SALT LAKE CITY
What the fuck
are ya gonna do?
a stunning, tall, aqua-eyed,
15-year old, razor-thin blonde goddess, stuck with an OCD, bi-polar, manic,
crazy solar-high IQ. Your father is a Canadian General, mom, a socialite fuck-wad,
white pearls, gone to fat, and both of them are terrified of you.
They then off
load you to the
nuns, Saint Mary’s, private girl’s crib, drugs on the way. Ritalin, lithium,
uppers, downers, mind-altering drugs, to terrorize the genius out of you. A
convenient prison, where the rich off-load
their daughters, you know, so they stop watching porn and sucking off the guys
from the lacrosse team.
What ya gonna
Mandal, an hour
after her parents
had begged the Popes biatches to fix her, she had loaded her back pack, .38,
and had charged out. She had stuck her elfin thumb out to the road, hooked up
with an eighteen-wheeler, fucked a guy named Earl, danced nude, stripped,
conned, grifted, lied and had screwed her way across the country for years,
ended up in New Jersey.
Almost ten years
later, she had
failed in everything she had ever tried. She had become a fuck-doll of a New
Jersey Mobster, Fat Tony Uruguay.
his balls for
three years, running a train on his money, patience and love of the monster
homicidal killer who adored his pixie blond darling, she ran one night, with
almost a Mil of his money.
Fat Tony forgot
the one truth
trust the whore biatches,
they will fuck you every time.”
It all ended
when she broke down
in a shit-box Texas desert compound, called Inferno Flats, run by the maniacal,
violent Cox Clan.
Mava was Ma,
the brains of the
crew. Billy was a James Dean look-alike, with a 5th grade education.
And his homicidal brother Arvan, well, he was completely insane.
They owned a
broke-down motel, a
juke box in a bar, a junk yard, and had more money than George Bush. They ran a
massive Meth syndicate, fueled on violence, greed and the white powder. They were
all killers, yet, no matter how many people you murder, burn alive, or cut
their dicks off, there is always an alpha predator, more dangerous than you,
more violent than you.
they show up in
a broken-down old caddy, and look like Charlize Theron’s prettier, sexier younger
sister, with guns.
Lots of fucking guns.
Mandal, use what a grifter has.
She had out brained them. Out sexed them.
Out seduced the brothers. She had lined them out perfect. When Fat Tony’s hit
men outfit would show, to murder her, both brothers were ready to die for her.
And they did.
In the end, Mandal, C-4 involved, had
murdered every one of the killers, been beaten senseless, but had escaped, with
her adopted puppy Angel, 4 Mil of Mava’s stash, jettisoned the dead girl in her
trunk, and had zoomed to Vegas a new girl, a better girl, a beat-to-hell angel
with burnt wings.
Every whore needs a second chance in
She took hers, reinvented herself,
settled into a lonely life, a self-loathing life, her ticket to heaven, saving
a golden pooch that in the end saved her life too with a nip at one of Tony’s
killer’s ankle, giving her time to grab her ankle walk- around .38 and put a
bullet into Bobby Ugo’s forehead, the last man standing.
Some fairy tales do indeed have happy
MANDAL pulled her tan
sedan up to the guard booth of the walled Golden Tabernacle Estates. Completely
in form now, she knew she had to become hard. She stared out the window at the
young, smiling blond guard in his blue uniform and private security hat.
afternoon, Ma’am. How can I help
Taking her gold cop badge-wallet, she
flashed the real stolen badge and laminated ID at the kid, then growled.
“Police officer, Sgt Carol Willis.
police business. Let me through.”
The kid furrowed his brow, for nothing
ever before like he was experiencing had prepared him for what he was now
The cop looked like fucking Kate
she was so slender, blonde and stunning.
do you have an
Mandal threw the door open and almost
glowing she was so irate, she pushed the badge and ID within inches of the kids
terrified face, as she seethed.
“Listen, asshole. I’m a cop
and I don’t
need a fucking appointment. I’m here to see Doctor Smith…Hit the button. Thomas.
Allowing her black jacket to swing open,
so the guard could see her shoulder holster and gun, the kid jumped back,
leered at her bullet-casing blue eyes that were drilling holes into his skull.
“Well? What are you fucking
The barber pole rose. She placed
sedan in gear, drove into the compound. Once past his booth, he exhaled deeply,
thought for a moment, picked up the phone. In her rearview mirror, she watched,
as the Guard talked into a telephone.
“No matter.” She whispered.
One way or
another they would soon know her well enough.
she looked, there were white kids running and laughing and playing along
manicured lawns and riding bicycles and skateboards. She pressed past winding
driveways where legions of brown-skinned gardeners, uniformed nannies tended to
children. She noticed that they were tending white children, pushing strollers,
or watching the young, as white mothers stood idling nearby, chatting, sipping
drinks, all very white; all very odd to her eyes.
“Is this why you have stolen
Moving right along, she was beginning
understand a world so elitist and weird, that it simply said made sense to her.
If people had the wealth and power to isolate themselves from the real world,
and within doing so, create a fantasy island of safety and nurturing within a
globe going mad from abuse, then why not do it?
AVENGING murder of her star
her private club Jason’s, 22- year-old Claire, a 5ft 3, English waif, was multi-step
Identifying her grey, dead body that
looked like a hundred and two pounds of dead, cordite-colored lead, had
devastated her. Remembering the Murder Board photographs at the N. Las Vegas
Metro Homicide with her pal, Lieutenant Victor Garcia and seeing the vivid
images of the Doctor Smiths and their golden medallions on Morti Goldberg’s
computers, all of it, every bit of it began to fall into place—a puzzle that
was so repulsive, she had vomited.
It had taken her, with Morti Goldberg’s
help, who owned Vegas Camera/Digital and was a member at Jason’s, Mandal
private club, less than three hours to piece everything together. Of course, it
had been the Mason’s Masonic gold medallion, clutched in one of the dead
husband’s fists, after his pregnant wife had been abducted on Garcia’s-Murder-Boards
to be the key.
Lieutenant Garcia guided Mandal
the ghastly serial murders crime.
Three young Christian families,
solid citizens, had been home invaded. The husband had been murdered, and the blond,
pregnant, blue- eyed wife had been abducted. Claire had fit the profile, her
being so blonde, blue- eyed stunning.
back to the moment.
Stalling in front of an English
Mansion, she stopped at the driveway entrance. She knew she had to calm the
rage brokering through her nerve endings. She turned left and began to move up
the winding, brick driveway.
She parked, felt her Beretta under
the .38 in her back waist band. She twisted the key, simply sat as the engine
Fearless, manic, she walked towards
great oak door, not knowing as she did, that perhaps soon, very soon, that blue
sky might be splattered with blood, her blood.
JUST AROUND 5 PM, ATLANTIC CITY
Grade Detective Carrol Willis, AKA, one Mandal Beckwith stood before the
massive oak door. She pressed the brass doorbell button.
The lock clicked as the door swung
ash blond, looking washed out and wearing a garish rainbow sweater and an ankle
length skirt, with Westminster dog-runner shoes on her feet stood. She had a
strand of white pearls around her neck. The woman had insipid gray eyes, paste-colored
skin and in her work boots, Mandal towered over her.
Mandal had seen her before on the
photo on Morti Goldberg’s computer.
Mandal shoved her leather wallet
gold badge and ID into the woman’s face.
She snarled. “Police officer, Detective Willis. Here to
see Doctor Smith.”
Dr. Adam Smith’s wife Sarah’s
dropped. Not waiting for an invitation, officer Mandal walked right past her, roughly
banging the woman’s shoulder with her own. Slapping her badge case shut, she
slid it into her jacket. She faced off the gawking woman.
“Well…What the fuck
are you waiting for?”
Mrs. Smith gasped. Mandal could
shoulders begin to shake. The woman began to stutter.
the study…he…he is waiting for you.”
Mandal ground her jaw and appreciated
that she now knew that the guard had already called.
Mandal jerked her head once.
on, giddy up.”
Mrs. Smith’s teeth chattered,
trembled, for she simply hated anything vulgar in the world, including her own
insipid image in the mirror.
doctor is waiting.”
As Mandal followed the timid woman,
wanted to draw her 9-millimeter and begin blasting away. In her mind all the
ducks were in a row, why wait.
At the end of the hallway, the woman
stopped in front of an oak door, backed away from it as if it scared her.
“Do the world a fucking favor.
Wanting to pistol whip her, Mandal
smirked, twisted the door knob, moved inside the room, slamming the door behind
Her back to the door, Mandal looked
across the library-slash-office, study, and saw a smiling, blue eyed, tall
blond man, in a pinstripe suit, rising from a high back office chair. He
extended his white hand.
a police officer,
About three inches taller than her,
pushed his hand to hers, which was solid against her side. Pulling up, he, in
a “Geeze, I’m glad you’re
here” gesture, pumped her hand. Inwardly his heart thumped, seeing the
gorgeous, blond cop’s blue eyes, which had no blink in them, nor fear. She flashed
the badge, pushed it into his face, allowed him to absorb it.
“Yeah. Sergeant, Detective,
Atlantic City, PD.”
She swept her jacket back, so he
see the Beretta and her shoulder holster.
“Let’s talk, doc.”
Again, he swallowed hard.
“Yes of course, detective…Please,
sit. Come this way.”
Releasing her grip, he still felt
warmth and its power as he led her to a set of leather chairs in front of his teak
desk. He was simply mesmerized by her face. About to pull a chair out for her,
he did not, for she shot him a gunshot glance, as she roughly pulled out one of
the chairs and sat.
He sat in his high back, black
chair, simply stared at her. She had no blink and he was mesmerized by her
short, white hair and tan face, which had many unusual, faded white scars
trailing along it
If she were not the most beautiful
woman he had ever seen, then he knew none other. He was almost positive that
she was not a
detective, for if anything, she had to be at least some movie star or a fashion
model pretending to be a cop.
“Now, Detective, ahh, Willis,
is it? How
can I help you? Perhaps, some tea, or coffee?”
“How can I help you?”
“We’re looking for a
missing girl. We’ve
been led to believe that you might know something about her.”
He did not like the word, “we’re”
he like the words “Missing girl.”
“A missing girl. I’m
sorry, I don’t
understand. No missing girls here.”
a runaway, East Coast. Showed up dead, in Vegas. She was pregnant. Kid ripped
outta her body. Your name came up on a computer check, well, concerning your
She saw his cheek tick, just once.
“You wouldn’t know anything
would ya Doctor? Missing girls? Their kids ripped outta their guts?”
The fact that he kept swallowing
kept flexing his fingers that were pressed against his desk top, told her
“My goodness, detective. That
a well-respected Fertilization Clinic…We help young women…No…No…I…am shocked…A
missing dead girl?…No, of course nothing like that could ever happen here…A
missing dead, girl?…My, my, oh my.”
Reaching into her pocket, Mandal
Claire’s photograph, slapped it on to the teak desk. Pushing it across the
mirror, she twisted it, so now it was facing Doctor Smith. Barely able to peek
at it, he took it in his fingers.
“Maybe that will help your
Doctor. You know this girl?”
Pursing his lips, his brow
he saw the girl that he had butchered, not dead then, not with an empty womb
then, sometime before he had gotten his hands on her. In the picture, she was
different, smiling and seemed to be laughing. He could not remember that
laughter before he had sliced her open and murdered her baby just before he had
I would have remembered
such a pretty girl…I’m sorry…Ahhh…No, I’m sorry…Ahhh…My goodness, what a
horrible thing…Aaa…Aaah…Did you say you are a detective…Might I see your ID
again…” He smiled. “Please.”
There were just a few ticks of the
left now for her, yet still she was so fascinated with him, that she wanted
just a little bit more, just to be certain. She handed it to him. As he opened
it, and began to scrutinize it, she then saw it, and that was it for her; she
was now ready. On the desk was a double-framed photograph. Placed in the slot
was a color photograph, and it showed the two, twin brothers standing in
wonderful black suits, their arms woven around each other’s waists.
“Tick, Tick, Tick”
Her eyes clicked at the gold
that fell on tiny gold chains from their suit vests.
“Tick, Tick, Tick.”
Her eyes flipped back and
forth from the
photograph, to Doctor Smith staring at her Cop ID, then, back at the men in the
“Tick, Tick, TICK.”
PULSE AN INFERNO.
Slowly, her eyes moved
to his suit
vest, and there was no gold chain nor was there a gold medallion hanging from
the vest pocket. Doctor Smith closed her wallet, instantly became cold, as his
lips tightened. He smiled eerily at her.
“You’re not a police
officer, are you,
Miss whoever you are?”
“Tick, Tick, Tick.”
HER PULSE DETONATING
smiled as her hand began to slip inside and up beneath her jacket and she began
not…And you’re not a fucking doctor.
You’re a fucking butcher and now, I’m going to kill you.”
Instead of showing fear, he smiled
stood. Her hand on her 9 millimeter’s handle, he gazed past her shoulders and
“Tick, Tick, Tick.”
HER PULSE FROZE.
Time froze, as she began to withdraw
hand gun and then she twisted around. Two, tall, muscled blond young men, twins,
dressed in Docker tan pants, and golf shirts and tennis shoes, were just feet
The Beretta half way out of its
she backed away, but she was a micro-second too late.
Both boys leaped at her, and
pressed the steel nubs of their stun guns against her neck and cheek. Electricity
and sparks sizzled and sparked against her skin. She shrieked as her body shook
wildly, and as her hand whipped out, her gun flew across the room. Her teeth
chattered violently as she fell to the floor. Once there it vibrated out of
control, and then her vision went black and she saw no more.
Standing, Doctor Smith looked at
brother’s twin sons, who seemed petrified of what they had just done. Staring
down at just one more Icelandic blond pure woman, who was again another
unexpected prize and one that would sire creatures just like she in the future,
once, that is, after they lobotomized her and impregnated her, he smiled.
“Take her to the room, make
sure she has
no weapons, we will deal with her after Ethan returns.”
Rubbing his jaw, he looked
at her beauty
and her glorious white hair. His eyes went oval in delight as he whispered.
“Ethan will be so very pleased. Take her.”
The edgy blond Vikings
and turned her over. They frisked her, found the .38 in her waistband, showed
it to their uncle, found the knife in her boot, which got a wry little smile in
return from him.
“So violent, so perfect. So
perfect breeding vehicle. Move.”
The boys easily lifted her.
boots trailing behind her, they dragged her out of the office, through the door
and then they were gone.
Elated that pure, blond beautiful
were seemingly dropping out of the evolutionary gene pool, he came back to reality.
The word “we’re” kept funneling through his head, so he quickly returned to his
desk, and opened the girls cop wallet.
Picking up the phone, he got an
found the area code for Atlantic City, asked for the phone number of the
Precinct typed on her laminated ID, scribbled it down on a yellow pad, hung up
the receiver. He punched in the numbers, waited.
“Detective, Sgt. Carrol Willis,
Listening, he nodded his head up
and back and forth.
ago…No…Thank you…My mistake. Bye.” He began to giggle.
Wondering just who she was, he would,
after the twins got her settled in her holding room, adjacent to the babies’
nursery he would have them check out her vehicle. He was just so curious,
wondering who and what and above all, where she had come from.
Seeing her Beretta off to the side
room, he walked over, picked it up, stared at the silencer. He smiled, liking
the feeling of the handgun in his hand. He walked happily to his desk, where
once there, he laid the Beretta alongside the mysterious girls, .38.
“Uuuuh. Another thief, I bet.”
his shoulders, he walked out the door, not knowing that he was close in his
assumption, except for one little thing.
She was not a thief, though she
one once, a long time ago. What in fact she was, was a level of justice, a cold-blooded
murderer of evil.
The evil of men.
MUCH like some kind of human, exotic and graceful Bird of Paradise waking to
the first glints of sunlight, Mandal sat up from her bed, and stretched her
long arms above her head.
She arched her back and elongated,
glanced at her tan toes. She wiggled them for a moment, giggling as she did.
After a moment, she allowed her eyes to rise, drift to the window of the door
and once there, she saw the twins leering at her.
She sweetly smiled at the boys, and got
two smiles in return.
She took a deep breath, exhaled through
pouted lips as she printed her smile along the boy’s faces. Wetting her full
lips with her pink tongue, she shyly and seductively lowered her eyes. The room
was sound-proof, but she was positive she could hear the young, twin blonde’s
kinetic energy pass through the heavy door as they whispered back and forth to
She puckered a small kiss towards them.
She smiled gaily, her mouth parted, she ran her tongue along her swollen lips.
The boys blinked, and she saw them and in
a jilted manner, talking back and forth to one another. Slowly, very slowly she
began to unbutton each snap of her white cotton tunic. As it parted partially,
showing her small breasts, her evident rib cage and her flat brown tummy, she
saw the boys’ blue eyes widen.
Seduction, when practiced by a master
tactician, is always better slow, so she lingered there for a moment, her knees
parted as her tan feet pressed against the white tiles of the floor and her
tunic unbuttoned to her small hips. Closing her eyes, she arched her back,
exposing a little more skin from beneath her cotton tunic. She ran her fingers
through her short, white hair, lowered her face, and seemed to shudder.
A few more moments passed, a she simply
pulled the tunic off of her upper torso, laughed to herself like a crazy nymph,
let it, in stages, pillow to the tiles.
Her eyes closed. She jerked her head,
arched her back, threw her head back and laughed gaily at the ceiling.
The boys, aroused beyond anything they
had ever witnessed before, outside of porn videos they secretly watched
whenever they could, leered at her strident ribs and tiny breasts. Her pajama
bottoms were slung low on her
hips, and each muscle leading down below her waist, was cut.
Her lips parted and pouted as an
obvious, sexual tremble rumbled through her body. She laughed, shook her head
back and forth like a wild gypsy. She slowly stood, her lips parted, her tongue
traced along her luscious lips.
Mimicking every tawdry seduction scene
she had ever seen in any ridiculous Hollywood flick ever produced, she simply
flicked at the draw string on her white pajamas with her finger tips.
“Ooops.” She laughed, as the white PJ’s
fell down her long legs and fell into a pool at her feet.
Standing naked and barefoot she went
pigeon toed, as her eyes lifted and she looked at her fans gawking at her from
the door’s window.
She stretched her arms back, arched her
back, and stretched to her full height.
Not a single golden hair below her
eyelashes, she looked like a golden dolphin. Her skin was bronze and she could
hear the boys’ reaction as they whispered back and forth frantically to each
She began to casually pace back and
forth, sometimes laughing, other times pouting. She ran her hands along her
stomach and breasts. She crouched to her bent knees, her eyes blazed. She
placed her fingers between her parted legs. She clutched her lasered cunt. She
touched her wet fingers to her lips. She groaned. Eyes closed, she heard the
door rattling and she started to laugh.
She parted her lips. She trailed her
fingers along her vagina. Back and forth, in and out, all around, she began to
drool. Her teeth began to chatter. She fell to her knees. Clutching her cunt,
her body shuddered in climax. She turned her pleading eyes to the boys. Then,
as if a small, shy little girl, she gave them a smile so inviting, that she
almost wept having done so.
Blushing, a tear fell from her eyes. She
lifted her eyes to the boys and shrugging her shoulders, she peeked at her
finger tips, and almost embarrassed, she smiled. Slowly, she lowered her
fingers from her lips, stood, stretched her arms as she moved to the side of
the bed, and sat. Planting her feet onto the tiles, she spread her knees, so a
full frontal view of her tan body faced the boys.
She gripped her cunt with both hands,
threw her head back and laughed. An expert at mood swings, she halted her
gaiety, lowered her face, pouted again and again, and now drooling and her eyes
never leaving their stares, she began to masturbate herself with her fingers.
Thinking that she heard the lock spring,
she slowed. Seeing Jeb, she assumed that was his name, peeking at her through
the now partially opened door, she stopped, shuddered.
“Jeb is it?”
nodded. She could see an erection growing in his tan Dockers and his breathing
was somewhat discombobulated, so she winked coyly at him.
“No last wish for a bad little girl,
Testosterone wracked his body, he glanced
at his brother, then back at a creature he simply thought could not really be doing
what she was doing. Living a life in sexual denial, and often after off-loading
that curse through his only outlet, pornography and now suddenly being
confronted with every seedy sexual desire he had ever dreamed of, he began to
“Yo…Yo…You better stop that…It’s…Its…
sin…I…I…Just st…Stop it.”
Tilting her head, she ran her fingers
along her clitoris, winced, as she smiled, then purred out each selected word,
as they dripped like pure sex out of her lips.
“Why, Jeb…I’m just a girl…I have needs,
too…You don’t like me?…You don’t think me pretty?..I need it, Jeb…I need it bad
before I die…Please. Fuck me”
Feeling his dick bulge, his eyes swept
her slender body. She was licking drool off her lips again with her pink
tongue. His brain began to spark, for their connectors were coming apart.
“A sin, Jeb…Why is it a sin…Me desiring
you…Didn’t Adam and Eve fuck too?”
She smiled, as his body jerked.
“Why is that so bad…I just want it, one
last time…Please Jeb…Please. What’s so sinful about that?”
Pushing his stun gun back and forth
between his fists, Jeb leered at his twin as he uttered.
“Yo…You sho…shouldn’t talk like that. Our
fathers will be back in a few hours from the airport, they will be mad.”
Spreading her legs, she gave him a full
shot of her welcoming vagina. She lowered her fingers to it, spread it a little
further open, shuddered.
“Ge…Getting Ethan, his wife and the new
Swedish babies at the jet.”
“So what’s the problema sweetie pie?…What
he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, now will it? Please, Jeb, just one last wish.
Just one last fuck before I die.”
Gawking, he lifted his eyes back and
forth from between her legs to her wet lips and then back to her fired,
welcoming blue eyes. Releasing her vagina, she lifted her arms, and put them
before her, as she purred.
“Come here, baby. Let me show you what
Paradise is really like.”
Jeb felt his brother standing half way
through the door behind him. He jerked his head to his brother, then at the
brazen Jezebel, as depicted in the Bible, then back at his brother Simon, then
at the naked peep show the girl was offering him, with her spread apart knees.
“Do it, Bro…Do it, Bro.” Simon said.
“What about Simon?”
spread her legs a little more apart. She grasped her vagina with both hands,
trembled all over, as she seethed.
“After you baby, I’ll do your bro.”
Her body shuddered as she whispered, and
a drop of saliva fell from her lips, down her breasts.
“Promise. Double team me baby, pleeeease.”
Jeb jerked his face to his brother, who
was bobbing his head up and down like a Dodger bobble head.
“Do it Jeb…They’ll never find out…Do it,
bro. You know you’re going to after they Lob her, anyways.”
Stretching her hands into the air again,
and as her rib cage tightened, exposing every one of her ribs, she pursed her
“Come here baby, be sweet to me. That’s
my last wish. I just want you to be sweet to me. Let me suck that big Mormon
dick of yours.”
Sex has always superseded religion, thus
the reason for so many virgins sacrificed by those of the Good Book to the
various Gods that demanded such things from the faithful. Like some kind of
naked, super-conducting magnet, Jeb felt her I-Beam as it pulled him towards her.
Once standing before her, he gripped his stun gun, showed it to her.
“I have a stun gun…I…I’ll use it.”
Tilting her head up from her sitting
position, she smiled, as she reached for his zipper.
“Sure, honey…You use that if I’m a bad
She touched the bulge in his chinos.
“My goodness, what do we have here?” She
swallowed, seemingly a little scared at what she was looking at. “So
With every neuron going ‘Whack’ in his
body, she batted her eyelashes as she looked up at Ned’s cranked-out face, and
then allowed another drool of saliva to spill from her trembling lips.
Three, two, one, blastoff.
She dug his cock out of his pants, smiled.
Simon at the door almost had a conniption
fit, as his eyes gawked at his lucky brother, (the co-captain of their football
team) as Jeb’s entire body began to tremble as his blond head jerked from the
Biblical whore’s touch.
Without hesitation, the ex-whore from
Atlantic City, inserted Jeb’s substantial penis into her mouth. A low groan
escaped from Jeb’s lips. His body went taut as she began giving him a blow job.
Simon, partly in and out of the door watched, simply stunned to his boat shoes at
what he was seeing. Mandal felt the blood expanding in his penis. Not wanting
him to orgasm, she slipped her lying lips from his penis. She held it in her
hand, as she tilted her blue eyes to Jeb, who was leering at her.
“Not yet, sweetie…Come here…Give me my
last wish…Fuck me, please. Please, Jeb, right here on the bed. Please.”
She took his hand, laid him on the bed.
She adjusted his blond head on the pillow, made sure his legs were prone, and
glancing at Simon, she threw him a playful air kiss. With his own erection
throbbing, Simon felt the heat of the air as the kiss whizzed past his face.
Mandal took his hand, the one with the
stun gun, and laid it neatly along his side as she whispered.
“Hold tight, honey bunny. I’ll be good.” She
kissed him. “Promise.”
Jeb watched as the exotic Praying Mantis
crawled on top of him, and then straddling his waist, wrapped both hands around
“You’re such a sweetheart.” She purred.
She lifted her tiny hips and guided him
inside of her and in the same fell swoop, lowered herself so he was completely
inside of her. Jeb groaned. Mandal groaned. Simon Groaned.
Lot’s O’ groaning.
Like a whirly bird, she rotated her arms
above her head as she ground down and all around Jeb’s encapsulated penis.
Laughing and groaning, Jeb stared in
disbelief up at her small breasts, striated ribs and heaving tummy as she lowered
her eyes at him, made contact, smiled at him, as she touched his shaking lips.
“You like, Baby?”
“Ye…ye…Yes…Oh, God yes.”
Because of his naughty and sinful masturbatory
habits, Jeb had once fucked a Jell-O mold. He groaned away as he knew that
heaven had arrived, for nothing he had felt to the moment, could compare with
the warmth he was now feeling.
Mandal smiled, ground down a little
harder on his throbbing penis. She raised her arms into the air, entangled her
fingers into a balled fist. She shrieked, as she slashed the balled fists down.
With pure hatred and fury, unmatched by any evil the Book of Mormon ever
depicted, her balled fists exploded into the bridge of his nose.
Instantly Jeb tried to scream, but so
much blood erupted out of his nose and mouth, it was just a gurgle. Covered in
blood, shrieking, screaming, Mandal lifted her double fists into the air. Howling,
she hurtled her fist savagely over and over and over again until his teeth
shattered and his face, a bloody pulp emulsified. Drowning in his own blood,
his hands and feet began vibrating on the bed.
Mandal, her eyes rabid, covered in red
blood and pulp and shattered teeth and bone of his face, wailed. Turning, she,
still on her hands and knees, leered across the room at Simon, who was now just
recognizing what had happened. With her white hair satiated with blood, and
more blood and tissue covering her face, breasts and stomach, she whipped
around, licked her lips and tasted the blood.
A black belt in Judo, she then crushed
his wind wipe with a savage blow from her wedged fist.
He died instantly.
She slashed from the bed.
Simon was through the door. Taking two
steps, he halted, for the naked, blood-covered monster was now facing him. The
look in her eyes terrified him, as well as her blood-soaked body. Mandal threw
her head back and screamed. She ran across the room, leaped, and wrapping her
bare legs around Simon’s waist, she gripped his waist as her fingers clawed up,
digging into his eyes.
From the force of the impact, he went
flying backwards, as his hand held his stun gun, and his thumb kept trying to
Backwards they moved, muscled legs, like
a Boa, increasing the tension along his waist. And then Simon screamed, as he
felt one of his eyeballs being ripped from his eye socket. He exploded against
the wall, as Mandal screamed again. Simon, being attacked so ruthlessly, then
tangled his feet. He dipped backwards. Mandal hanging on with her legs and
claws digging at his eyes, landed on top of him.
His head sprung backwards, hitting the
floor hard. His hand released the stun gun. It slid just to the left of
him. Mandal screamed again, as she
ripped at his face, which, minus one eyeball leered at her. He exploded,
shrieked at her as his hands flew to her face, and he raked it with his
fingernails, leaving just more bloodied scars of a long line of scars on her
Her eyes went insane, as she lowered her
mouth to his nose and then chewed his nose off with her teeth. He shrieked,
raking her face, as her peripheral vision saw the stun gun on the floor.
Digging her fingers into the other eye, Simon screamed, followed by a primeval
wail from Mandal. She spit his nose out, shrieked.
Insane, she grabbed
a tuft of
hair, and smashed the back of his head against the concrete floor, screaming as
she did. Her hand fell to the stun gun. She leered at the steel nubs, ignited
it with her thumb. Reaching behind her, she slashed the steel nubs into his
What was left of Simon bellowed as the
high voltage ruptured his testicles. Seeing his bloodied eyeball, laying on the
floor, she stuffed it in his mouth, withdrew the stun gun. As Simon’s last
remaining orb glared at her, he screamed again as she ripped the stun gun into
his mouth. With a wild grin on her face, she ignited it.
Sparks, fire and smoke blasted out of his
mouth, stifling the last screams from his throat.
Pressing the steel nubs deeper into his
throat, she had still not blinked to the moment. Feeling his entire body
vibrating, she threw her head back and began to bellow uncontrollably.
After a moment, she stopped her
screaming, and lowering her head, she saw that Simon was still not dead. Seeing
the smoke swirling out of his mouth and his one eye numb and opaque, she threw
her head back and screamed again. Throwing her hands into the air, her entire
body undulated, completely out of control as she screamed one last time.
She twisted to the floor, straddled his
torso, and with her forearm wrapped it around his throat. Grinning, and as she
strangled him to death, she whispered.
“For Claire, asshole.”
Her brow crinkled as she came back from her
madness. She stared at the spool of smoke trailing out of Simon’s mouth. Taking
the stun gun in her bloodied fingers, she jerked her head at the door,
remembered further and stood.
Out the door, she turned left towards the
pregnancy rooms. She powered into the vast, white, neon lit room. There she
was, the caretaker, the wife who was a part of such horror, and having heard
the screams, she was standing next to the last bed, the empty bed, the one
meant for the crazed, naked, blood-soaked demon staring at her.
Cowering, her hands pressed against her
Christmas sweater, as she, Ethan Smith’s wife Sarah, they were all named Sarah
in one way or another, cringed as the naked, blood-soaked woman moved before
her. The devil, simply grinning, gawked at her.
Pressing her back against the wall, she
hurt me…Please. I pray
you do not harm me.”
Mandal grinned, as she felt bile
gathering in her throat. Eyes like fired lug bolts, she touched the deep
scratches on her cheek, touched her bleeding lips with her own blood, as she
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to
kill you, you fucking bitch.”
Leaping at Mrs. Smith, the woman yelped
as Mandal dug her fingers into the back of her sandy hair, ripped her skull
back so the woman’s shaking lips were open in pleas of remorse and hopefully
forgiveness. Mandal lifted the stun gun and having it level with her bulging
eyes, Mandal racked the nubs into her mouth, lit her up, seethed.
“Pray on this, you bitch.”
Fire and electricity pulsed through her
mouth. Her body vibrated through her screams. Holding her by the back of her
hair, Mandal watched as the woman’s feet bounced up and down on the floor.
Seeing the woman’s eyeballs roll to the
back of her head, Mandal pulled the gun from her smoking mouth, and in one
action, ripped her face into a solid table, set next to the empty bed, her bed,
Hearing the bones of her nose crunch,
seeing her teeth scatter to the floor, the woman moaned. Mandal lifted her face
backward, scrutinized it. Staring at her shattered nose and broken teeth and
the blood gushing down her face, she savagely slashed her face once, twice, and
a third time against the solid oak table.
Reaching down to a stainless steel table,
she took a scalpel, leered into her eyes and then cut her throat. Mandal
released her, allowing her in sections to slump to the floor. She lifted her
foot into the air, and with the ball of her heel, she crashed it into her
temple, double tap killing her instantly.
“Bitch.” She whispered.
She began to feel the adrenaline draining
from her body. Blinking twice, she looked back at her holding cell.
She ran her fingers through her blood-soaked
hair, brought her hands down to her face. Staring at the blood, she crinkled
her brow. She remembered that she had just murdered three people, thought about
it for a second, shrugged her shoulders, and meekly whispered.
Her eyes glanced at the young Holtzman
girl laying in the hospital bed, silent now, no laughter, future, never to
smile again, no redemption in her life now. Glancing at the tubes in her nose
and arms and as she listened to the heart monitor go “Beep…beep…beep” she
stared at the comatose girl, who would never have a life now.
Walking over to the girl, Mandal wiped
her left hand on the sheet, semi clean of blood. Tenderly and lovingly she
petted the girl’s blond hair. She felt a tear gathering in her eyes.
Touching her cheek, she winced as she saw
the girl’s eyes turn to her. For a moment she thought she saw recognition
within them. But they were like dead lead balls. After a moment, the girl
turned back to seeing nothing and feeling nothing.
A tear fell down Mandal’s cheek.
Looking down the row, she saw the three
other lobotomized and pregnant young blonde women.
She bent and vomited.
It cleared her thought process.
Biting her lower lip until it drew
blood, she exhaled as she turned and began to walk.
Preparing now, there was more work that
needed to be done and as her brain sizzled, she seethed to herself.
“Sleep my lovelies, I’ll take care of it
And then she was around a corner and
DOCTOR Ethan Smith stared at the tan
Caprice, then his brother. He glanced at his wife Ruth, who was holding the two
blonde babies in white, soft cotton blankets in her arms.
Not wanting any roaming eyes within the
house, Doctor Ethan Smith turned to the chauffeur, and politely said. “Thank
you, Jeffery. Have a good day.”
Doctor Ethan Smith, seemingly a bit
annoyed, stared at the tan sedan, then at Adam, his brother.
His brother swallowed hard, nodded.
“Yes, Ethan…It is.”
Rubbing his jaw, he thought for a moment.
“Okay, let’s see this woman. Take the children into the sanctuary. Come.”
Everyone on edge, Adam Smith and with his
brother’s wife carrying the two children from Stockholm and Ethan Smith
following, they all walked through the door. As they entered the vast living
room his brother turned to him and whispered.
“Wife, take the babies to the nursery.
Brother, my office. Let us see who this woman had pretended to be.”
Both men walked across the living room. Ethan
Smith stalled out in front of his office door, turning to his brother as he
“Where are the boys? Where is Sarah?
Simon shrugged his shoulders, glanced at
his watch, whispered with no concern what so ever in his voice.
“It is late, Ethan. They sleep, perhaps.”
That made sense to the tall blond twin
dressed so wonderfully in his black suit. He nodded, walked into his most
“Hey, you’re back. Great, come on in
The female voice jolted them to a stop. A
single light off into a corner illuminated the study, throwing a yellow glow on
the figure sitting behind the great teak desk on the high back office chair.
Within a micro second, both men thought it was Sarah, but quickly that changed
as the figure, dressed entirely in black rose from the chair. Her height
instantly told them that this was not anyone’s wife, but something very, very
She had showered, found her clothes,
black gloves and her guns on the desk right where she had last seen them.
Pointing her silenced Beretta 9 MIL at the two stunned doctors, she grinned as
she moved a few steps towards them.
“Surprised, gentlemen? If you move, just
a little, I will kill you.”
The twins exchanged horrified and stunned
glances. Mandal could see that the look on Ethan Smith’s face seemed so filled
with disbelief and then hatred, she tensed the grip of the pistol, for he
looked at the moment like he would attack her.
She saw his blue eyes tick across the
room at the gun case, which was filled with rifles and two, old and etched
metal, over/under barrel shotguns. She saw that he was contemplating them. She
grinned. Raising the automatic so it pointed to his white, striated face, she giggled,
mimicking Dirty Harry. “Go on, Doctor. Make my day.”
Getting her gist, Ethan Smith calculated
the odds and, then chilled out.
“Ho…Ho…H?…Wha…What in God’s name have you
Simon Smith stuttered, as his brother Ethan stared
at the most beautiful, blond Goddess he had ever seen.
She was a no-nonsense kinda gal and maybe
in the movies they exchange all kinds of lip service, but in her world, that
was nonsense. She walked to Simon Smith, and rearing back, she racked him in
the temple with the Beretta’s barrel, sending him down with a “yip” to the
Glancing at Ethan Smith, she pointed the
barrel tip at his temple. She smiled, as the doctor, seemingly constructed of
ice, simply glared at her through his blue eyes.
“This not in God’s master plan,
Ethan…That’s your name, isn’t it?”
She stared at Adam, who with a bloody,
serrated left eye was groaning as he struggled to his feet. She glanced back at
a smiling Doctor Ethan Smith.
“You’re making a mistake, miss…I am
afraid you do not understand what we are doing here. Do you know that you could
be a part of something so grand, that it would equal the glory of our Savior’s
work. I’m sorry, your name?”
Mandal peeked at Adam Smith, then back to
the smiling and confident brother.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor. Mandal…And the
only mistake that’s been made, is that you murdered my girl.”
Far off in the house, a scream echoed
somewhere. Both men jerked their heads to the open door. The sound of shoe
soles could be heard and, then crashing through the door, Ruth Smith, her face
painted in tears and panic appeared.
“OH ETHAN…OH MY GOD, Ethan…Th…The
She swallowed her words in her throat. Tear-strained
eyes lifted and she saw the blond devil casually swinging a gun towards her. In
an instant, her gray eyes locked with the demons. Her face bleached in terror
as the blonde demon smiled at her:
“Pssst, Pssst, Pssst” whistled through
The three bullets hit her in her
Christmas sweater, centered into her chest. Her body bucked and violently hurled
back through the doorway. Slamming back against the wall of the hallway, she
fell, her face slumping against her chest.
Simon Smith’s eyes bulged out of his head, as he went back and forth,
back and forth from the dead woman, to the blond who now was eerily smiling at
him and was pointing the gun at him now.
Ethan Smith simply stared in awe, for an
emotionless killer himself, he simply was fascinated and felt a rush in his
body, watching something so surgically clean, so DNA and genetically perfect,
as the warrior woman, who understood as he did, that to take life, is to give
Doctor Adam Smith, blood and tears
streaming down his face, turned to Mandal and stuttered. “Yo…Yo…Your insane…My
wife…my…my wife…Our sons. You’ve killed her…You’re Satan…Satan…oh…ooooh,
Saaaara.” He cried in real time pain.
Mandal smiled. Ethan Smith turned and
viciously slapped his brother in the face, as he seethed. “Shut up. You are so
weak. Do you not see who she is?”
Adam Smith fell to his knees. Crushing
his face into his hands, he began to weep. Ethan Smith turned, smiled. Mandal
saw utmost respect in his blue eyes for her and within that moment, both of
them knew that they were from the same tribe.
There had forever been in the Bible, if
one took it literally, never any benevolence from God. Disbelieve me or worship
any other God, then I will murder you, your family and your entire village.
Ethan Smith knew this. He believed in that credo, as well as understanding it
better than any man on the planet.
He knew well, that the weak would never
inherit the Earth.
“What do you think, Ethan? Am I insane?
The Devil? Is that what you see? Is it?”
His ego now nuclear, it began to mushroom
in a fireball of wonder, for within that moment of destiny, he now knew that he
had found his queen. She was a violent queen of such purity and sanity that his
mind raced from the possibilities of what she and he together could do within
his universe of beauty and racial perfection.
“No…Not insane…You are remarkable…Please,
I do not fear you…I understand you…Think…Think of what I am doing and now, how
you, through Gods wisdom, perhaps might have come to help me accomplish things
only other men dare dream of…Do you understand, my queen? How pure it all is?”
She blinked, and he saw it, and he saw
her thinking and that pleased him, for her eyes held such intelligence. He felt
stunned by their magnificence. Mesmerized now, he thought that she was beginning
to comprehend his greatness. He was certain that she had been sent by God to
help him rule his universe.
“I see…I see now, that you understand.”
He glanced at his kneeling, weeping brother, showed disgust.
Gazing deeply into her blue eyes, white
hair and her remarkable length and height and then at the handgun she gripped
in her black gloves, he whispered, as if he were praying.
“You and I…The possibilities are endless.
Do you see…It is fate that God has brought you to me.”
Waving his hand at his brother, he now
was confident that she understood him, he whispered again. “They are so weak.
Yet, you, like the Angel Michael…Part woman, part man, a warrior sent to me to
fight the black-skinned hoards, to purify the world. You and me…It is a
Mandal stared at him for the longest of
moments. Crinkling her brow in thought, she nodded. Showing clarity in
understanding his words, she whispered, almost reverently.
“You and me, Ethan, together, fighting
the dark hordes together. Is that what you are saying, Ethan. Is it?”
Nodding his head, he saw a realization
and a softness descending along her face and excited now, and feeling sexual
for her, he smiled.
“Yes…Yes, I see you understand. Only you
could be my queen.” Raising his hands to her, palms up, he smiled at her and
“Come…I will love you…It will be you and
me, now, forever. What a pairing. Come now, my queen, you are home.”
Mandal smiled, lowered the handgun and
looked at his up-turned palms. For a moment the look on her face was so
compassionate, that Ethan Smith now knew that he had found his warrior queen,
finally and at last.
“You and me, Ethan? Is that what you are
saying?” She said, hopefully, almost gratefully.
“Yes…yes my Queen…You and me.”
Mandal smiled, and as Ethan Smith took
one step, he halted in his tracks. Suddenly his brow crinkled, for the smile
from her full lips had transformed into a gritted, tight rip of a smirk and
then she did smile again as she raised the 9 mm, and leveled the tip of it at
“You’re out of your fucking mind. Toodles,
She laughed, as her finger aligned
along the trigger tensed and began to squeeze.
The gun bucked and the air reverberated
with a “Psssst, pssst, pssst.”
He actually saw the bullets flashing out
of the barrel tip towards his forehead and as the bullets impacted, he knew
that his brother had been correct within his words. Indeed, she was Satan, and
she had come from the depths of hell to steal his soul.
Small holes appeared in his forehead. His
head jerked back, exploded as did his tall body, and as he crumpled to the
floor, she saw in his eyes disbelief, and that pleased her so.
Simon Smith screamed, racked his eyes at
his dead brother. He screamed again as Mandal moved to his dead brother and
casually shot him twice in the chest.
Straightening, so his behind was resting
on his shoe heels, Adam Smith splayed his shaking hands in front of him.
“Pl…Please…Do…Do…Don’t kill me…Please.
Pressing the barrel tip of the silencer
to his forehead, she whispered.
“Kill you…I wouldn’t think of it…The CD,
doctor…Where is it.”
“The one Claire brought. I couldn’t find
it…Get it, NOW.” She tapped his forehead with the barrel tip again, smiled.
“I…If I give I…it to you, will you let
“Of course…I won’t kill you. She crossed
herself. “Cross my heart and hope to die…Please, the CD.”
“Then…Thank you.” He whimpered, as he
struggled to his feet.
Mandal smiled as he staggered to his
desk. He slumped into the high back leather chair. Meekly staring at her, he
reached under a leather and cardboard ink blotter, from which he withdrew a
small, gold key.
His hands trembling, he showed it to her.
She smiled. Finding a secret little
lock, hidden under the desk, inserted the key. A small drawer opened. He
withdrew the CD, swallowed and handed it to her. Taking the CD from his
vibrating hand, she looked at it, smiled, placed it into her jacket pocket.
“There’s that rascal.” She joked.
Seeing that her mood had lightened, he
whispered. “Can I go now?”
She lowered the Beretta to her side. Her
hand moved behind her back and seemed for the longest time to stay there.
“You’ve been very bad, Adam.”
In slow motion he watched as her hand
materialized from behind her back. His eyebrows furrowed as he saw a small,
black iron .38 in her hands.
“I…I…Thought you said you weren’t going
to kill me?”
Taking a single step, she raised the .38,
cocked it with her thumb, and as he yipped, she placed the snub barrel against
“I’m a lying bitch…I’m not going to kill
you. You’re going to kill you…Have a good trip to Nephi.”
The gun barked as the side of his head erupted
out of his temple. His body jerked to the right and then he slumped to his
desk, sleeping now for eternity.
Her work almost completed, she now had to
finalize her plan. Reaching forward, she took Adam Smith’s dead hand, placed
the non-traceable 9 millimeter into it, stuck his forefinger into the trigger,
leaned down and pointed it at the corpse of his brother.
With her gloved finger, she aimed for a
moment, squeezed off a round. She smiled as she saw the lead pellet thump into
the lifeless body of his brother.
If nothing else, she was thorough. She
now knew that there were powder burns on Adam Smith’s hands. Dropping his hand
back to the desk, she pried the 9 mm from his grip and placed her .38 in his
hand, making sure his forefinger had pressed nicely against the trigger
With that done, she took the 9mm, of
course a very untraceable handgun from his hand, laid it on the desk and stared
at her handiwork.
She fought giggling, as she whispered.
“Fucking Mormons, let ‘em figure that one out.”
Knowing she still had a phone call to
make and one last piece of business to take care of, she walked to the gun
case. She scrutinized the various hunting rifles and shotguns the holy felt so
comfortable with whenever they obliterated everything that ran or flew within
their glorious world.
She was an expert at weapons, they had
always fascinated her. She reached forward and gripping the hand checkered,
maple stock and metal etched designed shotgun from the case, she held it in her
hands and admired it.
It was Manlicher/Gamba Edinburgh,
over/under, 12 Gauge, one of the finest handmade scatter-guns ever crafted. It
had chrome-lined barrels, was double ribbed, had auto injectors and it was the
pride and joy of the maker, one radical dude, named Renalto Gamba.
She took a fistful of shells and after
click, click, click, click, she finished funneling the red and brass shells
into the magazine. With one gloved hand, she racked the shotgun, ratcheted a
shell into the chamber.
Digging the vibe of the shotgun, she
turned, and without looking at the dead, walked to the door, and out of it,
leaving it open behind her.
She walked out the door, and then feeling
the light snow, she turned her slashed and cut face to the gray, winter sky,
smiled as she felt the snow flakes dissolve against her skin. The fact that she
was alive, beyond all odds, pleased her.
“Okay.” She whispered.
She moved to her tan cop sedan, placed
her shotgun on the passenger seat. She placed her gloved fingers on the key,
and twisted it. The car came to life. She gave it some gas and she drove along
the curved driveway, until she came to the end of it.
Pulling up to the barber pole, she
grabbed her shotgun, stepped out of the car and with both hands holding it to
her side, she walked past the striped barrier.
She saw the young, blond man standing. As
his face smudged in recognition and she saw his brow wrinkled in curiosity and
worry, she smiled, and pulled both triggers of the Manlicher.
The lead shot ripped through the guard
booth, shattering the guard’s body to shreds. He blasted back into the back of
the booth. Moving to the booth, she
glanced at him, shrugged her shoulders, saw the small button, leaned down and
pressed it. Bending to a recoding player, she relieved a DVD, then two others
from a shelf.
She slowly drove past the guard gate.
Retracing her original journey, and before she hit the Interstate off in the
distance, she saw a culvert filled with muddy water.
Grabbing her shotgun, she moved to a
fence post, and holding the gun barrel in her gloved hands, she whacked the
shotgun several times. It shattered in several pieces.
Looking around to see if she had awoken
anyone, she heard again silence. She gathered up the pieces of the gun, scattered
them along the murky water of the culvert.
on the main road, she began to move forward once again.
Forty-five minutes later, she was back in
Salt Lake City.
Re-tracking her original route on her I
Pad, she found the three-story parking complex where her truck was parked. She took
a ticket from the machine, moved up the ramp, and on the second floor, she
found a free space. She parked the sedan.
Reaching into the back seat, she found a
baseball cap, and slotted it deep over her blond hair. Adding sun glasses, she
was all good.
Leaving the key in the ignition, she
grabbed the pack, hefted it on her shoulder, exited the sedan, and began to
Jumping into her pickup’s cab, she threw
her backpack on the seat, fired the truck up, backed out. She slowed along a
young, blond, white boy, sitting in a booth.
With no reason in the world to think
anything odd about anything, the boy handed her change, pushed the button,
allowing the gate to swing up and open.
Outside of the city, she pulled over
She clicked in a telephone number, on
her pay-as-you-go Walmart cell.
After a moment of phone moaning, a
tired “Hello” came over the wire, and then it all began.
Without hesitation, she told her best
friend, one Lieutenant Victor Garcia everything, every fucking detail of what
she had just done.
AFTER MANY minutes of terror-driven
scribbling on a yellow pad, Lieutenant Victor Garcia told her to get her ass
back to Vegas ASAP and be fucking careful in doing so.
Stunned to the bottom of his cop shoes,
he simply glared like a lunatic at the phone as he finally hung it up. His
hands were shaking, and as her clever and quite beneficial plan coursed through
his brain, he, after a moment, actually smiled. The fact that he was actually
going to do nothing about involving her in multiple homicides, shook him to his
Actually respecting her now more than
ever before, he stood, and grabbing a yellow pad and a pen, he raced through
the door of his office, knowing, “That yes, indeed, he could live with it.”
He moved to the wall, where the Task
Force information for the missing woman, and their butchered husbands were
still set on The Murder Boards against the wall.
“No fucking way.”
His eyes ablaze in astonishment, he felt
his body temperature rising, as he drew lines connecting this and that of
various pieces of information on to his yellow pad.
“Well I’ll be a son of a bitch.”
“Dammit, he would do it.”
Picking up the telephone, he hit a speed
dial button, and after a moment, a sleepy male voice filtered over the ear
piece back over the wire into his ear. “Hello, Homicide. It better be fucking
“Tom, Victor. You’re not going to fucking
believe this. I solved it”
Weeks later, he got his Captain bars, the
key to the city, kissed tons of babies, got a lot of bundt cakes and thus:
legend of the Las Vegas Police department was born.
j brooke is a writer
with over 100 credits, and never lists them. It's simple for j, for it’s never
what you have already written, but what you are going to write next. Contact
Artist Zero lives in an underground
bunker somewhere in Colorado or someplace else with Promise, a rescue
Australian Shepherd with an appetite for corn-on-the-cob and peanut butter.