by Tim Marquitz
Goosebumps prickled Tyson’s arms as he left the mirror behind and went to the bathroom. He stripped down and turned the water to its hottest setting before climbing inside. Steam whirled about him as his flesh was battered. Soon they would be here and he would reap the rewards for his loyal service. A tingle at his crotch drew his gaze downward. Despite his weariness, his cock twitched in anticipation as he imagined the glory soon to be bestowed upon him, but there was still more to do.
He reached down and wrapped his hand about his growing erection and gave it a cruel yank. Needle-sharp pains radiated upward as the tender flesh tore. Tyson hissed as the scalding spray washed over the wound, the water spilling pink between his fingers. He pulled his hand away and drew in a steamy breath. There would be time enough for the flesh, but now was not it.
Tyson let the water wash away the blood until it slowed to a trickle. Then he climbed from the shower to dry himself, averting his gaze from the mirror. As he shaved, he cast furtive glances at it. Only the seething darkness met his eyes. He wished he could see his reflection, if only for a moment. Tyson could only guess how he looked. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last three weeks. The bags under his eyes were likely as dark as the mirror before him, but he could only feel their tender indentions and sense the redness of his tired eyes. It was a small price to pay, he thought, for the visions that would soon be laid out before him.
No time to contemplate the future, Tyson grabbed an energy drink from the refrigerator and popped the top. He swallowed it down, adding two caffeine pills to the mix, and tossed the empty can aside as he went out the door. It landed with a metallic crash amongst the collection that littered the hall. The sound set off a collection of muffled hisses that spilled from the glass containers stacked against the wall. Tyson smiled. He wasn’t the only one feeling anxious. The door slamming behind him, he hurried to his car and rushed out into the morning traffic.
He prided himself on being innocuous, if not inconspicuous. No one looked twice at the unassuming man who ruffled no feathers and worked hard. He could afford none of the attention his co-workers seemed to crave, coming in drunk and fighting on site. No, he would not let such stupidity ruin the great unveiling.
Tyson stopped at the nearest lunch wagon on the way in, buying a couple dozen burritos. Though his meager paycheck barely covered the regular offerings he exchanged to pacify the hordes at work, he’d soon have no concern for money. The arrival of the gods would wash such paltry mundanity away. Tyson had no need for a mortgage or car payment anymore. The banks and lending companies would be dust and nothing more than a faded memory amidst the minds of an enslaved humanity. The new currency would be flesh.
Pulling into the downtown parking garage that served the workers of Carter Construction, Tyson waved to the security guard who sat stuffed within his tiny booth. The man didn’t even look up. It was a daily ritual that brought a smile to Tyson’s face. It made his other work so much easier.
Tyson left his car behind and darted across the busy street that separated the parking area from the construction site. Once across, and safely on the sidewalk, he glanced at the marvel of engineering that loomed above him.
The Kellerton Tower stretched into the sky, blotting out the morning sun and setting Tyson’s head to spinning as he tried to pick out its apex. Taller than even the Burj Khalifa skyscraper in Dubai, the pride of Carter Construction rose up nearly three thousand feet. Tyson still imagined he could touch the clouds from the observation deck even though he’d been up there hundreds of times and disproved his wild theory. Still, the thought lingered.
“Hey, Ty. Good morning.”
He turned to see Gerald Manning, the site coordinator lumbering toward him only seconds after Tyson had slipped through the exterior gate. He was the boss, as well as a faithful witness to Tyson’s arrival ever since he started bringing breakfast. Close to three hundred pounds of wheezing roundness on stumps of legs, Manning waved as he made his way across the lot. Tyson held out the man’s favorite burritos as if luring in a dog with a bone.
Manning quickly collected the wrapped bundles in a meaty hand as though fearful they might be snatched away. “Thanks, Ty.” His eyes went from the food to Tyson’s face and lingered. “Man, you feeling okay?”
“Sure, I’m good.”
“Yeah? You look like hell. When’s the last time you slept?”
Tyson reached up and attempted to smooth the bags from beneath his eyes. “Damn insomnia. I got a little last night. I’m okay.” Tyson pointed to the burritos. “You better eat those before they get cold.”
Manning glanced back down at the food in his hand and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Be careful up there, you hear? Jackson and his crew installed some temporary windows on the observation deck to keep that cold ass wind out of the building, but they aren’t up to code.”
Tyson smiled as the boss wandered off to the soundtrack of crinkling tinfoil. Tyson wasn’t worried about the deck. Not yet, at least. There were still several more locations he had to prepare before he started on the pinnacle. He hurried and distributed the rest of the food to the guys and went about his routine. The day dragged as he thought about what the darkness had said:
It’s time.
There’d be no sleep for Tyson tonight.
#
Tyson sat low in his car and nursed an energy drink as he watched the night creep all around him. He fought the shroud of sleep that threatened to envelop him. Only his fear of the darkness and what waited beyond kept him from nodding off. He would not fail.
Shadows danced in the flickering lights of the closing bars on the strip, but the darkness was closing in despite the fluorescent defiance. After three a.m., the bars were mostly empty and the strip joints were winding down, spilling their inebriated clients into the streets. That was what Tyson had been waiting on. Free from their stage and pole, and often disappointed by their meager haul, some of the women looked for a way to supplement their income.
The first wave of dancers came out huddled together, the bulky mass of the club’s bouncers escorting them to their cars. The ones Tyson was looking for would slink out later. Despite taking their clothes off for a living and giving hand jobs in the backroom for a little extra cash, there was no respect—even among whores—for those that walk the streets.
None of that mattered to Tyson. He didn’t care if the women were sluts or saints, because they only cared about flesh. There was no moral failing in their eyes. As he watched the doors of the nearby club, Tyson spied what he was looking for. A little on the thick side, her ample ass packed into a miniskirt that was clearly made for smaller hips, a wild-haired woman emerged from the club. She lingered in the doorway for a few moments, her head on a swivel, before finally darting across the parking lot as fast as she could manage in her high heels. Tyson rolled his window down and listened to the clack of her shoes as she hurried down the sidewalk. He chugged the last of his drink and slid the empty can under the seat.
Tyson glanced around the area, looking for the police, as the woman drew closer. The last thing he wanted was to explain what he was doing hunkering down in his car in the middle of the night. He looked into the rearview and saw the darkness well up inside its reflection, but there was nothing else there. Once he was certain no one was watching, he flashed his headlights to get her attention. She started, not seeing him inside the car until right then. Tyson waved a wad of cash at her to pacify her, his arm out the window.
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said as the lure drew her in, doing his best to keep his voice calm. “I was just hoping for some company.”
The woman took a moment to look around before clacking up to the window. There was a shimmer of sweat on her brow and glistening at her cleavage, which showed in the wake of her low-cut blouse. She leaned down and looked inside the car, checking the backseat before meeting Tyson’s eyes. He smiled and waved the money again. The woman was pale-skinned with curly dark hair, which was matted and tangled
and hung greasy across her shoulders. One eye was an emerald green but the other was brown. Tyson grinned at her missing contact, but he felt a stirring in his jeans, nevertheless. The contrast in color made her different, exotic.
“What ya lookin’ for?” she asked, impatience in her smoker’s voice.
“Nothing fancy…a blow job, maybe; some doggy.”
“How do I know you’re not a cop?”
Tyson unzipped his pants and fished out his cock. He spit in his hand and started to masturbate his growing erection, keeping his eyes on the woman. “Would a cop jack off just to nail a dancer sidelining?”
She laughed and yanked the passenger door open, slipping into the seat. “No, I guess not. You got a place?”
Tyson nodded, and then handed her the cash. It was the last of his paycheck, but what did he care? “I sure do.” He glanced over at her, trying to be casual. “You got a name?”
“Vanity,” she answered as she closed the door and stuffed the bills into her bra.
He chuckled and pulled off, not bothering to point out the contradiction of her name. Like the cash, it didn’t matter. “You afraid of heights?”
Vanity’s eyes narrowed and she looked over at him. “No, not really. Why?”
“Because I’ve rented us the best view in the whole town.”
#
Tyson pulled his car into the employee’s parking across from Kellerton Tower and grinned to see the security guard away from his post. If history held true, he wouldn’t be back until six a.m., just before the bosses started rolling in. The car hidden in the shadows, Vanity reached across the seat, her fingers dancing spiderlike across Tyson’s crotch.
He waggled a finger and pushed her hand away. “Not here.” Tyson stepped out of the car. She followed and came around the back of the car where he stood before the open trunk. She took a step back as he pulled a small cooler and a patchwork blanket out of the back.
“You eaten yet?” He held up the cooler. “It’s nothing fancy: sandwiches and couple of beers.” Tyson shut the trunk. A quiet hiss sounded.
“What was that?” Vanity glanced around the parking garage.
Tyson slipped his hand into hers and led her toward the exit. “Stupid spring on the trunk is broken. Don’t worry, we aren’t staying in here.”
Vanity remained silent as Tyson led her out of the garage and across the street to the tower. She stared up at the building, illuminated by work lights even in the dark of night. At the gate, he handed her the small cooler and fished out his keys and unlocked the gate. Once inside, he locked it again and took the cooler back, leading Vanity into the building.
“It’ll take climbing a few flights of stairs, but I promise you, the view is worth every step.”
Transfixed by the glass and steel tower, Vanity let him lead her inside. Their footsteps echoed inside the grand foyer, her heels clicking in rapid succession as the sound fluttered back to them. Tyson just grinned and pulled her up the stairs. On the thirteenth floor, he opened the stairwell door and waved Vanity onto the floor. Her breath came out heavy as she walked inside, her heels long since abandoned and slung over Tyson’s arm.
“I’m already worn out,” she said, her hand on her chest. “You okay with a quickie?”
Tyson nodded and motioned her on. “We’re almost there. Come on.”
Vanity hung close as he wound his way through the clutter of building materials and came to a stop beside the massive glass walls that made up the outside of the building. She gasped as she crept toward them, the city sprawling out beneath them.
“Don’t worry, they’re safe,” he told her, rapping his knuckles on the glass.
She sidled up to the wall and braved a peek downward, jumping back with a giggle. “That’s scary.” After a moment, she found her courage again and drew up close to touch the window. Her finger traced her face in the glass, her reflection standing out clear in the wake of the external lights.
Tyson only wished he could see his own. The darkness devoured his reflection that hovered behind hers, leaving nothing but an inky blackness in the vague shape of his body.
Now!
“Hey, Vanity, do you mind spreading the blanket out while I get the food and drinks?”
She giggled again and stepped away from the window. “Sure.” Taking the thick blanket from his arms, she unfolded it and shook it so she could lay it flat.
Tyson set the cooler down and pulled it open. There were no sandwiches inside, or beer, even. There was only an icepick, a sharp butcher’s knife, and a glass jar that squirmed with blackness. He pulled out the icepick and stepped up behind Vanity as she knelt to smooth the blanket. His erection pressed against her ass, and she moaned with what Tyson knew was nothing more than a trained instinct. He didn’t care; he had his own instincts.
He pressed hard into her, reveling in her warmth, and then brought the icepick around.
With practiced ease, the point pierced her temple and sunk until the handle struck home. Vanity twitched and shuddered and Tyson rode her shuddering corpse to the ground. She crumpled flat without a sound, only drops of her blood leaking out past the handle of the pick.
Finish it.
He sighed at the darkness’ demands, wanting to take his time, but he knew better than to argue. Tyson slid the cooler to him, plucking the knife from within. He set it beside Vanity and rolled her over. Her body flopped heavily and a crimson puddle began to form beneath her head. She stared at him, lifeless, her mismatched eyes eerie with the blood pooling in their depths.
Before the darkness shrieked at him again, Tyson picked up the knife and went to work. He cut away Vanity’s blouse and bra, pulling it open to get his first view of her breasts. They were large and heavy. Natural, they hung toward her ribs. He then removed her skirt. A slip of the blade and it was off. The easy part was done.
He looked Vanity over for a moment to remember what she looked like, locking the memory away inside. He would need it soon.
Having hesitated too long already, Tyson raised the butcher’s knife and sunk its point deep into Vanity’s abdomen, just above the pelvis with the edge facing away. It went in with a meaty thunk. Blood welled up in the wound, but without a heartbeat to force it out, it simply pooled warm against his fingers. He rested a moment, gathering his strength for what was to come, before carrying on with his work.
Tyson forced the blade forward, hacking and sawing as he cut along the line of her abdomen until the knife thudded against her sternum. His stomach roiled at the pungent waft from her open belly. He would never get used to that smell. His eyes watered as he set the blade aside and did his best to ignore the stench that filled his nose and mouth. He dug his fingers into the incision and peeled the cavity of her torso open, the severed muscles ripping apart in long strands of stringy tendrils.
Once he was done, he reached once more into the cooler and pulled out the glass jar. Its contents writhed inside, angry hisses sounding at the sudden movement. Tyson shook the jar and twisted the lid off, upending the darkness inside into the fresh wound of Vanity’s stomach. The roaches spilled inside, splashing into the red wetness. They thrashed in the cloying blood as he watched a million legs scramble for purchase.
He set the jar aside and undid his belt, pulling his pants down to his knees. The darkness could only be soothed so long by the carnage laid out across the blanket. Tyson knew he must finish the deed if there was any hope of the gods returning. He swore to see it through. Tyson drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused on the image of Vanity as she had been before he took the knife to her. He fondled her large breasts and pictured her plump ass when he’d bumped against it. His erection responded almost immediately, and he sighed at its eagerness. It was becoming all too easy.
He leaned forward and stuck his cock inside the open wound, the flesh eagerly accepting him into its warm slit. The roaches skittered in its path, their legs tickling as they scrambled within. He heard their hissed voices, muffled by the flesh and blood that enca
sed them, and knew what came next. Pounding into Vanity’s makeshift vagina, the roaches began to spit and bite. Their pincers sunk into the tender flesh of his cock, and Tyson felt them ripped loose as he withdrew from the carcass only to drive inside once again. Over and over he baited the roaches, his penis throbbing under the assault of pincer bites and the strangely erotic feeling of the skittering legs that tickled him near to orgasm.
“Sacrifice,” he heard the darkness whisper as he fucked on.
The gods feed upon blood and darkness, but it is passion that brings the two together. Without passion, all his work would be for naught. The gods would sleep their eternal slumber and never know what Tyson had done to rouse them. He would not fail.
As the roaches squirmed against his erection, Tyson imagined the moment when he would bring about the end of this world and usher in the coming of a new age. He would sit inside the observation deck and greet the gods as they tore open the walls of existence and came into the world. The darkness would be there beside him, the gift of its shadows his reward. Tyson would be a god unto his own.
That was all it took.
Tyson spilled his seed into the wound with a muffled grunt. His vision blurred and he felt lightheaded, but he pounded away until the tingling in his limbs slowly subsided. When at last he found his strength, he pulled his shriveling cock from Vanity’s jagged hole. He yanked his pants up, swatting at the roaches that still clung to him, and gingerly stuffed his swollen and raw member inside.
He took a moment to catch his breath before centering Vanity on the blanket and recovering the icepick. Unconcerned about blood leaking out, a rubber lining sewn inside the bedding, he folded the edges over her head and feet and rolled it around her. Once she was wrapped inside, Tyson went to the inner wall he’d prepared weeks before. He peeled its outer covering away to reveal an open space hidden beside one of the steel girders, which held the massive building in place. He went back to Vanity and hefted her body over his shoulder, collecting her clothes and shoes, as well, after retrieving his cash. Back at the wall, he stuffed her and her things inside, and then sealed the panel closed. He smiled as he appraised his handiwork. It looked as though it had never been touched.
