Taming the Beast – 10-21-20

We finally did it. We are done filming episode 4, and I couldn’t be happier. Of there are many shots I wish I had taken that I didn’t, and takes I wish I had done one more time. But the point is this 3 month journey is completed.

Yesterday was my third attempt to film at an exterior location that had destroyed me twice. It was my first time filming a true action sequence (complete with blowup mattresses, a fake knife, and a “squib” for an improvised small explosion). Of course it didn’t go perfectly, but the point is the mission is complete.

We had to film in sequential order due to the amount of dirt and debris we would be covered in after wrestling on the ground. So from 7-10 we did takes for the dialogue, capturing every angle we could. At that point the overheating issue came into play (as anticipated) and we had to work with what we had. I chose a few camera angles based more on shade than framing. I hate that I had to compromise here, but after my last failed attempt it felt like a necessary decision.

The wrestling was physically arduous – we were on rock solid dirt. Along with that, it sure feels funny to have another man straddle you, but what are you going to do?

I finally had enough trust in Brad to allow him to pan for several shots. Allowing him to pan rather than setting up the tripod and re-framing each shot sure saved a lot of time.

When it came to the final gun shot, it was 1 pm and to be honest I felt pretty lightheaded. Almost like my loss of concentration was caused by physical elements rather than normal lethargy. Nonetheless, I have everything I need to put together a decent 15 minute episode. Now it’s time to “fix it in post” and regularly update my developments.

I’ll keep you posted.

Master – 5.3

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

“What kind of pansy-ass…”

It goes against everything I know about conduct with police officers, but I step out of my Dodge pick-up and walk over to the officer. He’s now sobbing uncontrollably.

“Easy.” I continue to creep carefully. “Hands up, don’t shoot!” I say with a laugh, hoping to get a rise out from him. He doesn’t even react.

I’m within feet of him now. His chin is in his chest as he looks downward at his gun. He’s shaking it erratically in his lap.

“Why don’t you put that gun back in its holster, Officer?”

“No, no. Everything is not alright!” He waves the gun as he screams.

I take a step back. I swear if he were any person besides a police officer, I’d grab that gun away from him.

“I can’t do this anymore, Phillip.” He says, then turns away.

My brain starts to spin, but then I realize he has my driver’s license. “Hey, relax, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You won’t let me sleep, so what’s the point?”

“What?”

He points the gun at me. I dodge the shot by smacking his wrist with my forearm. I drop back a step then go sprinting toward a front lawn. Another gunshot rings out and I dive. I lie on my stomach with my hands on my head.

“Ahhh!”

I open my eyes and look up. The scream came from a little girl – she points at something behind me.

I whirl around.

“Jesus,” I say.

The police officer blew his own head off. Chunks of brain litter the pavement behind his bike, along with a fresh red pond.

Neighbors exit their homes. I have no idea what’s going on, but they won’t stop asking me. Then someone realizes there’s an officer down, and I’m the guy he pulled over.

“Stay there!” yells a middle-aged woman. She points a plunger at me.

“I can’t,” I mumble. “I didn’t, I don’t know what-”

A familiar ring – my cell phone, sitting in my driver’s seat. Loretta’s calling! I stand, sprint over, fling my dented door open, and rush to answer.

“Loretta!”

“Help.”

Call ended.

CLICK HERE FOR 6.1!

• Thomas M. Watt

 

Master – 5.2

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Something’s wrong. I feel it in my gut. I reach out to my phone to text Loretta, but stop when I notice the motorcycle cop in my driver-side mirror.

“Dammit.”

I’d flip a U-turn right here, but it’s a double yellow. I decide to turn into a neighborhood street on my right and lose the tail. He follows me. Three turns later, he’s still on my ass.

“You win,” I say, then sigh.

I pull over, turn the engine off, and dial my wife. It rings, and rings, and rings.

“C’mon.”

Loretta picks up.

“What’s up, baby?”

“I know how bizarre this sounds, but I want you to take Avery and go to your mother’s house for the day.”

“Are you serious? You’re really starting to scare me baby!”

I pull the phone from my face and think to myself. Then I see the cop again – drive by on the road ahead. He stops the bike, whips out a pair of binoculars, then stares at me.

“What the hell…” I mutter.

“Talk to me, baby! Tell me what’s going on! You’ve been acting really strange lately.”

I return the phone to my ear. “Nothing… Just do it for me, ok?”

“Hold on.”

“What’s up?”

“Someone’s at the door. Is the pipe-guy coming today?”

“Babe, I want you to get out of there!”

A loud BOOM. Phone call ends. I dial again. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Nobody picks up.

I start the truck, turn around and accelerate. A police siren sounds off behind me; I’m being pulled over.

“Dammit!” I pull the car over, then slam my hands against the steering wheel.

I don’t know what I’m being pulled over for, and have no idea why this cop has it out for me. He takes his time parking his bike, and walks slow as hell over to me. I grab my license and registration, roll my window down, and smack my documents against the outside of my door as he takes his sweet-ass time strolling over to me.

“Write me up, I need to get home.”

I toss the documents at the officer.

Rather than mouth a word of protest, rather than so much as bother with a rebuttal, the officer merely nods, and picks the documents up after he fumbles them. He’s nervous; sweating even. Guy looks like he’s ready to cry.

“You alright?” I ask.

He nods. “Huh? Oh, yeah.”

I’m angry and frustrated – yet I can’t help but worry for this officer. Why is he acting like this? Are criminals more courteous these days?

The cop travels back to his bike like he lost a war.

I scoff, then try Loretta again – no answer. I text her.

U ok?

I wait. Two minutes, but it feels like twenty.

Yes 🙂   

I’m not exactly at ease – Loretta says smiley face text messages are for pedophiles. I call her again – still no answer. Another three calls, then I text her.

“Everything alright??”

I wait another four minutes. No response this time. I squint and check out my rearview mirror. The officer is crying and staring at his gun.

CLICK HERE FOR 5.3!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 5.1

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

CHAPTER 5

I turn the key, start the engine, and drive off.

Charlie notices me from the driveway he’s marking up with chalk. His red shirt is halfway up his back and he doesn’t even know it. I give my horn a light honk. He shouts and waves with the chalk he’s holding, then returns to drawing some elephant-dinosaur hybrid. I feel obligated to warn him about how dangerous it is to draw so close to the pavement, but neighbors don’t always appreciate well intended advice – especially when it comes to their kids.

I grab my expos cap from the passenger street and screw it on my head as I exit my neighborhood and start along the main road.

A few repairs to do today, but mostly standard cleaning. Fortunately, most clients won’t be home. I like people; just not the way they look at me when I clean their pools.

I turn on the radio hoping to hear some jams. Instead, I get the stupid AM morning shows that nobody wants to hear. I switch to this popular jackass on FM – he calls himself ‘McWatty9’, and even though I listen to him I swear I can’t stand him. The guy reads the news off like he’s doing standup. Something he says catches my attention. I turn it up.

That’s right, folks the suspect with the penis-hairdo cops hunted like nymphos for has… finally-been-nabbed! Documentation confirms he’s the alleged bomb plotter whose made strange, mange, and deranged purchases up and down the county area. This dickhead won’t stop yammering to authorities either, but he… won’t give us a hint about what he’s done with all his bomb materials! Assuring us he’s not insane, the phallic-tipped bandit claims a man from his DREAMS made him do it!

           

My heart pounds. I pull over to the side of the road, put my truck in park, then turn the volume up.

And that, folks, is your… bum-ba-da- dum! Nutjob of the week!

(sound effect – a parrot chirps, “He’s a nutjob! He’s a nutjob!”)

           

I turn the radio off. Mere coincidence. Has to be. Still, I wish I knew more about the suspect’s story. I wish I knew more about the man in his dreams.

Part of me wants to call Loretta, right now, and tell her to take Avery to her mom’s house. I shake my head instead, then remind myself how ridiculous I’m being – it was a dream. Am I really so paranoid as to think ‘Master’ is real, and has some kind of power over me? I mutter to myself the best piece of advice my father ever gave me.

“Stop being an idiot.”

I get back on the road and head to my first house. It’s a nice place, overlooking the beach. Owner’s a tool, but his pool is beautiful. The water spills over the edge, giving it a ‘waterfall’ effect.

A white van approaches on the other side of the road, traveling the opposite direction as me. Its driver stares at me as our vehicles cross paths – he’s a white male, with serious power alleys. The man in the passenger seat is equally buff and terrifying. A scar runs from his nose to his lip, and he glares at me like a hungry wolf smells blood.

I keep track of the van in my rear view mirror. It disappears from view, driving somewhere in the direction of my neighborhood; in the direction of my family.

CLICK HERE FOR 5.2!

-Thomas M. Watt

Master – Cover Reveal!

Thank you to Ellie Augsburger with Creative Digital Studios. She did a fantastic job. Release date to be posted soon…

“Clock is ticking, Mr. Gordon.”

• Thomas M. Watt

Sunset – Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Coming to kill you.

D’angelo read the text, fumbled his phone back into his pocket, then spun around.

The purple civic passed by again, slowing as it drove by his studio apartment.

D’angelo ransacked his place – but he didn’t own a gun, and had no steak knives. He checked his closet.

“Dammit!” he said, tearing down four blue suits from the rack. That’s when it caught his attention – his high school baseball bag. He tugged it out from the closet, then opened the bottom slit. He slid out his Easton 777, an aluminum baseball bat. D’angelo tapped the barrel against the flat the wood panels on his floor, then stepped over to his door.

He grabbed his phone back out, and his thumb shook as he responded.

Come get it.

D’angelo slammed the front door and hopped down the stoop. He waited on the side of the road.  Screeching tires – purple civic had just slammed the brakes and come to a stop in the middle of the road. The driver flickered their lights on and off, taunting him.

D’angelo’s heart raced as he marched toward it. He clenched the bat firm and breathed heavy. The engine turned off, and the lights went out.

“I’ll kill you!” D’angelo yelled. “You hear me?” He swung the bat over shoulder, but the handle slid through his sweaty hand. The bat fell and rang out on the cement. “I’m not afraid of anyone!” He said, picking it back up.

D’angelo wiped the sweat from his brow. “Ain’t afraid a shit,” he muttered to himself.

D’angelo crept onward. Night had turned cool, so much so he could now see his own breath. The purple civic turned back on, and the lights switched to bright, blinding him. D’angelo shielded his eyes, then heard rubber burn. He braced for impact, then kept one eye open when forced himself to look – The wheels took the civic in the opposite direction. It backed off the road, over some grass, then plowed into a tree. The airbag deployed.

“Karma, bitch,” said D’angelo. He broke into a jog – then his phone beeped. New message.

Meet at McFlannigan’s.

D’angelo squinted at the purple civic. An overgrown man moaned and groaned his way out. He wore a brown raincoat and aviator sunglasses. He stumbled over to D’angelo.

Hiding his eyes were dark aviator sunglasses that had been shoddily glued back together.

“John?” said D’angelo.

John halted with a wobble. His phone was in his hand.

“You drunk, bro?”

“No, never, of course not. I do not drink alcoholic beverages. I’m not an alcoholic.”

“I met you at McFlannigans.”

John shook his head, then turned away and slid his phone back into his pocket. “Common misconception. Where we allocate may indicate certain characteristics of our personalities, but it does not dictate our actions.”

Another beep. D’angelo opened the new message.

Be there in 15 or I will kill you in your sleep.

D’angelo shook his head, then spit on the ground. “Hey, I got to go bro. Good luck with this,” he said, then turned and headed off.

“Wait!” said John.

D’angelo stopped. “What?”

“Where are you going, I was wondering?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Is it McFlannigans? Or will you just go to sleep tonight? It’s just a question, actually two, but that’s it.”

D’angelo knocked the end of his bat softly against the pavement, and stared at John with a single eye squint.

“McFlannigans.”

“Great! I’ll go with you.”

“Your cars here, bro.”

John turned, laughed at his car, then swatted at the air with his hand. “I’m quite sure, you know, that even if I leave it here, I will find it here, sitting and waiting for me, later, when I come back for it.”

John jogged over. D’angelo stuck his hand out when he got close.

“You’re stayin’, bro.”

“I know where you live,” said John.

D’angelo pushed his jaw out.

“But only because I watched you run there. I remained where I stood, don’t you remember? I was angry.”

“Whatchu want, bro?”

John stepped forward, and reached into the pocket of his raincoat. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve been… straightforward.”

“You got a deathwish?”

John flipped his eyes down at the bat D’angelo held, then chuckled.

“Never said a joke, bro.”

“The bat. That is the joke,” said John. His hand remained in his pocket, angled straight at D’angelo. “If you knew what I was holding, you would know why I am laughing.”

“Why?”

“It will not help you.”

“I can knock skulls with-”

“Should have brought a shovel. Would have made things easier.”

D’angelo ground his teeth, then lifted the bat over his shoulder.

John flipped his hand out from his pocket, then unfolded a giant map of the world. “I’ve entered the coordinates. I know where our treasure is.”

To be continued…

– Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 5!

Epic Night Out: Part 2

Click here for Part 1

Matt stood with one fist tightly clenched. He’d approached an attractive blonde girl and had begun hitting on her just as her date, who was built like a giant, showed up. While the giant in the leather jacket was waiting to fight to his right, to Matt’s left there was a group of guys pointing and laughing at him. No doubt that group had added some spice to the bar nuts as a prank – Matt’s mouth was now burning so intensely after eating them, he could hardly manage to get words out of his mouth.

Worst of all, Keith – Matt’s even-keeled, comfort-craving friend – was nowhere to be seen. He’d made Matt promise him they’d only have one drink then be out of there.

“What’s the deal?” said the giant. “You hittin’ on my chick?”

Matt looked at the blonde girl as she happily chewed her gum and twirled a lock of hair.

Before he could respond, a few dozen peanuts smacked against his back. The group behind him laughed harder than before.

“You’re,” began Matt. He was trying to insult the giant, but the burning sensation in his throat was killing him. “You’re a-” Matt stopped short again – his strained voice was coming through high-pitched – he felt like a talking mouse.

“I’m a?” said the giant. “I’m a what?”

“You’re,” cough, “a,” cough,”hussey.”

That wasn’t what Matt was trying to say.

“A hussey?” said the giant, followed by a hearty laugh. “That so?”

The giant nodded his head as he took off his jacket, one sleeve at a time. He handed it to the blonde girl.

Another spray of peanuts hit Matt on the back. He turned around to catch the group laughing at him some more. The bottle of hot sauce sat on the table in the middle of them. Matt then turned to the bar – still no sign of Kieth.

Where the fuck did Keith go?

Matt reluctantly turned to face the giant again. He clenched his own fists. As the giant loaded up and Matt braced himself for the brutal ass-kicking he was about to be on the receiving end of, something amazing happened – a beer bottle came flying through the air and shattered against the giant’s head, knocking him out cold and sending him timbering to the ground.

“Whoa,” said Matt. He looked up slowly to find Kieth, standing by the doorway.

“I said one beer! Let’s go!”

Keith bolted out the doorway. Matt turned around to the group that had been laughing at him. They were now stunned and speechless, staring in unison at the giant on the ground. Matt checked on the bottle of fire-strength hot sauce again – it was still in the middle of their table, and the group was completely distracted.

Matt took two quick steps, grabbed the bottle, then squeezed it and sprayed the red stuff into their faces. They screamed and covered themselves. Matt turned around and sprinted toward the doorway.

“Get him!”

Matt noticed the leather jacket in the blonde girl’s lap. He stopped, grabbed it, then went for the doorway again. Before he crossed outside, he turned around, and returned for the blonde.

“Hey,” she said.

Matt grabbed the blonde girl by the hand, then took her with him as he ran for it. He could hear the chairs and tables flipping from the group chasing after him.

To be continued…

– Thomas M. Watt

Epic Night Out: Part 1

It was supposed to be one round of drinks. No girls, no wild night out, no arrests. No shots, no bong hits, no midgets. A drink between two bros who had grown so accustomed to the comfort of their former long-term girlfriends they didn’t know the first thing about what it meant to ‘go out’.

But it wasn’t.

It was more.

A lot more.

Matt took the stool at the end of the bar and Keith followed suit.

“One beer. That’s it,” said Keith.

“I get it dude. You’ll be watching t.v. at your place in no time, don’t even worry about it.

Keith scoffed.

Matt ordered two beers and soon the close friends were sipping light beers as they watched the bloopers reel on the television behind the counter.

“I love these clips,” said Keith.

Matt nodded, took a handful of bar nuts, then tossed them in his mouth. He took a good look around the place as he chewed. About four girls, three of whom were surrounded by ‘pool guys’ and one who was sitting by herself, anxiously looking at her phone. ‘Pool guys’ were those guys who stood around the pool table leaning on the sticks, messing with their hair, and smiling at any girls who walked by in hopes they could get them in a game then impress them with their ‘stick skills’.

“What about her?” said Matt. He coughed after he said it, and for the first time noticed his mouth was starting to burn.

Kieth looked over. “What about her?”

“She’s hot.”

“I thought we said no girls.”

“You said no girls.”

Keith groaned and returned to his drink. “She’s waiting for her date to get here. She has no interest in meeting anyone.”

Matt turned to face her. She did look pretty invested in her phone.

“I’m gonna go over there and find out,” Matt said, then coughed. “These bar nuts are fucking hot.”

“I thought we said no girls!”

Matt smiled then pat Keith on the shoulder. “No my friend. You said no girls.”

Matt strode over to the girl as casually as possible. He kept one hand in his jean pocket and tried his best to ignore the intense burning his tongue was starting to feel. When he stopped at her table the blonde girl finally looked up. She eyed him up and down, twirled the curly lock dangling by her ear, then chewed her gum a little more obnoxiously and smirked.

Matt smirked back. An inviting smile was always a good sign.

“Hey beautiful. I noticed you from across the room and wondered,” said Matt, before stopping to cough. “I was wondering if you,” he said, before stopping again. The last few words he barely choked out.

“Yeah?” said the blonde girl. “Wondering if I what?” She raised her eyebrows.

Matt turned to the group of guys to the left of him. They were pointing and laughing at him. On the table in the middle of them sat a bottle of “Wild Dragon’s Flaming Hot Sauce.”

Matt stared back at them, then over to the peanuts on the bar counter, then back to them.

“Who’s this?” Said someone behind him.

A hand grabbed Matt by the shoulder and whirled him around. He looked up to see the giant figure in the leather jacket standing over him.

“I don’t know,” said the blonde girl, as she smacked her gum. “I think he’s hitting on me.”

“That right?” said the giant.

Matt looked over to the end of the bar for Keith – but Kieth was already gone.

“You pussy,” Matt muttered to himself. He gulped painfully, then rolled his fingers into his palm until he had a tightly clenched fist. He winced his eyes close and took one last breath. It was time for action.

To be continued…

– Thomas M. Watt

A Case of the Dirty Dick

“Stand the fuck up. Time to settle this like men.”

Alex curled up on the couch and sat up, clutching his stomach. He rubbed his weary eyes and lifted the blanket – there was a condom on his limp dick, and it looked dirty.

“I said get up!”

Alex took his first glance at the imposing figure staring down at him – he was shirtless with brutal tattoos, burly, and had that thick, curly red beard only farm boys could grow. A cute dog lie on the ground at his feet, whimpering like a dying pet.

“Huh? Who are you?” said Alex.

“Who am I? Cut the shit. Don’t act like you forgot what you did last night.”

Alex set his hands on his knees, stared at the ground, then burped. In truth, he had absolutely no idea what he did last night to set “farm-boy John” off. He gulped back some throw up, then turned to look up at the big man again.

“Listen dude, I have no idea what-”

BAM. Before he could get another word out, farm-boy John cold-cocked him. The massive fist sent Alex off the couch to a colliding crash through the coffee table. Alex spit a piece of tooth out, then groaned as he stared at the broken wood he now lay on top of. What the fuck did I do?

“Get up!” Farm-boy John lunged to kick Alex in the gut, but Alex rolled away before the toe of his boot could connect. Alex picked up a table leg then shot to his feet, then wobbled briefly before finding his balance.

“Look dude, sorry about your girl. But I swear she must’ve come to me.”

“Girl?” Farm-boy John crossed his arms and started to laugh. “You that dumb to think this has got to do with a girl?”

Alex took another good look at farm-boy John – pasty-white skin, red curly beard, tobacco shreds in his teeth, red curly beard, dirty, calloused hands, red curly beard.

“No, obviously not… I’m sorry for whatever I said to you last night.” “Said to me?! You didn’t say shit to me! This is our first time talking face-to-face you dumb shit!”

“What the fuck did I do then?” said Alex.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

“Maybe this will help you ‘member.”

Farm-boy John picked up a tall lamp, then began swinging it wildly at Alex. Alex dodged and weaved as he backpedaled. He bumped into the couch, the kitchen table, then some pots and pans. His back was against the wall as the metal clanged on the kitchen floor, and he finally realized what he’d done.

“Wait!” said Alex. Farm-boy John stopped swinging the lamp

. “I remember now,” said Alex, staring down at one of the pots that was filled with a red paste. “I dyed your beard red.”

Farm-boy John spat on the floor. “‘Bout time you remembered.” Alex let out a sigh of relief. “Aw, man! I was worried I did something you were gonna kill me over.” Farm-boy John chuckled for a moment, then in a flash turned deadly serious. “You didn’t die my beard red you dumb fuck. And what you did is the reason I’m gonna kill you.” Alex looked around and gulped. “What… what did I do?” “You see this house?” Alex looked around. “Yeah?” “Recognize it?” “No?” said Alex. “That’s cause you broke in, drank my booze, puked on my floor, then had sex with my bitch.” Farm-boy John broke off the base of the lamp, then aimed the sharp pointed end at Alex’s gut. Alex gulped. “I thought you said no girls were involved?” “You had sex with my dog you sick-fuck.” Farm-boy John thrust forward, again and again, until soon Alex’s stomach was entirely empty.

* * *

Ok I’m not proud of that one, but let’s point out some of the reasons this kept you reading.

1. Starts with and revolves around a question – What did Alex do that made this big stranger want to kill him? The question begins right there with the first line from farm-boy John – “Get up, time to settle this like men.” – Those are fighting words ladies and gentlemen, and when a fight is about to break out we all look over and wonder the exact same thing – what happened?

2. Rising tension – It starts with words, then a punch to the face, then a swinging lamp. In other words, Alex finds himself in more dire trouble as the story progresses. If it were written so that Farm-boy John began the scene holding a loaded gun, then set it back in its holster, tension would be decreasing, which is always a no-no for drama.

3. False ending – I’m new to this, but it’s an area of craft I need to get better at. You know them as twists – you expect one thing to happen, then another thing does. Alex having dyed Farm-boy John’s beard red makes logical sense, because a lot of attention is drawn to that nasty thing throughout the story. It would have been a suitable ending, but never settle for suitable – aim for surprise and gratification.

4. Sorry dog lovers and respectable human beings.

As always, thanks for reading!

– Thomas M. Watt

For the love of good Brandy – Part 2

(part 1)

FOR THE LOVE OF GOOD BRANDY – PART TWO

“Tom, wait!”

Tom lowered his meat cleaver at Brandy’s approach. He had been fighting with Mike, who had come to his home in an effort to win back the gorgeous blonde woman.

“Don’t hurt him!”

Tom looked at Mike, who was still holding his switch blade and breathing intensely. He wanted to kill the man for coming to his property and trying to take back the woman whose heart he had crushed; the woman who Tom had given his heart and soul to piece back together. Tom turned around and called out to Brandy.

“He’s not going leave without you, doll. He’s come for a fight, so that’s what he’s gonna-“

Tom stopped his sentence short when he felt a sharp pain in his gut. His mouth came open and he struggled for air. He slowly looked to see Mike’s smiling, twisted lips tugging up his long rolling beard.

“That’s my doll, not yours,” said Mike.

Brandy screamed. “You monster!”

Mike ripped the knife out of Tom’s stomach, leaving the handsome man to crumble to his knees. Brandy turned around and stormed back inside, locking the door behind.

Mike looked down at Tom as blood puddled on the ground around him.

“Suck it cunt,” said Mike.

He spat on Tom then stepped on his side as he walked over him. He licked the blood off the switchblade with his tongue, then smeared the sweat from his beard with his sleeve. He proceeded towards the front door. Brandy was his, and he was going to make it known.

* * *

Brandy sat on a stool inside. She needed to hide, and she knew it. Mike was coming, and he was going to be violent.

But she couldn’t think clearly. Tom, the love of her life, had just been stabbed in the gut. He was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. The best she could do was call the police.

Brandy got up and raced over to the phone. She dialed 9-1-1 and waited for the operator.

“Hello?”

“Operator! Oh my God, thank God!”

“Mamn, what’s wrong?”

“My husband!” Brandy got too choked up to go on.

“Mamn? Is there a problem with your husband? Did he do something to hurt you?”

“No, no, I just,” she lost her words again. Tom was outside bleeding to death. She needed to be there for him. She needed to tend to his wound.

“MAMN! Is this a prank call?”

“NO!”

“What did your husband do to you, mamn? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, no!” Brandy paused, took a deep breath, then gathered her words. She opened her mouth then tried to explain what happened as calmly as she could. “He just got-“

Before she could get in another word, the line cut out.

“Hello? Operator!”

Nothing but the humming tone of a dead line was left to comfort her. Brandy covered her mouth and her eyes went wide.

“Operator?”

The window from the back door exploded to fragment. Mike punched out the pieces that remained. He stepped into the living room then flipped out his switchblade.

“Excited to see me?”

Brandy’s bottom lip shook as she spoke. “What do you want?”

“To get another taste.”

“I’d rather die.”

Mike laughed, then started walking slowly towards her. “That’s fine with me.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

– Thomas M. Watt

– Author of A New Kingdom