Chapter III: The Lover (When Love and Greed Collide)

NOTE!!!!! This is the THIRD part of a book I am Writing!!!

      Ah, here we are; Detroit, Michigan!  Date: October thirty-first, 2006.  And the time is exactly sixteen-hundred hours!  You should always try being early for every reaping, in case you have to turn the tables in your favor.  Aha, here is the Man of the Hour!  Let look over his profile, eh?

      Reginald Jonathan Clark-Henderson was your typical Casanova.  He was handsome, rich, strong willed, and, most importantly, a ladies’ man to the core.  He was powerfully built, standing at six foot seven, with a wiry frame, and a member that made every woman want him and every man green with envy.

      Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, he was also a scheming, spiteful, greedy man who went under the pseudonym of C. Vladimir Love, M.D.  Vladimir was everything Reginald was, but with one fatal difference; a lust for blood… and money.  Vladimir would strut into bars, cocky and with a stiff upper-lip, and woo innocent young women.  He would then strike up a conversation, get them completely hammered, then take them home with him, rape, murder, rob them, and leave their nude, mutilated bodies in the back alleyways of Detroit.

      Being the remorseful, sympathetic person that he was, Reginald would offer to pay for the funeral arrangements of the victims as condolences to the parents of the deceased.  He never understood nor knew what happened during the hours he was blacked out during the course of the week.

      Vladimir waltzed stylishly into the Centaur Bar and instantly spotted his victim sitting at a booth in the darkest corner of the establishment; a gorgeous brunette with shoulder-length straight hair, full lips, and athletic figure.  She looked at him and smiled seductively, batting her eyes like a young schoolgirl.  He returned the smile, looking his choice up and down.  She wore a black, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress with matching six-inch stiletto heels.  Her makeup showed off her piercing emerald eyes, and the blood-red lipstick she wore contrasted perfectly with her abnormally pale skin.

      His gaze returned to her torso.  Her neck and shoulders were toned, yet delicate.  Her dress also showed just enough cleavage, not overdoing it, yet not under-doing it either.  Her legs were bare and perfectly shaped.  But most importantly, she had neither an engagement ring nor a wedding band on her finger.  Vladimir smiled; that meant she would not be missed if she disappeared, at least not for a while.

      His evaluation of her took mere seconds and he let his eyes linger on the hint of black lace showing from under an upturned corner of her mid-thigh dress.  He let a hungry look slip over his visage and checked her gaze, being sure she noticed that he wanted her.  He turned and called the bartender over, whispered instructions in his ear and passed him a small bottle of pills and five hundred dollars.  The bartender gave an almost invisible nod, pocketing the money and drugs.

      Satisfied, Vladimir stalked up to his target and offered to buy her a drink, to which she nodded and winked coyly at him.  He called the bartender over, ordered a White Russian for himself and a Tequila Sunrise for her, and tipped the man two crisp hundred-dollar bills.  As the bartender left, Vladimir turned to his chosen prize and struck up a seemingly bright, casual conversation.

      Over the next five minutes, he had siphoned enough information from the young woman that he felt as though he knew everything about her.  She was Gina Reed, a pre-med student fresh out of her second year of medical school at the University of Rhode Island.  She was so far from home because she was visiting her best friend, who was at Michigan State studying Forensic Sciences.  She was born in Groton, Connecticut, to an alcoholic father and an abusive mother, but was sent to her aunt and uncle’s after her fifth-grade teacher noticed bruises and cigar burns all over her arms.  When she was fifteen, her caretakers died and left her everything they owned, so the next year she dropped out of high school, got her GED, and was accepted into URI by the skin of her teeth.

      He merely smiled, pretending to be interested in what she had to say, when she leaned over the table and whispered in his ear that she wanted to be with someone that night; it got lonely in her almost empty hotel room, and she desperately needed someone.  He nodded and told her a little bit about himself, taking copious care to mention how rich he was and just how much he wanted her.  When he mentioned this, she giggled and blushed like a girl who was just asked out by the most popular boy in her class.

      At that moment, their drinks arrived and they sat in the booth for the next half hour laughing and playing footsie under the table.  He ordered a couple beers for the two of them, but she refused the one he passed to her and insisted that he drink it, since she wanted to be sober enough to show him a good time that he would never have again with anyone else.

      They left together, she walking straight and true, and he, a little tipsily.  Down the darkened street they walked, turning a corner and travelling just a couple blocks before she stopped and brought him inside a Hilton Hotel.  She had a first floor suite and led him into the room, sitting him down on the bed and telling him to wait while she went to change into something comfortable.  He sneered at her as she turned away and walked into the bathroom, knowing that tonight would be her last.

      Slowly he took off his overcoat and slipped a switchblade under the pillows.  She was right; this was going to be one hell of a night.  Except he would be the only one leaving the room in the morning.  He also cracked his knuckles, this would be easy; she had told him that she liked to be beaten and dominated, so that made it even more pleasurable for him; he could just go on beating her until she died.

      She called out to him, saying she was ready and for him to turn his back to the door and not look until she said to.  He obeyed without question and chuckled as he heard the lock on the bathroom door disengage and the hinges creak as it swung slowly open.  He took a deep breath and steadied himself, ready to strike.

      She murmured his name, and he faced her, stunned at what he saw.  She had a damn fine body; firm and toned and curvaceous, and she was dressed in very skimpy lace lingerie.  She watched him eye her lustily and giggled again, her dark, doe-eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and the bulge in his pants.  Gina faked shock and demanded to know what he was doing still dressed in “those god-awful clothes”.  He sat on the bed and moved to untie his shoes, but had only gotten the first one off when she called to him again.  He looked up to see that she had taken off her bra and was dancing tantalizingly in front of him.

      Not wanting to miss this, Vladimir went back to hastily removing his shoes, getting ready to slide the knife in his socks out and plunge the blade deep into that pretty, little throat of hers.  He heard another noise in front of him and looked up, only to come face to face with a silencer attached to a .38 Special revolver.

      Reginald looked up into Gina’s eyes and cowered at what he saw.  He saw a killing intent there and he crawled backwards until his back bumped against the headboard.  A stench filled the air and he realised he had messed himself.  Then he heard the hammer c**k back and the giggle rising out of the throat of the beautiful, mostly nude woman who was holding his life in her hands.  He raised his hands to protect himself and began to offer her anything her heart desired.  Anything she had ever wanted or ever will want, he would give her.  Sweat began to break out on his brow as she panned the muzzle of the weapon up and down his body, lingering on his manhood, and then sweeping back to his head, as if deciding whether to torture him first or just kill him there.

      Taking the risk, Vladimir moved towards her.  She pushed him back down on the bed and teased him some more; performing some very suggestive actions with her hands.  Her hostage felt himself harden even more and saw her look down.  She blushed, vulnerable for only a second.  He gave her his sexiest grin, knowing that it was neither her, nor her stripper-like moves, which turned him on, but the thought of watching her die, the idea of watching the life ebb slowly from her gorgeous eyes.  Sadly, he was in the wrong position to act at that very moment, and her index finger pulled back on the trigger.  Reginald closed his eyes tightly, praying that he would live, while Vladimir’s spidery fingers slid under the pillow to grasp the blade that lay in wait there.

      There was a soft, yet distinct, metallic click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber.

      Vladimir started to laugh, his deep rumbling bellow gurgling up from his heartless depths.  His fingers brushed against his switchblade and he grasped it, feeling empowered.  He closed his eyes, calming his nerves and pressed the button, feeling the sharpened steel slide out against his palm.  He heard the hammer c**k back once more, sensed her moving closer, and readied himself, waiting for her to get within range of his bloodstained blade, when he heard that giggle.  That goddamned giggle.  But there was something different about this one; he thought he could hear it laced with a touch of insanity.  And there was something else too; she was right beside him!  His eyes sprang open and his head pivoted to find her, his arm swinging out with the blade.

      He looked the wrong way, had he looked to his right, he might have been able to kill her.  But he had misjudged her position in the room and turned his head to face her just in time to see the muzzle flash.  That was the last thing he ever saw.

      Gina Reed smiled and admired her handiwork.  She found that to be a very exciting night.  So exciting, that she immediately fell on the bed, groaning and twitching spasmodically as the orgasm coursed through her body, followed sharply by two more.  When it ended, she was drenched in sweat, and she rose quickly to clean up her mess and stage the scene.  She went to her purse, removing two solid gold rings, slipped one on her finger and the other on the cadaver’s, messed up her hair and makeup, and placed the gun in his hand.  She took the knife from her “lover’s” limp hand, and tossed it out the open window.

      You see, Gina Reed’s real name is Jasmine Lorelei Smith, professional con-woman and actress.  She is as greedy as they come and does not give a damn about anyone else.  She already had a story all worked out.

      When everything was in place, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

      The next morning, Jasmine was on her way, two-hundred million dollars and a mansion richer, to find the next man, or woman, to drain the life out of (both they and their accounts).  She was long gone when the bi-weekly paper came out with this headline; “MAN MURDERED IN HILTON DISCOVERED TO BE ‘NIGHTMARE’ KILLER.  SERIAL KILLER KNOWN AS ‘THE LOVER’ IS CULPRIT!”

      Ah… do you not just adore the aroma of freshly spilt blood in the evening?

      ….

      You do not?!  And you call yourself worthy to be my successor!  Well, guess what; GET F*****G USED TO IT!  You are nothing without me, do you not understand that?!  I can erase you from this plane of existence just as easily as I siphon the souls from the dead and dying!

      ….

      You are so f*****g lucky I believe in giving multiple chances!  Believe it or not, I’m not the same Death depicted by the “Final Destination” films, oh no; if you cheat me, I just let it slide.  I actually do not go around using my abilities to purposefully kill you off; that is completely and utterly unethical, and it is too damn much of a waste of my time and energy!  F**k, you’re all going to die sooner or later, so why should I continuously bother chasing after a small group of fortunate people when there are tons of people dying every day who have souls I can collect?  My theory is a simple one, and it has been right every f*****g time; “You are all going to die, so do not try to f*****g avoid it!”

      Anyways, thanks for letting me get that out of my system; I needed that.  Can you not see how much of a toll all the stress that comes with this job takes on one demon?  Look at me; my eyes are plasma-shot and my skin is starting to decay!  And for the Hate of the Son of Perdition, it has a stench that would even make Pepé Le Pew turn away in fear!

      …

      Now do you realise why I have chosen you?  You do not?  Well, to be completely honest; you reminded me of… well, me… when I was fresh out of college.  Yes we have a college here; the University of Hell’s College of Reaping.  I was top of my class, and the only graduate.  The University was shut down the year following my graduation.

      …

      Why?  Oh… they ran out of funding…  Do not laugh; I’m being serious!  There have not been any plans to reopen the school for a few millennia now…  That means, no new Reapers to replace me!  Goddamn… I have been doing this since the beginning of time, and to be honest, I’m getting really sick of doing the same things over and over and over!

      Anyways… enough about me.  Let us continue.

Author's Note

Alright, I'm going to give it to you straight: be harsh, be blunt, but be specific about what you liked and disliked. I will consider all suggestions, and if you find there is anything that should be rewritten or replaced or deleted, tell me using P.S (paragraph #. Sentence # of said paragraph) format, and I will be sure to take your ideas into account!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good chapter. I like the description of location and the people. You set-up each situation with skill. I like the ending. Ne mistakes allow in the collection of souls. A outstanding chapter.
Coyote