Post by Joey "The Handyman" Handy on Feb 25, 2019 19:59:53 GMT -5
The Fate of a Family Man - Part Three
The sepia-toned light flickered in the dusty atmosphere or the attic I had somehow gotten trapped in. The projector - the one I had neither set up nor loaded with the movie currently on display - began showing footage from the mid-1800's. The scratchy film chattered around the cogs noisily, completely unaccompanied by any other sound. Realizing that sound hadn't been added to movies for quite some time after that period helped bring my brain back into reality and focus.
Some gentlemen strolled down a dirt main street in what I deduced from some of the signage I could make out to be the town of Hays. "Hays, Kansas?" I asked out loud to no one. They walked in a rushed meter along with everything in the video.
They reached a saloon comically located in the left armpit of Nadine's wedding dress-slash-projector screen. I squinted as they were followed by a rushing cameraman into the parlor and through the swinging doors. I thought I recognized one of the men in the video.
In my concentration, the photo album I had perched perilously on a nearby stack of record-filled milk crates, fell to the floor, causing me to (not) scream like a girl in surprise. It fell open to a page near the beginning of the album, complete with pictures of the very men in the movie.
A troublesome scene appeared to unfolding at the poker table. I began to read the lips as best I could to follow along.
*******
The dealer upended his chair in his haste to get the hell out of whatever was about to go down. The bartender behind the group began to reach for a shotgun hidden out of view just under the bar, but one of the lighter-haired men with a handlebar mustache cocked his pistol and discouraged the behavior with authority.
"You just keep real still, Marvin. We don't have no quarrels with you or most of the people in your place." The bartender complied with the man aiming his pistol at him, his now empty arms slowly raising.
Meanwhile, a black-haired and equally mustachioed man from the album made himself known to the group at the table, as calm as can be. Opposite him was a man with a scraggly, unkempt, salt-and-pepper mane covering his head and face, topped with a ten gallon hat right out of the Old West was busy doing his best to ignore his new company, and give his attention to the woman in a fancy crimson dress side-saddling his lap.
The woman's face had been turned to the filmmaker and obscured by an elaborate crimson hat. She also ignored the incoming visitors, cupping the gunslinger's face in her hand and giggling as she seduced him.
"Bart," greeted the dark-haired man.
"Joseph," Bart said with an exasperated sigh, peeking around his prize's hat with no loss of chagrin. "You'd better have a good reason for interrupting me. I'm on a roll here, as you can see."
He motioned to the table. In front of him was a slapdash pile of coins, bills, and other bric-a-brac he'd made off with from any sucker that sat at the table with him. The woman on his lap reached between his legs and regained his attention with a squeeze. He inhaled through his teeth with a chuckle.
"I got everything here fair and square."
"It ain't you or your money we're after," informed Joseph.
Bart growled, "Then I suggest you mosey along and let me be, while you're still able"
"I'm afraid we can't do that."
"You heard the man," hissed the woman. "Go away while you can." Her face slowly turned to where the camera could make her out.
*******
She looked almost exactly like Nadine! My Nadine! Before my brain could process what I was seeing, the woman spun her head completely around 180 degrees like an owl.
*******
Bart shook her off of his lap, his eyes as big as saucers. "WHAT IN TARNATION!"
"Step away from her, Bart! NOW!" ordered Joseph, but it was too late.
The action only took a split second. With a slash of her hand, Bart's throat opened up, a hole existing where his windpipe had once been. The lady began calmly stuffing her bosom with the collected loot on the table. Bart stood, staring wide-eyed at her, choking on his own essence.
The woman clasped Bart's face with elongated, bloody, claws, shoving his backwards nonchalantly. "Oh, just die already." Bart gasped his last breath as he toppled like a felled tree through the table behind him. The woman - the Nadine-thing - looked at the men. "I wasn't finished with my meal," she spun on them instantly. "You're going to have to make it up to me."
"That's what you get for playing with your food," quipped the light-haired gent.
"Guess I'm going to have to trade up," the woman-thing glowered. "But first..." She turned her attention to the person holding the camera. Without another word, she leapt and the footage came to a shaky end.
*******
Something in my head clicked. As odd as it all was, it started to make sense; I hadn't hallucinated that Nadine was a succubus. She actually was one!
"But... We've had kids together," I muttered. "And how do I stop her?"
I had a lot of things to figure out and absolutely nowhere to start. Just to the right of the chest the projector had been set upon, the old leather toolbox began rumbling as if something inside of it was trying to get out. The sides contorted as it danced in the darkness, sending more dust into the air with each successive thump. After a few seconds, it fell over, its zippered opening agape. Soon, a black book lolled out like a tongue from horrific mouth.
I picked up the tome, eyeing it suspiciously. Gold foil letters emblazoned the black leather.
They proclaimed the book as one that was very familiar. It was a Bible.
*******
I sat in the gym, removing the tape from my wrists slowly, concentrating on my life more than the act I was involved in. I felt like some sort of manure Midas; everything I touched seemed to turn to shit.
My kids? Under their aunt's care, perhaps indefinitely.
My wife? Joined at the hip with the woman who was at the center of it all.
I couldn't even get proper revenge. It wasn't for lack of trying. I'd get a few good blows in, but then I'd end up catching the worst of it all.
I had a glimmer of hope from an unexpected place. Cory Steel had given me some help and some advice, but even he had ended up feeling the brunt of my bad luck when he had a run-in with the law before his Underground match on Trauma 246.
Now, it was time for Trauma 247. This time, I wasn't fortunate enough to be kept from the lineup. This time, I was going against Holden Ross, a man who had recently injured his own father to the point of no return. He was aligned both with Seromine and, seemingly, David Hunter, neither of who were guy that wanted to sign my yearbook in anything other than a pen filled with my blood.
Well, perhaps not as much in David's case, since we'd only exchanged a few harsh words, and now that he's the newly crowned Underground King, I was sure he had bigger fish to fry than a minnow like me.
But Holden... That man was a shark with an unquenchable need for blood, and I was being served to him on a platter. I guess there was only way out, and that was through. I supposed that if I were to manage to get a clean win over a guy like that, Alexa would have no choice but to take me seriously.
Mass Destruction was imminent. And it was coming fast.
