mei: A joke, Master Logan. I am fine. See?
She pulled the trash bag up and gave him a view to the emptiness that remained.
Mei: Joke.
Logan: Oh… ha.. ha.
He stared over her awkwardly. The comedic moment fell flat when a bell rang from within the school.
Logan: Quickly, Ms. Jizzaboudle. I think recess is beginning shortly.
She carefully stepped out of the sandbox full of used needles and hurried behind Logan. The two took cover around the side of his car, staying out of sight from the children as they rushed outside into the playground with the teachers behind them.
Logan: Don’t be so anxious, Ms. Jizzaboudle. They will get there eventually.
Mei: Sorry, Master Logan. I cannot help myself.
He reassured Mei, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Logan: This is your first sandbox isn’t it?
Mei: Yes, Lord.
Logan: It’s okay. We’ve all got to start somewhere.
Mei: I am glad that my first sandbox was with you, Master.
Logan: Indeed.
Mei: Master Logan?
Logan: Yes, Ms. Jizzaboudle?
Mei: What does Hank Brown have to do with this?
Logan: Nothing. I just wanted to put him in the trunk.
Much to the dismay of Logan, none of the kids have yet wondered into the disease ridden sandbox. A teacher stepped over near the trap, keeping an eye on the kids and a cellphone to her ear. The teacher’s eyes wondered down past her phone and into the sand, discovering the tip of a plunger poking from the sands surface.
Logan: Must have been one of yours. Damn rookie.
Mei’s face fell into her palms to cover her leaking eyes.
Mei: Sorry, Master Logan. So sorry!
Logan: Save it.
He feared that the teacher may call the cops while she further examined the sandbox, finding another dirty needle.
Logan: Stay.
He took action into his hands, tucking his fingers into the inwards of his vest and adjusting properly. He stepped out from the cover of the car and marched over to the teacher who had now only noticed him.
Logan: Detective Logan with the EPPW department.
He nearly pushed a backstage EPPW pass into her face, giving her only a spilt second to view it. He wanted to push her; push that party pooper straight into the bed of needles.
Logan: I see I am right in time. Have you called police?
Teacher: No.. I was just going to –
Logan: Don’t worry. I’ll phone it in.
Teacher: I’m sorry, you’re with what department?
Logan: EPP (cough). Let me guess, sandbox full of needles?
Teacher: Yes!
Logan: My God. That woman has no limits. Just look at all these children…
Teacher: A woman did this?
Logan: Not a woman. A damn witch.
The teacher was more than shocked.
Teacher: Who could be capable of such an act?
Logan: Sarah Twilight.
Teacher: Sarah Twilight?
Logan: Yes, ma’am. A very dangerous person. I’d advise you to tell all these kids to stay away from any woman with red hair. She may be back.
Teacher: Of course!
Logan: Step back, ma’am. This is a crime scene.
Reaching out an arm he purposely pushed the teacher back into the sandbox of needles. He acted amazed with shock upon hearing her pitiful yelp of humiliation and pain.
Logan: Jesus Christ. Ma’am, are you okay? Let me help you up.
He reached out another treacherous hand, grabbing hers, pulling her off the surface of heroin needle infested sand and then releasing his grip to watch her fall back down.
Logan: I’m so sorry. Are you wearing lotion, ma’am? Your hands are so slippery.
He had trouble battling off a smirk and soon it developed into a full-fledged grin. She noticed this, staring at the monster above her in horror.
Teacher: You did this!
Logan: Me?
Teacher: You evil fuck!
Logan: I’m a detective! Haven’t you been listening to me?
Teacher: Dear God.. where’s my phone? I’m afraid to move. Every time I do I get poked.
Logan: Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m a detective… I’ll find your phone.
His eyes scanned the surrounding area and soon lit up upon finding her device.
Logan: Is this it, ma’am?
Teacher: Yes! Give it to me please!
He dropped the phone into his pocket.
Logan: I can’t do that. This is evidence.
Teacher: You’re not even a fuckin’ cop are you!
Logan: HEY!
Teacher: What?!
Logan: SHUT UP! BOUDLE!
His hands went to cover his mouth – oh what was the point – his lips burst open and he let the uncontrolled laughter flow. She stared at him in amazement of witnessing such an act from another human being while he backed away from her, howling out with chuckles and awkward snorts. He left the infected teacher there, grabbing Mei from behind the car, and getting in to flee the scene.
