Post by Dom on Jun 16, 2010 3:31:04 GMT -5
Dom opened his eyes.
He was still standing in the coffee shop in Barcelona, standing behind the espresso machine, pulling a couple of shots for use in a latte of some kind. He had been in the same place since 10:00 that morning and it was now close to 7:00 PM. The sun would be going down soon.
"Excuse me!" the American tourist shouted at Dom, "I'm waiting here! Don't have all day, dontcha know!"
Dom rolled his eyes and picked up both shots and poured them into the paper cup that already held enough vanilla syrup to make a normal man throw up. Americans, though, somehow could hold this disgusting stuff like they were goats or something. It had been so long since Dom had been in America that he didn't even consider himself American at all anymore. He was getting dangerously close to calling himself Spanish now.
"Here," he said, shoving the completed latte at the American heifer. She rolled her eyes and mouthed 'Thank you' before grabbing her kids and walking out the door. Dom just shook his head and took off his apron and hat, both emblazoned with the company logo, and tossed them into the storage bin under the counter.
"I'm done for today," he said to the manager, Pedro, who had hired Dom a few months back to work the day shift and only the day shift. Dom made it clear that he couldn't close or open, but he never took lunch breaks. Or dinner breaks. Or any breaks.
The coffee shop masked the smell better than most anyplace else he had checked out since arriving that night in Barcelona.
Dom had a date he had to get ready for. The man's name was Rafael; he was another fifty-something with too much money and a wife and kids but no outlet for his particular desires. Dom was supposed to meet him at his place around 7:30 with the 'toys' the man requested, and they would be done by 4:00 the next morning. Dom would be paid in cash.
And Dom was always on time. At 7:30 sharp, the boy - no, the man, as he was nearing his twenty-first birthday - knocked once on the sliding-glass back door of the expensive house near the beach. Rafael opened the door dressed only in leather chaps, a color around his fat neck. This was not an uncommon sight for Dom, who was dressed still in his work clothes (white shirt, black pants, black tie).
Rafael also looked delicious.
"You bring the toys?" Rafael asked.
"What the fuck did you say?" Dom replied.
"I'm sorry, I mean, did you bring the toys, master?" Rafael corrected.
Dom slapped Rafael softly on the face, causing Rafael to smile.
"Better, slut. Now, in the basement."
Rafael led Dom down into the basement. Dom paused for a moment in the hall to look at the family pictures. Three kids, healthy, and a beautiful wife. Shame. He also noticed the sun descending behind the horizon and he was running out of time. Rafael had told him his family would return around 6:00 the next morning from their vacation in Madrid, visiting the wife's family, and Dom had to be out of the house in enough time for him to pretend he hadn't been there at all.
Dom opened the bag in the basement. He pulled out a length of chain and a ball gag and forced Rafael to the cement ground. He attached one end of the chain to the man's collar and forced the ball-gag into his mouth.
"Now call me master, slut."
"Mrr-mrrrr."
"Tell me you're an unfaithful prick."
"Mmm mm mm-mmm-mmm mmmm."
"Now tell me you want to die."
Rafael didn't respond. This wasn't what he was used to. He turned to face Dom, which was against the rules. He saw Dom had a bludgeon pulled from his bag and raised high, ready to sap Rafael. The fat, balding man freaked out and lunged at Dom, ball-gag still in mouth. He wrapped his meaty fingers around Dom's throat and began to strangle him. Dom dropped the bludgeon and became limp.
Rafael let the younger man's emaciated frame fall to the cement and stepped back. He removed the ball gag and tossed it away, whispering shit shit shit shit shit to himself over and over. He smelled something like death, something he hadn't noticed before, and wondered if it was his imagination. He had just killed his prostitute.
He looked at the meaty hands and saw that they had what looked like tanning oil smeared on them. The prostitute had not only tried to kill him: he had been wearing a fake tan the whole time! Rafael scrambled around the cold cellar, looking for something to wrap the body up in.
Then the bludgeon came down on the back of his head. He fell to his knees and screamed. Dom stood behind him, bludgeon held like he had been a beater on the Quidditch team all his life. He took another swing with tremendous strength, hitting Rafael on the side of the head. Blood flew from the Spaniard's mouth and he fell to the ground in earnest, splayed out like a harlot on a hotel bed.
Dom rolled Rafael over with just his foot. The man looked up at him through half-closed eye-lids, moaning in pain. Dom stepped up onto the fat-man's body and onto his chest, suffocating him. He knelt down and took Rafael's head in his hands, the bludgeon tossed aside, and snapped the man's neck effortlessly.
The hard part wasn't over yet.
Dom took hold of Rafael's feet and slid the body over to a work-table. Dom only 'dated' married men who worked on cars or motorcycles and had plenty of money because these men all had large work-tables. He wiped the tools and parts off the table and tossed the hefty body onto it. Next he retrieved his knife from his bag.
It was a huge knife - the kind seen only in horror films and butchers. It had a long blade maybe a foot in length and six inches wide. It was caked in blood, both human and animal.
He began by stripping the collar and chaps off the body, then stripping meat off of the heftier parts. Blood pooled on the work table and dripped down onto his pants and his shoes. His white shirt was splattered especially around the hands, where it was just red.
Dom ate hungrily, taking large chunks at a time and devouring them without discrimination. Blood smeared down his chin and chest, until he finally found his shirt to be a burden and tossed it off. He ripped at the dead flesh with his bare hands, ripping off long flanks and coating his pale-as-death flesh in life blood.
After midnight passed, much of Rafael was now gone. There were some parts of his body, like the arms and legs, that were now just bones covered in blood. Dom plucked out both eyes and ate them, then pulled the tongue out completely and chewed on it while he skinned the man's head. He cracked open the skull and ate the brain, scooping it out with his bare hands.
At 3:00 in the morning, Dom took a shower and washed off the blood. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, applied a liberal amount of Old Spice to mask the smell of decay he carried around with him, dressed in the fresh clothes he carried in the bag, and began to rob the house. He cleaned out all the cash (around ten thousand Euros) and the gold. Rafael liked his gold, as there was at least another hundred thousand Euros of gold in the house. He stashed it all in his bag.
Then, at 4:45 in the morning, Dom coated the entire bottom of the house with gasoline and poured a trail outside the home. He took his bag outside with him and then let the gasoline. The house became a beacon of light for kilometers around.
Dom made the short walk to a nearby graveyard, undressed again (he didn't want to be seen naked during the walk) and hid the bag in a bush. He laid down on the freshest grave and slipped into the ground effortlessly, his hands filled with gold chains and rings that he had stolen.
Ever since Tiberius had saved his corpse from the fire, Dom had been cursed. His soul had been doomed from the moment he walked into the lake, but now it was denied even the solace of Hell. His body walked and moved as it had before, but unrestrained by the confines of life. He was stronger now, and the earth would not deny him (as Tiberius had buried him only half-heartedly) but it would not hold him forever.
While the sun shined, he felt no hunger and never tired, but once it was down he had to eat. He consumed living flesh of any kind when the hunger struck him, but human flesh satisfied the urges unlike any other. He was also compelled to steal the riches of his victims, and keep them when he slept in the ground, as he had died penniless.
He longed for his life back, but he knew it would never be the same. He was undead now, denied both life and death.
He was still standing in the coffee shop in Barcelona, standing behind the espresso machine, pulling a couple of shots for use in a latte of some kind. He had been in the same place since 10:00 that morning and it was now close to 7:00 PM. The sun would be going down soon.
"Excuse me!" the American tourist shouted at Dom, "I'm waiting here! Don't have all day, dontcha know!"
Dom rolled his eyes and picked up both shots and poured them into the paper cup that already held enough vanilla syrup to make a normal man throw up. Americans, though, somehow could hold this disgusting stuff like they were goats or something. It had been so long since Dom had been in America that he didn't even consider himself American at all anymore. He was getting dangerously close to calling himself Spanish now.
"Here," he said, shoving the completed latte at the American heifer. She rolled her eyes and mouthed 'Thank you' before grabbing her kids and walking out the door. Dom just shook his head and took off his apron and hat, both emblazoned with the company logo, and tossed them into the storage bin under the counter.
"I'm done for today," he said to the manager, Pedro, who had hired Dom a few months back to work the day shift and only the day shift. Dom made it clear that he couldn't close or open, but he never took lunch breaks. Or dinner breaks. Or any breaks.
The coffee shop masked the smell better than most anyplace else he had checked out since arriving that night in Barcelona.
Dom had a date he had to get ready for. The man's name was Rafael; he was another fifty-something with too much money and a wife and kids but no outlet for his particular desires. Dom was supposed to meet him at his place around 7:30 with the 'toys' the man requested, and they would be done by 4:00 the next morning. Dom would be paid in cash.
And Dom was always on time. At 7:30 sharp, the boy - no, the man, as he was nearing his twenty-first birthday - knocked once on the sliding-glass back door of the expensive house near the beach. Rafael opened the door dressed only in leather chaps, a color around his fat neck. This was not an uncommon sight for Dom, who was dressed still in his work clothes (white shirt, black pants, black tie).
Rafael also looked delicious.
"You bring the toys?" Rafael asked.
"What the fuck did you say?" Dom replied.
"I'm sorry, I mean, did you bring the toys, master?" Rafael corrected.
Dom slapped Rafael softly on the face, causing Rafael to smile.
"Better, slut. Now, in the basement."
Rafael led Dom down into the basement. Dom paused for a moment in the hall to look at the family pictures. Three kids, healthy, and a beautiful wife. Shame. He also noticed the sun descending behind the horizon and he was running out of time. Rafael had told him his family would return around 6:00 the next morning from their vacation in Madrid, visiting the wife's family, and Dom had to be out of the house in enough time for him to pretend he hadn't been there at all.
Dom opened the bag in the basement. He pulled out a length of chain and a ball gag and forced Rafael to the cement ground. He attached one end of the chain to the man's collar and forced the ball-gag into his mouth.
"Now call me master, slut."
"Mrr-mrrrr."
"Tell me you're an unfaithful prick."
"Mmm mm mm-mmm-mmm mmmm."
"Now tell me you want to die."
Rafael didn't respond. This wasn't what he was used to. He turned to face Dom, which was against the rules. He saw Dom had a bludgeon pulled from his bag and raised high, ready to sap Rafael. The fat, balding man freaked out and lunged at Dom, ball-gag still in mouth. He wrapped his meaty fingers around Dom's throat and began to strangle him. Dom dropped the bludgeon and became limp.
Rafael let the younger man's emaciated frame fall to the cement and stepped back. He removed the ball gag and tossed it away, whispering shit shit shit shit shit to himself over and over. He smelled something like death, something he hadn't noticed before, and wondered if it was his imagination. He had just killed his prostitute.
He looked at the meaty hands and saw that they had what looked like tanning oil smeared on them. The prostitute had not only tried to kill him: he had been wearing a fake tan the whole time! Rafael scrambled around the cold cellar, looking for something to wrap the body up in.
Then the bludgeon came down on the back of his head. He fell to his knees and screamed. Dom stood behind him, bludgeon held like he had been a beater on the Quidditch team all his life. He took another swing with tremendous strength, hitting Rafael on the side of the head. Blood flew from the Spaniard's mouth and he fell to the ground in earnest, splayed out like a harlot on a hotel bed.
Dom rolled Rafael over with just his foot. The man looked up at him through half-closed eye-lids, moaning in pain. Dom stepped up onto the fat-man's body and onto his chest, suffocating him. He knelt down and took Rafael's head in his hands, the bludgeon tossed aside, and snapped the man's neck effortlessly.
The hard part wasn't over yet.
Dom took hold of Rafael's feet and slid the body over to a work-table. Dom only 'dated' married men who worked on cars or motorcycles and had plenty of money because these men all had large work-tables. He wiped the tools and parts off the table and tossed the hefty body onto it. Next he retrieved his knife from his bag.
It was a huge knife - the kind seen only in horror films and butchers. It had a long blade maybe a foot in length and six inches wide. It was caked in blood, both human and animal.
He began by stripping the collar and chaps off the body, then stripping meat off of the heftier parts. Blood pooled on the work table and dripped down onto his pants and his shoes. His white shirt was splattered especially around the hands, where it was just red.
Dom ate hungrily, taking large chunks at a time and devouring them without discrimination. Blood smeared down his chin and chest, until he finally found his shirt to be a burden and tossed it off. He ripped at the dead flesh with his bare hands, ripping off long flanks and coating his pale-as-death flesh in life blood.
After midnight passed, much of Rafael was now gone. There were some parts of his body, like the arms and legs, that were now just bones covered in blood. Dom plucked out both eyes and ate them, then pulled the tongue out completely and chewed on it while he skinned the man's head. He cracked open the skull and ate the brain, scooping it out with his bare hands.
At 3:00 in the morning, Dom took a shower and washed off the blood. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, applied a liberal amount of Old Spice to mask the smell of decay he carried around with him, dressed in the fresh clothes he carried in the bag, and began to rob the house. He cleaned out all the cash (around ten thousand Euros) and the gold. Rafael liked his gold, as there was at least another hundred thousand Euros of gold in the house. He stashed it all in his bag.
Then, at 4:45 in the morning, Dom coated the entire bottom of the house with gasoline and poured a trail outside the home. He took his bag outside with him and then let the gasoline. The house became a beacon of light for kilometers around.
Dom made the short walk to a nearby graveyard, undressed again (he didn't want to be seen naked during the walk) and hid the bag in a bush. He laid down on the freshest grave and slipped into the ground effortlessly, his hands filled with gold chains and rings that he had stolen.
Ever since Tiberius had saved his corpse from the fire, Dom had been cursed. His soul had been doomed from the moment he walked into the lake, but now it was denied even the solace of Hell. His body walked and moved as it had before, but unrestrained by the confines of life. He was stronger now, and the earth would not deny him (as Tiberius had buried him only half-heartedly) but it would not hold him forever.
While the sun shined, he felt no hunger and never tired, but once it was down he had to eat. He consumed living flesh of any kind when the hunger struck him, but human flesh satisfied the urges unlike any other. He was also compelled to steal the riches of his victims, and keep them when he slept in the ground, as he had died penniless.
He longed for his life back, but he knew it would never be the same. He was undead now, denied both life and death.