Delilah Is…
“Report.”
The bookish-looking man sits forward in his chair and removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Nothing. We’ve got nothing on him. It’s like he’s a phantom; a ghost.”
“This ‘ghost’, as you call him, is single-handedly snatching up every single valuable commodity we pinpoint and right under our noses.” barks Leader. “If we don’t put a stop to him and his actions soon we’ll be watching from the sidelines as he supplants all of our hard work and planning. Is that what you want, Mr. Reynolds?” The other man shakes his head and replaces his glasses. “Then find me a way in. Something. Anything. I don’t care—I just want a lead on him while I still have time to crush him like a bug!”
“There is one thing.” comes a voice from the darkness beyond the table. As faces turned to him, he steps forward into the pool of harsh light. “Sir.”
“Who is this… ?”
“Mau, sir. Malcolm Mau. Research Division.”
“Right. Research Division.” The Leader lets the last two words hang in the air like a foul smell. He lets the silence float there, waiting. Waiting until he gets what he wants. Once the tiny little man lets his eye contact drop Leader breaks the silence. “Well, Research Division, spill it—what’s your one thing?” Mau steps an inch closer, standing a bit taller, having gained at least the attention of the head of the Triumvirate. This is the chance for which he’s been waiting. He will make this moment matter.
“This woman.” A photo on the wall screen grabs the attention of the room. The woman in the photo is completely forgettable – dressed in blue jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, sunglasses propped on the crown of her head, a soda in one hand and phone in the other. The next photo shows her hailing a cab. In photo after photo emerges nothing of note. Finally the man at the head of the table slams his hand down with a shout of frustration.
“Enough! What the hell are you showing me? Who is this woman??”
Mau flinches at the shout but is determined to keep his confidence. “This woman touches all areas that we think we’ve detected him. She seems to be the shadow of the ghost. As far as I can tell, sir,” he turns and looks The Leader directly in the eyes, “she’s his right-hand man. His second in command.” Murmurs scurry across the table. “She is the key we’ve been looking for, Sir. Better than that – she’s the whole damned door.” Reynolds shifts nervously in his seat.
“Why has no one else seen this connection?” asks The Leader, his burning gaze sweeping the room and coming to rest on Reynolds.
“Everyone was looking for direct connections, sir.” replies Mau, smug in his moment in the sun. “Our ghost is too good for that. Too careful. But if you stand back and look at the big picture a pattern emerges. It’s very clear, sir.” Mau steps further forward to regain The Leader’s attention. “If we grab her, we can get him. I’m sure of it.”
All murmurs die. The room overflows with silence. Finally The Leader stands. “Get her, Mr. Mau. Bring her here.” Mau smiles. “Take Ferris, take Campton and Clark, take Vincenze and Burton and my own lieutenant, Trimp.” A hard, blond woman sitting just behind the Leader comes to attention, looking up one side of Mau and down the other. She sneers, but she stands. “Once she’s here? Break her. I want everything she has. I want her emptied out and caved in.” Mau’s smile expands, vicious images flooding his mind. He begins to turn, anxious to start his task, but a voice stops him. “And Mau! When you’re finished? When she’s completely empty? I want her delivered to him in a ziplock bag. Do you understand me?”
“Absolutely, sir.” With that Mau is gone, seeing his bright new future reflected in the malevolent gleam in The Leader’s eyes. Behind him Reynolds turns to The Leader, serious concern in his face. He waits for leave to share it.
“Spit it out, Reynolds.” snaps The Leader at last, not bothering to look at the man.
“Sir, Mau is smart. Very smart. I think he’s right about this connection. But...”
“But what?”
“If this woman is as connected as he thinks she is then you know the second we get her we’re no longer off his radar. He won’t want her to spill any information. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect himself and his organization.”
“Such as?”
Reynolds clears his throat nervously. “Sir, what if he comes here? For her?”
The leader stands, his hands pressed flat on the table and his eyes fixed on the spot between them. He breaths a sigh of resignation, considering all the information presented to him so far.
“Then that little snot had better break her before he shows up, eh Reynolds?”
My hands are full enough that pulling out the keys is precarious. Finally I get the key in the lock and enter, dropping them on the dryer inside the door. Mail goes in the slot and I cross to the phone to check messages.
I know that they’re here, but my only advantage right now is to allow them to think that the element of surprise is still theirs.
I wander back to the kitchen, phone on my shoulder. The first of them jumps the gun—if he survives today he’ll hear about it from his boss. I open my fridge for a soda as he reaches for my shoulder, and in a single movement I spin and hurl the can directly at his throat.
Apparently his boss won’t need to explain to him his mistake after all. He drops, his eyes still bulging from shock and lack of air. But I have no time to gloat—his step forced the hand of all the other men in the place. They pour out of their hidey holes like ants after sugar. I need to move and keep moving.
The antenna on my phone finds the eye of the next face I see, and he falls back, clutching at the bloody hole and wailing. He falls into another attacker, giving me the time and space I need to grab the largest knife from the block. The first slashes are wild, moving until I see a spray of blood. Once the mark colorfully announces itself I spin the other direction thrusting forward full-force. The blow is a killing one, but I lose the knife. Only now do I worry about who will be the victor here.
I need more room to move.
The knee of the man between the door and me is kind enough to crack and fold under the heel of my boot. As he goes down I leap over his screaming body and grab the doorknob.
But then I am on fire. Every nerve ending begs for mercy, but the electricity traps my cries inside my head. The blackness that finally comes is a gift.
Blackness is broken by sharp strobes of pain. This is not the first punch they’ve sent through my face, but it is the first one I’ve felt. I move my head out of the way before the next can connect, saving my jaw but giving away my awareness.
“She’s back.” Says a woman’s voice.
I look up through a swollen eye socket to see a tiny little demon of a man; cruelty pours from him like sweat. I smell it and I know he is the person I should fear the most. For that reason I smile as he approaches. “Ah, it’s happened at last.” my tone mocks. “The leprechauns are rising up, a glorious revolution of green and gold.” I chuckle.
He smiles too. This is a bad sign, and he confirms my fear with a gleeful backhand across my face. As I spit out the excess blood he brings his face very. Close. To mine.
“You’re not the bookworm I took you for,” he states matter-of-factly. “I’ll give you that. You put three of my collection team into meds, two more straight to the morgue. Those who you didn’t hit are eager for a little... payback.“ Behind him, on cue, a large man pounds his already blood-soaked fist into his open palm. It’s straight out of a Bruce Willis movie. Embarrassing really. But Napoleon isn’t through with his evil rant. “I could just hand you to them, but that’s not why you’re here.”
He leaves the silence there as an offering to me. This is where I’m supposed to ask what it is I’m here for. To volunteer to give him what he wants rather than face his goons. In this moment he just needs to see what I will do; what I will say. He needs me to show him where to go next with his little slice of theater.
I give him nothing.
Finally he gets tired of waiting. I can see the frustration on his face. At least I can plague him a little. “Fine. You want to do this the difficult way?” he snarls. “I like difficult. But know this, bookworm: you just let your only chance at mercy evaporate. The next time you open your mouth it will be to scream for release; to beg for an opportunity to tell me everything you know; to plead for death.”
I smile. And I escape.
My eyes roll back into my head as I find my refuge. I hear the voices around me, but they are through a fog. In a distance. Not worth hearing. As the tiny man yells to his medic to figure out what it is I’m doing I’m already half-way gone. They won’t find anything here for them.
I emerge out the other side of the fog. I am naked. I am kneeling. He is there, standing before me. Smiling. He crouches before me, bringing his face close to mine, and he begins. “Delilah is...”
“Logan’s toy.” I finish. And I am safe here with him. They can do their worst— here I cannot be touched by any save for him. “Delilah is Logan’s toy.” I say again. I allow the mantra to fill the space. As he stands I drop my mouth to his feet and lay adoring kiss after adoring kiss on them. He rewards me from above with the words I long to hear.
“Delilah is Logan’s toy.”
“Again.” Fist crunches into bone.
“Again.” pink sweat splatters against the wall.
“Again.” blood flies through the air, causing the blond to dodge. The brute, his knuckles wrapped to protect them from the abuse, steps back winded. And angry.
Mau steps into the light, incredulous. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Before him, tied to a wooden chair, sits the woman who has been the center of his universe for the past 6 hours. Both her eyes are swollen shut. Her jaw juts from her face, black with pooled blood. Blood drips from her chin, streaming from various breaks in the skin. And yet, through the damage, the carnage... she smiles. The tiny man sends smashing fist after smashing fist into her face and yet, through it all, still she smiles.
She smiles.
Outside I know I’m in danger. I’m in pain. But that is outside; not here. Not in my sanctuary, created by my master. Here I am happy, safe, content. Here I am Owned. Here I know ‘Delilah is Logan’s toy.’
The plan was clearly laid out when first he began his work. I would be his eyes and ears in the world, to be sure that he was safe. He would make the plans, but I would carry them out, and in that way I would ensure his protection.
But what of my protection?
To make sure that I could never lead to him, or threaten his work, he laid out the plan. He built for me this sanctuary, and he programmed me to find it; to defend it; to secure myself here, safe from anything they can throw at me. He gave me the key: “Delilah is Logan’s Toy.” This knowledge, and the joy of being here with him as he repeats those words. This is my sanctuary.
I lie before him, his idle fingers toying with my pussy. He pinches this and enjoys my shockwave. Slides into that and sees me swoon. His lips brush my lips and I strain to hold my hips to the ground; to not rise to meet him. I whimper at the strain. He smiles at his game. He toys with me and I gasp, blissfully:
‘Delilah is Logan’s toy.’
“Get the brand.” growls Mau. He will see her break before he is finished. There is nothing special about this woman. A writer, a photographer, a loner. Nothing special. She will not be the thing that stands between his glories, finally available to him for the taking.
She. Will. Break.
The blond returns, brand sizzling in her hand. As the smell of hot iron approaches Mau grabs her arm and her attention. He brings his small, vicious face in close and orders, through gritted teeth, “Leave that mark somewhere that she’ll never escape it. I want her to see that T-brand every day of her life...”
“If she lives that long.” she mutters to herself. She crosses to the woman, still serene, and tears the last of her shredded clothes from her. As she shoves the red-hot metal into soft, white skin the acrid smell of burning flesh pushes her to turn away. She does not; instead she looks for any break in the woman’s eternal smile…
The fire barely radiates through my wall of bliss. As Logan’s cock slides into my mouth I can imagine nothing else. My hands clutch at his hips, giving me purchase to move faster, but instead he pulls back out slowly. I anxiously wait. With a smile he pushes forward again, filling my mouth. Through all movements I remain looking up at him lovingly.
‘‘Delilah is Logan’s toy.” He whispers. The thought shoots through me again like a comet. And he begins to pick up the pace, rocking in and out of my hungry lips. The tip of my tongue runs along the bottom of his cock as he thrusts, touching each nerve there over and over, and eliciting a quiet moan from his lips. His pleased purr from above drowns out the hiss of blazing steel against forgiving flesh. ‘Delilah is Logan’s toy.’
At last I feel him bulge in my mouth and he buries his cock deep down my throat, my nose too full of his sexy musk to smell my skin searing. I continue to look up into his generous green eyes as he pumps into me. I swallow hungrily. I am safe here. I am impervious. I am untouchable.
‘Delilah is Logan’s toy.’
Her head disappears under the water again. Bubbles rush to the surface as her body tries to breath, but she does not thrash. She does not struggle. She succumbs to the depths, that accursed smile never leaving her face.
They drag her back to life, resuscitating her for the third time. Left to her own designs she’d have died twice this day already. “Not working.” mutters the man by her head.
Trimp nods in agreement. “It’s time to do something else.” she mutters as water pours off of the steel table. “Bring me the cables!”
Her body is still wet from the tank as cables are clipped to her nipples, fingers and toes. She is left lying on the table when the switch flips and her body jerks once, her arms and legs straining in contortions. The smile never moves. “Hit her again!” Mau screams, losing composure against her impenetrable defenses. “Again!” No sounds can escape her clutched chest. “Again!” She strains, muscles wrenching to escape her skin and the pain held within, but still she smiles.
Despite the torture she smiles. Mau’s mind begins to buckle.
My knees land on either side of my head. I pull them open wide to allow fresh access to my pussy, and as he thrusts into me he demands “Again.”
“Aaaah! Delilah is Logan’s Toy!”
He rams in and out of my cunt with abandon, looking down on me as he should; looking down on my face, a mask of wanton lust and worship. I feel trapped below him, my muscles that of a puppet and he the one pulling my strings. “Again.”
“Oh god! Delilah is Logan’s Toy!”
He builds in speed, sending jolts of pleasure through my body over and over. The payment for his gifts of lust is quite clear. I give it gladly.
“Delilah is Logan’s Toy!”
“What do you mean she’s given you nothing???” Mau cannot look into the enraged eyes of The Leader. Staring at the ground he seethes with anger toward the vexing, impenetrable bitch. “She’s just a woman, right? Not a Jedi master? Not a ninja? Not some kind of goddamned super-spy???”
“As far as we can tell, sir.” Mau replies quietly.
“And you’ve used the advanced steps? Beating? Branding? Cutting? Drowning? ALL OF IT???”
“All of it, sir. All of it and then some.”
“So tell me, after all of your ‘hard work’ what the hell is ‘just a woman’ doing?”
Mau can see her in his mind’s eye, and the image stokes the flames of his hate. “She,” he spits to the floor, “is smiling. Sir.”
The Leader stares down at the diminutive failure before him. How he had ever allowed himself to expect more is baffling. A waste of time, he’ll be back in the basement tallying reports by day’s end. But he will finish what he started first.
“Fine. If we cannot break this woman... If there’s no information to be gained here... if we can’t turn her to our side, or against him... then we will do the one thing that we can do.” Mau looks to his face, hoping there will be brilliance coming forth that he can use to finally crack her shell. “Kill her.”
The words make the tiny man flinch. “Kill, sir?”
“Yes, Mau—is this too difficult a concept for you? She killed some of our men already, yes? So are you telling me that she’s more willing to do what needs to be done than you are? Are you more afraid of a little dirty work than this damned woman, Mau???”
As the angry words pummel him Mau shrinks a full two inches. He steps up and faces The Leader full-on. “No, sir! I can handle it. She’ll be dead by day’s end!”
“Good. But I don’t want her just dead. I want her carved up like a Christmas turkey. I want her broken corpse left somewhere that he will find it. If we can’t get information from her we can at least deliver a message to him. Make sure he knows: we’re coming for him. And it’s going to hurt.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Lies Trimp, though the truth of her terror is palpable. He had been waiting for her as soon as she left headquarters, and now she kneels in a black room, waiting for him to show his face. But for now she hears only the sleek, precise voice. It pours over her from the darkness like warm oil.
“Of course not. You are the official bodyguard of the Leader of the Triumvirate. You fear no one.” The voice comes from nowhere; comes from everywhere. “and why should you? You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re fearless.”
With each word she feels ripples wash through her, and she feels these attributes blaze in her. She exudes strength and bravery and more fearlessness than ever in her life. His defeat is guaranteed.
“And yet here you stay. Kneeling. Waiting for me.” With that the words crumble and she is afraid again. “Why do you suppose that is?”
Silence hangs in the air. She has no answer. No explanation. She kneels. She waits.
“I can ask you my question – where is my associate? She was stolen by your organization and I want to know where I can retrieve her.” Trimp shifts in her spot but does not move away. “But you will refuse to tell me, of course.”
“You’ll get nothing from me. You grabbed the wrong soldier, whack-job.” This response is fierce and she takes strength from it.
“Exactly. I have need of this information, and so I must ask. But you have need of your loyalty, and so you must resist. You must fight against my requests, even if you care nothing about whether my associate is kept or not. For your loyalty you simply must fight.”
Trimp thinks about this, agreeing that she is loyal. She will not betray the Leader. And yet still the words fall from out of the darkness.
“And so you will fight against me, of course. You will use all of your strength and fierce determination and battle me for as long as you can.”
“Yes. I will.” She grits her teeth, waiting for his threats of fear and pain and death.
“All of this will be tiring. Exhausting. You will be so tired, and in the end you will give me everything. But by then you will be so tired.” She feels the fatigue filling her limbs as he speaks. “You’ll feel defeated and spent. And so, so tired.”
From out of the darkness steps a man. Wearing only black, he steps to her, looking down at her face from above. His words trip down from his mouth over her. “So, so tired.”
She sags in her seat as energy flows away from her. Mustering up her defenses she looks up into his green eyes and finds them… kind. He smiles down on her and she feels relief. Her face begins to return his smile, but at the last she stops herself abruptly.
“You will be tired, and beaten. And will have nothing to show for your loyalty.” An argument springs to her lips, but as he sets a chair before her, dropping down into it, his eyes silence her. His sharp, piercing green eyes. “You know that they will not come for you. That once it is discovered that you have been compromised they will pull up stakes and move locations, leaving you in my able hands.” She wrestles her gaze away from his eyes, but it comes instead to rest on his hands. She imagines herself held in those able hands, and a shudder flashes through her.
He sits in the chair facing her. His eyes gather hers back up. He speaks again.
“you’ve been very strong. Very fierce. You’ve shown me your loyalty to the Triumvirate and to your Leader. You’ve been a very. Good. Girl.” With each firmly spoken word Trimp feels a flutter between her legs. The praise cascades over her, comforting showers of pride and contentment.
Despite herself she hears her voice respond. “Thank you.”
“You’ve been left in my hands.” He continues, “Abandoned by your people. Only me to look to for protection; for guidance; for care.” Her gaze returns to his hands as they hang between his knees. “Loyalty is important to you, I know. Loyalty to the Triumvirate has gained you nothing. Whom else could you show loyalty to?”
The words “to you” fill the space between them. Trimp wonders who said it, and said it with her voice?
“I would be very proud to have you show loyalty to me, my dear. What would be a way that you could do that?” his hands move, shifting to his waistband. Soon his other hand slides down, opening his zipper, and as Trimp watches, eagerly, his cock appears.
She feels her pussy sob, tears pouring forth and seeping through her pants.
“A way that you could show me your dedication and loyalty? Your devotion? Your obedience?” As Trimp, the strongest of the Triumvirate’s striker force and personal bodyguard to the Leader, crawls across the floor, eyes fixed on the hard cock between the stranger’s legs, he smiles. His legs spread wider, giving her access that she eagerly takes.
She lets her eyes drift back up to his, her mouth now thrumming up and down his hard cock in a desperate desire to show her love and loyalty to her new master. His hand pats her head, the newest in his stable of pets. “Such a good girl.” He purrs, and the words dance across her clit, rocking her wonderfully. “When you have finished with this task you will show me, on a map, exactly where they have taken my number one. I would have her back.”
The ropes bind around her wrists, her arms high above her head. The smile is still visible beneath the abuse as a large hand shoves her head back between her arms. The last of her clothing was lost in a previous assault and now her battered body hangs almost lifeless. As the diminutive viper stares at his work his tiny dick strains against his pants.
“Tell me, Ferris. If she was something of value to you... if she was something you’d worked hard to protect somehow and she were to be delivered to you in a shredded heap, what would be the worst thing to you? What would be the most terrible thing you could see? No head? Cut in two? What would really, really... hurt you?”
The huge mass of man beside Mau runs his thumb over his scarred, scabbed knuckles, the result of so much time trying to cut through her defenses with his fists. “Keep the smile.” he replies. “Shred everything else. Make her completely unrecognizable. I’m talking’ hamburger; bloody hamburger. But make sure he can still see the smile.” This idea appeals to Malcolm immensely.
“Go to Meds. Tell them I need the muscle freezing compound we used on the Filipino whores.” Ferris begins to walk away. “Also, bring me something very sharp, very large and very shiny. Something with which I could use to make a little hamburger.”
Minutes later Mau stands, syringe in his right hand and blade in his left. He stands on tippy toe and reaches up to the jaw muscles of his prey, finally finding a reason to enjoy that damned smile on her face. ‘Oh yes,’ he thinks to himself, ‘he’ll enjoy that smile as it freezes in terrible contrast to the damage he’s going to do.’
The syringe barely pricks her skin and then suddenly drops, tumbling through the air while still held in Mau’s hand. So fast has the blade rushed over his head it takes him a moment to comprehend the stump still left at the end of his arm, or the blood pouring down from it. He shoves his arm into his gut to staunch the bleeding, and looks to the back of the room. There he sees death moving swiftly through the others. Toward him.
Two of his guards are already down, although dead or alive he cannot yet know. A third rushes at the tall, lithe man as he works his way deftly into the room. With no warning his foot flies around and sends the third guard flying. When he hits the ground the stranger is already there, and a knife slices cleanly between shoulders and chin. The first guards are no doubt dead, and this man has not even begun his work. It is as Reynolds predicted—the ghost has come for his shadow.
Without a full thought Mau determines that he will at least deny the ghost this prize, and the blade in his left hand shoves hilt-deep into her middle. He would have taken her heart if he had been able to reach it. His work now done, the little man runs for the back of the room and his only chance of survival. As he reaches the door he hears the ghost speak; his voice is loud enough to be heard over the cries of those he eliminates, yet still eerily calm and completely in control.
“Delilah.” He calls out, sparing only a brief look in her direction. “Delilah.”
I lie beneath Logan, his chest breathing heavily on my back and my pussy full of his cum once again. The moment had been blissful; full of the satisfaction of a duty well done and well loved. But suddenly a heavy weight presses on my chest. Lead weights fill my ribcage, angry pressure slowing my heart and my breath. Something is wrong.
Through the fog I hear his voice. He calls my name, clear like a single-toned bell. Looking back over my shoulder I know it did not come from the face smiling down over my naked, sweaty body. It came from him. The true him. He’s come for me, and I must leave my sanctuary to meet him. I push against my walls, and the pressure pushes harder against my chest.
Ferris hurls his body, massive and mean, directly at the ghost before him. He throws his enormous fist into the calm, impassive face and boggles as it hits nothing but air. But his surprise is cut short by the sharp blows to his jaw, neck and ribs. Air escapes and is barred from returning, and the edges of his reality fray and abandon him. He drops.
‘Delilah.” calls the ghost again. He can see her body hanging limp in the center of the room and so far there has been no reaction to the call of her name. he knows that she is obedient and she understands the rule. If she could respond she would. Still he calls to her. “Delilah.”
I can feel my safe universe giving way as I push. I know he’s out there, and I need to get to him. It’s the rule and I must obey. Still, each push seems to add to the weight in my chest, and soon I am breathless and sweating with the exertion. I can now clearly hear the sounds of fighting and the thought fills my head: if I cannot get out I cannot fight by his side. There are tasks to perform, but not from within my safe cell. I have to get out.
The pressure in my chest becomes a pain, and I gasp out despite myself. Something is absolutely not right. I fear for a moment what I will find when I emerge. And then again I hear his voice call to me and all that matters is getting to him. I push on, pain be damned.
The last of the obstacles thrown at him crashes to the floor, another of his blades jutting rudely from the base of their skull. The ghost steps over the body, reaching his possession, and wrapping one arm around her waist he slices cleanly through the ropes suspending her. He allows gravity to drag her slowly to the floor and he places finger to pulse. Her heart still beats. “Delilah.” he says, clearly and calmly.
Impossibly her eyes flicker, attempting to open. The swelling of both eyes has dropped some since the initial beatings and she can barely open one eye, but needs to see the face of her master too desperately to let the pain stop her. She looks up and sees his face, a mixture of concern and relief. He touches something in her chest and she cries out spontaneously. Her eyes begin to roll back in her head to escape the pain once more, following her base programming. “No, Delilah.” he chides firmly but kindly. “Come back to me.”
Slowly her eyes open and re-focus. Her smile returns momentarily, but panic seeps into her eyes and she wrenches to the side. “Calm. Be calm. You are fine. Look into my eyes, Delilah. Look into my eyes and I’ll take away the pain.” She looks, but focuses beyond him, on a distant point as her hand smacks the ground behind him. “Delilah, listen to my voice.” he tries again, surprised at her resistance. Her arm lashes out toward his head, and only at that moment does he see the gun in her grip. It fires twice over his shoulder, and like a falling oak the body of Ferris collapses in a stiff heap beside them.
The smile returns to her eyes, to her face. Logan smiles back down on her, and as she lies, staring blissfully at his face, the blackness finally swallows her whole.
Three months. Three months and still the little man is not used to this fake hand. He struggles with the doorknob, getting it turned at last, and curses that damned ghost for taking his true one. It’s a curse he utters many times each day, only slightly mollified by the image of his knife jutting out from the chest of his soldier.
It’s this image and the smile that it brings that distracts him enough to only barely notice the man sitting in his living room. Until he hears the voice, still completely familiar months later.
“Mr. Mau. Welcome home.”
Mau stands at the edge of the couch, wondering if it is safe to sit. The ghost gestures generously, as if to say ‘please, have a seat.’ As he sits he replies. “So, you’re here to kill me then?”
“No. I am not here to kill you.” Malcolm is confused. “Mr. Mau, I am a man of rules. I believe a society needs a certain amount of rules in order to function— wouldn’t you agree?” Mau looks to the door, trying to determine if he could get to it and get it open before death reached him. It would be impossible.
“I supposed I would agree.” he answers.
“My rules would include ones such as total loyalty from my people. I believe you experienced that one first hand, yes?” Mau nods grimly and once more that accursed smile flashes before his eyes. “Other rules would include an eye for an eye, do unto others, and one very important one: I do not share my toys. Ever.” Malcolm shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “So you can imagine how I feel when someone steals one of my toys, Mr. Mau. Steals it. Breaks it.”
“Look, just kill me and get on with it!” Mau growls.
“I told you already, I’m not here to kill you.” The ghost delivers this message with cold precision. However his chatty demeanor returns immediately. “Now with rules there must also be consequences. With no consequences a rule carries no weight. Don’t you agree, Mr. Mau?”
The fear and anger and frustration collide in Mau’s brain and explode. “Consequences? You speak of consequences? I’d say you experienced consequences when you decided to challenge the Triumvirate, my friend! You went against them and they delivered you a tasty consequence, no? So go ahead and kill me! Do your worst, sir! Because it still can’t match the bloodied, beaten, branded mess I made of your soldier! Do you know how she screamed for you? Over and over?” Mau lets his imagination go wild, digging about for anything he thinks could hurt this man. “Or how she begged us, BEGGED US, to just ask her a question so she could turn on you to save her own skin? Hmmm? But we didn’t want information—we already had plenty of that. We just wanted to break her. To hurt you. Kill me if you will, but you can’t undo that!”
The man in the chair shows no emotion; if the shots fired had landed he does not bleed. Instead he sits forward in the chair, his face becoming very serious again. “I have told you, Mr. Mau. I am not here to kill you. My purpose here is simply to be sure that the rules are followed.”
“You mean ‘Don’t break your toys.’? Too late.” Mau grins. Behind him a voice speaks.
“Not that rule.” Mau turns to see a woman; the one who plagues his dreams with her damned smile, standing behind him. “More the ‘Eye for an Eye’ rule.” She smiles as the knife, so familiar to him from when he shoved it into her body, slides in his own. Not content with that damage, Delilah next grabs the hilt with both hands and twists, opening the wound and allowing precious blood to gush forth.
As Mau topples from his seat, his eyes still frozen on the woman who he had slain, who has now slain him, his darkening gaze drifts to her chest, where red-hot steel had branded her with their “T”. An artful hand has added ink to the brand and now it reads simply: “Toy.”