M. Cartoon is an un.common being.
More than writing, his passion lies in creating orginal music intertwined with short stories that he posts regularly on his youtube channel.
His age is unknown as well as his location.
He wishes you all to void the simulation.
T R I N I TY COLLECTION.
This story begins with a facile conversation at an undisclosed location. Time is unknown. The clandestine collector has captured conversations carried by cryptic cultures for centuries. He is a calculated, cunning and curious being.
"I've got a movie idea, I want you to picture all of this, you ready?"
"Certainly, amaze me, Scorsese" said the Collector with a curious grin.
The long-bearded man in the denim jacket paced before presenting his idea to an audience of one.
A little boy is observing a beetle unhurriedly crawling across the pavement. He was in awe and seemed to be studying the way the light reflected different prisms of color off the creatures back.
"Want to come over and play some VR?" Childhood friend asked enthusiastically as he admires his work of the now very much dead beautiful beetle.
"Sure" Little boy responded as he gets up to dust himself off using both his hands
As they are walking closer to Childhood-friend's house a [Time Change] will occur with each step. They are growing older until they reach the back door of Childhood-friends home, the next shot we see them both emerge from the front door of the house and the time skip is complete. They are teenagers on the first day of their junior year in High School and obviously some dope ass music is in the background setting the tone and emotion of the film.
"What do you think is the scariest thing that currently exists in the world?"
"Easy, the Camel Spider"
"What? not this again, this weird obsession of yours is starting to get creepy"
"Just think about it, statistics show that as much as five to seven percent of the current population would be certifiably diagnosed as a sociopath, that's a lot of people, dude, which brings us to this year's experiment"
"Here it comes"
"I want us to uncover a real sociopath that goes to our school"
“Of course, you do, it’s our Junior year and you want to hunt down a hypothetical sociopath, that’s completely normal”
The animated bearded man flicked his lighter twice. Chut! Chut!
"Can I use your lighter? Mine is Alll Outta FuelllLLL... I'm soOo Lost without YoUu" He sung
"Sure, nice remake to a classic" said the amused Collector
"Ok, so that sets up the story, from here it gets dark. I'll just summarize, you seem like a busy guy"
"Please continue, I still have the last scene in my head"
"So Teenage-boy and childhood-friend start their project innocently enough, watching random students at school, picking up any unusual characteristics they observe and taking copious notes on each subject. As time passes, more and more notes are being taken, it leads to Teenage-boy getting fully consumed by his obsession of finding this sociopath that may or may not exist at his school. Childhood-friend notices the changes in Teenage-boy but seems more amused by his behavior than being actually concerned. Teenage-boy escalates the stakes by starting to follow home some of the students he deems sociopath-subjects. Childhood-friend encourages him and often indulges him in his darker thoughts.
TIME SKIP. Teenage-boy has turned an empty warehouse room they often use to hang out at as a make shift headquarters space complete with charts and files now with red yarn lines attached to his walls like he is making a god damn conspiracy spy thriller except this is real life and Teenage-boy is out of touch with reality. So, Teenage-boy hasn't slept much in the last few months. Childhood-friend listens to his exposition and comes to find out that Teenage-boy thinks he has discovered the sociopath among them.
Dope ass creepy music plays throughout scenes
TIME SKIP. Both boys have been observing the sociopath-subject for some time now performing cruel acts and generally odd and bizarre behavior in which they come to agree that he is indeed a sociopath. Teenage-boy starts spiraling out of control to the point that he wants to murder the sociopath and comes up with a flawless plan to do it.
“He's not a real human if he can't feel empathy” Teenage boy thought to himself.
At the end, they lure and trap sociopath-subject in an empty classroom. Teenage-boy is about to leap and stab the sociopath-subject when suddenly Childhood-friend grabs teenage-boys head, leans it back and slits his throat open. Blood is spewed on the chalk board like a splatter artist flailing his arm with paint on a canvas. A beautiful mix of blood red on the black backdrop of the board.
Sociopath-subject faints. He was never a sociopath, it was Childhood-friend who had manipulated the scenes and indulged Teenage-boy's darker thoughts as he became more and more obsessed. Childhood-friend drops Teenage-boys limp dead body, walks over to the sociopath-subject as he lays unconscious, stabs him seven times in the torso area, cleans the blood off the blade of his hunting knife, walks towards the limp body of Teenage-boy and slides the knife into his hand and Places the notes that he has been taking inside of his backpack. He then just whistles and walks out the empty class room.
A voice over of Teenage-boys question plays in the head of Childhood-friend "What do you think is the scariest thing that currently exists in the world?" "A psychopath" Childhood-friend thinks to himself as he smiles.
The entertaining bearded man exhales smoke.
"It's a twist, right, cause as Teenage-boy is slowly descending into madness himself looking for a sociopath when the real horror is the psychopath that was his childhood-friend. His obsession was too blinding for him to see it, so what ya think?" Said the long-bearded denim jacket wearing man
"It’s certainly an interesting idea, especially considering the high school slasher movie is a staple in early horror cinema history, it would be a nice breath of fresh air in that genre if it was executed correctly. Although it’s quite the leap from your character squishing a beetle in the beginning to a cold-blooded psychopath at the climax of the story but nevertheless it could be quite the dark journey, I'd be willing to watch that, sure, so what can I get you?
"I’ll take one hundred in crimson Rosebud, Citizen Kane"
"What's up Collector, so get this, my mother wants to go to a psychic, crazy old bird, youse believe in the psychics? tarot cards or whatever the heck, it's all a scam I say" said the scraggly man in a pair of blue swede shoes.
"I do not believe in such an idea as pure psychic abilities somehow bestowed on individuals by birthright based on cosmic alignment of the stars, certainly not, on a macro cosmic scale I do believe that there could be a universal energy that we all share and could be connected to. It seems everyone can recall a time when they were reflecting on a friend or family member when suddenly that person will call you or reaches out to you and a small part of your brains gives you that abstract twilight zone feeling”
The Collector begin to sing the theme song from the popular science fiction show.
“Now was that a display of infinite cosmic psychic power bestowed unto you by a supernatural force? or just a universal connection that we all share? There is a certain social connection and energy being formed between human beings as social creatures. Perhaps we have that ability to feel that other worldly connection because we are all universally made by elements of the cosmos. So, what can I get you?"
The Collector sat at his modest wooden table; it could use some polishing up he thought. He glanced over his right shoulder to check the time. (although he did not believe in the current construct of time as we know it) It was more of an excuse for him to observe and appreciate the ancient craftsmanship of the grandfather clock that is possibly as old as the time it tells. The bronze pendant in the pendulum was said to have been forged from the fire of a dragon's breath. An Absurd fable of course, but nevertheless it was an intriguing back story to share with his visitors he thought.
A brown spider scurries across the Collectors table.
The man who entered was not one of his usual visitors, He was accompanied by two men and they moved instantaneously to the right and left of him. The collector could not see the faces of these men due to the long black hooded cloaks they were wearing for concealment. The man with the ostentatious hat stepped forward and pulled out the handcrafted solid blue chair that was in front of the Collectors modest wooden table, dusted it off with his hand and took a seat. He sat up straight, folded his hands on the table and looked into the eyes of the Collector.
The two cloaked combatants crawled up the walls to the right and left of the collector, pulling their swords as they bellowed out the sound of a battle cry.
The Collector leaped up from the table, He crossed his arms over his hips pulling out his silver jagged daggers and blocked each of the attacking swordsmen's swing with a loud CLINK! He pivoted swiftly and kicked the first attacker in the chest with such force that the sword he possessed propelled across the room and the attacker into a bookshelf that was demolished. The Collector shifted his head low narrowly avoiding the second assailants aerial blade swing, Swoosh! He dropped and swept the leg of the hooded swordsman who was not agile enough to execute his final swing. The swordsman fell on his back, the Collector kicked the luminous sword out of his hand, pinned his arm down and stabbed the warrior in the neck with his jagged dagger, he twisted the blade for a quick death. The swordsman's cloaked hood was now availed.
The second swordsman was swiftly back on his feet, he postured himself in a defensive position facing the Collector and slashed twice cutting through the air with his sword; SWISH! SWISH! The Men locked eyes; The Collector pulled his jagged dagger from the dead comrades' neck; the silver blade was now crimson. He stood and gave his blade a flip in his hand. The collector took one step forward and threw the dagger with miraculous velocity, the highly skilled swordsman deflected the dagger with his blade, with this brief moment of exposure, the Collector charged and pierced the swordsmen with three precise fatal blows to his torso then jumped back evasively to avoid the last swing from warrior's sword. WOOSH! The monk painfully dropped to one knee, with blood on his lips he looked at the Collector and slightly bowed before collapsing.
The man with the spirited hat and crooked smile at the table unfolded his hands and gestured to The Collector to have a seat with him.
The Collector put his daggers back in their sheaths, walked towards the overturned chair, placed it in the center of his modest wooden table and sat down. He looked into the eyes of the familiar face who had been patiently waiting.
"You owe me a 14th century handcrafted bookshelf" The Collector calmly claimed.
It was a cool night, the wind seemed to be howling at the moon as Burn Bunny Burn was sitting on a park bench. He was wearing black jeans, black tee with a white logo he created himself. A deformed bunny with eyes of black fire. He chose to wear his black and white Chuck Taylors. He looked at his watch that had a neon green strap no doubt manufactured from cheap plastic and a cartoonish colored aqua green face that gave him his answer. Nine forty-three. Soon he thought. Precisely two minutes had passed before the beautiful woman with auburn eyes walked over and sat beside him. She was wearing a red hoody with the top of the hood covering most of her face, silver skinny jeans with many rips and tears in them and a pair of low-cut tennis shoes with no socks.
“What is it Burn?” She asked as she stared straight ahead with no emotion in her tone.
“I need some, it helps me with my creative process”
“Does it now?” She said dryly, “look we have known each other a long time and you know I have always been there for you, long before who you are now. If you need it, I will get it for you, but we have to go together, I want you to meet the man who supplies me and maybe you can have a direct connect with him yourself. Honestly, Burn, I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself; you are asking for more and more each time and lately you have been completely isolated, People are looking for you, there are now theories on websites claiming you died for Christ sake!”
“Internet bullshit, it never gets old, people checking fakebook to post their new beauty filtered selfie not based in reality for the digital dopamine it creates with every new like, and you think I need help with my addiction? Look around you sweetheart, we are all addicts of ourselves”
“So what? People have an outlet now to boost their self-esteem, so be it, what’s the harm? You going to lecture me on social media when you have three and a half million people following your every word?
“That's exactly my point, these people think they have a right to my life and thoughts just because they signed up to an internet website? Fuck em! Besides I don’t even use it, I have a media consultant firm that does all that for me, Anyways, look I’m sorry I haven't been in touch, I've been out the loop working on a new book and I just needed some personal space away from it all to clear my thoughts, I just need some supply to get me through this creative process and I will be done with it”
“Fine Burn, I will take you to the guys spot but this stone is yours to carry now, my hands are washed clean... so what’s the subject of your new book?”
“It’s about a new author writing a story, who has no clue how he wants to end it, so he just continues adding storylines, characters and unique universes until eventually it drives the writer to inner madness as he searches for that perfect ending that eludes us all”
“Just two warriors? almost insulting if it were not for the bravery they displayed in their deaths” The Collector now spoke with his native language that is undefinable to describe and unattainable to grasp.
The man who sat across from The Collector had a slight grin that ran across his face.
“I thought you may have weakened after such a monotonous existence of collecting antique furniture and listening to tales from these humans for who knows how many centuries now” The man at the table replied with the same melodic pattern of dialect.
Burn pressed the button on the strange looking building, took a drag from his cigarette and observed both sides of the ally as he waited outside in the crisp cool air of the shadowy night with only the flickering of a yellow hue from the street light above as his company.
The man across from The Collector arose from his chair, with outstretched arms he began chanting the ancient passage from the book of Tibaal. Suddenly, A hue from the deceased warriors now emanated a beautiful vibrant shade of violet light as the bodies began to levitate. The eyes of the slain were now beaming radiant white light before they both vanished with only a translucent cloud of scarlet smoke that remained behind from the previous battle that had taken place.
The man adjusted his hat and waked towards the door, before opening it he turned to look back at The Collector.
“Now that I have found you, my next visit will not consist of a conversation, I will slit your throat with your pretty antique blades and end your light in this timeline”
“Then I would suggest you bring more warriors with you when that time happens to befall upon us, old friend” said The Collector in a calm cadence
The man with the colored cap closed the door.
The door suddenly opened and a tall man in an exorbitantly colored pin striped hat dressed in a suit with a long black coat walked briskly past him, Burn turned back to look at the oddly dressed man before walking into the building.
“who in the 1950s fuck was that” Burn thought to himself
The Collector greeted Burn with a firm hand shake and a friendly pat on the shoulder as he introduced himself and invited him to have a seat at the table.
“Thanks” Burn said quietly
“What the hell happened to your bookshelf?”
“Would you believe this was hand crafted in the sixteenth century?” The Collector said this as he knocked on the hardened wood surface with his knuckles before sitting down.
“Yea, it’s certainly very unique man, so uh, I was hoping to get maybe a thousand" Burn said a bit to anxiously as his knees rocked up and down underneath the table.
"That is quite the order, that much creativity at once concerns me as a supplier”
The Collector leaned in closer towards Burn.
“You haven't discovered that I have been sent here from an alternate timeline to gain knowledge of the true origin of our species and plan to tell the world, have you?” The Collector said this with a sardonic tone
Paul Gladstone nervously inhaled a drag of his cigarette, his first since he had quit smoking twenty-two years ago, among the many other vices he deemed unworthy to himself and to his God. He exhaled the smoke in the air and waited for a knock on his seedy motel room door, for now that’s all he could do. Wait. He knew his world would never be the same once that knock came. “so, this is how it ends” he thought. It was a particularly quiet night in the usually lively city of New Orleans and he couldn’t help but think the entire city was pondering this very same thought. When the knock came, he dared not to keep the man delayed. He put out his cigarette on the nightstand next to the bed without worry to the damage it may have caused to the decrepit wood, that was the least of his concerns. As He opened the door a young man wearing an immaculate tailored black suit that fit him so well it was as if the fine linen was part of his bone structure walked right past him towards the window. He opened it, stared down at the city over the balcony and inhaled deeply the oxygen of Louisiana like a bloodhound taking in the scent of a wounded animal.
“Destiny seeks us all, Mr. Gladstone, but very few people are willing to accept it”
He looked up to the clear dark sky to observe the stars as he talked quiet but methodically.
“Quiet night, isn’t it? Perhaps, he delayed, a little too quiet” He couldn’t help but let out a small smile after saying such a cliché line to Mr. Gladstone.
“My name is Aikur”
He turned and faced the bull of a man that was Paul Gladstone; If he had to kill him it would be no easy task to move the body. Paul looked quizzically at the young man in the black suit whose dark eyes seemed far colder and more intelligent than his ageless face was presenting.
“Relax Mr. Gladstone, if he wanted you dead, he would not have sent me, I am his messenger, not his mercenary, do you have what we seek?”
Paul nodded querulously to the briefcase laying on the bed.
“Excellent” Aikur said while adjusting his custom designed dragon cufflinks, one emerald green the other ivory white. “Open it” Paul walked anxiously to the briefcase; he couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread that seemed to consume the entire room. He unlatched the two steel clasps that guarded its precious contents, lifted the top and stepped away cautiously like it contained a deadly virus that would destroy all of humanity, and perhaps it would. Aikur stepped forward slowly and leered at the one item that rested inside the briefcase: A small rectangular box that was blood red in color with the image of a golden dragon inscribed on the top that was so artistically crafted it was as if the dragon were alive and served only to protect the contents hidden inside. Aikur closed the top, locked the clasps, grabbed the suitcase, looked directly in Paul’s eyes and gave him a slight nod. He exited the room just as expeditiously as he had entered.
Father Paul Gladstone felt weak as he nervously sat on the well-made bed close to the nightstand where his half-smoked cigarette had been crumpled. He gently opened the drawer that revealed a black King James version Bible; next to the holy book was a black pistol. He touched his priest collar, kissed his rosary that hung from his neck and soundlessly recited the Lord’s Prayer to himself hoping to be absolved from what he had just done, and for what he was about to do. He put the pistol in his mouth and squeezed the trigger.
Jonas Black finished off his third glass of Wild Turkey Tradition, aged fourteen years. The man indeed had expensive taste in bourbon “neat” He said to Keira, the stunningly beautiful bartender with olive skin and dark black hair which had a long streak of red in it.
“Why don’t I just hook it up to an I.V. for you” she said smiling as she winked one of her seductive hazel green eyes at him.
“There you go again, trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me later, story of my life” He said this with the confidence of a man who seemed to have had his fair share of beautiful women in his presence before. This earned him a small laugh from Keira.
“This one is on the house”
Jonas slightly raised his newly filled glass with the expensive bourbon as to accept her kind gesture.
“Must be my lucky night”
Jonas turned to listen to the live jazz music being masterfully performed on the stage adjacent to the bar. The bass guitarist was a known local legend whose real name was Carlo Dominique but here the locals called him “Badass Bass Brown” a fitting nickname if there ever was one. Badass was playing his guitar tonight as if he had been possessed by the spirit of Charlie Christian. The small Jazz bar was livelier than it should have been on a Monday night; filled with a crowd that seemed to come from all walks of life to be seduced willingly by the jazz music and party atmosphere that only New Orleans could fulfill. He unequivocally attributed this anomaly to the man playing the guitar on stage. Jonas instinctively noticed the man walking towards him long before he had arrived and sat next to him on the bar stool.
“You look like you could use a drink, Father”
“Whiskey” He said to the busy bartender.
“That was a joke, you know”
Keira returned quickly with a shot glass full of Johnny Walker Black.
“Have you heard the one where a priest walks into a bar” Jonas said to the curiously smiling Keira who was far too busy to stick around to hear the punch line. Without any hesitation, the Priest engulfed the fine tasting whiskey and carefully sat the empty shot glass in front of him. He spoke softly and with careful consideration to Jonas.
“Father Paul is dead” he said somberly, as he put his arm softly on Jonas’s shoulder “I am very sorry”
At that moment Jonas felt as if the world had suddenly stopped moving, the music was no longer playing in the background and time itself had frozen. Jonas simply looked at the kind priest directly in his eyes and uttered a one-word response:
The priest sighed deeply before delivering the somber answer “suicide”.
Jonas looked at him with a fire burning in his eyes as the priest continued “The artifact is missing; we believe Father Paul had it with him the night he” Jonas grabbed the priest by the throat with blinding speed before he could finish the sentence. “It. is. true” were the muffled words escaping from the red-faced priest’s lips as Jonas held firm to the grasp he had on his neck. “Jonas, p-please” he said as he struggled for oxygen. Jonas slowly released his grip on the priest’s neck and simply took another drink of his expensive bourbon as the priest nervously exhaled and straightened his collar.
“Jonas, we need you, we must find the artifact before it is too late”
Jonas did not look at the man as he gave his response “I will help find the artifact and return it, for Father Paul, not for the church and certainly not for your God”
The Priest stood up with a quick glance at Jonas, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, sat it on the counter and walked away.
“What was that about?” Keira said as she sat a bottle of Wild Turkey on the bar in front of him.
“Shooting the messenger” Jonas said as he swallowed the rest of bourbon in his glass.
“Well don’t shoot the bartender” Keira said as she smiled and walked towards an impatient man at the other end of the bar whom was desperately trying to get her attention to refill more shot glasses for him and his drunken companions. At nearly 3:00 AM the small jazz bar was closing up and people were stumbling towards the exit, the band on stage were packing up their instruments and Keira was wiping the top of the bar with a wet cloth and collecting empty beer bottles. Jonas remained seated as he poured himself another glass of fine Bourbon. Badass Bass Brown made his way towards the bar and sat next to him.
“You sounded good up there tonight, you still got some magic left in those old hands of yours” Jonas said as he slid the bottle of Wild Turkey towards him.
“Tis’ a gift and a curse” Badass said with a heavy Haitian accent as he held up one of his hands that showed his very calloused fingers from years of playing.
“I need to speak to him, Carlo”
“I thought you might say that, I will certainly let him know you are looking for him, it has been far too long, old friend, Good to see you back where you belong”
At that moment, Jonas wasn’t sure if he had meant New Orleans or the bar.
Aikur arrived at his destination that wasn’t found in any directory. It was a three-story building with what could only be described as modest architecture. He walked briskly with the black briefcase through the double doors and straight to the elevator. As he waited for the doors to open, he caught his reflection staring back at him, he used this opportunity to adjust his black tie. *Ding* The doors opened and he stepped inside. He pulled out a black sleek card and inserted it into a slot hidden to the right of the floor numbered buttons, suddenly the slot turned green and the elevator started its descent and Aikur couldn’t help but smile to himself as he looked down at the briefcase. The doors horizontally parted and he made his way down a long hallway in which the floor was immaculately polished and glossed like a barracks room ready to be inspected by a Marine Drill Sergeant at any moment's notice. The walls were a crimson red and lined with mirrors from top to bottom. At the end of the hallway stood two large doors with a black Bonsai Tree emblem that covered each side. The tree was soon split in two as the double doors slid open and he stepped inside. Waiting for him was his employer, Mr. Red. He was standing in front of a large red oak bookshelf that was filled from top to bottom with rare books in many different languages that any collector would surely give his first-born child to obtain. Mr. Red was in his late sixties, tall, lean, clean shaven and muscular. He was wearing a black suit, red boots, red bolo tie and his signature black Stenson ten-gallon cowboy hat to cover his neatly cropped grey hair.
“You have done well, Aikur” he spoke these words in fluent Japanese, Aikurs first language.
(the cadence and sound alone from this American cowboy seemed liked a living oxy-moron)
AIkur gave the man a slight nod and walked briskly to the middle of the room where a large glass table with the ancient symbol of the Yin and Yang engraved at its center stood. “Balance” Aikur thought to himself as he placed the briefcase directly on top. He released the two steel clasps and opened the case. He took a small step back with his head slightly nodded down in reverence to the man who stood before him. Mr. Red approached the table and looked at the contents in the briefcase, he reached to pick up the enchanting rectangular box with both hands and lifted it carefully. He marveled at the craftsmanship of the watchful dragon as he raised it to his eye level, the light from the room seemed to dance as it hit the edges as he examined it intimately.
“Destiny seeks us all, Aikur” He spoke this sentence in English with an inhibited tone as he placed the artifact back in the center of the briefcase, closed the top and fastened the clasps in sync. “click” He allowed his hand to rest atop the case for a brief moment before returning his eyes back to AIkur. “起死回生”Wake from death and return to life.
Aikur appreciated this Japanese idiom and gave the man a slight bow as Mr. Red exited the room with a “woosh” from the double sliding doors as the man departed.
The island of the yellow sun can only be seen by the black eyes of the wild heart. It is the dark mind that has access to the blue sky. The bright day does not exist in the realm of a quiet kingdom.
Jonas recited these words over and over in his head. He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed deeply as if he were practicing deep meditation, it was a riddle that was given to him as a child to help ease his restless mind and rambunctious energy. The man who first told him this encrypted lexicon was now dead. Jonas needed to know why. He allowed himself to soberly contemplate on the man who had helped saved his life as a child and to reflect on his next move. Suddenly his eyes shot open, his head snapped forward, He reached to retrieve his white panama hat with a black band wrapped around the base and hastily exited the small motel room he was currently residing in.
Jimmy Wilcox was a lean tower of a man standing at 6 feet 5 inches tall, He had shaggy brown hair, dark eyes and a long beard that reached his chest. Everyone called the man “Slim”. Suddenly, He heard knocks on his door *knock* Knock* he slowly inhaled another drag of his joint and blew the smoke in the air, flicked the top then set it in the silver skull ashtray that was next to his table full of old newspapers. “Keep ya shirt on will ya” He casually walked to his door, gave a quick glance in the small peephole to reveal a fish-eyed visual of a familiar face standing there. He unlatched the top chain and swung it open. “Jonas Black!” He said with an enthusiastic smile and slapped the man on his shoulder as he ushered him in. “How the hell are you, man?”
“Doing well, Slim, I may need your help”
“Shit man, you don’t waste any time getting to the point do ya? you know you ain't gotta ask me twice... unless it’s a Sunday”
“Jesus, Slim, it smells like a weed dispensary in here”
“The devils lettuce man, got to eat healthy these days” he said this with an unwarranted hefty laugh.
“So, what’s on your mind valentine?”
“Well for starters, never say me that to me again” Jonas made his way to the old couch and reached for the pile of old vintage records Slim had stacked up occupying the space where he intended on sitting, He grabbed the collection with both hands and gently set them aside but not before taking a moment to appreciate the record that was atop of the pile; Miles Davis “Kind of Blues”
Jonas sat down and placed his white panama hat on his lap.
“Father Paul is dead” Jonas said with a serious tone.
“Damn man, that’s heavy, sorry to hear that brother” He reached for the half smoked joint in his ashtray, rested it on his lips, lit it up, inhaled and passed it to Jonas as a gesture.
“No, really, I’m sorry Jonas, I know he was like a father to you” He reached and grabbed Jonas by the shoulder with a soft grip as to let the man know he was indeed there for him as a brother would.
“I need my things, still holding them for me?”
“I got them man, only took her out once to give her a quick sharpening up and to clean the pistol, baby girl is as ready as ever”
Slim stood and walked to the far end of his apartment with urgency, no doubt his long lanky legs attributed to the speed at which he could move. He grabbed a dark gray lock box from atop of a cabinet, pulled it down and rested it on top of his granite counter. His fingers quickly pressed four numbers and a green light appeared with the sound of a mechanical lock being released. He opened the top of the box, looked inside to find one black Glock 45, a black clip loaded with GAP bullets and a sleek black carbon fiber knife as sharp as the tongue on a used car sales manager.
“She’s ready to see you now” Slim said with the tone of an announcement.
Jonas approached the kitchen and laid eyes on his girl “Beautiful” he said softly.
“Yea, I just got those granite tops installed like three weeks ago man” Slim said with another unearned chuckle to himself.
Jonas Grabbed the Glock, pulled the slide back, inserted the clip with one in the chamber, released the slide, switched the safety off, then back on and took aim at the stack of records to check the sights.
“Whoa man, take it easy, aiming at my prized collection there” Slim said as he took another long drag from his joint.
Jonas set the Glock aside then reached for his weapon of choice for most occasions.
“I missed you, baby girl” Jonas grabbed the blade flipped it in his hand and with blinding speed threw it to the far side of the wall sticking the blade right between the one and the three of Slims “Legalize it” calendar.
“What in the blue hell, Jonas! I’m telling you this as a friend, you got some real vandalism issues going on with you man”
Jonas walked to retrieve his blade, flipped it back and forth in his hand as he met Slim in the living room. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a small silver phone and handed it to Slim.
“Just one number on there, untraceable, like I said, I may need your help”
“Jonas, you might as well call me fingers, you can count on me”
Jonas hung his head low and sighed, “Just be ready”
The two men shook hands and Jonas put the white panama hat he was holding back on and gave it a quick adjustment. He made his way to the door, he reached for the odd doorknob then turned around “oh and Slim, lay off the weed man, your jokes are getting worse and worse” He opened the door and exited into the hallway.
Slim closed the door, locked the chain atop and said under his breath as he watched Jonas leave through the peephole “Everyone's a critic”
Jonas sat in his car to look up at that building where his closest friend resides. He placed his panama hat low to the left side as the sun was cutting an angle like a laser over his left eye. He took a moment to contemplate before sliding the keys into the ignition. He threw on his black shades, fired her up and sped off the lot with tires screeching, not that he was in any rush, mostly he just thought it would look cool if Slim had been watching. His destination was to an old crab fishing shack located deep in the bayou that only a handful of the locals knew even existed and that was for a very good reason. The man who ran this place was as deadly as the gators who would frequently be seen in the swampy waters where it rested. As Jonas drove, his eyes were keen on looking for a very specific land marker. Mile 322. He made a sharp left after seeing this and slowed down on a dirt road, the back of his tires seemed to be creating an eerie sand storm left in its wake. Jonas approached the crab shack and he slowed to a stop. He adjusted his hat and hid his blade under his left jacket pocket. He stepped out of his car and slowly walked to saloon styled entrance door and swung it open.
“Jonas, I hear you have been looking for me”
Mr. White said this with a thick accent as he stood with his hands resting on his cane to assist him. The man made his way cautiously towards Jonas. He was wearing a white dress shirt, brown belt and white slacks with black gator dress shoes. The man certainly had style for his old age Jonas thought
“I need answers” Jonas said this with a serious tone.
“Don’t we all” Mr. White calmly exchanged back as he lifted his cane and pointed it directly in the eyes of Jonas.
“The briefcase is missing; Father Paul is dead.
Mr. White slammed his cane on the ground with such force Jonas thought he might tear a hole through the floor itself.
“You come to my establishment unannounced, alone, and dare to ask such questions in which you have the slightest understanding of!”
(dangers and opportunities)
“Checkmate” Akiur said proudly with a slight smile on his young face as he looked at Jonas who was still studying the board quizzically. Jonas looked up and gave a slight nod of approval to the younger Aikur, usually it was him who was being bested on the chess board. Jonas was playing white. Aikur Black. The teacher in white clothes was twirling his cane as he stood over the two young men with a warm smile as the very competitive game had finally come to an end with a surprising conclusion.
Mr. White offered Jonas a seat. Jonas Declined.
“Who has the artifact”
“Ah... The artifact, I do believe it is now in the safe hands of an old acquaintance of yours”
“Aikur” Jonas spoke the name softly
Jonas looked at Mr. White and gave a slight bow of honor for the information he needed and swiftly left the shack. As he looked back, he noticed the old crab shack was no longer there, just swamp, gators and dust.
Jonas sat in his car reached for his phone and punched just one number... #9. After a few rings a scruffy voice picked up.
“Slim I need you, it’s time, I’m sending you coordinates”
“Dude, am I going to die tonight? If so, I'd really like to finish my joint”
“Finish it, then move your ass” The line went dead
“Yep... I’m definitely going to die tonight” Slim Thought to him.
Jonas arrived at the destination, parked and waited for Slim to arrive. twenty minutes later he heard the loud red pickup truck slowly drive beside him and parked a few spots up from him. Jonas stepped out of his vehicle and approached the dirty red pickup truck and stepped inside from the passenger door.
“Jesus, Slim way to be inconspicuous”
“Hey man, this truck is a classic”
“Jonas, you ever feel like we are just characters being written for a story and maybe we don't even exist?”
“How high are you right now?” Jonas exclaimed.
“That’s the building, not much security, I've counted only two men we will have to take out, from there we will need every bit of our training to acquire the briefcase from a very dangerous and skilled adversary”
“Just another typical Friday night for me man”
Jonas and Slim carefully walked to the front of the building where two men stood outside guarding the door. Armed. As they approached closer, they began talking loudly and stumbling together.
“So, I told her I said what did you expect? steak and lobster? I’m a man on a budget” both men started laughing obnoxiously as Jonas stumbled and fell down.
“Hell man, learn how to control your liquor”
The two men guarding the entrance eyed them carefully and looked back at one another. As Slim reached to pick up Jonas, Slim pulled the silenced pistol and squeezed the trigger twice.
The second guard reached for his pistol under his belt; He was met with a blade in the eye with speed so fast the pistol was never even drawn as he fell to the ground. Jonas walked over to the now deceased and bleeding guard and looked at slim and gave a wink.
“Showoff” Slim responded
They drug the two men's bodies behind the ally, laid them down near a dumpster as Jonas reached in the pocket of one of the dead men and grabbed a black card from his jacket pocket then covered them up with bags of trash. They made their way forward to the entrance. They walked in and headed to the elevator. Jonas slide the sleek black card into the slot and it turned green. The descent began. Jonas looked at Slim “If this is just a novel, let's hope for a happy ending” *ding* the door opened and they moved quietly on either side of the long hallway towards the door at the end that seemed to be calling to them like a siren. Jonas reached to open the door. Slim grabbed his hand before he entered “Allow me” The door opened and Slim entered through cautiously. Jonas took a step back as the head of his closest friend rolled and laid beneath his feet as a look of horror and anger was painted on his face.
“Welcome Jonas, it has been a long time” Akiur said in the distance holding a sword with fresh blood dripping from its blade”
Jonas looked at the man with vengeance in his eyes.
“I’m unarmed, Akiur, I only seek that which does not belong to you”
“Come and get it” he said with a demented smile
Jonas lowered his arms and threw his knife that hit Aikur right in his shoulder where he held his sword. The sword fell to the ground. Jonas lunged at the weakened Aikur and caught him with a swift kick to his face that knocked him back a step. Aikur blocked the next kick and threw Jonas across the table with a strength he has has not felt before. The two stood locking eyes. Aikur fainted a high kick only to throw a left elbow as Jonas prepared to block the kick and was hit flush in the temple, he stumbled back. he then rushed forward, catching Aikur off guard as he was able to take him to the ground with a hard thud. The two skilled fighters tossed and turned for position on one another. Aikur got the best of the altercation with a fast elbow that caught Jonas off guard, Aikur slipped away making his way towards his sword at the front of the bookshelf. Jonas kicked Aikurs ribs and placed his finger in the wounded shoulder. He stumbled a step backwards in anguish as Jonas reached the sword and pointed it at Aikurs neck.
“This chapter ends now” Jonas Looked at the decapitated body of Slim on the floor and a rage grew across the man's face. He looked at Aikur and could only see the little boys face as he once remembered him. Jonas swung the sword with all the might he could muster in that moment. Aikur swiftly dodged the sword *whoosh* with perfect head movement, reached for the knife that Jonas used to puncture his shoulder and stabbed Jonas in his left armpit severing the axillary artery as the heavy blade tore into the red carpet. Jonas looked at Aikur, slowly dropped to his knees and gave a slight nod of reverence to the warrior he knew so long ago as a child. He collapsed to the floor bleeding out and writhing in pain.
“Checkmate” Aikur said while slowly approaching Jonas.
Aikur grabbed the sword that was lying on the red carpet. He walked towards the kneeling and fatally wounded Jonas. Aikur stood over his body before kneeling himself to look directly into the familiar eyes of an old foe. Aikur then pierced the blade into the dying man's heart.
The four men stepped forward in the building wearing crimson red ski masks, the overweight security guard at the entrance was now on his knees holding his bloody, broken nose mumbling curse words to himself. “That elbow was a result of his life decisions” Max pondered to himself as each man had their hands formed in the shape of a pistol with two fingers as the barrel as the thumb pointed up in the position as the trigger; much in the way a young child would pretend to be a bank robber in thier imagination. The people in the lobby were now all down on the ground, you could hear small cries of the frightened mass as the men began to move in positions of the lobby with clock like precision.
“Everybody be cool, stay on the fucking ground and go to your happy place”
The man speaking was Maximillion Charles, A.K.A. “Mad Max” the Defacto leader of the “Crimson Cowboys” as they were dubbed in the media. An eccentric, very skilled and certifiably insane character in the world where robbery was the top commodity.
“I’m sure you have all seen movies where a robbery is happening and there is always that one fucking guy on the ground... (Max began to get animated with his tone) fighting with his inner conscience to be a hero and save the day; This is not that movie that people, I will shoot you in the back of the fucking head if I so choose, So relax... be cool and this will all make one hell of a status update for your social media later”
Max began walking towards the front of the building when he noticed an amateur security guard approaching from the back of the lobby with his pistol drawn. Max tilted his head and gave a small smile as the two men locked eyes on one another. He pointed his hand gun at the bewildered man, moved his thumb down atop his index finger to simulate a shot *BANG* the security guard was suddenly thrown across the room with a large bloody hole in the center of the man's chest as blood and intestines were splattered against the white walls of the lobby.
“Max!” The short bald, bearded man in a slick blue and white suit with matching pocket square shouted as he was giving the details for the next rendezvous after the job was complete.
Suddenly Max was back at the warehouse leaning back in his chair with both of his feet on the large table with his right foot atop his left.
“And for God's sake don’t shoot anyone!”
The three other men sitting at the large table turned their heads almost in perfect sync to look at Max.
Max put both his hands up on his chest in a mock surrender to them.
Max stands from the table and suddenly starts screaming out a mumbled gibberish. JKHDJH DGUI:Ggukg;euguif ;88t;t7 f!!. It is an oddly terrifying scene... The scenario we just created is now being played in reverse like a movie in rewind as each part of the scene is now being deleted from the story.
Karick Church was now manically punching the keys of his keyboard out of anger and frustration; he then pressed and held the backspace key until every single word he just wrote was gone; Only a white screen with a blinking black cursor remained... “Taunting me to write” he thought to himself.
He opened the door of the small wooden cabin, bright, blinding white light greeted him as he covered his face with his hand like a shield against the intruder to his darkness. Karick then stepped outside to take the call.
“Hey Jimi” Karick said tiredly.
“My main man vitamin K! why do you always sound so depressed, cheer up you brilliant weirdo, I got some great news for you, it appears your script is a hit”
“What? Was the delayed response.
“I know you said you still had to write the ending but that didn’t stop me from taking this opportunity to shop my favorite client’s work around; hell, its ninety percent done; they love the idea! I’m talking big distributors, Karick, this story is going to make you famous! You get it now?” Jimi said enthusiastically
There was a pause on the line.
“Yea” Karick Interrupted. “That’s great, listen... He paused again. I am going to be out the loop for a bit until I finish writing okay? so only If it is an emergency... you know where to find me”
Karick ended the call, he looked up at the red wooden door frame of the cabin; a feeling of dread swept across him... or was it a rush of adrenaline. He slowly took a step forward and approached the door, Karick hesitated a brief moment before touching the bright blue door knob, giving it a twist. The door opened with a *swoosh* as wind came in with Karick like an un-welcome guest to a dinner party. Karick stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
An uncertain amount of time has passed.
Karick was walking in the pattern of an oblong circle on the red oak hard wooden floor of the cabin. he scratched his beard that was beginning to get a bit scruffy. He looked back to the computer on his desk, the light from the white blank screen was a haunting image to him. The cursor fading in and out over and over again. He turned away from the screen and walked towards the now crowded countertop of the kitchen island, it was littered with old apple cores and empty water bottles. He unlocked the black briefcase and looked at the contents inside, two custom black pens and an unopened ream of Green-Dragon Corp. writing paper (a rare and elusive company that specialized in high quality material sought out by many artists and authors)
He reached for the ream of paper and defiantly walked back to his desk, “Fuck you” Karick said to his computer as he closed the laptop and pushed it to the side. He placed the ream of high-quality paper in the center of his desk and frantically opened the finely detailed green and white packaging throwing aside the paper scraps and wrappings on the floor beside the desk. He held the now stacked paper with both hands before neatly squaring it up. Karick rested his hand atop the stack for a brief moment “I need my pen” he suddenly thought... he hurriedly rushed back to the open briefcase atop the island countertop and grabbed one of his prized pens; he gave it a quick twirl through his fingers as he walked back to his desk.
An odd-looking man in the corner of the cabin plays a loud G chord on an old organ that echoes throughout the cabin as a large brown spider scurries across the stack of paper in front of him.
Karick jumps back in his chair terrified! He quickly stands up and rushes away hitting himself all over with his hands screaming bloody murder out to nobody in particular “Fuck! WHAT... What?! The fuck in the UNHOLY nightmare fuel was that thing!!” He shudders to himself then quickly regains his confidence as he runs towards the countertop. “Nope. Nope, Nope!" He lectured to himself as he closes the black briefcase and holds it up with both hands almost as if it were a baseball bat. Karick now had his weapon, “It's on” he thought.
He maneuvered towards the desk very carefully lifting his feet as to not make any noise; as he gets closer to the desk, he quickly rushes forward as he lets out a screaming war cry before raising the briefcase to kill the horrid brown beast, but the spider had vanished. He looks around his desk frantically, Nothing. He looks behind the desk, under the desk, the walls above him, He checks under his lamp knocking it over in the process. He opens each drawer of the desk with one hand as he’s still holding the briefcase with the other; Nothing. It had disappeared. Karick sets the briefcase on the now disorganized desk and let out a defeated sigh. He turns to pick up the over turned chair, sets it in front of the desk and sits down slowly. “I’m losing my mind” he thought.
Karick looks at the blank sheets of paper scattered all over the desk. He leans forward and begins to organize the sheets in his hand, he re-stacks the ream and pounds the heavy paper twice, then places it in the center of his desk; The control over the paper seemed to calm him.
The odd-looking man in the corner of the cabin begins to laugh.
The light begins to flicker in the room adjacent to his desk. Karick turns his head slowly to the room as he sees bright patterns of light that seemed to be dancing in the dark shadows; the contrast made it feel like a broken strobe light with a low emanating buzzing sound.
The loud bang came from under the floor as Karick jumped back in his chair. He stood up slowly to just stare out into the dark abyss that once felt like a familiar place he knew. The dark abyss stared back. He began walking down the cold corridor of the cabin to where the buzzing light was still flickering. *flickerZzflickeZZrflicker* As he crept closer to the room, he notices a small crack in the wall, it seemed to be splintering the wood; He stops to trace the lines with his finger. *THUMP* The bang was even louder and closer now as Karick walked into and observed the room methodically from every angle. *THUMP* Karick flinches to himself as the loud bang was right beneath him now.
A shadow subtly moves in the corner of the room. He lifts up the corner of the large blue shaggy carpet and folds it over the top revealing a door underneath it with a blue crystal glass knob. He places his hand on the dazzling blue crystal knob and slowly twists it opens it revealing a descending dark staircase.
Karick’s view is now slowly being rotated upside down as he makes his was downward towards the bright red door at the bottom; the imagery reminiscent of a bat hanging upside down in a dark cave dwelling. He places his hand on the door for a moment, then placed his ear slowly against the now dark crimson red door to listen... to hear anything. Nothing. He opens the door slowly as dim crimson light fills the space in between.
“Get in here!” The man in the snazzy blue velvet suit with a horribly disfigured face shouted in an inhuman tone.
Karick slowly walked forward to the center of the room facing the disfigured man at the desk. He hunched his shoulders making his six-foot frame now seem much smaller as he kept his head lowered to the man as not to see his face. His reflection off the ruby red glass floor stared back at him.
“This is shit?! You’re pathetic! You think anyone is going to understand this...” the man was now speaking and waving his arms in a mocking tone “Oh, like, the cabin is just a metaphor for his mind knock off Charlie Kaufman-esqe Bullshit!... Where is the exciting climax? Where is the original ending!... You’re a hack!” The disfigured face man pounded the large wooden table with his fist at this last statement *THUMP*
“You... You are right” Karick said softly with his head still lowered.
The man with the horribly disfigured face stormed towards Karick and punched the man hard in his lower abdomen. Karick leaned over gasping for breath as he held his side. The man with the disfigured face was now making mocking breaths out loud to himself as he danced in a circle, he then leaned down next to Karick and whispered to him:
“come and see” He demanded
He grabbed Karick by the back of his hair as he lifted the man back straight, he walked him forward as Karick was still struggling to catch air in his lungs; The man slammed Karicks head into the large wooden table *THUMP* the impact left a deep gash on the left side of his forehead that was now pouring blood into his eyes as he lay on the ground struggling to breath now holding his head applying pressure to it.
The man in the blue swede tailored fitted suit danced around the room letting out an inhuman sound as if he were a professional wrestler taunting an imaginary crowd; He snatched a handful of Karicks shirt and lifted the bleeding man back to his feet.
“Get the hell out of my face, Imposter... You hack!!” The disfigured faced man said in a growl as he forcefully ushered Karick to the red entrance door then pushed him out causing him to fall on the bottom stair of the upside-down room.
Karick slowly climbs his way back up the dark stairs holding on to the stone wall for balance, he reaches the door atop and slowly opens it, he emerges from the bottom of his hard wood floor where the blue shaggy carpet was still folded over. He crawls out from the hidden door and falls to the side of his floor exhausted; He stares up at the flickering light that is now brighter and the pattern seems more chaotic; the low humming accompanying the broken light now sounds like a loud muffled fire alarm ricocheting its echo off the cabin walls. He touches his wounded bloody head with his hand, winces, and begins to laugh out loud. The flickering white strobe light in contrast to the darkness brings the rose-colored fog into sight as it slowly begins to fill the space around him.
Karick picks himself up; he is holding his side with one hand while applying pressure to his head wound with the other while he slowly moves forward towards his desk; Karick stops walking when he notices the crack in the wood has now splintered outwards and is much larger resembling the patterns of a broken spider web.
Karick then punches the wall, the cracks grow wider and the wood started splintering. He looked down at the dried blood patterns that had formed on his hands. He then started screaming and punching the wooden wall over and over again; the wall began to start cracking and the hole began to widen as the blood was now splattering all over the splintering wood. He jumped back suddenly! he saw a reflection of himself in the mirror that was hidden deep within the walls. He then screamed at the reflective image and punched the mirror shattering it, cutting his hand with the shards of broken glass. Fresh blood ran down his hand trickling drops of crimson red on the brown wooden floor. He stumbles towards his kitchen and opens a drawer; he reaches inside for the large sharp knife and slams close the wooden drawer as his bloody hand leaves an imprint on the knob. He wipes the sweat from his head and holds his side as the flickering light and loud muffled fire alarm sound grew louder and closer as he made his way back to the room with the hidden door. The walls of the room seemed to have moved closer in as the feeling of claustrophobia washed over him. He opened the door and stepped through the bottom of his floor. His equilibrium seemed unbalanced as he made his descent to the crimson colored door. He opened it again, this time a look of wide-eyed terror was on his face...
“No... “The horribly disfigured faced man screamed out as Karick entered.
Karick let out a wild scream as he ran forward to plunge the knife deep into the man's chest; He twisted the blade and began to slice upwards; He pulled the knife out and blood began to spray into his eyes. The disfigured faced man in the finely tailored blue velvet suit fell to the ground; The contrast in colors was beautiful to Karick thought. He dropped the knife on the ruby red glass floor then slowly walked out of the room towards the stairs. The disfigured faced man laid there writhing back and forth, making an inhuman crying sound. Karick made his way cautiously back up the stairs and fell through the hard-wooden floor of his cabin room. The smoke was now a thick smog that seemed to be covering the entire room, the alarm sounds were now blaring a scream; the white flickering strobe light was blinding to him. He covered his face from the light and stumbled out of the chaotic room. He stumbled and fell as he entered the cabins corridor leading back to his computer desk. He touched his throbbing head and noticed there was still blood pouring out from the wound as the red liquid raced down his hand. He grabbed the back of his chair then he positioned it in the center of his desk. He grabbed the neatly stacked paper and threw it aside leaving a bloody handprint on one of the blank pagesr; He grabbed his laptop and placed it on the desk, He opened it to reveal a blinding white screen with a cursor blinking off and on.
The odd-looking man in the corner of the cabin begins twinkling the ivory keys of his piano softly. The music being played is breath takingly beautiful.
Karick begins typing frantically on his keyboard, almost manically. He begins to laugh out loud as he continues to type faster and faster; the blood from his hands begin to heavily drip on the keyboard of his computer. The laughter grows louder as Karick looks with wide eyes at white screen now filling up with words; he was typing like he had been possessed by The Muse itself. Karick finishes typing the very last word of his story... his eyes now bloodshot as a tear rolls down his face; He saves his work then stands up closing the laptop shut; He reaches for the important flash drive and snatches it out of the computer. Karick now felt a stabbing pain shoot through his chest, He clutches it with his now blood-soaked hands. He stumbles to the black briefcase resting on top of the counter; He places the flash drive that is now covered in his own blood gently inside the briefcase, He closes it shut and snaps the silver clasps. *CLICK*
Karick Church collapses on the floor, closes his eyes and embraces the wave of blackness that was now consuming him. (The sound of typing on a keyboard can be heard in the distance)
A brown spider scurries across the hard-wooden floor where the collapsed body of Karick now rests.