The Place in Between

by Reverend Steven Rage

  “Because we would not dare to seek you out empty handed, Sire,” Juan told him.

  “Stop the ass-licking sire shit, I don’t like it,” the nocturne warned, “And it will not help to keep you, or your Mary alive. Or even that freak you keep holed up inside you.”

  “Hey!” Rude fucking vampire.

  “Shush, Morbid,” Juan scolded. He said, “What shall we call you then?”

  “Nothing yet,” he said. “What do you have for me?”

  “We have an offering.”

  “Offering? What kind of offering?”

  “Blood,” Juan stated, “a continuous stream of it.”

  The nocturne smiled then. “Yes,” he replied, “That might do.”

  “I can take you to Mary, where she is being kept for you. And then we can bring her to where you stay.”

  “And this token of your esteem is in hopes that you and Mary can work for me, with me? Is that right?”

  “Yes, exactly,” Juan agreed. “We can be of great value and help. We can assist and protect you.”

  “What do you hope to gain and I expect the truth from you,” the nocturne advised with one more, tiny squeeze, “Your life, where you stand, depends on it.”

  Juan did not have to think, Mary and his motivations had never changed. “We want in,” he said simply, “And you are the way.”

  “The Truth shall set you free,” I added.

  The vampire was silent as he removed his painfully frigid grip from Juan’s shoulder, blood seeping now from the talon punctures. Juan could feel him moving close to whisper in his ear.

  “Well now, seeing as the three of you now work for me,” the vampire said, “I guess you should call me Pilate.”

  We’re in, thought Juan.

  We are!

  We were.

  Yr:09.ACE.13n.08

  (The 9th year, After Cataclysmic Events, during the 13th Waning Moon, on the 8th Day.)

  Today:

  Bubblegum is brought into the hospital examination room via the back entrance of the main Harbor tunnel. She doesn’t fight us one bit as she is led down an old, rickety elevator. They drop loudly down several floors, far below the main floor. Pilate and The Good Doctor are waiting for us.

  He has no family, friends or associates to lookout for him. Beyond The Good Doctor that supplies him, Pilate has no familiars. There isn’t anyone available to help him with his work, or to keep him protected and safe. He has no underlings. Now he does.

  His almost complete lack of social graces attests to his lonely life.

  But his new employees, Pilate’s new friends, are here now and we do not come empty handed. We have brought the nocturne such a gift.

  The pressurized intravenous line runs from the metal IV stand next to the girl’s bed to the jugular vein in her pretty neck. A 3-way stop-cock keeps Bubblegum’s precious blood from squirting all over the aseptic, stark white floor. Heparin and saline fill the taut IV bag and keep the blood from clotting and dying. The teenaged egg-laying girl has an oxygen mask on her face-beak, a big green metal tank standing tall in the corner. She lay there like a tempting banquet.

  For a nocturne, it’s the best kind of breakfast in bed.

  Juan and Mary stand nearby, excited and happy. The Good Doctor sits forward, working his hand-held pussy cat in quick, smooth-pulling tugs.

  Pilate goes over to Bubblegum and kneels at her side. Juan and Mary watch our new boss and benefactor. The blood drinker turns to get permission from his sponsor.

  “Get her,” The Good Doctor tells Pilate.

  And that is it. We have done it, we are in.

  Juan and Mary smile and hold hands as Pilate opens the stop-cock and begins to feed. He is making everyone’s dreams come true.

  No-one, however, is thinking of me and my needs. Selfish pricks. Like I am not even here. They need to be reminded.

  Bubblegum is quivering now. Her blood is being siphoned away by the vampire. She moans and coos and bok-bok-boks her fool head off until her big breasts and plump thighs are a writhing and wriggling mass.

  The feather trail that vanishes between her over-sized dark meat thighs drips with her come. An egg shoots out of Bubblegum and skitters spinning across the floor. It comes to a stop at Juan’s feet.

  “Let me have it,” I demand. And, believe you me; I am being much more polite than I feel.

  I deplore being left out. Now they all have what they were dying for. I think the least they can bestow upon Morbid is some dying of my own. All these motherfuckers are way too pleased with themselves for my taste. No-one has even offered me anything to taste. Dreadful!

  Juan looks to Mary beside him.

  “Go ahead,” she whispers, “Let the freak have it.”

  “Freak, huh?” I’m whispering to myself. Yeah, bitch. We shall see.

  “You heard her, Morbid,” Juan replies in his matching whisper.

  “About fucking time,” I reply. I poke my pressed fingertips through Juan’s rectum, making my meat puppet pain out a little. No big deal. I slip my hand down Juan’s chinos to below the cuff, and grab Bubblegum’s egg off the floor. I slide it back up the pant leg and inside Juan’s ass in a second. Juan’s butt trumpet sounded and he had to clear his throat with a cough to cover it up.

  “I likes to lick it.” I say to no-one in particular, “All around it.”

  My muffled chewing of the shell and slurping of the ovum inside is a gurgle storm from Juan’s abdomen.

  “Enjoy it,” Juan says in that condescending bitch-ass tone of his.

  “That’s more like it, fuck-tard,” I tell him as Bubblegum catches her breath and The Good Doctor’s sweet pussy-fur loses hers, “But an egg isn’t going to cut it, Juan my boy. I’m still going to have to gut her.” I add.

  For fuck’s sake. But hey, it’s really not my fault. Juan knows full well what I am. What did they expect from me?

  Not this, that’s for sure.

  And boy are they surprised to see me as I make my way right back down the pant leg. There is just no way they are going to get off that easily. Yeah.

  I start coming towards them. I am taking my sweet ass time with it. I am making noise like someone who does not give a fuck if he gets caught. That’s because I don’t. Maybe they will learn. Then again, maybe they won’t.

  “I’m going to teach you all the meaning of the word respect.” No-one has even noticed me. Not yet, anyway.

  The Good Doctor sits there like the Pope that he is, smoking, having his cat lick him clean. He’s a sick fuck, all right. I always liked the motherfucker. But, I’m going to have to kill him, too. In fact, I think I will have to kill him first.

  I’ll save the hooker for last. Cut her meaty breasts away. Juicy animal protein. Then tear her head off and fuck the hole it leaves behind. Yeah.

  Boy oh boy, does The Good Doctor look good and surprised as I hit the ground running. I come after him, making a bee-line for the end zone.

  Juan and Mary chase behind me as I lunge for The Harbor king. I don’t think they are going to make it, though. I am right there.

  I can already feel his neck snap as I squeeze the life out. I can taste his precious fluids as I dunk myself in them. I can feel the give of his plucked eyeballs as they split wet between my sharp eye teeth.

  They almost have me. And I almost have The Good Doctor. It’s just another banner day here in The Harbor.

  Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

  Yeah.

  THE PLACE IN BETWEEN

  This one is for Sara Marcella.

  Mi hermosa Nightingale.

  “The gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children.” Euripides

  STATESIDE, 1986

  Rusty knew there wasn’t going to be much left of her. She’d been inside Del far too long. She was most likely already more than half-eaten. He waited patiently, staying put in the corner of the bedroom, hiding behind a tiny dust bunny. He’d been there for weeks, maybe months, even. Rusty was single-minded in his concentr
ation. The ghost had to save his step-daughter, Luci from her prison. He had this one mission left to complete. Then, if he succeeded, perhaps all could still be forgiven.

  Such an advantage, being a sentient ghost: he could make himself as large or as tiny as he wanted. Rusty was still tiny. As tiny as the dust bunny he was hiding behind.

  Rusty had to wait until Del was alone and in a deep sleep before he could attempt another rescue. The girl with the dreadlocks Del had shacked up with concerned the ghost. There was much more to her than met the eye. The ghost had to watch out for her and be very careful. If the girl caught him going after Luci, his goose would be thoroughly cooked. But she was gone right now. This was unusual. It seemed as though the girl never left Del. Rusty wondered where she went.

  Del was sleeping by himself on the bed but the sleep was restless. The ghost would have to wait until Del was deeper down the rabbit hole of sleep than that. Rusty would have to stay tiny and take no chances. Being so small was actually a great boon to the ghost, one that he would try to use to his supreme advantage.

  Finally, the ghost could hear Del’s breathing change. It lengthened and softened. The air entered slowly and left just as placidly. Now Del was deep enough for the ghost to go inside of him and hunt for Luci.

  The ghost grew a little larger in size. He needed to make it across the carpet before daylight brought the sun shining through the window. He couldn’t have Del awaken before helping Luci escape. Rusty ran from the dust bunny that now stood no taller than his ankles. Then he darted from a dirty sock to a musky pair of panties to the edge of the bed. The ghost climbed the comforter, scaling the mattress mountain range quickly.

  Rusty hid briefly behind a rolling hillock of bed sheets, detecting no movement. Del was still breath‑ing evenly – still sleeping soundly. The ghost crept along the periphery of Del’s giant outline. He was seeking the healed and closed stoma in Del’s belly. Del lay on his left side so that his stoma opening was now just a touch above the ghost’s head. Rusty grew himself a wee bit more in order to face the hole squarely. He took two fingers on his right hand and forced them through Del’s coarse and sticky scar tissue. The colon gas whistled out, whipping in a brief fury the ghost’s hair in a stinky wind. He was dead already, so any stink less than his own completely bypassed the ghost. He knew this might hurt the sleeping man. The hole the ghost was making was small, but he couldn’t take any chances of Del awakening in mid-rescue.

  When Del didn’t budge an inch, the ghost leaned in to him. He pushed his hand all the way into the healed scar tissue. He ignored the small leak of liquefied stool that splashed his arm, all the way up to the elbow. He slid in the other hand and pulled the hole open enough for the ghost to slip in. First he pushed his head in and then, gaining purchase on the inside of Del’s abdominal cavity, he pulled himself the rest of the way in.

  The ghost stood up inside of Del’s thick, spongy colon and looked all around. He had no idea how he would find Luci, but he knew she was in here somewhere. Rusty saw it happen. Luci had to be someplace nearby. He called out to her, but she didn’t answer. Not knowing what else to do, the ghost began walking. Right down the middle of a nice straight section of Del’s lower intestine, searching frantically for her. Hoping against hope she wasn’t already gone; that nothing remained of beautiful Luci.

  Rusty grew out a fingernail until a long sharpened length emerged. As a nervous tic, he began to re-open the scars on his chest. The blood fell in drippy sheets as he went along Del’s lower colon, his feet squish-sucking, desperately seeking Luci. He was hoping against hope that when he did finally locate her, she was more than just a big old pile of her bones.

  Wishful thinking.

  * * * * *

  The dreadlocked girl was sitting miniscule and cross-legged on a red blood cell, enjoying a magic carpet ride.

  She rode Del’s veins, stopping where the blood drains into his gastrointestinal tract.

  She left the blood vessel and dropped down into the sleeping man’s colon. She landed on her feet with a squish.

  The girl fell in to a lock-step behind the ghost. She had known this ghost for decades now, long before Rusty had died.

  The two of them had some business to conclude that was long overdue. She had followed him as he began this quest for his long-estranged step-daughter. However, Rusty had her to reckon with first.

  The ghost was surprised. He thought he had escaped the dreadlocked girl, but she wasn’t finished with Rusty yet.

  Not by a long shot.

  Her eyes began to glow red as she reached for him.

  ONE

  Eight months earlier….

  Delano sat at attention. He was sitting up straight and tall on the very edge of his bed. He held a target loaded .45 and waited for his cheating wife to come home. The five shot ball loaded clip-fed gun felt both heavy and comfortable in his sweaty hand.

  She’s going to like this one, he thought. The dog-fucking coke-whore is going to get a real kick out of it.

  The camos Del wore as the Ordinance Safety Officer at the pistol range were rolled up to his elbows. He stared at the forever tattoo on the underside of his forearm. He had it inked for his and Lucita’s fifth wedding anniversary. It used to be Del’s favorite one. It had beautiful lines and vibrant colors. The tattoo seemed trite and ridiculous now.

  The cleaning kit sat open on the deck between his boots. The gun oil and brushes dropped as he’d used them. There was no more need to be his usual meticulous and methodical self. As a career Navy man, Del took a big chance sneaking the gun off the base. He knew he’d be in deep shit if he ever got caught with the range pistol. It was not like him at all. Del usually chose the straight and narrow path. He was everything that his father – the Sergeant – was not. He didn’t do drugs and he didn’t drink to excess. He never raped or tortured anyone. Del’s father could not say the same. His old man had been involved in both the My Lai and Co Luy fiascos. He served, apparently with a certain cold, cruel distinction, under the now infamous Lieutenant Rusty. And although the sergeant never had to serve any prison time for the murders committed, he had also showed little remorse for his actions. He had even visited the lieutenant in the brig a few times over the years – the disgraced officer was probably still rotting in a jail somewhere. Or maybe he was dead. Del didn’t know and he didn’t care to keep track. The sergeant himself had died a number of years ago. Near the end, there was nothing much left of Del’s father. He left this world a burnt out, drugged up shell of his former self. It was quite poetic, really.

  The Sergeant’s myriad sins had absolutely nothing to do with Del and the life of honor he’d built for himself and Luci. That’s part of why his wife’s indiscretions hurt him so much. Del had tried his whole life to do the right thing. He wanted to re-establish the family line of distinguished career Navy men. Del wanted to be like his grandfather and his grandfather’s father. He wanted to follow the rules and be the good guy. Del joined the Navy and happily did everything right and above board. He wanted to be the polar opposite of his father, the baby killer. Del wanted to be the man who returned honor and respect back to the family name.

  So, after all he’d been through, after repeatedly bending over backwards for that bitch-twat of a junkie-ass wife of his, being sent those horrible pictures pushed Del off the bow and into the deep drink. A bullet seemed to be the only answer.

  He looked to the pistol again, still not believing that he was actually holding the illegal firearm.

  It wasn’t supposed to ever leave the range, but Del needed it.

  He was waiting for her to come home, so he could harm her in the surest way he knew how.

  Del had never done anything like this before. Breaking the rules wasn’t in his character. But neither was looking the other way while Luci fucked that piece of shit. Not for the cocaine he gave her. Hell, not for any reason. It wasn’t just her indiscretions that got on Del’s tits. It was him. Sancho was a fucking derelict! Beautiful Luci was cheating on
Del with a can’t-hack-it fucking washout. The guy was a huge flake. One who got booted out of the Navy, but stuck around the periphery. He preyed on weaknesses like Luci’s love for cocaine.

  Del had hidden their assets from her a long time ago, so she couldn’t bankrupt them again. This wasn’t her first rodeo. He had sent her to rehab again. Then he requested an emergency transfer to shore duty. The Navy takes care of its own. They sent Del from West Pac to the East Coast. Far enough away, Del had thought. And she had been good for a while; a handful of years, in fact. Then that monkey-fuck Sancho found her.

  Del wondered how that had happened. He was curious as to just exactly how they had met. What the circumstances had been. He had thought she was being good and behaving herself. But he wasn’t going to ask her. He didn’t want to hear her lie again. No matter. Del knew how it would go. Just like the other times in the past. One line would lead to twelve and soon she would be sucking on a crack pipe, like she was sucking on the derelict’s dick.

  He knew that last part was already happening. He wished he didn’t know about the affair. Sancho made sure Del knew. Sancho hated the Navy that kicked him out and all who thrived in it like Del, so you can bet he made sure Del knew all about it:

  “Ouch, baby, it hurts…”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No, Daddy. Please, no…”

  Then the rat-fucking bastard actually turns to the lens and winks. The only thing missing was the sordid, off-camera details.

  This washout wanted to humiliate Del. There was no other reason to send him those nasty pictures. Luci did not even look like she knew she was being filmed. And Sancho took care to ensure Del knew the cock she was bouncing on was his. Del knew who Sancho was, alright. There was no way he’d be able to forget. Del was hoping Sancho had been put away for good, but guess not. It looked to Del like the motherfucker was back.