Bronwen O’Connor
"Evil in the World"
 

“You know why….it’s on my head I know. Some may tell me so…until my head explodes…”

“You smell like the Akitas that we hunted bears with in my homeland,”  Annika said, wrinkling her nose as Shane and Bronwen slid into the backseat of the DeLorean. 

An hour or so later, Annika dropped them off in front of their house. With all the events of the last two days, it seemed surreal to be standing in front of the old white and blue house, paint fading, and sloppily kept grass.

“I’mma sleep like there’s no tomorrow,” Shane grumbled, pulling himself up the front walk and yanking open the door to the house. While she heard the sound of him kicking off his shoes and stomping upstairs, she pulled out her cell phone and lit up a smoke.

“Yeah, hi…can I talk to Vincenzo please? I have a job for him,” she murmured. She gave the man the location and directions, then palmed her phone and jammed it into her back pocket, silently going up the steps to the house.

The interior of the living room, despite the windows being wide open and unblocked by curtains, was frigidly cold, and goosebumps rose on her arms.

“Shane,” she yelled, “why the fuck is it so damned cold down here?” She surveyed the damage done by the struggle she’d walked in on a day earlier. The shattered coffee table had dried blood on it, and a syringe lay nestled in a floret of the rug that covered the hardwood. Broken lamp, broken chair…what a fucking mess.  An inappropriate giggle rose up from the kitchen and Bronwen wheeled around. A shadow slithered across the white tile out of the corner of her eye. She heard a crash, and picked up the broken leg of chair, advancing quietly into the kitchen.

A tall shadow stood inside the pantry, skinny and with much height on her. Cold bright blue eyes turned onto her fixedly staring as she stood open-mouthed.

“Hey bitch,” a whispery voice said, “it will happen sooner than you think.”  The shadow dissipated and a jar of peanut butter shattered on the floor.

 The room grew noticeably warmer, and Bronwen exhaled, her skin feeling frenetic and energy filled. She scrabbled around in the freezer and fished out a joint she’d rolled the day before, and went out the back door to sit on the stoop. Lighting up the joint, she exhaled a few tokes before she felt a little more relaxed and started getting sleepy. Back in the house, she scooped up the mess of peanut butter and glass, and tidied the living room a bit before she climbed the stairs and collapsed into bed next to the prone shape of Shane.

“Are you sleeping,” a voice asked. Deep and sonorous, it echoed through to the quick of her bones. She struggled to open her eyes. They snapped widely open as icy white fingers trailed around the curve of her breast. Dark hollow eyes stared at her, irises white blue and shining omnipotently.

“I realize you are tired pet, but we should really talk about this denial you suffer,” he smirked, raking his fingers through the grooves of her ribcage, causing a cascade of piercing icy waves through her body. She pried his fingers off of him, pushing his hand away from her. It fell to the side limply of his immense translucently white chest from where he lay on his side looking down at her.

They were laying naked in that blackness, that little closet in her mind with the skeletons, the place he always seemed to be able to find her when she slept, at her most vulnerable.

“You have not slept well lately I noticed,” he said, stroking her cheek with his icy knuckles. “It’s been hard to pull you into conversation.”

He was right. She’d been a regular insomniac since that night where he’d transferred into her with that scathing touch in the moment of his death, fully knowing the surreal consequences of sleeping through the night. 

“What do you want,” she asked, pulling herself completely away from him, resting her head on her knees.

“I want you to stop fighting me,” he whispered. “I want you to let me have you entirely.”

“Like a cancer,” she snarled, swatting away a hand he reached out.

“Dominique can’t bring me back on her own, you know,” he purred, “you should be helping her. She is awfully fond of you too, nearly as much as I am.”

“Was she showing her tremendous love and affection when she tried to kill us? Somehow I must have missed that Till,” Bronwen snapped. “You should direct her to some effective socialization classes.”

He laughed deep and tremulously, “she is bound with the remnants of Jagger’s soul. I apologize…it is simply a matter of a bad stooge cocktail. She’ll have moments where she is he, but moments where he is she.”

“You can’t  do this on your own,” Bronwen asked with a sudden realization.

“Good observation my love,” he chuckled. “It is fortunate that you are not nearly formidable enough to overcome me. Jagger was apt when he mentioned…it is all a matter of time.” She was silent for a moment, studying him carefully as he calmly looked back at her. He was considerably aged, much like he had been when he’d died again. The strain of staving her off had taken it’s toll. It had been that heightened state of fury she’d been in as he’d breathed his last breath that had made her so susceptible to him as he’d reached out and grabbed her.

She leaned over and nestled her face into his deathly cold neck, feeling no pulse, just pallid smooth skin, dry, with the smell of electrical burn. She bit him, felt her teeth dig into the incredibly soft flesh of his neck. A chunk of flesh came free as she drew her  head back, and she spat it out as his hand reached to his throat with a hostile scowl.

“I’m waking up now,” she whispered, “fuck you Till.”

Her eyes snapped open, and the clamorous yelling of Shane made her sit up suddenly and stare at him.

“What the FUCK are you biting me in your sleep for?!” He yelled. “I’ve had ENOUGH biting from women lately to last a fucking lifetime. “  Horrified, she looked at his shoulder where his hand was clamped. A small trickle of blood leaked through his fingers as she pulled his hand back. Teeth marks, but no chunk ripped out. She raised her eyes to his with a dubious expression on her face.

“I had a horny dream, ok? I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” he sulked. “I demand compensation.” 

She grinned at him and pushed him back into bed, covering him with kisses as he giggled and wrapped his arms around her. Thoughts of Till and the very real danger that Dominique represented lurked in her mind’s eye, but were  vanquished temporarily as Shane’s sun sweetened skin brushed smoothly against hers, his heart beat roaring in her ears as he  held her closely, tightly intertwining their bodies together, gently kissing her before looking into her eyes.

“Next time, just wake me up with a smooch, ok wife?”

Hours later, Shane had fallen predictably asleep after their lovemaking while Bronwen lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and listening to the creaks of the old house. With a sigh, she leaned over to kiss Shane on the cheek before she pulled herself out of bed. Covering his ass with the comforter, she looked fondly at him as she slid her jeans on and fastened her belt, throwing on her Smalls t-shirt and watch.

 It was 11 p.m. as she softly padded down the stairs and pulled her Cons on in the kitchen, carefully eyeing the pantry as she walked softly past it. She pulled open one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out the old long barreled Colt and stuck it in her hoody pocket. She grabbed her combi knife and jammed it into her back pocket. Going to the umbrella stand in the foyer, she pulled out the long chrome- barreled shotgun, fishing around in the closet before she found the sling for it.  Digging out several boxes of rounds for the Colt, she sighed in exasperation at the lack of pocket space, and jammed them instead into her backpack. So fucking ghetto like that. 

Softly opening the door, she jammed her black helmet down over her head, sliding up the visor to light a smoke as she padded down the driveway. She kicked off the stand of the Norton and pushed it quietly down the driveway. When she hit the one block mark of pushing the top of the line street bike through the shadows and lamp light, she jumped on and pushed the shotgun out of the way in the sling over her back. The bike screamed to life as she hit the ignition and the throttle hard, the engine and exhaust recoiling in a tidy little jerk before she streaked down the street, humming by the parked cars, and kicking up a swirl of dust in her wake.

Hitting a main artery of traffic on the freeway, she effortlessly weaved through the traffic. The bike had more power than the somewhat antiquated Norton she’d had previously, and she thoroughly enjoyed the speed and agility the new street bike was capable of.

As she got downtown and the traffic got more dense as people started kicking off their nightlife on a Friday, she started drawing inside of herself, thinking that if Till was a part of her, that maybe she could tap into that to see where Dom was. He was after all, the fuel of the abomination.  Sure enough,  her instincts tickled inside of her like a wavering blue flame when she stopped at one particular intersection, casually watching pedestrians cross in front of her as she lit a smoke. Before the light turned green, she revved the bike and peeled into her left turn, reaching out and punching a pedestrian in the back with her fist and laughing as she roared away.  She took a  number of turns and twists as she worked her way further and further into the downtown core of the darker part of the city, and started wondering about the obscureness of following her gut before she spied a liquor store, lights shining invitingly out of a little nook. 

“Wrong instinct,” she murmured, parking the bike and going inside the store.  She grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam and threw some cash at the guy behind the counter before stalking back out. So fucking predictable she was becoming, she smirked, taking an inordinately long pull on the bottle before filling her flask up. A homeless guy looked up from the sidewalk at her balefully, and she passed him the remnants of the bottle.

“Have a good night,” she winked.  He smiled and opened the bottle eagerly.

Before she shoved her helmet onto her head, she was aware of the dull thump of music in the distance. The little flame flickered in her mind, and she put her helmet down on the bike and looked back at the bum.

“I’ll buy you three bottles and give you fifty bucks if you watch my bike for a bit,” she cajoled. 

“Done lady,” he nodded emphatically, “consider it done. I live here anyways, so it ain’t no bother.”

She grinned appreciatively and walked towards the sound of the music. Down a tight alley, there was a small black door with two huge dudes guarding it under a large black awning with white lettering on it. A goth bar.  She thought about Dom’s heaving white chest as she’d snarled at her beckoningly from the living room floor. Yeah, ok, so that seemed fitting. Bat girl had to come from somewhere.

The rifle slid a little on her back. How the fuck was she going to get that through the bouncers?  She eyed the alleyway around her and saw no auspicious nook not smelling of garbage, junky and urine, and sighed.

“Can ye hold this?”  She pointedly handed the shotgun to the biggest bouncer at the door. His eyes widened as he took the heavy firearm from her wordlessly nodding.

“Better safe than sorry, right?” she smiled, brushing by the two bouncers and into the din of the dark bar. It was thick and black, lit sparsely from the edges. Tables edged an enormous dancefloor in the center that was being strobed by white flashing light amidst the heavy industrial music that thumped from speakers peeking out from under the second balcony that ringed the large warehouse from the upper level. Three bars were the most lit places in the whole place.  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness and the lights, she was almost surprised to see just how many people were around her.  Black wraiths with gleaming white skin and ghoulish make up started revealing themselves around her as she walked slowly through the place on the outside of the dance floor. The tables were packed with more of them, lit with thick white tapers, and covered with wine glasses, wine bottles, and oddly, domestic beer bottles.

Bronwen began scanning the crowds looking for Dominique in the tables as she made her way towards the stairs to the second floor balcony.  From the better vantage point, she open her flask and leaned out over the crowd of flailing and eerily dancing Goths.  Somewhat adding to the discomfiting nature of the place, she realized that women were in cages suspended over the dance floor. Instead of dancing however, they were huddled naked in the bottom of the cages, long hair hanging lank over their faces as they spun slowly in the music. The one closest spun so Bronwen could see her back, and she twitched upon seeing the bloody lashmarks that covered the girls back. She watched uneasily as a trickle of blood fell out of the cage and landed into the open mouth of a dancer below. The dancer smiled and closed his eyes ecstatically. 

“Rock n’ Roll Queen” came up in the music as Bronwen spotted Dominique for the first time. Her eyes glittered in the light from the strobes, her dark hair gleaming as she peeked over the shoulder of a man that was very clearly enjoying himself with her, in full view of the dancers from a small stage (one of many, she realized) from in the middle of the dance floor. A gauzy curtain was falling from the ceiling to encircle it and the spotlight that dangled down on the pair. Dom’s hands were snaking around the guy’s back, clenching him to her as he fucked her harder. She was wearing a shiny black dominatrix bodiced rig with her impossibly pale breasts hanging out. Slick black thigh high boots reached around the dude’s waist snugging him in, and as Bronwen watched, the guy’s head pulled back from her neck as he came, the arch of his throat gleaming in the light, a vein pulsing and throbbing as Dom smiled prettily and bit into it. The guy bucked his body in orgasm, and blood shot out and down Dom’s neck and breasts while her mouth remained firmly planted on his neck, her hands cradling his head almost gently.  Several people had pulled around them at this point, all silently watching her as the man crumpled into lifelessness in her arms.  Dom pushed the man’s corpse off her and wiped her mouth with her arm and smiled gruesomely. The crowd burst into applause. Bronwen seethed and stared in disbelief at the healthy glow that had settled on Dominique’s peaceful expression. 

Bronwen crept down the stairs and  stuck to the edge of the dance floor as she kept Dom in her sights. Dom had accepted a cloth from one of the revelers and was now lazily wiping up the blood she’d spilled on herself as Bronwen flipped the barrel open on the Colt and checked to see it was full.  Dom lifted her head suddenly and looked directly at her, faintly smiling.

“You came,” she breathed, “I was hoping you might.”  She jumped lightly off the stage and strode towards Bronwen, who had ditched the hoody, and stood her ground on the dance floor, Colt jammed into the waistband of her black jeans. Her Cons shone blue in the black light that descended on the dance floor, partially obscuring Dominique if not for her teeth gleaming neon blue in the black.  She got within a foot of Bronwen with a huge smile on her face before Bron held up her hand and motioned for her to stop as Bron angrily lit a smoke and stared at her.

“After I’m done this smoke,” she said calmly, “you’re going to die.  I will not leave until I see your body lifeless on this floor. Any last words?”

“Yeah,” Dom said huskily, pupils engorged, “good luck.” 

Bronwen tossed the cigarette aside and stepped quickly in to hammer Dom a few times in the face with some heavy punches. Dominique’s enraptured expression faded and hardened into resolve as she recoiled from the blows, blocking the last one and stepping in for a vicious kick with her shining black boots. Bronwen dodged it easily, hammered Dom in the back with several well aimed kicks, sending the girl reeling for a minute, before she snarled and launched herself back at Bronwen. A knife blade glittered in the darkness momentarily before it slashed into Bronwen’s t-shirt, a shallow cut just below her collarbone. Bronwen grabbed her wrist and twisted the knife out of her ringed hands, tossing it out and far into the dance floor where dark bodies writhed and swayed to the sounds of Norwegian metal. Dominique screamed in a fury, while Bronwen remained quiet, awaiting the next move of the girl. Dom was breathing hard, and her eyes flashed in fury.

“You shouldn’t be fighting me,” she hissed, “we’re like blood.”

“You can choose to be sick,” Bronwen yelled sternly, pointing her finger in Dom’s face, “or you can choose to be part of the cure.”

“Why then,” Dom smiled sweetly, “is there evil in the world?”

Bronwen backhanded her with a loud crack, and shoved Dom  to the ground, pulling the Colt out and leveling it with Dominique’s forehead.  Dom’s white breasts heaved dramatically with the bodice tightly laced up, almost transposed into blue as the black light desperately sought white surface to illuminate. Her eyes were huge, a doe in headlights as she regarded the menacing barrel of the Colt, nearly touching her lips.

Bronwen pulled the trigger, and all chaos broke loose. Dom slumped to the ground with a dying shriek, and all the flickering movement that had been surrounding them came to a standstill. The sound of the gunshot had overrode the music, Bronwen thought in disbelief as she watched people suddenly surge towards her with rage in their eyes.  Looking to the ceiling, she saw there were three cages, the women in them having long slumped over into unconsciousness. She fired off three shots, her hand firing off the shots smoothly in succession.

The cages dropped in a nearly simultaneous fashion, landing on the throngs of darkly clad followers below. A bouncer materialized out of nowhere, leveling a suspiciously familiar chrome shotgun at her. She ducked as he fired and lunged forward grabbing him at the knees and bringing him down on the people behind him. As they surged back forward over his form towards her, she plucked the shotgun from his surprised hands, and fired a few rounds into the crowd. 

Screams and angry yells grew louder as she stood there catching her breath, beholding the scene. The ugly lights flipped on, harsh rows of spotlight fluorescents dimly popping open up the length of the warehouse. White make up and sloppily drawn symbols mixed with blood, real tears and streaks of perspiration.  

“Disgusting,” she spat, turning on her heel and walking out.

With a sudden sharp intake of breath from her cold still form, Dominique opened her eyes groggily from where she lay on the floor  and watched the receding figure exit into the lights outside of the club before being cloaked in darkness again. She smiled.

 So apparently, it is just going to be me and you Dylan,  and maybe Lucas Knight, depending on whether he can pull enough gumption together to slide under the ropes on fight night. I hope you can appreciate what a good opportunity this will be for you to learn some things about where you fit in amongst F1X.  It’s a hard lesson to learn at first, I realize, but hopefully out of adversity will come strength. I certainly don’t have much to gain from kicking your ass (though I will, all the same) because you’re such a no-name product. Lucky you though, getting a match against a Universal title contender. I hope you see now what you’re in for if you stick around. It takes a lot of hard work to get here. A lot of years, humility, breathtaking victories, and of course, blood. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you either because your face is so sweet and innocent looking. One thing you’ve gotta know, is you need to bring 100% each time, or simply not show up, something you’re probably gathering by now judging by Mr. Knight, and that sack of shit Havoc.

Yeah, Havoc, in case you hadn’t heard…he stuck a revolver in the shaking and trembling mouth of his career and pulled the trigger. About fucking time too.  You be careful, or you’ll end up a sad sack of shit and decomposition like him, or a stagnant wastrel like Lucas, with an empire made of superficiality. Cristal bitches. God that shit makes me sick and tired.

See you there lil buddy, it’s just you and me.

 

Bronwen O' Connor
"Bonus Material"
 

Bronwen stuffed a big bill into the smelly palm of the sleeping homeless guy who had his head on his arms as the rest of him clung to the front of the street bike. She smiled and dragged him gently out of the street, resting him against the wall, and shoved another two big bills into his sock. As she clambered onto the bike, she caught a glimpse of her watch and swore. 

“Almost four a.m.,” she murmured, pushing the bike down the street a little before she gunned the engine and took off.

At four fifteen precisely, she was parked in front of the house, tapping her foot expectantly as she smoked yet another cigarette impatiently. Her eyes were burning with the need for sleep and she nodded off a few times, but finally she saw with relief, what she was looking for.

A heavy duty pick up eased slowly down the street with a large flat bed behind it. The diesel engines purred quietly as the load came to a stop in front of the house. Bronwen stubbed her cigarette and waved at the driver before walking up to the driver’s side window.

“All right,” she murmured, “just park it in the front. What do I owe you?”

“Aw it’s nothin’ Mrs. Clemmens,” the driver said shyly, “I’ve always wanted to work on one of these things, and you done me solid in the past anyways. Call it me returnin’ the favor.”

“Vincenzo,” she smiled, “you are one solid motherfucker. Any time you need something knocked down again, you let me know, I’ll give you a freeby.”

He blushed and tipped his hat. Behind him, a low throaty rumble kicked up from the trailer and a jet black Challenger rumbled down the ramp. Vincenzo winked at her and tossed her the keys.

“You’re lucky those things were still in the ignition after that fall,” he chuckled. “Have a good morning.”

 

end.