by Eden Redd
Morgan nodded, knowing his darker impulses. He listened intently, not wanting to press for information. Maybe with time, she would tell him, but clearly, she was too shy to go into the finer details.
Anya let out a small laugh. “You probably think I’m just some weird girl. Here you are, doing something noble and I’m just searching through the dark.”
Morgan sat up, eyes filled with understanding. “No, I don’t. We all have things we wrestle with. Despite my intentions for my friend, I’m searching in my own way. I spent so much time fighting, I don’t know what I will do when I finish fighting. I don’t know if I can have a normal life.”
Anya’s eyes widened a hair, “I can sense that about you. It seems like there is something there, wanting to be free. I want to be free too. I want to understand what it means to be more than I am now.”
Anya gazed into Morgan’s eyes, “What is your freedom?”
The player returned her gaze, unsure what to say. He barely knew her, but a small part of him wanted to tell her about his inner demons. She seemed so open despite her shyness. Logic clamped down on those desires, knowing full well if he spoke, he would be shunned. The world didn’t need to know the truth because it cared nothing for it.
“To be myself,” Morgan said, sticking with a safe, if obtuse answer.
Anya nodded, biting the corner of her lip.
“What’s your freedom?” Morgan asked with kind eyes.
Anya was silent for a long moment before her lips parted. “To be…with nature. Driftwood Cove seems like a place where I can explore and maybe find my primal self.”
Morgan smiled. “That sounds nice. Taking the time to explore your true self. Something I may have to try while I’m here.”
Anya picked up the wine bottle by her foot and began to pour into each of their glasses.
“The conversation was pretty serious. How about we change the topic?”
Morgan smiled as they clinked their glasses and took deep sips. The conversation turned to their first experiences here in Driftwood Cove. Dancing and the colorful people residing in the town caused the pair to laugh. Anya’s eyes brightened as she talked about exploring the different neighborhoods and long walks through the woods. Morgan didn’t have much to add, but he listened as Anya talked about the serenity, she felt in some of the woods.
An hour passed and Morgan noticed a drunken haze take root in himself and Anya. She seemed to let her hair down, her hand constantly falling on his leg and giving it a squeeze. Casual conversation turned to heated stares and before Morgan knew it, Anya crawled on all fours across the couch and pressed her lips to his. The haze thickened as the couple tasted each other, eyes closing to hot impulses. Tongues slid over one another as Anya pressed her hand to Morgan’s chest. Fingernails bit against the fabric of his shirt, sharp points pressing against his virtual skin. The feeling was there in all its hungry glory and Morgan reached up to touch her side.
The moment the player touched her, Anya pulled back and soon her whole body pulled away. Morgan cut through the haze, eyes wide and thinking he did something wrong. Anya sat down and folded her hands on her lap, sadness filling her demeanor.
“I’m sorry. I have a rule…,” Anya stated and trailed off.
The player nodded and moved his feet to the floor. “I understand.”
Anya’s eyes looked to the player with concern. “Please, don’t take it the wrong way. I feel a lot for you, but I have impulse control issues. I…”
“You don’t have to explain. It’s a first date and I don’t expect anything,” Morgan smiled. “We can save how we feel for another date or several dates down the road. I’m…just glad to know you.”
Stars filled Anya’s eyes as she sat, hands in her lap.
Morgan’s thoughts flowed to his other needs and thought this was the perfect time to make his exit. “I would like to see you again.”
Anya nodded. “I want to see you again.”
Morgan and Anya were to their feet. The lithe beauty followed the player to the door. Opening it, Anya gave Morgan a warm hug. The player witnessed the conflict in Anya’s eyes, but a need to right another wrong thrashed in the back of his mind. Telling himself it was better to end a first date on a high note, he let go and walked down the small path to the street.
Anya watched from the open doorway as Morgan called a cab. Twenty seconds later, a cab pulled up and the door opened. Morgan gave Anya a wave of his hand before stepping into the cab. He watched from the window as Anya watched him until the cab left Star Street and sped down the road.
Morgan relaxed before sitting forward and tapping the driver on the shoulder. Telling him to be let out, the cab stopped and Morgan stepped out. The player watched the cab drive off until it was out of sight. Glancing back and forth on the road, he made sure no cars were coming before he turned and stepped into the woods.
A blood song pulsed against Morgan’s ears as a tingling filled his eyes. Calling up his inventory, he tapped at a duffle bag as he slowly made his way deeper into the woods. Darkness surrounded him with dim shafts of light barely illuminating the way. Morgan knew the woods between his and Anya’s neighborhood were thick, but he managed as a duffle bag appeared in his hand. Slinging it over his shoulder, he moved through the cover of night. Images of the clown painted his mind’s eye and the player basked in what he was about to accomplish. To rid the game of a rude undesirable coursed through him.
Troll players in the Grid wars were prime targets for Morgan’s wrath. He enjoyed making them hurt, punishing them for as long as he could before he ended them. Hiding behind anonymity during battles, they could never report him because it was war time. It slaked his thirst, but now his demons were filtering into a game meant for relaxation and finding love.
“I am relaxing,” Morgan whispered to himself as he spotted the streetlights of Star Street.
Silently, he moved through the dark brush until he spotted Anya’s house. Crouched down and moving, he saw the muted colors of the clown’s home next door. Placing the duffle bag on the ground, the player fished for small leather bundle. Unfurling it, a gleam of sharp knives glowed. Working as a chef had some perks like a large array of cookware he could choose from. Spending his bucks on high grade knives, he pulled out one with a curved, dark wood handle. It felt perfect against his palm as he moved it behind him and began stalking toward the clown’s home.
Eyes adjusting to the dark, the player slinked across the barren backyard and moved to the back door of the two-story home. A doorknob in the shape of a clown’s face stared at the player. A sickening vibration ran up and down Morgan’s spine as he tested the handle. With a click, the back door opened.
Morgan knew from many books he read from the twentieth century that it used to be normal for denizens in small towns to feel so safe they didn’t have to lock their doors. The player smiled as it seemed true here in Driftwood Cove. Slipping in, the home was dark except for a dim light beyond the kitchen. Even in the dark, the kitchen walls were splattered with bright colors. Clown covered utensils lay near the sink with dishes stacked in the dishrack.
Morgan mentally prepared himself to hide and wait for Mitch if he wasn’t home. Creeping closer to the open kitchen doorway, a satisfaction rolled through the player as he saw the shifting light of a flat screen TV. Moans and small squeaks rose up in the background. Peeking along the edge, one eye caught sight of the back of the clown’s head as images moved along the wide flat screen.
The player stared, an annoyed disgust crawling along his skin. On screen, men and women in clown makeup were caught in the throes of lust. Bodies undulated as women moaned and men grunted. Some laughed as painted women choked on brightly colored cocks. Milk spurted from large breasts, splashing on clown’s chest. One woman gave muffled moans as vibrators filled every hole. A moment later, the end of the vibrators burst out with confetti as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. The camera panned to mad grins as men forced themselves on clown women. The giggling was ma
nic and confetti shot from cocks, spraying all over firm breasts painted to be bullseyes.
“Yea…keep going…,” the clown sitting in a comfortable chair said to the screen, a light squeaking noise falling into a rhythm.
Morgan pushed away his disgust as he confirmed it was Mitch’s voice. Like a ghost in the night, the player stepped into the living room, knife at his side. The clown porno played on, moans rising and falling to bursts of confetti. The squeaking rhythm increased and Mitch moved slightly in his chair.
“Fucking bitches…drink that come,” Mitch shouted at the TV.
Morgan’s inner demons rose up, filling every fiber of his being as he inched closer and closer. Images played out of driving the knife point deep in the clown’s neck. The taste of ending the clown seethed through his bloodstream.
Mitch’s head poked up straighter above the back of the chair, the squeaking turning to a fevered pace. Morgan moved close enough that he could smell candy and ice-cream coming off the demented clown. Nose wrinkling, the player’s eyes centered on the exposed neck and just as he was about to deliver the killing blow, the clown groaned and silly string shot into the air.
The sight of silly string spewing into the air caused Morgan to hesitate. The string continued as the squeaking slowed. A gloved hand rose up with a remote control and shut off the clown porno. The instant the image went dark as the light from a small lamp lit the room. Mitch’s eyes fell on the flat screen, a figure standing behind him.
The clown launched up from his seat just as a knife flashed forward. Mitch cried out, dropping a can of silly string and clutching at his neck. Morgan continued to move forward, watching as blood surged from between gloved fingers and spilling onto the bright outfit. The inner demons screamed as Morgan stared at Mitch’s wide eyes.
The clown backed up as Morgan advanced. Backing into a nearby shelf, the clown frantically grasped at another can of silly string, aimed and fired. Morgan didn’t slow down as silly string sprayed his chest and moved to his face. Eyes like burning coals, he closed the distance and drove the knife into Mitch’s stomach. The clown barely screamed as a hand covered his mouth. Taking the can, he struck at Morgan but the player ignored it, stabbing again and again.
The clown’s breath grew ragged and Morgan’s hand fell away. Blood poured from punctured skin, torn muscles and inner organs. Morgan stared as Mitch dropped the can of silly string and weakly clawed at the player’s clothes.
“It’s…just…a game…I meant…nothing…by it,” Mitch said as he quickly lost his breath.
Morgan stayed silent, eyes drinking in the life fading from the rude clown’s eyes. Mitch’s legs shook and he slumped to the floor. Back against the bottom shelf, he could barely breathe as Morgan knelt down with the blood-soaked blade.
“Player…killer…,” Mitch said with blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.
Morgan nodded before lifting the knife and driving the point into the edge of the clown’s wide eye.
***
An eyeball squished under Morgan’s shoe. The demons sang as a coolness filled Morgan’s muscles. The grim satisfaction of insulting the rude clown by destroying the windows to his soul sent peaceful vibrations through the player. Looking down, Mitch lay in a heap, bloody darkness filling the spaces where his eyes once were.
Serenity washed over Morgan as he bent down and lifted the bloody clown in his arms. Mitch was heavy but not that heavy. Time turned into glowing moments as Morgan left out the back door and crossed the darkened backyard. Entering the woods, he moved to his bag and placed the dead clown on the grass. Morgan’s mind spoke, telling him he was covered in blood and gore but the player ignored the logical side of his thoughts. He would clean up after he buried the body. Pulling out a folded shovel, he opened it and extended the handle. Grabbing the body by the ankle and holding the shovel in his other hand, Morgan pulled the corpse as he searched for a spot to bury the body.
The night glowed with starlight as Morgan reached a small space between trees. Dropping Mitch’s leg, the player began to dig. Dirt was tossed aside as Morgan worked happily. The satisfaction quelled the darkness in his spirit, allowing him enjoy the night air. On he worked, mentally planning to bury the body, clean the house and walk back home. The sensations of ridding the game of a rude player sent shockwaves of bliss. If he didn’t need absolute silence to do his work, he would be humming.
A snapping twig broke the soothing calm.
Morgan whirled around, shovel in hand and eyes filled with menace. Anya stood at the edge of the small clearing, her eyes staring at Morgan and glancing down to the dead clown next to an open grave.
Nine
A dark thought flashed through Morgan’s mind as he held the shovel. Fingers gripped tighter as a scenario played out where he used the shovel to decapitate the athletic beauty. The need to win overpowered his normal sensibilities, knowing full well if she leaves his sight, the sheriff would be carting him off to jail and then he would be expelled from the game. A cool breeze flowed through the trees, blanketing the area in a soothing white noise.
Anya’s face was blank, oval eyes drinking in the sight. Hands smoothed down her short blue dress and she sniffed at the air. Morgan’s gaze was like ice, searching for any hint of panic before he rushed her and ended her knowing stare. The air charged with electricity as Morgan tensed, ready to pounce on the woman. Morgan’s eyes sagged as the charge petered away. A thick pulse pushed from his heart as he hesitated to act on what he planned.
Anya stepped closer, eyes neutral. When she reached the edge of the grave, she fell to her knees and began digging. Morgan stared down in disbelief as Anya’s arms moved like pistons, clawing dirt up to the edge as she dug deeper. The player moved to the other side of the grave and began shoveling mounds of dirt away. The two worked together until the grave was about four feet deep.
Dirt streaked Anya’s blue dress as she backed up, but stayed on her knees. Morgan stabbed the shovel into the ground, stepped over to the dead clown and kicked him into the grave. Mitch filled the grave, face down into the earth. Anya moved first, pushing large mounds of earth over the clown’s legs. Morgan grabbed his shovel and poured large patches of dirt on the dead clown’s head. Together, they quickly filled in the grave and patted it down with shovel and hands.
Morgan patted down the last bit of earth when Anya stood up, turned and began walking back. The player folded up the shovel and followed. A small time later, Anya passed Morgan’s duffle bag. Morgan scooped it up as the athletic beauty walked toward Mitch’s backdoor and opened it. Morgan followed, unsure what to make of it.
Inside the darken kitchen, Anya turned on the light. Morgan watched as she knelt by the sink, opened a cabinet and pulled out cleaning supplies. Morgan grabbed paper towels and the two stepped into the living room. Blood splatter dotted the shelf and nearby walls while thick dark crimson puddles and streaks covered some of the floor. The pair began to work, wiping away the blood in single strokes.
Morgan’s mind raced as he couldn’t understand what was happening. Body moving on automatic, he cleaned and glanced to Anya. On her knees, she scrubbed the floor clean, her short dress up and blue panties showing. The heat of the kill and the oddness of Anya’s actions sent Morgan’s mind into a tailspin. When the living room and kitchen were cleaned, supplies were put back and the two left out the backdoor.
Anya moved with liquid grace as she walked to her home under the cover of darkness. Morgan followed. The heat was there, burning at his spirit. Anya was first to enter her home and Morgan followed. When the door closed, Anya turned and eyed the blood and gore all over Morgan’s clothes.
“Take your clothes off. We have to wash them and take a shower,” Anya said with a neutral tone.
Morgan simply stood. “We should talk…”
“Undress and then we can talk,” Anya said firmly.
Before Morgan could think of something to say, his own hands began to undress himself. Shirt came off and pants were next. S
tanding in black boxers, he slowed down as Anya pulled down her panties first before pulling her dress over her head. The dim living room light only served to accentuate her toned body, B-cup breasts, tiny brown nipples, smooth flawless skin and thick hair gracing her womanhood.
“Underwear too,” Anya said simply.
Morgan nodded before snaking his boxers down and picking them up with the rest of his clothes. Anya stepped closer, taking his clothes into her hands with the dirty blue dress and panties. Turning, she walked away, Morgan’s gaze falling to her firm ass. Naked, the player followed and watched as Anya stepped into a small laundry room and stuffed the clothes in the washer. When she added soap and turned it on, she moved to the doorway, giving Morgan a look from head to toe. Taking his hand, she pulled him through the small house to the bathroom door.
Door swinging open, Morgan followed as Anya pulled him in with her. Brown stone tiles covered nearly every inch of the large bathroom. Plants hung in three corners while a large, cube-like standing shower took up the fourth corner. An oval mirror and a sink stood to the side. Morgan thought the bathroom looked like a hidden oasis and his shoulders began to relax.
Anya turned on the shower, steamy water pouring from the spout before it roared into a thick wet stream. Wisps of smoke curled along the glass walls of the shower as Anya grabbed some liquid soap and squirted into her hand. The athletic beauty gave Morgan a shy eye glance before looking away.
Morgan stepped into the wide shower, the heat growing with each passing second. A new feeling overcame the player as he moved closer to the naked beauty. A knowing understanding seemed to flow between their naked bodies as Anya began to run soapy hands over her body. Water cascaded down her form as her back was to the player.
A maddening need caused Morgan to reach out, but before he touched her shoulder, Anya turned around and ran soapy hands over his chest. The hot water and pleasant touch caused Morgan’s manhood to rise under its own power. Anya stepped closer, her nipples touching Morgan’s chest. She continued to glide her hands over his body as his rising member touched her hairy valley.
