by David Morgan
Chapter 2
If his suspicions were correct, then this beast had been a rare example of the extreme influence she possessed over her victims.
There were no fang marks, yet he persisted in the delusion that he was somehow empowered by her? She gave him nothing, yet this boy gave up everything for her.
Dex had been deceived—and he recoiled in disgust. The events played over in his mind, the words of his enemy echoed in his thoughts, the smell of the breath still lingered in the air. He threw up.
He’d never made this mistake before, and it must never happen again.
An electrical socket was sparking in the corner; a product of the fight no doubt, and Dex sighed in relief. A reasonably natural fire. The perfect way to cover the evidence; it’s bad enough having the Dakimakura to hunt down without the police after you. A few minutes would be all he needed to figure out his next steps.
A small beeping sound came from the computer speaker, and the shadow on the wall indicated something blinking on the screen. Dex proceeded with caution—nests have been booby trapped before, and there could be more slaves lurking in the shadows, poised to strike.
He struck the flame of his lighter and gave a quick glance around the room. The mess indicated that they’d been in there for possibly a few weeks. The bedding was disheveled and covered in stains—surely she didn’t let him—no. She couldn’t bear the touch of her slaves, even her victims she could hardly endure. No, not even she is strong enough for that. The chads. The chads are the source of her tingles, and even then mostly for feeding.
He cautiously made his way over to the computer screen. The open screen betrayed a Facebook profile that was open to her messages.
He clicked the tab of the conversation still blinking on the screen.
“Edwin: *A wild Gentleman appears* Hi Daria XD *adjusts tie* I’m Edwin, but you can call me Edwin. Because I like your smile. ^_<
Daria: Oh, a WILD gentleman! To what do I owe the pleasure? (o^_^o)”
Clearly she had already begun hunting for victims or slaves, or more. He had to read on.
“Edwin: Milady! You owe nothing! The honor is ALL mine… XD
Daria: Oh! I LUV that name! ‘Milady’ =^.^=
Edwin: Then ‘tis what you shall be called!
Daria: ^_^”
In the other room, a flame sprang to life and began to flicker and spread rapidly. The electrical cord, damaged and sparking from the fight, ignited surrounding Dorito bags with almost no resistance, stretching to other trash and lighting the carpet and furniture.
But he couldn’t leave, he needed to get some clue to her whereabouts—where was she headed?!
Edwin: Milady? Le Gentleman Awaits *tips Fedora and offers arm* XD
The smell of piss filled the room as bottles melted, bursting and soaking the floor—at least that would buy him a few more seconds.
Edwin: Milady?
But Dex read on with haste, refusing to be left with a dead end again. He had worked too hard to get this far.
Edwin: Daria? Are you there? Perhaps you’d like to join me for a fine glass of fresh squeezed Le M’nade?”
He had to find out who this kid was.
Edwin: I should have known. Typical bitch. Hate the good guys, run to the bad guys who hurt you. Whatever—I’m done with this. Don’t come crying to me when you hit the wall and you can’t find a mate to save your life!
The conversation ended abruptly. Dex scrolled through the other conversations: pages and pages of fat, greasy men from various countries.
The images of each one were hallmarked with trilbies and Hawaiian shirts. Even their pictures betrayed a clear lack of hygiene and completely misguided sense of fashion. There must have been thousands of them. What could she be planning with such a massive gathering of followers?
A burst of light, a spark, and a black screen meant that the fire had burnt through the cable. It was time to go now. The flames roared, blocking the doorway, forcing toxic plastic and Styrofoam-fueled smoke all into the room.
He grabbed the Mt. Dew bottle at the foot of the computer desk: two liters, full. There was only one way out of this, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
Dex pulled the blanket from the bed. He curled his lip and tried to shield his nose from the sour smells of unnamed body fluids, stiffened into permanence through time and neglect. He tore the cap off of the bottle and emptied the contents onto the blanket just as the flames licked the edges of the bed.
Draping the now thoroughly soaked blanket over his shoulders, he nearly vomited when he took a breath, realizing that this bottle contents was also NOT Mountain Dew, or at least it was at some point before passing through the beast’s kidneys back into the bottle. Still, it was wet, and wet was necessary to escape this mess.
He threw himself through the flames, using the now doubly-soiled bedding as protection from the heat. Dodging the debris, he made it up the stairs, just in time to turn around and see the rest of the basement disappear in conflagration as a backdraft engulfed the room.
Stumbling into the kitchen and coughing hard, he keeled onto the floor, writhing in pain. The symptoms had begun to return—Dex tried to recall how much time had elapsed since his last dosage.
It didn’t matter, as he crawled and struggled across the floor, he knocked his hat from the kitchen table. A small plastic bottle rolled to the floor. Steadying his hands, He clawed open the bottle to spill a number of small red pills onto the floor. He popped one into his mouth and almost instantly began breathing easier.
Having regained his energy, he pulled himself to his feet and put on his hat. Reaching the front door, he stopped for a moment, lingering in front of a mirror that hung on an adjacent wall. He adjusted his trench coat, tipped his fedora, and walked out the front door. No one calls the cops on people who walk out the front door.
