Dark Designs

by Flowers, Thomas S.

  “Fine. But this is the last time.”

  Chad exhaled and clapped his hands together. “Thank you. She’s waiting for you at Diego’s Cantina. And she’s already drunk.”

  “Oh, goodie,” said Talia dryly.

  So here she was, listening to the drunk tyrant yammer on while the poodle slurped eye goo. Now she was trying to feed the dog shrimp cocktail from her crystal goblet. Mister Fluffer-butt was having none of it. This woman, her boss, Kitty Vandermark, owned her. Despite what she’d told Chad, this woman, her employer, contractually owned her. Kitty and her husband owned her company, Chanton Technologies, its employees, this island, and by extension, its inhabitants.

  Kitty sniffed the shrimp and wrinkled her nose.

  “Waitress! You! Girl! Come here! Smell this shit! Does this smell fresh to you?” Kitty hurled the shrimp across the restaurant and it landed on the approaching server’s cheek with a wet plop.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Vandermark,” the waitress said, unfazed by the shrimp attack. “I will alert the chef immediately, Mrs. Vandermark. Would you care for more shrimp? Fresher ones, I mean, Mrs. Vandermark?”

  Kitty waved her off irritably.

  “You people are worthless. Lazy-ass natives. Just keep those mimosas coming for me and the pretty doctor here,” she snapped.

  “I don’t drink,” Dr. Ambrose said curtly, eager to get this over with.

  Kitty barked a laugh, startling the poodle. “You fucking scientists! Such buzzkills! Ha!”

  “Mrs. Vandermark, I have much work—"

  “Fine! I get it! God, loosen up! You need to get laid or something, jeez.” Kitty slurped down the rest of her drink while Talia clenched and unclenched her jaw and fists.

  “Listen, anyway, down to business. You need to do something special for me,” she slurred, as Mister Fluffer-butt jumped up to lick the orange juice dribbling down her chin.

  Talia grimaced and Kitty continued, “I need you to make me something. Something fucking amazing. For Hayley, for her birthday. She’s going to be sixteen next month and Stephen’s put me in charge of the party. The Duke and Duchess of England or some kind of shit are coming! Can you believe it? Epic! This has to be the absolute best party. No excuses.” Kitty took a drink of her empty glass, then screamed at the “girl” to bring her more.

  Birthday girl Hayley was Kitty Vandermark’s very spoiled bitch of a step-daughter. Kitty’s husband, Stephen Vandermark, the perpetual globe-trotter, was too busy spending his fortune on whores and gambling to pay much attention to Chanton Technologies, the company he inherited from his grandfather, Ralston Vandermark. Stephen left Kitty to run the show, and she and Hayley were in constant battle over who reigned Queen Supreme over the island. Kitty wanted Hayley dead.

  Kitty, despite her assembled squad of business advisors, was hopelessly inept at running Chanton Technologies. Luckily, Kitty’s employees could manage themselves. Chanton, which on the surface presented itself as just another research facility, employed the world’s best and brightest specialists in bio-chemical weaponry and warfare technology. Kitty, bored and fully aware of her ineptitude, amused herself by abusing anyone and everyone that she could, including the brilliant doctors, scientists, and engineers in her employ.

  Technically, they could leave at any time, but they had signed non-competition agreements, so should they leave and seek employment elsewhere in the field, they could be sued by Chanton. Chanton never lost. Besides, for all of Kitty’s abuse, Chanton afforded its scientists a certain amount of… freedom that they weren’t able to indulge in elsewhere. Their resources were almost infinite.

  The doctor smiled.

  “And what does Princess Hayley want this time? A purple zebra, perhaps? To match the pink one? A barking cat?”

  The Vandermarks had a private zoo on the island, populated by Talia’s bio-engineered animals, each more fantastical than the next.

  Kitty’s eyes lit with a devious fire.

  “Oh, no, Dr. Ambrose, nothing boring like that. It’s Hayley’s sweet-sixteen present, after all. Don’t you think she deserves something a little more… exciting?” Kitty let out a burp and giggled.

  Talia’s stomach dropped. Exciting meant time-consuming. She was already knee-deep in projects, and with this party only a month away… ugh. She had no choice.

  “Well, then, what is it that you want?”

  Kitty clapped her hands twice, and her assistant, a well-muscled suit called Paul, set a large leather portfolio case on the table and unzipped it.

  Dr. Ambrose felt a sudden, sweet throb between her thighs, and her pupils widened at the sight of the painting Paul pulled out of the case.

  “What? What is it?” Talia said breathlessly, reaching out to touch the thick layers of paint. She remembered herself and withdrew her hand sharply.

  “Hah, hah! Ugly, ain’t it?” Kitty snorted, gulping more booze before continuing. “Wolfencorn. That’s what the guy at the shop called it. Wolfencorn! Hah! Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. Anyway, don’t know who it’s by, but it cost a pretty penny, that’s for sure. It’s disgusting, so I immediately thought of Hayley, of course. I just don’t get art sometimes, you know? It’s like, the uglier it is, the more it costs!”

  The throb between Talia’s thighs was stronger now. A pleasurable beat keeping time with her pulse.

  “It’s magnificent,” Talia breathed.

  Kitty rolled her eyes.

  “Huh. Yeah, well, it’s great that you think so, you fucking weirdo, because this ‘Wolfencorn’ thing is what you’ll be making for Hayley’s birthday.” Kitty hiccupped and motioned for more mimosa.

  Dr. Ambrose, eyes locked on the painting, marveled at the creature. It had the hindquarters of a grey stallion, with the semi-erect torso of a hairy, muscled male, the crooked, stunted arms ending in blood-tipped talons. The head of the thing resembled a wolf, with massive, gaping jaws. From the forehead thrust a gleaming, spiral horn, metallic and sharp. The mane and tail were a vivid array of rainbow colors, an absurd contrast to the rest.

  Talia’s neurons were in ecstatic rapid-fire at the prospect of bringing this glorious beast to life.

  “I can’t do it,” said Dr. Ambrose.

  Mrs. Vandermark choked on her eighth mimosa of the morning.

  “What? What do you mean you can’t do it? What the FUCK do you mean?” Kitty punctuated the outburst by throwing her glass at the waitress’s feet with one hand and motioning for a new drink with the other.

  “Mrs. Vandermark—"

  “Kitty, call me Kitty. For Chrissakes I’m not that old. Gawd!”

  “Kitty, please understand that what you’re asking me to do, well, it’s just not possible. Even if I could make this ‘Wolfencorn,’ the limited amount of time, not to mention the resources required, well, I’m afraid it’s beyond the scope—"

  “Afraid? Bitch, you’d better be afraid! I own you! I own this company! I own this island! I’m queen here, Dr. Ambrose, you mulatto piece of shit! You work for ME. Did you fucking forget that?”

  Talia dug her fingernails into her palm, drawing blood. Mulatto bitch, eh?

  “Mrs. Vandermark, listen—"

  “Do you know that smush-faced Diana Wimpleton had her people make her daughter Chloe a dinosaur for her birthday? An actual dinosaur! I saw it! A fucking dinosaur! They walked it around on a diamond leash, for Chrissakes! So, don’t you bullshit me that you can’t make this ‘Wolfencorn’ thing.”

  Dr. Ambrose had heard of the Wimpleton “dinosaur” through her professional networks and knew that the dino was nothing more than a few bone-grafts and dye-jobs on an extraordinarily large Komodo dragon. It wasn’t a dinosaur, it was an illusion, a toy. Genetics had come far, further than even the owners of Chanton and their competitors knew, but not quite that far.

  These people were stupid. Stupid and stubborn and immensely wealthy and powerful. Talia felt the throb. She wanted the power for herself. She wanted to be a god. This ‘Wolfencorn,’ this beautiful monster
was begging for creation. She wanted this monster for herself. She would not allow her creation to languish, abandoned, in Kitty’s hellish zoo. Talia gazed at the painting, zeroed in on the beast’s shimmering mane, and made her decision.

  “Kitty, if I do this for you—and I will try—I’ll need something from you. Something big.”

  “Yeah, okay, whatever you want,” Kitty waved her hand in annoyance, “it’s yours. Give, give, give, hell, I’m a giver! You people. Always wanting something from me.” Kitty hiccupped again and held her mimosa down for Mister Fluffer-butt to lap at.

  “Anything? Whatever I want?”

  “Yes. Anything. Carte blanche. The island is at your disposal. I’ll send the memo now. Take whatever you need. As if I give as shit. Just get it done. One month. Don’t. Embarrass. Me.”

  “Then we have a deal, and I’ll need the painting with me.” Dr. Ambrose extended her hand.

  “Deal,” Kitty slapped her hand and cackled. “The little bitch is going to HATE this!”

  Talia stared at the gleaming horn. She was sopping wet.

  “On the wall there, please. Talia directed Kitty’s assistant Paul to the carefully selected spot, where she’d hung nails to hold the painting. Hung, Paul headed towards the door of her lab, reaching to grab her ass on the way out, but Talia caught his arm.

  “Just what in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Talia hissed, digging her nails into his forearm.

  “Ow! Holy-shit, island-tiger, ease up!” Paul yanked his arm, trickling blood, from her grasp and held it close to his jacket.

  “Island-tiger? Get out of my lab," Talia said flatly. “And I should get your ass fired for this, you know.”

  Paul had the well-deserved reputation among the island women as a sexual predator, a rapist, but his status as the Vandermark’s right-hand man, and Kitty’s fuck-boy, kept him free from repercussion. So long as he kept his hands off the whites.

  “All of you, fucking savages!” Paul yelled, slamming the door behind him.

  Talia rushed to lock it. Typical. Savages. She stymied the flow of rage-induced tears. To men like Paul she was a “cinnamon-skinned goddess,” up until she didn’t let them put their paws on her. Then she was a “fucking savage.”

  Yes, a fucking savage with degrees in biochemistry and medicine. A savage who was about to become God, once again. That was why she took this job. Why she'd come to this island her grandmother left so long ago. There was such power here. Talia hungered for it.

  She walked slowly towards the painting, feasting on the vividness of the rainbow mane and tail, the delicious red stains on the teeth and claws. Locked into the carnal stare of the Wolfencorn. Such a silly name for such a noble beast. Taking a deep breath, Talia allowed herself to touch it. She lightly traced the thick, peaked strokes of paint along the creature’s flank. The artist had been intimate with mammalian biology, of that she was certain. The hills and valleys of paint perfectly mimicked sinew and bone.

  Yes, she’d need many of the island’s resources for this project.

  “Oh, Mizz Kitty, I certainly intend to use that carte blanche,” Talia said to herself, pouring herself a bit of Glenmorangie (don’t drink, ha!). The doctor took a sip and set to work.

  The stable-master furrowed his brow and dabbed at it with a damp handkerchief. He’d been on this island for well over a decade, but he’d never been able to get used to the bloody heat.

  “Are you sure you need this one?”

  “Yes. This one.” Dr. Ambrose shifted her feet impatiently.

  “But, Silver Morningstar is Mrs. Vandermark’s favorite stallion,” the stable master said anxiously.

  One of the stable hands, a native youth of fifteen, moved to stand in front of Silver Morningstar’s stall, and crossed his arms, determined to protect the steed.

  Talia sighed and tapped her wrist-com.

  “Mrs. Vandermark gave me carte blanche, as I’m sure you’re aware. Do I need to call her to remind you?”

  “No! No ma’am, of course not! Sorry, Dr. Ambrose. It’s just—please don’t hurt Morningstar, okay? We’re rather fond of the big fella.”

  The horse whinnied, as if in response, and Talia motioned for him to be loaded into the trailer.

  “He’ll be fine. I can assure you that Silver Morningstar will return a finer stud than when he left. You have my word.” She smiled genuinely.

  The stable-master nodded at the boy, and he begrudgingly loaded the horse into the trailer, staring daggers at her as he passed.

  A similar scenario played itself out at the Vandermark’s private zoo when Talia went to collect more specimens for the project. The zookeepers feared Kitty’s wrath more than they feared for the animals, and the doctor was given what she needed.

  Talia Ambrose wasn’t all work and no play. Although her work was play for her, most of the time. Flesh was her sandbox, but she needed a little break from the mire. Talia peeled off her gore-streaked lab-coat, stripped off her shirt and trousers, and shimmied a filmy dress over her head. She shoved her feet into knee-high combat boots before heading out. Never knew what sort of trouble you could run into at Double D’s Bar. She slipped a scalpel into her boot pocket, checked her lip-gloss, then headed out.

  “Hey Doc, what’s shakin’?” yelled Suga D, Double D’s owner.

  Talia leaned across the bar and gave her a kiss.

  “Woo! You been hittin’ the whisky?”

  “It’s scotch, Suga, and yeah, work has been rough.”

  “Awe, yeah, I know workin’ for that devil ain’t easy on you. Lemme fix you a drink.”

  Suga D pushed a whiskey towards her number-one crush. She and Talia had their share of intimate evenings, but the doctor wasn’t the type to stick around for breakfast. Most of the time that suited Suga just fine, but just once she’d like to wake up with Talia in her arms. Make her French toast. Watch the sunrise. Romantic stuff. Couple’s stuff.

  Talia sighed.

  “What’s wrong there, Pussycat?” Suga leaned in for another quick kiss.

  “I need a man,” Talia said, draining her glass.

  Suga D sucked her cheeks in before slapping the bar, shaking with laughter.

  “Lord, bitch, what you need a man for? I got what you need right here!”

  “Shhh,” Talia hushed her, leaning closer. “I need just one man, Suga. One particular man. I need your help. Please. It’s important.”

  Suga couldn’t resist her puppy-dog eyes.

  “Go on.”

  The Rohypnol worked on Paul faster than either of them expected. Luring him to the bar was easy. Suga sent him a text letting him know that one of the regular girls wanted to meet him after closing time. Paul never turned down an opportunity to get a piece of ass. Suga helped load him into Talia’s car, then followed her back to her lab to unload.

  “Damn, Doc! It smells like ass in here!”

  Suga had never been to the lab before. Talia made it clear that her work for Chanton Technologies was top-secret.

  “Yeah, well there’s a lot of ass in here, Suga. Including this ass right here.” Talia flicked Paul's head and it lolled to the side.

  “You aren’t gonna to hurt him, are you? What are you gonna do to him?”

  “Oh, nothing less than he deserves.”

  Talia stood up on her tippy-toes to give her a deep kiss.

  “I need you to trust me on this, Suga. Things are going to get a lot better around here. Your Doc is going to fix everything.”

  Suga extracted herself from the embrace and looked down at Talia sternly.

  “Fix? Don’t play dangerous, Doc. There are some things you don’t want to be messin’ with. You call me when you need me, okay?”

  Talia kissed her again in response.

  Paul groaned, tossing a bit on the metal table, as Suga headed for the door. She turned around and shook her head.

  “You’re crazy, Doc. Crazy, but I love your sweet ass. Good-night and be careful with him.”

  Paul groaned agai
n, louder.

  “Doc, you sure—“

  “Night, Suga, thanks again, I’ll be fine,” Dr. Ambrose said curtly, as she ushered her outside then shut the door in her plaintive face. She felt guilty about being so rude, but she had so much work to do and not a lot of time to do it. In the end, Suga would thank her for it.

  Paul, drooling, began murmuring, “You want this dick, yeah, this dick,” before passing out again.

  “It’s not your dick I want, asshole.”

  Talia laid out her tools, ready to work. She strapped him to the table and taped his slobbering mouth. Her lab was in a remote part of the building, and fairly sound-proof, for the comfort of her co-workers. They knew better than to ask questions about any noises from her lab, especially since they often caused noises of their own. Still, she would rather not draw any attention to herself. If any of her colleagues were working late, it was better if they didn’t hear the screams. Paul would quickly be missed, and she didn’t want any suspicion to fall on her.

  Taking a long look at the Wolfencorn painting while she scrubbed up, Talia reaffirmed that Paul would be a perfect match. The Wolfencorn had haunted her dreams for the past several weeks. Every detail of the beast was seared into her brain. Acrylic danced under its blood-stained fore-claws, pawing at the canvas, begging her to set it free.

  This part of the project required a very specific tool, one of her own design, actually. The Melon-Baller she called it. She gripped it firmly and pressed the razored edge just under the anterior corner of Paul’s eye socket. His eyes were pried open, held with sets of prongs like metal spiders. With two swift scoops and a twist, Dr. Ambrose had his orbs out, stems intact. His famously icy-blue eyes. She smiled in satisfaction as they floated like beach balls in the vat of solution.

  Paul thrashed and shuddered against the restraints. Guttural cries worked their way through his taped muzzle, and Talia knew she’d have to finish him soon. Not quite yet, though.