"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."
-The Tempest, William Shakespeare
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The sound of snow crunching beneath my boots gives me comfort.
I watch her from afar, consumed inside her own happiness.
Oblivious to the shadows, she doesn't see me.
She never has.
She scurries past the motel, and I follow.
Beneath the moon, that's all the light I need.
Her building is two blocks from the motel.
The wind whistles, a solemn omen that she'll never pick up.
She drops her keys in the snow as she pulls them from her pocket.
The snow continues to fall, and the anticipation is eating me.
She lets herself in.
Kicks off her shoes.
Sighs cheerfully.
She shivers to herself, feeling the chill of the winter air.
She doesn't decipher the chill of the winter I've brought with me, though.
She walks across the hardwood floor and lets the door close behind her.
(I am inside.)
She flips on a light.
Tiptoes to the kitchen.
Pours herself a glass of wine. A deep red liquid inside a fancy wine glass.
Only the best for the queen.
She climbs the carpeted staircase to the second floor.
I follow quietly.
She draws her bath, sitting on the edge of the tub.
Her elegant fingertips check the water temperature.
The image of her sitting there, neck tilted slightly, perfect hair leaning into the tub, is one that will never leave me.
A polaroid in my mind's eye.
My mind drifts to the hammer I am clutching inside my hooded sweatshirt.
She sips from her wine glass.
When she stands, she doesn't see me peering in the mirror's reflection.
I step back into the shadows.
She walks across the hall and enters the bedroom.
I am ready.
When she steps into the hallway again, she's carrying a towel.
She doesn't hear me as I move behind her.
She doesn't see me as I swing the hammer.
I don't even hear the sound her skull makes as she kneels down like a robot.
Her eyes are wide with shock.
The towel begins to turn the shade of red that was in her wine glass.
As I swing the hammer.
Over. And over. And over. And over. And over.
Her neck pops.
Her spine shatters.
The carpet stains.
Her body convulses.
I crouch down, staring down at her precious, lifeless body.
"Now you know, this is what it feels like," I whisper.
She doesn't reply.
I know it isn't really her. But she looks like her.
I stand, and quietly turn off the lights of the apartment, leaving it dark and empty.
Just like me.
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He felt someone kick him, disrupting his sleep. He opened one eye to see the fuzzy distorted image of Daedalus in front of him.
"You were dreaming," he whispered, giggling.
"Sorry," Tempest replied.
"I have to go for a little while. Doctor Baal has requested my presence."
Tempest sat up, alarmed. Daedalus held out a hand.
"Don't worry. We're on the same team. I have a feeling I'll have to remind him the same thing."
He eased back against the motel's pillows, looking around slowly.
"Where's Kosnar?"
"Ny-Otep had to go out for a little while. Cabin fever."
Daedalus smirked and gave him a wink.
"How long will you be gone?"
He shrugged in response, his smirk widening into the grin of the Cheshire Cat.
"I don't know. Time is funny where I'm going."
"The man in black."
"The walkin' dude."
"Beware of the one named Rogan, but be more fearful of the one named Rogue."
"The car?"
"Aye," Tempest said, and then in an Irish accent, "The man doesn't drive the car, but rather the car drives him."
Daedalus considered, tapping his index finger against his chin, before clapping his hands gleefully.
"Exquisite! Now you stay here and be good, little doggie."
He cackled as he turned on his heel and left the motel to attend his meeting. Tempest gazed out the motel window, past the snow covered cars. But the Buick Rogue was nowhere to be found. He realized Daedalus was getting there by his own means.
The snow was coming down good by now. Movement caught his eye.
A woman was walking quickly past the motel, her face buried behind the hood of a winter coat. Her hands were in her pockets, pulling the coat closer to her body like a straight jacket. Her building was two blocks from the motel.
He watched her disappear into the darkness.
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The image was paused on the old television inside the motel. Tempest sat at the edge of the bed, clutching a strange looking remote control. He hugged his knees up to his chest, black eyes focused on the paused image of Montague Cervantes standing nose to nose with him on Monday.
"Imbecile," he breathed.
"I didn't care about this match's outcome. That probably doesn't even need to be said, though does it? That much was obvious. The Global Coalition has a real faculty for pairing odd couples just for their own amusement. That also doesn't need to be said, it's as obvious as my carelessness for Monday's outcome."
He sighed, focusing his attention now on the cheap camera that was set up on the new tripod that Daedalus had purchased.
Only the essentials, he had said. Tempest scoffed. The creative director was apparently growing on him.
His eyes were blacked out, a very different look than his bright blue eyes from days past. He looked alien to this world, even more so than usual.
"The three ring circus sideshow bullshit that Montague Cervantes is simply not my cup of tea, as ironic as that may be. Does that make me a hypocrite?"
He shrugged.
"Perhaps. But aren't we all hypocritical from time to time?"
He shrugged again, moving his legs off the bed, bringing his bare feet to the stained carpet of the motel room's floor. He put his hands on his thighs and sighed.
"Some might accuse me of being jealous that the Showman has stolen a bit of my spotlight since he's come to the Global Coalition. Not that I was ever in the spotlight, exactly. More or less just in the shadows, darting in and out of the spotlight to take jabs at those who bask in it. Nonetheless, am I jealous?"
He pretended to consider the question.
"No. Ah, but am I annoyed? Annoyed by his style? You know, I want to be. But then, I would be just like the rest of this miserable roster of high society assholes. Wouldn't I?"
He sighed, holding his head as if it might float away.
"I just can't put my finger on it. The chemistry just isn't there."
He sighed again, raising the remote and clicking the old television off.
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The demons hate you...
...The demons hate you
The demons hate you...
...The demons hate you
Carlson Rex...
I pity you.
Your innocence.
And the unenviable position you'll be in on Monday.
Behind the shadows in these eyes...
Deep in the this cavernous mind...
Stained and rotten...
Hides your fate, alone and afraid...
Your defeat will come in a warm, thick scream...
And I will display the fate of Global Coalition's best in a fistful of blood...
As I empty your mind like entrails on a cold, winter night...
Savage... Meaningless... Aggression...
Nevermind Dr. Baal...
Look into these eyes...
And liberate the blood-curdling scream that begs to be released...
As I fill your empty mind with
Fear... Panic... Hopelessness...
Carlson Rex... You... Will eat my pain...
...The demons hate you
The demons hate you...
...The demons hate you
The demons hate you...
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"What about Dr. Baal?"
"What about him?
"...I don't know. Have you any concerns about him come Monday?"
"No. I'm sure we'll have a mutual understanding. I wouldn't think he would take anything personal that happens. It is competition, after all."
"Do you really think anyone would believe you if you did anything 'in the spirit of competition'?"
"Well, no... I guess you're right. Nevertheless, no one should take it personal that I enjoy inflicting and enduring pain. It's just my nature."
"Fair enough."
"Besides, we didn't take it personal over the whole... well, you know. That one situation."
"Are we not speaking their names anymore?"
"The point is, we didn't take that personal."
"Didn't we?"
"No. It would be obvious if we did. They would know if we took it personal."
"I feel like Mr. Rex is going to be enduring a lot of pain from you and Dr. Baal."
"And you can't mask pain, my friend."
"We need to get out of this place. I don't know how long I can live in a fuckin' motel. I have a notion to murder that motherfucker."
"And disrupt our manifestation? Stand down, Kosnar. We will climb out of this purgatory we're stuck in at the moment. It may be months, but we'll get there. We cannot take back our creations, though. We're the swing that breaks to free the screams. You know that."
"I know... Look, Daedalus is back."
"Good. That didn't take very long at all."