Rebecca

By Mike Vavrinak

Rebecca was born far ahead of her time. A beautiful young woman, surviving in the lonely frontier wilderness of colonial Ohio, she dreams of far off oceans and exciting adventures, all the while wishing beyond hope that she could find a loving partner, an equal, to share it with.

Her whole world changed the summer that Dominic and his intoxicating wife Bethany passed through her family’s homestead, trading goods and filling her head with promises and possibilities. She learned that year that dreams could come true, and that even the most far-fetched wishes could be realized.

In the almost three hundred years since then, she’s learned to regret what she’d wished for, because dreams built on lies and dysfunction so easily collapse into the nightmares they always were under their rotten foundations. Trapped now in Dominic’s tightly controlled family of vampires she seduces and turns an outsider in the desperate hope he can help her escape.

They find themselves quickly caught up in a blood drenched race for freedom, never knowing if they’re a step ahead or three steps behind the masterful manipulation of her cruel and merciless ‘father’. Rebecca soon learns that the bonds of family, love and even time itself can be as strong as steel, and that wishes are still not to be trusted.

REBECCA is a story of twisted fantasy of blood and terror, erotic desires and decadent hunger, and maybe even true love at the end of it all. Who will find salvation? Who will find redemption? Who will pay the price to make it out alive, and will they envy the ones who didn't?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Vavrinak
• Release date: Apr 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311281272

Mike Vavrinak

Mike Vavrinak was born in Youngstown Ohio in 1966. After graduating with a degree in drafting in the early nineties he moved to Columbus, where he found a job completely unrelated to the education he spent so much time and money on. He currently lives in Lancaster Ohio with his beautiful wife Glaiza where he is working on his next novel and fighting an ongoing war with pizza ... delicious evil pizza.

Book preview

Rebecca

By Mike Vavrinak

For Glaiza

Who never lets me forget who we really are

And why we really live.

And for my Gabrielle,

Born in love, forever live in Peace.

In Reading gaol by Reading town

There is a pit of shame,

And in it lies a wretched man

Eaten by teeth of flame,

In burning winding-sheet he lies,

And his grave has got no name.

And there, ‘till Christ call forth the dead

In silence let him lie:

No need to waste the foolish tear

Or heave the windy sigh:

The man had killed the thing he loved,

And so he had to die.

Oscar Wilde

Prologue

Chris woke up that morning accidentally. He hated starting his day that way; he hated starting his day period. He lay in bed with his eyes closed for a few extra minutes, once again weighing the membership benefits of life on Earth. He supposed he could always cancel it tomorrow; after all, sometimes they served a decent breakfast.

Technically it was more like early afternoon than morning, but, technically, he just didn’t give a shit anymore; chronological distinctions no longer held any interest for him. Time and space had become fluid in his presence, warping and spiraling into the event horizon of the gaping black hole in his chest until both eventually imploded with little fanfare or notice.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed as his hands reached for the aspirin and the warm half bottle of water on the nightstand. He liked to have a clear head before he began the day’s debauchery. He’d always believed the journey was as important as the destination and he didn’t want to miss any of it.

He swallowed the sour grainy tablets with a grimace as his feet touched the cold, hard wood floor of his bedroom. There used to be carpeting in here; soft, warm, snow white carpeting, but that was back when there was laughter and sunshine in here as well, back when his heart still burned bright and hot.

Now the room was a dull, yellowed, tobacco stained afterthought, the carpet had collected so many cigarette burns and wine spills that it had been easier to just rip it up than to clean it, much like everything else in his life. He sat for another moment on the edge, head in his hands, trying to remember again why he needed to get out of bed.

Nothing came to him right away, so he grabbed the half pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the nightstand and got up just for the hell of it, much like every other day. He shuffled off into the bathroom pretending not to look over at the faded, curling snapshot of her wedged into the frame of the dusty dresser mirror.

As he closed the door and started the hot water for his shower he pretended he couldn’t feel the tugging of his memory as it desperately tried to escape the swirling gravity of that hungry blackness inside of him. He lit a cigarette and pretended he couldn’t remember her smile, remember every word of every conversation … he pretended, he was good at that.

He leaned against the wall, taking a deep drag and staring into his fading reflection in the rapidly fogging mirror. One by one he practiced his smiles for the coming night; they were all there, except, of course, for the one she had taken with her, he wondered if he would ever see that one again. He missed it.

1. Ironies

It was dark. I remember it was so dark, a tangible, textured darkness. The candles on the nightstand illuminated nothing but her, no ceiling, no walls, just Rebecca, floating above me in liquid waves of sepia and shadow.

She moved slowly against me, like a dark sensuous current, as warm and engulfing as the midnight ocean in summer, which, of course, only increased my attraction. It didn’t take my drunken mind much effort at all to imagine it was the darkness itself that was fucking me; slowly consuming me in its warm wet blackness.

Mmmmm, this darkness was hungry tonight, and I was her perfect food, willing prey for the ravenous endless night to consume at her leisure. I needed this, needed her to swallow me, all of me, sex first down her soft forgiving throat; to take deep me within her where there was no future, no past, no memory, only the warm thrilling wetness of now.

Her pale skin glowed warm and golden in the candlelight as she moved slowly to my touch, responding to my fingertips, my breath. She closed her eyes and arched her back as she ground down hard against me, her smooth white neck warm and glistening, inviting me to feed.

Rising in temptation and thirst, I ran my tongue lightly from the base of her throat slowly upwards, tracing a low groan from deep inside of her. I could taste her vibration on my lips and feel the heat of her skin as her hand cradled my head, guiding my open mouth to her breast.

I could feel her breath catch deep in her chest as the tip of my tongue grazed her hardening nipple; her grip tightening around me. Her pace was intensifying, concentrating as she took me deeper, ever deeper inside of her, consuming me, mind, body and soul.

I moaned aloud as another wave of intensity rolled my eyes back up into my fluttering lids, I was having some trouble finding myself, where did I stop and she begin? The intensity of our sex and the warm buzz of the alcohol seemed to have melted us together. I pushed deeper, throbbing inside of her, her eyes grew wide before slowly closing, her self-assured smile disappearing as she licked it off her lips.

We fucked as if we were lifelong lovers, knowing just where to touch and lick and scratch, not the strangers we had been only hours ago. Maybe there was something bringing us together, maybe she … no. I closed my eyes and swam down into deeper, blacker waters. This was no time to come up for air, no place for the chilling rays of the sun, tonight was for warm, wet, mindless pleasure.

Lowering herself against me, her hair fell forward in curls of spun gold and shadow, raining droplets of sweat onto my bare chest. She slowed her pace, her hips barely moving, her rhythm becoming more internal, a slow pulsing ripple up and down my buried cock.

A soft whimper escaped her throat; yes, she had me, had me by the soul, but I could see the hunger in her eyes as well. She wanted something from me, something more than just my time, my sweat or my cum.

She would be disappointed. Anything remotely redeeming or worthwhile in me had been strangled in desperation long ago, to be dragged away bleeding in the darkness by desire, leaving my conscience to clean up the mess in the morning. And with practiced ease I ignored that fading conscience, secure in the knowledge that my future was as dead and buried as my past, and the present was all that mattered.

No, whoever she’d been searching for in that club tonight would not be found behind these empty bloodshot eyes. Any lingering vestige of hope or dignity had been hollowed out of my soul years ago; I filled that void now with vice and wine and a good burrito or two when I could find them.

But I had to admit there was something about her that had me lowering my guard, I couldn’t say it was trust, but something felt … more familiar than a one night stand should feel. From our easy conversation at the bar to her welcome suggestion to move the party back to my place, there was more than just a mutual attraction going on here.

For lack of a better word, she seemed to have an agenda.

Now, as it appeared that agenda involved large amounts of fucking my brains out, I wasn’t going to question it too much, but she was absolutely looking for something. It felt like she was using sex to distract me, searching my mind as she rode me, working her way around my defenses, drawing me into her eyes.

And it was working. In the darkness of the room I was losing myself in the deep, fathomless oceans of her eyes. So big, they were liquid black with ripples of the darkest violet catching the glow of the candles, or were they burning from within? A slow-burning fire smoldering its way to the surface to guide my tired mind down into the depths of her.

I found myself following the flame, like a moth entranced by the light at the end of a dark endless tunnel. Her eyes were swallowing me, drawing me out from the cold husk of my soul, out of my mind, my body, taking me ever deeper into the warm comfort of her gaze.

I imagined myself a traveler in her mind, browsing and gaping like a tourist at wonders that my world couldn’t hold and hers took for granted. Thoughts and half formed ideas swirled up from the dark mists of our lurid imaginations before my eyes.

Sultry and warm, they pleaded and tempted, begging me to come out and play with them in the darkest of corners, where the light of conscience and accountability would never shine. I could drown in sensuality as submissive and compliant as the guiltiest fantasy, completely unaware of limits and answerable to no one.

It was all there for me to choose; sins and pleasures older than the lost souls condemned to guard and temper them as punishment for the indulgence. But there was more, so much more to be found in that new world.

There was also peace, tranquility; sunsets on crisp, mirrored mountain lakes, soaring eagles and quick running deer drawn from the deepest forests of any artist’s subconscious. I could feel warm summer breezes full of colors and scents not imagined in any lovers’ first nervous kiss of contentment, nor last welcome breath before reunion.

There was too much beauty for memory to feel welcome, too much reflection for company to impose; this was a sanctuary that could only exist in the minds of children and the truly simple. I walked through a wonderland of possibilities minus the sobering hand of consequences; and all of it, if I wasn’t mistaken, could be mine.

I could sense that all of these wonders, heaven, hell and everything in between, could be mine … for a price, but what? The price of a soul I no longer valued, a humanity I no longer respected, a future that lay in waste far behind me?

The slightest of smiles crept across her full wet lips, a knowing smile softened by candlelight and sweat. A smile that told me she knew. She knew that I was tangled, hypnotized, nibbling at the pretty, shiny bait, though I could well see the hook behind it.

Was this real? I could feel my eyes held in the depths of her eyes as sure as my flesh was held in the depths of her flesh. I could feel them caressing and calming my drunken tortured mind; it felt … good.

Did it matter if it was real? Would I be the fool to decline a taste of heaven … or hell, did it matter if it was fantasy or delusion? When it was only for the moment? Isn’t it all inconsequential when bathed in the distraction of sweat and desire?

She kissed me, a soft, full sensual kiss, leaving me with a small warm taste of herself.

Be still. I heard, ssshhhh. She stroked my sweat soaked hair while her lips softly danced along mine, easing my fears and trepidations with each flick of her knowing wet tongue.

I was aware of my body again, on the very edge, every little gyration bringing me closer and closer to the peak of pleasure, every delicious moment I couldn’t believe I hadn’t exploded yet. It felt as if I were passing through my orgasm, feeling the pleasure without the release.

Mmmmmm, wonderful, isn’t it? she whispered On the edge like this, stretching the moment on and on, so far past its breaking point … almost antagonizing … I groaned against her lips, the new sensations almost sending me over the edge.

She slowed her pace even more; my body responded instantly, finding equilibrium, keeping the dance alive.

Ooohh, yes, delicious, She whispered as she swallowed me once more in the hazy blue depths of her half closed eyes. I had never fucked like this before, this level of intensity, it was more than the wine, more than even an emotional connection; this was nearly unbearable.

The pleasure runs right up to the very edge of pain, She affirmed, you handle it remarkably well, giving as much as you take. That’s always been the key to it, so few give, everyone looking for their own quick gratification, the imagined security of control, never realizing the exquisite rewards of just … letting go.

I let go a long time ago, I thought to myself, and I’ve been drowning ever since.

Drown in me. She said with a small knowing smile. Drown in us.

What the fuck?

You … you’re inside of me, aren’t you? I thought as I drifted up through her eyes, in my head?

Well you’re inside of me, her delicate voice replied with a trace of sarcasm, only fair isn’t it?

She smiled and kissed me again, running her tongue lightly against my lips, tracing the outline of my mouth with the tip, sending shivers down our spine.

This isn’t real, I thought with no honest conviction behind it. I couldn’t lie to myself here; there was nothing in our open mind to hide behind. However strange this might be, it was actually happening.

I was right about you; the desperate ones are usually the strongest. She sensed my confusion as quickly as I sensed her calm. "I haven’t spoken a word since we lay down together, but you hear me. I felt you enter my mind as sure as I felt you enter my body and watched you stare in wonder at what you found there.

You’ve followed me down the path to this endless moment of shared ecstasy with very little help along the way. This is not the way it usually is with the virgin."

But I’m not…

"Oh, yes you are my friend, my lover, my poor, poor child; yes you are this night a virgin again, in all of the ways that matter to the human soul. This will be your first time; and it will not be gentle. It will tear your flesh, it will draw your blood, it will be the most exquisite pain and the deepest pleasure you have ever experienced.

And when it is over, life will have a new taste for you, a new purpose; you will look back at this moment as a turning point, as the point where death and life became one, and gave birth to you. This will be my gift to you, if that becomes your desire, and once done, there can be no undoing of it.

No undoing of what? A drunken existence of self-loathing and wallowing in unfocused anger and inconsolable loss? Nope, I was already broken. There was nothing she could take from me that I still cared about or needed or even bothered to wash on a regular basis anymore.

There is so much darkness inside of you, she whispered as her finger softly traced its way down my cheek. So much pain, I can’t find the end of it, or see the beginning. You’ve been scarred to your soul; tell my why you go on; what you’re searching for?

Tell me you’ve never seen desperation before, my thoughts began slowly, tell me you can’t smell it from a mile away. I’m searching for the night I can fall asleep and dream of the man I was; innocent and free and so … fucking … stupid in love. Where the fuck was this coming from? This flood of emotion was uncomfortable … but I couldn’t stop it.

Could she see her? How could she not? Maggie was always there, always close by; bleeding and dying in the shadowy corner of my heart. And maybe I can just die in there and never again awaken to the cold truth of sunrise.

What was she trying to accomplish here? What am I looking for? The hope that one day I’ll live again, or finally finish dying; it makes no real difference to me anymore. Someday I would be with Maggie again, someday soon if I could just keep …

You’re right, I do know the smell of desperation, she interrupted a bit forcefully, "I’m well familiar with the metallic, urine soaked smell of life’s prey, cornered and too terrified to breathe for fear of attracting another blow. I’ve hunted the weak and the coward for far longer than you could know.

That scent of fear and insecurity permeates this world, and it is rare to come upon someone as untouched by it as you. She smiled softly and continued, There may be a well-earned desperation about you Chris, but you are fearless where it matters, strong."

Our bodies had somehow become separated and forgotten as we floated deeper into her mind, our mind, the urgency of our sex fading like an afterthought along with the rest of the physical world.

The bedroom had somehow disappeared around us and she was now standing in front of me in a shared world of dark solitude, facing me, as naked as I and as equal.

Our thoughts and emotions swirled around us in the darkness as mist and ether. It was as if I could just reach out and collect a handful of the creamy fog, bring it dripping to my lips, and taste a memory, aged in loneliness and finally ripened by the touch of another.

She reached out to me in the eye of this storm of dark beauty and soft secret dreams, stroking my face with her fingers as she looked straight through to my soul and spoke to me with hers.

Christopher, she began with a sympathetic smile, "I don’t know what brought you to this blackness. The blade that cut this tear in your heart is buried far beneath this storm of dreams, and the demons that lurk there protecting that wound are yours alone to confront.

What I found in you was a strength of determination that could set us both free; you have the heart of a lion, I can hear the hot blood pounding through it, its rhythm guided me to you.

She smiled at my confusion; I did not know this man she was speaking of. What I offer you is a release from the torments of humanity, and the strength to match that determination. I cannot take away the memories and the regrets that you’ve chained yourself to, but I can promise that the pain and loss will no longer drive your life. You would be surprised at what you can come to terms with in an eternity.

So it was coming down to it, I could feel her offer of redemption coming, and it soured my stomach with pure churning fear.

For years I’d dreamed of the day that I could finally put down this loss and find peace; but I’d always assumed that release would come only with death. Now I was being given a chance to move on, a chance to start clean with my memories of the past intact, but the pain of re-living it lifted from my heart.

Imagine my surprise that I didn’t want to let it go.

Quite simply, I had become addicted to the pain. I needed the excuse of misery to justify my excesses and failures. The thought of self-determination and accountability terrified me at some level, left me feeling naked and vulnerable again to life’s whims.

I’d spent these last few years reacting as a victim; as if it were life making all these decisions for me. Life was the murderer, not me; my hands were, if not clean, then at least only bloodied in self-defense.

But the strength she spoke of was real too. I could see it now, through her eyes; but there was something else. What I saw in her mind was the truth, she couldn’t lie to me in our thoughts, but what I saw in her mind was not all there was to see, she was keeping things from me.

There are places in our minds where even we do not explore, where secrets and experiences that could destroy our lives and crush our hearts are well defended from prying minds, even our own. She seemed to have learned the secrets of those shadowy vaults and created a small hiding place within her subconscious, a lock box that only she could open.

I could sense that an important part of my life, my future, was being held in that dark hidden place; I also sensed that trying to find a way in would be useless. I would have to make a choice and take a chance.

If I were to say no?

"I would respect that desire; I’m not looking for a slave, or a meal this evening, I’m looking for a partner, a friend. You can sense that I want something from you as well, though you don’t know what that is and I can see that it worries you.

"I wish I could set your fears at rest, but I can’t, I cannot even seem to quiet my own at the events we may set in motion tonight. What I will ask of you is dangerous beyond your comprehension at the moment, for there are far worse things than death, or life.

What I can tell you is that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe you were the one for this, the only one. I’ve been searching for you for a hundred years before you were born, I need you, but I won’t just take you, she said almost sadly.

If you say no I will leave your mind as I found it, taking the memories of this private world, and the thoughts we shared within it with me. She smiled sadly, caressing my cheek, "you will fall asleep with the pleasant warm glow of this night’s loving to guide your dreams.

Maybe you will finally have that simple, innocent dream, but it will be just a dream, and the cold kiss of dawn will awaken you alone. I will be gone, never to be seen or heard from again. She stepped back away from me, her arms falling to her sides.

I believe both of our lives would be the sadder for it, she concluded softly, for I dream too, and I don’t want to fall from what could be, to what might have been. Her eyes rested upon me, waiting, as patient as they were intoxicating.

My thoughts were chaotic and indecisive. Rebecca could see my hesitation personified in the swirling storm of perception that grew around us. But true to her word she did nothing to influence; she patiently watched the consequences of my imagined futures play out before us.

The more I followed these threads of possibilities, the more I began to realize that even though I had yet to choose a path, the point of no return had somehow passed by without my notice. I could now see that an offer of salvation, whether accepted or refused, carried with it an end to excuses.

The tempest of scenarios in our mind was slowing, filtering out the unnecessary and weighing the balance of what was left. As it settled, the imagery within became more recognizable, the vapors held their form a little longer.

I saw myself taking shape out of the fog between us, my arms reaching out to another figure also condensing out of the mist, a figure whose shape and walk I knew so well I couldn’t help but gasp.

As she walked towards the comfort of my imaginary arms, her face solidified for a moment, it was her, my Maggie, alive, smiling and beautiful. I called out to her, and as she turned towards me her face lost focus again, shifting, her hair growing and curling.

It was Rebecca now that answered my gaze, her smile twisting into a look of fright and despair as the ghostly figure of myself began to change into that of another, unfamiliar man. He flowed and grew into a menacing white shadow that towered over her with glowing eyes and vicious fangs. Like a wave the shadow crashed down upon and consumed her in swirling foam, out of which a somber, familiar landscape took shape.

A full moon illuminated that hateful place that I knew so well. Raindrops of smoke fell upon a vaporous headstone and were consumed in little waves and ripples. Even in this fantasy my heart could not escape the icy grip of that cold sobering granite.

But this too would not last, as before my mind’s eye the past melted into the present and Rebecca and I were formed there in the space between us. Floating above the darkness on a bed of clouds, the false moon fading as the pale ghost of candlelight picked up its burden of illumination.

I stood in silent amazement, our ethereal lovers, caught within each other’s desires, their ghostly bodies entangled, yet still, except for the swirling of the smoke of their existence. This truly was a dream within a dream.

I felt myself slowly drifting towards this couple made of thought and desire; I could see his lips of fragile nothingness moving to answer the question that only this dream could ever know the depth of. I could see her reply of a smile and almost feel the swirls and eddies her fingers made as she caressed the cheek of her phantom lover.

As I floated closer she lowered her delicate shimmering face and closed her eyes of dreams as her lips met his in a small silent explosion of spiraling mists and evanescence.

My eyes closed as a feeling of warmth and finality washed through my mind, I could almost feel the ghostly touch of her lips on mine, her fingers in my hair. Darkness gave way to golden curls and ruby lips, the weightlessness of the ether becoming the solidity of reality. I was falling from her eyes as they closed once again in pleasure; we were back.

Our bodies had waited patiently for our mind’s return, and now they were restless, almost angry to be denied their hard earned rewards; there was just no talking to them. We began bucking and grinding like animals, our contorted faces only inches apart.

I felt her tighten around me as her head arched back, her eyes rolled shut and a loud groan unleashed from deep within her. Her nails raked my chest as she squeezed my name through her gritted teeth and came hard as I slammed her hips down against mine.

As she moaned and shook through her orgasm, I knew that I would soon follow, but not yet, not until her hunger of the flesh had been satisfied would she quench her thirst for blood. She finally collapsed on top of me, whimpering and breathing and spent.

Now Christopher, her hot breath whispered into my ear, now is your time of becoming.

I felt her tongue circling my ear, tracing its way down my neck, her teeth grazing ever so lightly, softer still were the lips that followed; and then it happened.

I felt the points of her fangs enter my neck in a single savage motion, sending a mixture of pleasure and pain and lightning flashing down my spine. My back arched off of the bed, my breath caught in my chest, my hands pulled her even tighter to me as I moaned aloud and exploded deep inside of her.

She took everything from me that night, the seeds of my future, the blood of my life, all that I was and would become she drank of. All of this I gave her freely on the promise of a dream.

As the throbbing pleasure of my orgasm subsided and my arms fell limp to my sides, I could hear the soft sucking sounds at my throat; feel the sticky wetness of the blood running down my neck. There was a new tunnel forming now, but to my eyes only.

I could feel my world falling into it. Collapsing upon itself into a deep hazy nothingness, the light was becoming dimmer, the sensations more distant, and the sound of her voice from a million miles above me.

And now it begins, She whispered to herself as everything faded into blackness, Now I’ve condemned us both.

And then, it was dark.

2. Pressure

Dominic was a very troubled man at the moment. Well, to be honest, he wasn’t really a man anymore, or just a man, and he hadn’t been for going on six hundred years now. And if you asked those who knew him way back when, they would argue that he had barely qualified as one

then either.

They would say you had to have a soul, or at least a conscience to claim membership in the human race. They would argue that his heart had been quarried from the same cold chiseled granite as his dark dungeons of broken minds and calculated murder; and just as devoid of compassion, mercy or warmth.

He would smile at those words, with warm green eyes belying the frost cracked stone beneath. He would smile and he would tell you with a calm, sure voice, that it was a cold dark world, and that a man’s conscience, like his vision, needed to become accustomed to working in that dim light.

Of course none of those people were still alive today. The more fortunate of them dying before Dominic’s change, when his tools and techniques were of a simpler, kinder nature. They only had to hang and bleed for a few days under his gifted and thorough care.

After his turning he became even better at his work. He found that with his heightened senses he could prolong and intensify the experience. He could keep his projects alive for months, sensing when he’d pushed just far enough to splinter, rather than break them.

You can tell a lot about a man by his works, by the attention to detail and the time he takes; the measure of pride in a job well done. Every man can be an artist in their own way, everyone can hear the siren’s song, no matter how mundane the task.

Dominic brought those voices to life with symphonic accomplishment. A master at balancing and building the perfect climactic overtures out of the blood tuned instruments of human desolation. He conducted the sounds of grown men weeping like the soothing bridge of a violin concerto.

Amputation had always sung to a special place in his heart. The soothing progression of its agonizing stages always played out in such comforting precision. From the confused disbelief as a hand was chopped and displayed, still bleeding and twitching, seeing that slow dawning appreciation that this dying piece of meat had caressed a lover’s cheek only days ago, but never would again.

He would wait patiently for the heightened screams of pain to slowly melt into anguished sobs of mourning, and from the dark crushed echoes of their souls they would give him all he wanted. Only then would he smile and take his bow, retiring to the standing ovation of his own weeping soul. Dominic Di Contiello was a maestro.

His methods were sadistic to say the least, but not without their cold dark reason, at least not to him. He would tell you that he never tortured for tortures sake, to him it was just a very effective means to an end.

Carving one into pieces by degrees, stretching it out, until there was little more left than a grotesque tube of living meat was a powerful tool. When you took an adversary so far beyond pain that they had lost the capacity to even understand mercy; you were not just killing, you were sending a message.

It was a clear and simple message; if you crossed him, he would not just take your life but your humanity, every last recognizable scrap of it. It was a cautionary message that in the end you would die a shapeless twisted thing, unrecognizable and repulsive even to the loved ones who claimed the wreckage of your corpse.

It was amazing to him over the years, how many people did not seem to understand that basic, simple truth. So many men and women he had been forced to take apart, piece by screaming piece, begging for their lives.

He never understood the begging part. Did they really think that after taking all the time and trouble to assemble an effective session he would just let them go because they said please? Did they not understand the amount of time and planning that went into these things? Do you know how long it takes to get steel to glow white hot in a damp basement?

Then would come the bargaining, they would offer money, wives, children, their very souls; anything, if he would only stop cutting. Didn’t they understand that once they were chained and naked and under his knife there was nothing else but the cutting that they could offer?

Although occasionally, very, very rarely, he could find a use, if only temporarily, for some of the more talented ones. Take for instance the one he had the pleasure of working with today, a very large and formerly angry man named Joseph Davis.

Joseph worked for Dominic in a way; he was a member of the local branch of a private security firm that he contracted for his funeral homes across the country. Apparently Joseph had been sent to re-negotiate the company’s services … at gunpoint.

Dominic felt this was bad form, but he was willing to hear him out, he’d always considered himself a strong negotiator who was not afraid to sit down at the table.

By now, Joseph had come to find his position to be considerably weaker than he had first assumed, shackled as he was, and staring at his gun, as well as three of his fingers and his right big toe, all laid out before him on a stainless steel medical cart.

Lishen … shtop, jush lishen …, the big man was drooling blood and the sandy grit of shattered teeth onto his dark green Armani, It washn’t me, it was Charlie, it wash … fucking … Charlie. He grimaced as a jagged chunk of what was left of a bicuspid sliced into his swollen tongue like a juicy porterhouse.

Joseph was locked into an extremely uncomfortable, though very fashionable, high backed wood and leather chair built for just such occasions. Dominic had found it a year or so ago on a local buy-n-trade site, It was a custom modified piece of fetish furniture let go by a large, aging dominatrix and her slight, soft spoken husband she referred to as Mr. Skittles.

Dominic never thought much of the hardcore sadist sect and their little pets; pathetic, bullying amateurs and their insecure victims who wouldn’t know self-esteem if they were fucked with it. But, he had to admit, they did know how to accessorize.

Shackles were built into the arms and legs of the dark mahogany throne, adjustable of course, with an aluminum bar sliding through two steel rings on either side at waist level to ensure uncomfortable and permanent seating. It was finished off with a built in, also height adjustable, motorized garrote; a little something to help you help them sit up nice and straight and pay attention.

It came with 2 USB ports and quad speakers, a remote control, and a plate of surprisingly good brownies Mr. Skittles had whipped up from scratch in very little time at all. Mistress Agatha had also insisted he take something they referred to as the ‘curios bunny dildo’; Dominic wasn’t completely convinced he could work that into a session, but he kept it nearby just in case.

He rolled across the concrete floor on his padded, black leather office chair to appraise the situation so far. This one was weak, the bigger, brawnier ones usually were. They were good at dealing pain and maybe even taking a few good hard punches, but they were never prepared for what Dominic Di Contiello could bring to the table.

He was at the sweet spot right now with this one. He knew from centuries of experience that he had applied just the right amount of pain, fear and dominance to have broken this six foot three, two hundred and forty pound hard ass. Or at least he had broken what was still attached.

With a few minor repairs, this human pit bull could be of some use; Joseph was telling the truth about just following orders, and Dominic could easily read his type. He would forego revenge and show the proper respect for the alpha male that a well-run agony session such as this could bring out

Maybe a small test first. He pushed a small blue button on the remote and with the blink of a small red light an almost eerily quiet stepper motor slowly began spooling in the thin silver wire around Joseph’s plump sweaty neck.

Shtop, no, pleashe, don’t … The torn bloody stumps of his fingers tightened into squeezing impotent fists, held fast by the steel restraints, No … God no … pleashe.

Dominic smiled an easy casual smile, his bright green eyes glittering in playful amusement from beneath his thick black hair. He held the button until the wire had pulled tight enough around Joseph’s neck to hold his head completely immobile against the chair back.

I do believe you Joseph; I was just concerned about your posture, you’d be surprised how many people take their spine for granted. He had a naturally calm and friendly voice, the faint Italian accent almost gone now after so many years away from home.

Now then, let’s talk about your future. The way things look right now, you don’t really have one beyond the next hour or so, and even that is going to be … uncomfortable.

He picked up the bloody set of bolt cutters sitting on the tray next to the fingers and walked over to him. His small, light frame, though fit and muscular, looked almost comically undersized next to the hulking mass of bleeding fat and muscle now begging for its life.

I’ve taken four of your digits, Joseph grunted and tried to cock his head quizzically to the side, fingers, toes, we call those digits, Dominic explained. Joseph’s eyes signaled he understood, Good, good, you know, we should all try to learn something new every day.

He smiled as he tapped the cutters against his open palm. Now, as I was saying, four digits, and I’ve already paid Charles for this quarter’s services, so here’s what I’m thinking, he leaned in, now pay attention.

You will come and work for me, in exchange, I will try to re-attach your digits, or at least not separate you from any more of them. I will also provide you with room and board and an adequate salary. Does that sound reasonable? Joseph, very slowly, nodded his head yes. Dominic smiled down at his new puppy.

I’m so sorry Joseph, he tapped another button, loosening the thin cutting wire, there, that’s better isn’t it, just try not to slouch, okay? He barely choked out a grunt that could have been a yes.

Very good, Dominic continued, here’s what we’ll do first. You and Bethany will take my answer back to Charles. You will tell him that I negotiated the agreed upon contract in good faith and if he insists on adding fees without notice like this, then I will have to take my business elsewhere. He stopped for a moment for effect.

… and then I want you to pluck out one of his eyes and make sure that he swallows it. Can you handle that for me?

Y-y-yeah, Dom … I can do that. He answered a little shaken, but relieved. Dominic’s smile faltered a bit and he tapped the button again, tightening the wire until a single drop of blood ran down Joseph’s dark red throat.

Do I look like a bottle of champagne to you Joseph? he said with absolutely no humor in his eyes. My name is Dominic; although from here on out, you will call me sir, understood? He let some slack back into the wire.

Yes, shir, I’m shorry shir He whispered hoarsely.

Good, and we’ll also get those teeth of yours fixed, we have a remarkable dental plan here, he smiled. Now, let’s go over this, what are you going to tell Charles for me?

Dominic pulled his chair up close, staring into those blood shot eyes, making sure his message wouldn’t get mixed up with an old Jetsons’ episode.

I will ashk him if he likesh the … the … ideal that …

Joseph, he cut him off sharply, his eyes darkening almost imperceptibly. I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard you; can you repeat that please? Joseph was suddenly getting nervous again.

I ashk, if … likesh … the ideal that … The happy little motor was whirring again and Joseph now had a real look of panic on his face, things were slipping backwards and he wasn’t sure why.

You know Joseph, Dominic said calmly as he rose from his chair, remote in hand, and began pacing. "I’m sure Charles has his ideals, and I’m sure they’re quit important to him and the decisions he’s made throughout his life.

I like to think that everyone has something to aspire to, a goal that keeps us working for what is just out of reach; it keeps us honest and alive. An ideal is a finish line that is never crossed, only measured against your progress, and a noble thing when pure and good.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned over to growl angrily into Joseph’s horrified bewildered face. But what the fuck does that have to do with the job I just gave you?

I … I don’t …

No, you don’t, do you? Dominic responded loudly. You have no idea what an ideal is, do you? Joseph was gasping, his body jerking as the wire slowly cut into his flesh.

Do you know the difference between an adjective and a noun? he paused, looking expectantly as a tearing gash appeared just below Joseph’s addams apple. I didn’t think so.

A noun is a person place or thing. For example: blood; wire; fucking idiot; these would all be nouns, are we following? He smiled.

An adjective is a describing word, like red; red describes the blood that apparently wasn’t being used by the fucking idiot’s brain anyway, hence the wire; are you getting all this?

The garrote had sliced deeply into his windpipe; all he could do was answer in wet wheezing gasps. I guess it’s a lot to process under the circumstances Dominic spoke in a more conciliatory tone, his initial irritation receding. I think the point to take home here would be that when you go on a job for me, Joseph, you are my representative,

He pushed a button on the remote and stopped the wire taught through his neck, just in front of the jugular, he picked up the large electric branding iron off of his table full of goodies.

And if you look like an idiot, Joseph, and I sent you, how do you think that reflects on me? Joseph’s eyes were red and pleading, his mouth opening and closing on his bloody, half chewed tongue.

It makes me look like an idiot, he finished calmly as the motor whirred back to life, and I am not an idiot.

The thin wire sliced cleanly through the big throbbing veins, pumping currents of blood into the air in slow rhythmic pulses. The motor was grinding now, trying to cleave through the bone and cartilage of the spinal column as Dominic cauterized the neck with practiced ease.

In the amount of time it took for him to stop the blood flow, the wire had made it through the last of the neck. The head slid smoothly to the side, the eyes staying on Dominic; he used the iron on the severed head, keeping the brain alive for a few more seconds.

Joseph, he said with the saddest look on his face to the still blinking eyes, A mind is such a terrible thing to waste. Without looking he tossed the head over his shoulder, it arced up through the air and landed at the bottom of the fifty five gallon drum in the corner without touching a side.

He turned his attention back to the still twitching corpse. No longer supported by the wire, the massive chest had fallen forward at the waist over the aluminum bar. Dominic sat up on the long steel dissecting table and watched the last of the spasms subside.

Joseph, Joseph, Joseph, what a mess. He would have to deal with Charles himself now, not a big problem, but certainly annoying, it always was. Every now and then a local ‘boss’ would try to shake him down for some extra cash.

He always knew it was local, because the two or three men at the top knew him, had known of him for generations, and knew better than to fuck with him. They worked together occasionally and got along fairly well through a mutual respect of greed and ruthlessness.

He could make a call, Charles would disappear in a day or two, no questions asked. But he preferred to handle these kinds of things locally, it set a better example if he put his personal touch into it.

First things first though, what to do with the leftovers? He looked down at the carnage of his English lesson; blood everywhere, bits of flesh hanging, the smell of burnt meat and urine, a perfectly good Italian suit hopelessly ruined. Maybe he had overreacted?

He was thinking