what she was?
…Vargas had gone crashing through the doorway and down into the casino stairwell, his footsteps booming off the corridor walls. The other man was close behind, right on his ass, screaming for him to stop; a handsome face blotched with rage and grim with determination. That young bodyguard had fired a gun BOOM, and then he'd moved like a panther, leaping over railings, closing the gap. So loud, everything had been so loud, even the rasp of their breathing. Jesus, I knew that beautiful icy, Italian bitch belonged to the Cosa Nostra, and that if I got caught I was dead — no trial, no chance, and that I was gonna die slowly, begging for mercy, just like the woman herself. So why did I do her? They almost had me, almost . Then the bodyguard tripped in the stairwell and almost knocked himself out and Vargas was saved and he kept on running…
[ … the devil's reign, reign, reign….]
Vargas looked around the darkening desert, his heart beating faster. He could sense that young bodyguard was still on his trail. He's in the same boat; he doesn't find me, they kill him instead. Mafia, he thought grimly. I really did it this time.
[ ... oh, but the thing had been so wonderful...]
Help me, voices. I have no water, no map. I'll die out here all alone. I'll do anything you want, just help me.
There: A collection of tiny lights, far in the distance. A town of some kind. The man walked that way, stumbling and panting. He had covered several hundred yards before it hit him. He couldn't go into a town. Too risky. There might be law, or worse, like someone connected, who might have his description. There had to be another choice. The man snarled in the night, a trapped carnivore. His perfect teeth flashed. He turned in slow circles, delicate hands curling into claws.
First the thunder, then the lightning…The devil's reign, reign, reign…
One light.
A solitary lantern, perhaps two or three miles away. Someone lived out here. That meant food, shelter, a place to hide. He could check things out, maybe kill the owner and then lay low for a while.
As he fingered his knife, a sexual thrill ran through his genitals.
Thank you, voices. Thank you.
13
ROURKE
Peter, exhausted, had pulled over intending to rest his eyes. He'd fallen asleep instead. When he jerked awake it was late at night and there was a creature standing on the open highway, in front of his parked car. It was an old man, waxen and pale, almost transparent. Veins and arteries pulsed just under the skin, like some complex, multi-colored roadmap. Tubes and wires stuck out from his frail body, pointing in all directions like rows of plastic tentacles. He knew who this was, but refused to accept what was happening.
Is that you Grandpa? What are you trying to tell me?
Peter sat up slowly, afraid to make any sudden moves. The apparition stared at him for a moment through blank, rheumy eyes and then vanished. Suddenly here was nothing in front of him but starlight and the last few miles of road leading to Two Trees, Nevada. Rourke glanced at his watch. He knew he could be home by sunrise.
He shook his head and rubbed his weary eyes. His mind sang, in many voices: Soon is the Night of the Beast.
Rourke started the car and pulled out onto the highway. There was nowhere to go but forward, now. He'd left his laptop computer, his business obligations and his old self behind in LA. Whatever he had been running from all these years had finally won the war. With a mixture of excitement and apprehension, he pressed down on the accelerator.
It was time. Time to go home.
PART TWO
…"THE OFFERINGS"
A man said to the universe: "Sir, I exist!"
"I know," replied the universe. "However,
the fact has not inspired in me a sense of
obligation."
— Stephen Crane
"I believe that much unseen is also here."
— Walt Whitman
"Song of the open Road"
"If you gaze long enough into an abyss, it will gaze back at
…Vargas had gone crashing through the doorway and down into the casino stairwell, his footsteps booming off the corridor walls. The other man was close behind, right on his ass, screaming for him to stop; a handsome face blotched with rage and grim with determination. That young bodyguard had fired a gun BOOM, and then he'd moved like a panther, leaping over railings, closing the gap. So loud, everything had been so loud, even the rasp of their breathing. Jesus, I knew that beautiful icy, Italian bitch belonged to the Cosa Nostra, and that if I got caught I was dead — no trial, no chance, and that I was gonna die slowly, begging for mercy, just like the woman herself. So why did I do her? They almost had me, almost . Then the bodyguard tripped in the stairwell and almost knocked himself out and Vargas was saved and he kept on running…
[ … the devil's reign, reign, reign….]
Vargas looked around the darkening desert, his heart beating faster. He could sense that young bodyguard was still on his trail. He's in the same boat; he doesn't find me, they kill him instead. Mafia, he thought grimly. I really did it this time.
[ ... oh, but the thing had been so wonderful...]
Help me, voices. I have no water, no map. I'll die out here all alone. I'll do anything you want, just help me.
There: A collection of tiny lights, far in the distance. A town of some kind. The man walked that way, stumbling and panting. He had covered several hundred yards before it hit him. He couldn't go into a town. Too risky. There might be law, or worse, like someone connected, who might have his description. There had to be another choice. The man snarled in the night, a trapped carnivore. His perfect teeth flashed. He turned in slow circles, delicate hands curling into claws.
First the thunder, then the lightning…The devil's reign, reign, reign…
One light.
A solitary lantern, perhaps two or three miles away. Someone lived out here. That meant food, shelter, a place to hide. He could check things out, maybe kill the owner and then lay low for a while.
As he fingered his knife, a sexual thrill ran through his genitals.
Thank you, voices. Thank you.
13
ROURKE
Peter, exhausted, had pulled over intending to rest his eyes. He'd fallen asleep instead. When he jerked awake it was late at night and there was a creature standing on the open highway, in front of his parked car. It was an old man, waxen and pale, almost transparent. Veins and arteries pulsed just under the skin, like some complex, multi-colored roadmap. Tubes and wires stuck out from his frail body, pointing in all directions like rows of plastic tentacles. He knew who this was, but refused to accept what was happening.
Is that you Grandpa? What are you trying to tell me?
Peter sat up slowly, afraid to make any sudden moves. The apparition stared at him for a moment through blank, rheumy eyes and then vanished. Suddenly here was nothing in front of him but starlight and the last few miles of road leading to Two Trees, Nevada. Rourke glanced at his watch. He knew he could be home by sunrise.
He shook his head and rubbed his weary eyes. His mind sang, in many voices: Soon is the Night of the Beast.
Rourke started the car and pulled out onto the highway. There was nowhere to go but forward, now. He'd left his laptop computer, his business obligations and his old self behind in LA. Whatever he had been running from all these years had finally won the war. With a mixture of excitement and apprehension, he pressed down on the accelerator.
It was time. Time to go home.
PART TWO
…"THE OFFERINGS"
A man said to the universe: "Sir, I exist!"
"I know," replied the universe. "However,
the fact has not inspired in me a sense of
obligation."
— Stephen Crane
"I believe that much unseen is also here."
— Walt Whitman
"Song of the open Road"
"If you gaze long enough into an abyss, it will gaze back at
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