HWA Message Board: Broken Sanctuary

One Week Ago – Downtown Los Angeles

They could smell it from outside the door when they arrived…the stench of blood. They grabbed the door handle, turned it and stepped inside. The bead curtain jangled as they stepped through the entrance and inside the delightful scene of chaos assaulted their remaining senses. The smell had grown to its full intensity. As they stepped forward the squish of thick, cold, coagulated blood puddles smacked on the bottom of their shoes. Deep reds shined with the colors of neon beer signs along the walls, and the lights above the pool tables and they looked across the room for signs of life and found none across the floor strewn with bodies.

A broad smile came across their face. This present, this gift given in vengeance overwhelmed them. They began to strip down, boots first, then pants, panties, jacket, top, until bare skin remained. Slowly, the lowered themselves to the floor, hands moving across puddles of blood, across bodies and they rolled on the floor in ecstasy. Hands gliding, painting their body red. The jukebox stuck on a loop had played unnoticed until this moment.

“We can dance if we want to…We can dance if we want to…We can dance if we want to…We can dance if we want to…We can dance if we want to…We can dance if we want to…”

They slid across the floor like a worm wriggling in train. An arm brushed their knee and when they reached to shove it aside it glided across the floor into a bench. It had been detached from its owner from the elbow down. On all fours, they retrieved it like a dog a bone. The syrupy red hand dripped blood, and they smacked their face with it playfully before turning the hand downward and sticking its fingers in their warm, welcoming pussy. They worked it in and out, moaning, gyrating, even growling. It was delightful.

The sound of breaking glass gave them pause, suddenly they were alert…eyes and head focused on the bar across the room. They pulled the hand out from between their thighs tossing it aside as they carefully stood. The sound came again, the chink, the tinkle of broken glass and slowly they stepped across the floor making their way to and then around the bar. They were wrong, there was life, it was Scott, the owner. He rolled over onto his back and saw them standing there. Was that Erica? She looked like Carrie at the prom, crimson from head to toe, eyes glowing red and he felt a wave of fear and desperation.

(DreamMaster): Tsk…tsk….tsk….Scott. How about a drink for your girl?

The confusion in his eyes, the absolute bewilderment was evident on his face. He was beyond pain, couldn’t feel half of his body, could only imagine the scene of his bar on the opposite side of the counter and this cracked out, possessed, naked bitch, was asking for a drink?

(DreamMaster): Don’t worry….I’ll help myself.

The stepped over him, grabbing one of the remaining unbroken bottles of tequila from the back shelf, removed the cap and took a swig.

(DreamMaster): Ahhhh!

Scott gurgled blood as he tried to speak. The words oozing from his lips more than being spoken. He had just awakened from being knocked out.

(Scott): ….you’re……fa…..fault….

They kneeled down over him, to the left behind the counter was a monitor, the CCTV recorder still monitoring the room and they rewound the footage watching as Maniac and Mandy entered and the scene unfolded for them…….they smiled again, looking back at a struggling Scott trying to reach for a phone, his gun under the counter, something, anything in his dying delirium that might save him.

(DreamMaster): She liked this bar. She liked you. She’s going to miss this…

They grabbed Scott’s crotch, squeezing his dick and balls in their hand as his body jerked and he groaned in pain.

(DreamMaster): I know you’re afraid, I can feel it, but look what they did, look what Maniac and his woman did. Erica…she didn’t do this, they did….and you helped. You know you did.

He was weak, but nodded his head from side to side slowly. Their face contorted into frustration, then to rage at his defiant gesture. Their body jerked, head flung back as blood wet hair whipped around their head and the demon was gone, only Erica remained.

(Erica): Scott?

She stood upright and looked at the room in fright. More and more in recent months the demon had left her out of its adventures. She’d awaken places not remembering why she was there or what happened. Sometimes, she could force him back and take control…sometimes not. Time had become harder and harder to track. How long had it been this time? Did they do this? She felt the cold stickiness on her body and recognized she was covered in blood, then screamed. Wiping frantically at it to no avail as she looked around for her clothes. The sound of glass as he tried to move drew her eyes back to Scott on the floor.

(Erica): Dios mio, Scott, what happened?

(Scott): ….you’re fault!

She shook her head adamantly, then helped sit Scott up.

(Erica): Let me help you.

She feared for him, he was badly beaten. The state he was in, trying to wipe glass and blood from him but he brushed her hand away weakly.

(Scott): Don’t…t..touch me bitch!

His gesture and words surprised her. They were friends, and she hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d always done right by him.

(Scott): I hope you kill each other at that fuking ppv of yours. Worthless fuking #####.

She began to cry, his words stabbing at her. Another friend, another relationship turning against her. This place of solace, of some comfort in her fuked up life was slipping away.

(Scott): Never feed strays! They cling to you like leeches, and the moment you let them in, they shit on your floor.

Her sobs continued.

(Erica): I didn’t do this. No hice nada!

His arm searched for something around him, he couldn’t even turn his head to look.

(Scott): I knew what you were when you walked in the door. Broken, homeless, lonely bitch with a chip on your shoulder. The world is always at your back? Everybody is always against you right?

She shook her head in tears, she didn’t want to hear this. Why was he saying these things to her. Why was he making her feel like trash on its way to the bin.

(Erica): No!

(Scott): Pathetic, jealous little girl because you might be a better wrestler, but everybody loves Michelle more, and Sean never had eyes for you.

The tears had stopped and anger was building inside her.

(Erica): You fuking liar! Shut up!

(Scott): I’m not lying. You sit over there in that booth punch drunk mumbling about them, about Hans. He never touched you did he? You made that shit up. That psycho bitch shit in your head coming in here asking for a fuking virgin margarita because you were “pregnant!”

Scott manages a small chuckle.

(Erica): Cállate!

(Scott): I heard what he did to your brother. Your own mother won’t look at you, speak to you anymore.

In an instant she grabbed a bottle from the bar well and smashed it across his skull. Eyes blazed red once more as he twitched as thick piece of glass stuck in his forehead and she grabbed his crotch squeezing as hard as she could and he yelped in pain, unable to put up any form of fight. His weak arm moving to hers unable to even try and pry her grip free, then she let go.

(Erica/DreamMaster): How many nights did I spend here? You saw my pain, you know my suffering. You watch that show every fuking week. You see what they do to me and you took my money, and poured bottle after bottle down my throat. How many nights could I barely walk out of here and you took me to your place to “sleep it off,” but had to fuk me first.

Again he shook his head weakly. He was starting to lose consciousness. It wasn’t like that at all. She flirted with him, forced herself on him, shoved money at him to get what she wanted. How many nights had he seen her home himself and hadn’t laid a hand on her. They had only messed around a few times, and she was far from drunk. He felt sorry for her coming in here, mixing up with the gang like a desperate woman trying to find somewhere to belong. He only wanted to look out for her, made sure Carlos and the others didn’t take advantage of her, hurt her, involved her in their gang shit, but she kept coming back for more.

(Erica/DreamMaster): You’re like everybody else…a user but that’s ok!

They stand, moving from around the bar to find their clothes and put them back on. When they return Scott breathing is labored and she kneels down, erasing the security footage of Maniac and Mandy in the bar then looks at Scott.

(Erica/DreamMaster): We hope you live Scott. We want you to see what happens to him. What we do to Maniac at our “fuking ppv.”

They grin flashing bloody teeth.
(Erica/DreamMaster): La Pesadilla Mexicana, is going to retire a legend!

They stand leaving Scott on the floor behind the bar, and they make their way to the door, exiting back out onto the streets, lighting a cigarette as the head to the car, roar the engine up and leave Maniac and Mandy’s revenge in the rearview mirror as the scene fades to black.