Red Rain

"Red Rain"


The rain started to patter down on the roof, windows and deck of Susie McFadden’s dwelling. She lay in her bed and realized how much she
loved the rain, especially during the day, and even more especially when her parents were not home. There was something about the rain Susie found comforting. Perhaps it was because the rain was representative of her own tears
inside her heart.

She was most at peace when she had the house all to herself, it was raining outside and that she knew her fuck-buddy was on the way over. Susie and Victor Holloway started dating back in senior year of high school. She was now a Sophomore at Penn State University, and Victor (Vic as all of his friends knew him as) got a job as a welder. Vic was also a huge practical joker.

While Susie spread her long, lean body across the bed, she recalled an instance where Vic’s practical joking awakened feelings inside of her that she never knew she had. The previous year, Vic knew that Susie’s parents would not be home and that he would be going over to her house to fuck her. At this point in the relationship, Vic wanted to call it quits, and had devised a plan to get out of it in a blaze of glory.

He knew the alarm code for the house and had friends who could easily jimmy the lock on the back door with a credit card. Vic told them the code, informed them as to when the parents were leaving, and let them know when he was going to get Susie out of the house. Vic got Susie to agree to meet him at Tony’s Pizza for lunch before heading back to the house.

Everything went smoothly and according to plan, and when Ned, Ralph and Arnold got in the house, they were to hide in Susie’s bedroom closet. The closet had long narrow folding doors with small slits in them, and visibility of the bed was clear. One could also not see into the closet. After Vic and Susie finished lunch, they headed back to her place and almost immediately started at it.




They sucked face and rolled tongues hard, then soft. Alternating at a pace that started to make Susie drip with anticipation, soaking her panties. Vic moved down and started kissing her neck. Susie moaned in a guttural way, and it was at this point that Vic took his cue as he picked her up by the ass and carried her up the stairs with her legs wrapped around him.

As they entered the bedroom, he tossed her halfway across the room onto the bed like a rag doll. Vic started undressing and Susie did the same, but Vic told her to leave her socks, sneakers and bra on. He left his boots on as well for good traction. Vic took her and held her in the air facing him. His stiff cock was already in position to move in and he dropped Susie right on it.

“Holy shit!” Susie gasped. Once they had a good rhythm established, the synchronization continued for a while, before switching positions. He bent Susie over the side of the bed, all the while never pulling out. Vic rocked hard for another long while and announced he was on the verge. Susie pushed him off and knelt in front of him, looked up and said, “Let me feel it here!”

Vic exploded and caked Susie’s face, at which point Ned, Ralph and Arnold stormed out of the closet, and all of them including Vic yelled “Surprise!” Naturally, Susie was initially scared shitless, but after a moment realized that being watched without her knowledge turned her on incredibly. She kicked them out except for Vic who decided to stay behind and listen to Susie officially give him the ax. Instead she said. “It made me so hot knowing that your friends saw
the whole thing.

“It did?” Vic asked amazed.

“Oh God yeah.”

“Want to do a threesome?” Vic asked.

“For now I just want them to watch, but not from the closet.”





“It can be arranged.” He said. Since then they had an extremely open relationship. Just the thought of the first time made her wet. Just as she started to move down with her hand, there was a knock at the door. Vic never knocks on the door, she thought to herself

Susie quickly threw on a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt and proceeded downstairs. As she approached the door she heard the sound of children laughing. Upon opening the door, a group of six or seven children dressed in outlandish garb shouted “Trick-or-treat!”

Susie did not go to classes today and in the midst of her reminiscent fantasy, she forgot it was Halloween. She hated Halloween. Trick-or-treaters bothered the shit out of her, and she thought that the evening she had planned would be filled with constant interruptions.

“Hi kids.” She said, faking enthusiasm for the kid’s sake. “Sorry. I don’t have any candy. I just ran out.”

“Ran out?! It’s only four thirty in the afternoon!” One of the young lads said defiantly. Almost immediately after the comment, a kid dressed as a skeleton hurled an egg at her, splattering it all over the front of her cheap T-shirt.

“You little bastards!” She screamed, then slammed the door. Then she heard a couple of eggs pelt the door behind her, and the fading laughter and glee of the little monsters. Susie closed the blinds in the front of the house and shut the lights to create the illusion of no one being at home. The phone suddenly rang. Jumping at the sound, she approached the phone as if it were a cobra ready to strike.

“Hello?” She said. Her voice a bit shaky.

“Hi babe” Vic said. Susie’s heart soared when she heard his voice.





“I’ll be a little late tonight, but not much. I got caught up at work, so I’ll show up in around half an hour.”

“Please hurry Vic. I’m starting to get the Halloween heebie-jeebies.”

“I’ll do my best to get out of here as soon as I can. Is there anything you want me to pick up before I come over?”

“Just you babe.”

“Bye.” Vic said.

“Bye sweetie.”

The phone clicked and Susie put the phone down softly, then listened to the silence in the dark house. It was deafening. She ran back upstairs and went to her room. She laid down and dozed off for a few minutes. The ringing of the phone woke her from her slumber. Susie picked it up on the first ring since the phone was right next to her bed.

“Hello?” She said in a whisper. No response. Only deep steady breathing “Vic?” Nothing. “Fuck you!” she screamed into the phone and slammed it down.

Susie figured that it was Vic or one of his buddies playing one of their practical jokes on her, especially during Halloween. At least she hoped it was one of them. What if it wasn’t? She started to get hungry. Susie always got hungry when she was nervous, and now she was very hungry. Upon entering the kitchen, which was spacious yet sterile, since her parents never cooked, she was surprised to see that it had been cooked in when she turned on the light. She saw that the stove had been used to cook what looked like a piece of meat of some sort, in a frying pan. Only the greasy remnants remained, but she could smell it for sure.






Now she was beyond freaked out and ran straight for her front door. When she opened it, Susie almost did not notice the severed foot on the doorstep..After being transfixed on the foot, she realized that it was a man’s foot. That was all she could make of it. Then the phone rang again. Susie was in too much of a state of shock to be frightened by it this time. Almost unconsciously, she walked from the threshold to the phone in the living room and picked it up.

“Yes?” she answered. Her voice trembling with fear and trepidation.

“Honey?” Vic said.

“Oh God Vic! Please come over! My God there is a severed foot on the front porch! I don’t know what’s going on. I need you here now!”

“I’m sorry Susie. I’ve just called to say good-bye.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The next thing she heard was Vic screaming in anguish. It was the sort of scream that could not possibly be fake. It was a real genuine scream of anguish and suffering, from a very real source of punishment. It sounded as if he may be getting raped. She also heard another man in the background laughing with lunacy in his voice. Finally the phone went dead.

She went back to the front door. When she got to it, Susie remembered that it had been open all the time she was on the phone. Anyone could have snuck in and she would not have known, and now she was in some trouble since she lived a few miles away from campus in the Pennsylvania country, and she had been car pooling this week because her car was being serviced. Susie knew she was isolated and that her problems were just beginning.

When she looked down at the doorstep the foot was gone, and a note was in it’s place.




“Your boyfriend is a good footless fuck.” It said. Nothing more.

The rain was coming down harder now and the wind was kicking up. She assumed there would be no more Trick-or-Treaters tonight. She was surprised at the ones who showed up earlier and now wished they would come back. Even the company of those little shits would make her feel better than being alone. She closed the door and locked it. Using her cell phone to call her parents, who would not be home for hours, or anyone else was out of the question since she had no service where her house was.

Susie went to the house phone and tried to call her parents, but the line was dead as Micheal Jackson’s career. It had been cut, and the only way to communicate out was by her computer. The only thing was that she had dial-up, and since the phone line was severed, that would also be out of the question. The last possible resort Susie had was to venture out of the house and tread the mile or so to the nearest road and flag someone for help.

The thought and consequences of this were burning in her brain. Would he be waiting outside for her? If she did make it out to the road, would the person she flagged down be the one who was tormenting her? Susie felt paranoid, except that her fears were not based on false suspicion. There was a huge crash of thunder, and it was now getting very dark outside. Not only from the rain storm but from the natural occurrence of the sun disappearing like a helpless child drowning on the horizon.

Susie did not like guns, but this was surely a time that she wish she had one. Her father was a yuppie who did not believe in violence, though who would want to take the word of a yuppie since everything they stood for in the sixties is completely contradictory to how they turned out. She continued to stand at the foot of her stairs and think to herself: Guns are surely for pussies who are so insecure and full of fear that they need to have them laying around in order to feel safe. It does not help that the US government continually pumps it’s citizens full of fear on a daily basis in the news and through many other means. Plus any human being who pulls a gun on another totally helpless human being is the lowest form of rat shit that I can think of.




“Why am I thinking of this?” she asked herself out loud. She decided to go back into the kitchen, take some knives with her and run as fast as she could to the
main road for help. It was about a mile, but at this point it might as well be a thousand. Susie knew that someone was watching her, and she knew that someone wanted her to suffer in some unimaginable way. After collecting a large butcher knife from the kitchen, she went to the garage from the inside entrance of the house and grabbed a flashlight.

Susie stood in the garage for a moment and collected her thoughts and courage. She was ready to make the run and did not give a second thought about the rain. She did feel fortunate that she was not a princess type who never got her hands dirty. She could be tough if she had to. Susie opened up the garage door from inside. As it opened, the chains on it rustled and it creaked and moaned, and she felt like she was in a tomb that was being opened up to the cruel world. Upon it being opened, it also gave way to the view of darkness. Almost pitch black now, and only the sound of thunder and pelting rain to fill her mind.

Susie closed the garage and jetted out before the door closed. Then she walked a few feet and turned on the flashlight, half expecting the see the demented face of a madman looking at her with lunacy and brilliance in his eyes. Nothing. She
started walking, then trotting, and finally ran as fast as she could through the woods. It is not easy in the black of night and rain. After moving for about five minutes, she thought she should keep a steady walk instead.

“I cannot afford to break my ankle right now.” She said aloud to herself. Another thing that worried her was that it was much easier for a person to move in stealth throughout the woods when it was raining. With lumber and leaves matted down with water, they did not rustle and snap as they would if they were dry. That was good for her, but what if someone was following her out here? Plus Susie had the flashlight. It would not be hard for whatever was out there to see what direction she was going.






After what seemed like an eternity she saw a clearing where the road was. Susie stumbled out to it and tried to regain some of her composure. She hoped to God that a police car would drive by. No such luck. However, after a while of walking in the direction of campus, a gray Dodge pickup truck approached and came to a stop right next to her.

The driver opened his window and said “Car trouble?”

Without thinking, Susie jumped right in the truck and told the driver “Take me to the police station!”

“What’s the problem?”

“My boyfriend is dead and someone has broken into my house.”

“Hang on” the driver said.

Suddenly the truck was almost at full speed before turning down the dirt road that led to the back of Susie’s house.

“Why are you going this way?!” Susie demanded.

Then it became much too clear to her. This guy knew where she lived. When he pulled up to the front of her house another man came from nowhere wearing an Emmit Kelly mask and dragged her out of the car. A third man wearing a George Bush mask taped her mouth, ankles and hands.

“Happy Halloween bitch!” the man in the G.W. mask shouted. They took her inside the house up to her bedroom, and to Susie’s horror saw Vic nailed to the wall with huge metal slugs. Both his feet had been cut off and there was a knitting needle through his scrotum. His dead blank stare made Susie want to be
someplace else. Any fucking place than right here. Right now.





From behind she was thrown onto the bed and given an injection by the driver, while the men in masks held her still. Then they untaped her legs and pulled off her sweat pants and panties. The two men pulled each leg back and taped her ankles to the headboard. The pain of this was minimal for Susie, though she pretended to be in more pain hoping that these low class pieces of shit would have some sort of mercy on her. Suddenly she felt the effects of the injection and now she really did not feel pain. In addition she started to blackout.

She was awakened just in time to see a figure enter the room and decapitate all three men with a samurai sword. Then two other men entered. They untied Susie and being up close to them, she realized that it was Ned, Arnold and Ralph. Ned, Arnold and Ralph received the same call that Susie did with Vic on the other end of the line. Ralph knew Vic was on his way over here and wanted to check it out. He was a student of Judo and decided to take his sword for
insurance, in case this was not just a Halloween prank.

Moments later her yuppie parents came home to the carnage and terror and Susie’s father stood in the doorway of her bedroom with a dumbfounded look on
his face and sniveled ‘What happened?”

“Happy Halloween Dad.”
Story by:
Peter Cooper
All content within this website is © to their rightful owners and is used by permission for promotional purposes only.
All web design by Wednesday Elektra for Whippitup Designs © 2002 - 2004 Space Junkies Magazine.

A taste of the Eastern flavor

In this paper I shall discuss issues realating to Western, Eastern and North American
traditions, and how they are contradictory. How they have been contradictory for thousands of years. I will base half of this scholarship on historical fact, and half on my own experience, perceptions and oppinions. Extensive technical jargon will be excluded, and my advocacy for Eastern psychological insights and how they apply not only to music, but life, will be discussed.


Since five-hundred A.D.the European Classical movement has been continuing it's course of development. It contains a very impressive and extensive history to say the least. It was at this
time that Western civilization emerged from the "Dark Ages" after the fall of The Roman Empire. The following twelve centuries or so, saw the development of the Christian Church, who would dominate Europe by instigating "Holy" wars with the East, administering their own brand of justice, establishing universities, and basically dictating the destiny of art, music and literature as they saw fit. It is believed that Pope Gregory I codified what is today known as Gregorian chant during this time, and it was also during this time (The Middle Ages) that western culture saw their first great name in music, Guillaume de Machaut.
Breezing right along here, the Renaissance, which is noted from about fourteen-twenty to
sixteen-hundred saw the flowering of secular music. Dance and instrumental music was in abundance
and was usually not notated. This bit here is similar to the approach of the blues, and rock and
roll some roughly five-hundred years later in North America and is perhaps why it was referred to as
"devil's music". Non-secular music also saw many developments with the introduction of polyphony and the pioneering Giovanni da Palestrina.
Then came what is my personal favorite period of Western Classical music, if I had to pick
only one, The Baroque Age, which is thought to exist from sixteen hundred to seventeen-fifty and taken from the name of the architecture of the time. It was during this period that composers were constantly trying to out do each other in terms of pride, pomp and ornamentation. In my oppinion, it is the most productive and radical period in the history of music because of this competition. The most beautiful counterpoint exists in this period and has not been exeded since. It has that gorgeous pulse to it and everything falls right into place at just the right time.
In addition, opera was introduced to the world by the Italians. The one and only thing I do not like about this period is the concept of musicians being percieved as servants by the aristicracy, and unfortunatly, this idea has remained as truth for the masses ever since. Notable names from this period include J.S. Bach, Handel, Vivaldi, Albinoni, Monteverdi and Scarlatti among others.
The Classical period followed with a stripping down of the extravagance of the Baroque by such composers as Gluck. It is generally known to start in seventeen-fifty, however the historical date it concluded varies. In my oppinion it should always be considered eighteen twenty seven, with the significance of Beethoven's death as the end of an era. Mozart and Hayden along with Beethoven are considered to be the three giants of the period, and forms such as the minuet and symphony among others were born here. Vienna, Austria became the mecca of Europe where students would come to study and this still holds true today.
By the end of this period, the envelope was starting to be pushed
in terms of form and tecnique, notably with Schubert taking the torch from LVB and
running with it into the Romantic era.
Romanticisim was a movement from eighteen twenty seven to the turn of the next century, where composers had an almost extreme tendency to show their emotive potential. On many occasions, in my oppinion, orchestral works by Berlioz, Brahms, and Schumann seem to wander aimlessly. Of course this was common in this period. Plenty of fire and emotion, but no definate structure to keep it in line, which gives many of the pieces a sort of, over self-indulgant feel. Rules were being made and broken as they went along, thus the music was very chaotic. However, many new developments and improvements were made to already existing instruments, especially the piano, and entirely new ones were created, which gave the symphonic structure a notably richer, fuller and more powerful effect and sound .
The two nationalist composers Verdi and Wagner virtually dominated opera in this period.
The twentieth century or (modern) era, basically continues in this expanding of musical
boundaries which gives the music a feeling of insecurity. Composers such as Bartok and Schoenberg really explored the uses of unorthodox harmonies, therefore the music has lots of tension and not much resolution. However, a glimmer of hope of returning to a more structured approach existed in composers Puccini and Rachmaninoff. Finally, french composer Claude Debussy was notable in exploring the different tonality of music of the East such as Asian and Indian music, though he did not adhere much to it's theory and philosophy. I will delve into that very shortly, since it is the approach I use in my music, both writing, teaching and performing it.
Obviously all of the above is a condensed historical journey of Western Classical music. I will not go into detail about it's theories since I believe that it's theories are very much exessive and unnecessary, as is Western science and medicine, though I will make direct contrasts between East and West to illustrate my point.
As the twentieth century martial artist and philosopher Bruce Lee once said, "When there is freedom from mechanical conditioning, there is simplicity. The classical man is just a bundle of routine, ideas and tradition. If you follow the classical pattern, you are understanding the routine, the tradition, the shadow. You are not understanding yourself." This is the most concise way I can express my feeling towards how Western Classical music is taught and learned. Of course there are postive elements to this system which I will adress in my conclusion, however the body of this paper is to bring outside concepts to the table and expose the weak points of Western culture and thought.
Here I will directly relate the Eastern theory of music, using Japanese theory as a model, and why I think it is more effective than the Western approach. First of all, Japanese theory derived from Chinese music theory, which dates back as far as at least five hundred B.C. Of course, this pre-dates any form of Western classical theory by about one thousand years. In fact, in almost every aspect of civilization, the East was well established and doing things, long before anything in the West, therefore it deserves it's proper respect, and this is one of the main reasons why I do not comprehend why only Western Classical music is subjected to students in Europe and North America as "The Way". More on this later. The Japanese beleive in the philosophy of esoteric and exoteric music. All music is based on two fundamental human functions: speech and movement. Speech is representative of music in it's tones, cadences and rhythms. That is to say, music is an exaggeration of the tonal and rhythmical qualities of human speech. Movement is saying that music gives sound to the movement of the body. Exoteric music is designed to be comprehended and feasable to perform by a large number of people, which tends to be closer to the origins of music in speech and movement. Esoteric music is designed for an elite bunch who cannot understand or perform the music without a specific kind of training. This approach tends to veer away from the true origins of what music really is. It also causes some, not all, in this area to aquire a snobbish attitude.
However, few would disagree, in any culture, that this esoteric value deepens one's understanding of how music is performed and listened to. It is the reason why most laymen do not like certain styles of music, it does not necessarily have to be classical. They simply don't understand it. In Japanese music theory, again derived from the Chinese, and it is notable to say that the Japanese adopted most of their culture from the Chinese up until they severed ties in nine hundred and seven A.D. after the fall of the Tang dynasty, is rooted in it's value of simplicity. The scale consisted of only five notes, or the pentatonic scale, which blues players would perform hundreds of variations on thousands of years later. These five notes relate to the other "fives". The other fives are the material agents and elements in nature:

Kung(Earth) 1st note, Shang(Metal) 2nd note, Chiao(Wood) 3rd note, Cheng(Fire)4thnote,Yu (Water)5th.
This was, and still is in my oppinion, a sophisticated theory of change. All change, in life
and in music is governed by these five agents and how they interact with each other. Yin and Yang was also incorporated into the musical theory of Japan, with the pentatonic scale being divided into ryo and ritsu(male and female). The most important, or as the west would say, the dominant, degree in the pentatonic scale is the third. The Japanese refer to this as the "cornerstone". In the West, everything is built upon the "tonic" or first scale degree. In Chinese and Japanese theory, the cornerstone(Chiao) is what dictates if a scale is ryo or ritsu. For instance, if Kung and Chiao form a perfect third in any particular scale and key, the scale is male, if Kung and Chiao form a perfect fourth of a scale in a particular key, it is female. This works in any Western scale as well, though we are dealing with the pentatonic here. Also, Japanese theory based itself on eight categories of sound:

Metal(bells), Stone(chimes), Earth(ocarina), Leather(drums), Silk(stringed instruments), Wood(double reed wind instuments), Gourd(sho), and Bamboo(flute).



The differences between the approaches of East and West should be obvious enough. The
benefits of the West's approach is in the preservation of the material by it's system of notation.
It produces dead on accurate translation from the original composers, and creates some of the most beautyful music in creation. Though it is not the "only" beautyful music in creation. I suppose that is my beef with the system of the West in general. It is narrow minded in it's acceptance of different styles, and looks upon them as inferior in many cases. As I stated earlier, this is not the case of all, but a significant amount of Classical musicians have this attitude of "elite" and it makes me sick frankly.

However, it is this very thing that causes it's rigidity and lack of fluidity in it's approach to
handing it down from generation to generation. There is very little room, if any, for personal
interpretation and creativity. Too many "rules" that tell you "that is not correct", therefor it is
not beautyful or acceptable. I would hope that classical readers do not take this personally, since
we are all musicians, and that the ultimate objective in music is to take the listener into the
psyche and emotional state of the performer and piece. Certain musicians are simply more adept, or at least more willing to do that than others. Mature musicians also know that there is more than one way to obtain this objective, which transcends technique and theory. My point is that in almost all universities, the effects, theories, methods and approaches to music of all civilizations, cultures and styles should be represented. Showing how they can interact and be in flowing harmony with one another, as opposed to shutting itself off from it, thus creating truly well rounded and versed musicians. Not only well rounded in one style.


The Eastern theory has been in existence far longer than Western thought, and should be offered as a field of study in more University music programs. It prides itself on the beauty of simplicity rather than exess. It strips away the unessentials so that the truth can be revealed.
It is not rigid in it's forms and teqniques. It's theory uses the harmony of nature and the universe as it's guide, where Western Classical uses mathmatics to govern it's harmony. Music is not mathmatical or logical. It should not be demeaned by intellectualization. Music should be felt, with very little thought involved. It should flow like water so that it can assume all forms. It should penetrate every fiber of one's being, not just the brain. Again, quoting Bruce Lee, " Don't think. Feel. It is like a finger pointing away to the moon. Don't concentrate on the finger or you will miss out on all that heavenly glory".

Dyker Park

Dyker Park
by Peter Cooper copyright 2004
http://www.petercooper.biz/
Many thoughts were racing through Cane Mulligan's mind as he stepped on the rubber and faced and faced the last batter of the game. (Will I see what I saw for the past month? Will I hear what I heard for the past month. I wish I could keep this game going forever, so I won't have to face what I witnessed for the past month another night. Please God help me!) The game was going to be a blowout and shutout with the score being eleven to nothing in favor of Cane's team the Vipors. Scalia High's baseball team. Dusk was fast approaching and the evening was well on it's way to being the first chill of the coming winter. The fields of Dyker Park have no lights, and Cane knows that if he does not wrap this one up, the game will be called on account of darkness, and that his teamates will string him up by the balls if he lets their eleven runs and whole season go to waste. This was the championship game after all.
Cane faced the inevitable and struck out the final batter as a chorus of cheers resounded from the stands and everyone rushed the mound to celebrate. As he weaved quietly through the crowd of people who were having fun, he looked in vain for his father and sister. Like many other important times in his life, they were not here to cheer him on. Cane Mulligan entered the golf course to go home as nobody noticed him vanish.
The golf course of Dyker Park was used as a shortcut by most kids in the neighborhood to head home or wherever they were headed. He first discovered the golfcourse when he and his best friend Jake Marino were riding their bikes back in grammar school, and found a busted out portion of the fencing surrounding it and decided to chart out new territory. Jake and Cane basically had their whole neighborhood of Bayhurst,Brooklyn known like the back of their hand. Coincidentally, they had both become familiar with the fronts of their hands as well, dreaming of the girls in class or the ones in the stack of videos and magazines Jake's older brother kept in his room.
While Cane walked home on this chilly October 30th night, he remembered those days and how carefree and burdenless life was. Now, just like his life, Dyker Park seemed much darker, sinister and foreboding than ever before. The golfcourse of Dyker Park was a public one and was not significantly different from millions of others. It had bunkers, ponds, hills and old men and women in ridiculous looking outfits and driving little carts. That was during the day. At night anyone could be waiting behind the next tree or bush waiting to pounce. The sun was now setting and the shadows were getting very long.
Cane had walked halfway through the park and at this point nothing could be heard in the five square mile area exept for crickets sounding their approval at the arrival of twilight, and the loons responding in the eerie call of the nocturnal. "The children of the night. What music they make!" He looked over at one particular slope that he recalled sledding on most every winter of his childhood. It was this thought that kept him from turning his Fruit of the Looms into a fudge factory, because he was scared. Very scared.
Cane could not help supress the images and sounds burned into his memory from this past month, which happened to be October. The images of the fires, the howling of dogs, squealing of pigs, erotic moans of women, chanting, high pitched agony of cats. He remembered trying to get a look, but only saw fire in the distance and those sounds. Those horrible sounds! He thought to himself (There is no train service from the park to my house. If I take the bus it will be an hour and a half, if I'm lucky and if I walk all the way around, it will be close to three hours. Brooklyn is a big place. At least this way is only an hour.) He also continued thinking (God damn that coach Werner! Not letting us bring cell phones to the game! And actually doing inspections!)
Cane's heart was racing and he started to sweat again, but not from pitching an entire game. It was from good old fashioned panic and terror as he suddenly felt a heavy hand on the back of his neck. He turned his body around faster than Reagan McNeil's head, and was beholding the tall man in a red cloak and hood staring back at him. He could not make out the features, as the figure was surrounded by darkness. Cane did not want to find out. He ran full speed toward the other end of the park hoping to God that he would make it out alive. Another ten minutes later, he did. He stopped when he got out to the open streets to catch his breath and look behind him for the first time. Nothing. He ran the next mille home without looking back. The figure back in the park, stood, looking dreamily at his hands. In one of them was a lock of Cane's long curly hair.
The next day at school, everyone was congratulating him on a job well done in the game. Suddenly almost all of the females in school were throwing themselves at him, and this caught him off guard since he was never the ladies man.(Pimpled scarred skin, skinny, lanky and socially akward) He took particular interest in one of them however. Janet Tully was a very attractive senior with blonde hair, round breasts and a nice tight rump.
"I heard you were amazing at the game last night Cane." she said to him as he was opening his locker.
"Yeah I guess so." Cane replied, shrugging his shoulders and looking absently at the floor. "Listen" she continued. "I want to take you out tonight. Just you and me. No friends. I'll pick you up at eight o'clock. Don't say no because I know you don't work tonight and how can you resist this?" At which point she slyly lifted up her short skirt to expose her finely trimmed airline strip over her rosy pink beaver, and then quickly cupped his schlong over his pants. "Ok" was all Cane could muster at the moment. After regaining his composure for a moment he added,
"I live at 8872" when he was cut off by Janet.
"I know where you live."
"How?"
"I just do. Plus I'm a big fan of yours." Just like that she was gone down the crowded hallway after ducking into the girl's bathroom. (Jeez, that was creepy in way way) Cane thought to himslef.(But what the hell, she seems like an easy lay.)
Later on in the day, during his last period history class, Cane suddenly felt an intense throbbing in his loins, and he quickly acheived a hard on and ejaculated in his pants. All in about one minute. He looked down and noticed the huge wet spot showing through his light brown jeans. Cindy Spitz, who sat next to him, caught this entire episode and gave him an extremely seductive look as she tongued the top of her eraser. He felt dizzy and quickly packed up his books and walked out of class.
After rushing to the gym, while holding his backpack in front of his crotch, and changing into his dirty sweats, Cane hopped on the bus and went home. Larry, Cane's father, was sitting in his lounge chair watching a documentary on David Berkowitz when he asked his son,
"Home early today son huh?"
"Yes dad. Mr. Coleman let us out early."
"Are you sure nothing out of the ordinary happened today?"
"No. I mean yes. Yes I'm sure nothing out of the ordinary happened today."
"Why are you wearing your gym clothes."
"Oh, some kid spilled fruit punch on me during lunch, so I had to change. By the way dad, I am going out tonight."
"Have a date?"
"Yes."
"Alright, I'll see you later. I'm going out tonight also."
Larry went out on certain nights and kept a weird schedual, but Cane never questioned where he went to. He knew his father could have a raging temper. Cane went up to his room, then jumped in the shower. While showering, he realized what a truly bizarre and horrific two days it had been. A bizarre month as well. Strange feelings and occurances have been happening to him all month. Cane thought (My God, why was everyone, especially the girls, being so nice to me, and one of them even showing me her snatch and groping my dick in the hallway and asking me out. Then the hard on and the cumming. My head has also been feeling pleasantly dizzy all week. I don't even want to remember last night either. And why was dad so inquisitive? It was almost as if he knew exactly what was going on. He never seemed that interested. On the way back to his bedroom, his sister Chloe had her door ajar then suddenly peered out at Cane, then slammed the door shut when he saw her.
"What the fuck is going on?" he muttered to himself.
He took a nap. When he woke up a seven his father and sister were both gone. He got dressed and wandered around in the dark empty house by himself. The doorbell rang at precisely eight o'clock. Cane opened the door and saw Janet in a delightfully tight sweater, accentuating her round supple breasts, and very tight hip hugging jeans, accentuating an ass that could be rocked and hammered till she begged him to stop.(at least that's what Cane thought) She led him to her car down the dimly lit street and they both stepped into the 2000 Chevy Tahoe. Women who drove trucks turned Cane on for some reason. He was also aware that a feeling swept through his body, that he would go along with anything. Cane Mulligan felt utterly powerless.
"Are you feeling good tonight?" Janet asked.
"I feel like I'v never felt before and I can't quite describe it. The feeling is getting stronger and stronger too."
"Does it feel like your body is just one big giant orgasam?"
"Yeah, that pretty much describes it, but why do I feel like this?"
"I am going to show you soon enough if you want."
"I want! I want!"
Sometime between this point and the arrival of their destination, Cane completely forgot all about the past month. Forgot all about the strange noises in the park, the screams, the moans. Forgot all exept the image of the figure in the hood amidst the darkness. He was completely in the moment.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked. "I want to know now."
"We aren't going someplace that you have not already been before is all I can tell you right now. I don't mean to keep you in suspense, but I am not permitted."
"What do you mean not permitted? His protestations were only verbal in nature. Internally, he was curious to say the least about what the coming evening was to hold for him. Nothing was holding him back now.
"You will find out everything soon enough. Don't worry everything will be fine." Janet assured him.
They continued driving in silence for about another twenty minutes when Cane realized they were headed for Dyker Park. Ripples of fear flowed through every fiber of his being with the understanding that Cane Mulligan's life was about to change for the rest of his life for better or worse, and the absolute worst thing about all of this was that by some supernatural force, he was powerless to stop or resist anything. The Tahoe pulled up along the baseball diamonds side of the park and Cane and Janet stepped out.
As they approached the entrance to the gates they were approached by a stranger who came out of the shadows; or what at first appeared to be a stranger in plain clothes. He walked up to them and said nothing, then raised his left and and signaled for Janet to proceed with Cane. They all entered the park together and it was at this point that Cane realized who the stranger was. It was Mr. Simmons, Scalia High's principal. In addition Cane's conscience completely dissipated. He was not even verbalizing his being uncomfortable. Earlier, he at least knew something was not quite right. Now he knew he was under a spell and did not care. He loved it. He wanted to cum.
As they crossed the basesball diamonds, Mr. Simmons began telling him,
"We are glad you've come Cane. We've been waiting for this night a long time. Since the day you were born as a matter of fact. We in the tribe have decided that this would be the night. Or should I say the stars decided it long ago. Your ceremony awaits Cane. You are ready to join the family."
Mr. Simmons, Janet and Cane stepped through a hole in the fence that led to the golf course. Just as they did so, Janet and Mr. Simmons stopped and donned their cloaks and hoods. Janet in a black one and Mr. Simmons in red. Cane could see better now than the previous night because a blazing bonfire was burning bright in a clearing about a hundred yards away. The cloaks were made of a heavy fabric of some kind, and the hoods kept their faces hidden, but were not pointy like the KU Klux Klan's.
It did not suprise Cane that they were Satan worshipers. He knew that outside of rituals and services, they looked and behaved like everyone else, and could be anyone. Teachers, babysitters, mothers, fathers, politicians. Anyone. They walked down a well developed path and came out through the clearing. Cane paused in his tracks and looked at the image his eyes were gazing upon.
A group of about twenty-five people(the identity of which could not be determined at this point because of the uniforms) were standing around the bonfire in silence. When they noticed the arrival of visitors, the whole lot turned in sync and faced them. A chant in latin was started by what Cane could now determine was the high priestess, as the high priest came over and ushered him over to the fire.
As the chant subsided, the high priest continued on in English saying,
"On the eve of our hallows, we are all pleased to welcome our son Cane into the life of darkness and beauty! We have nourished, guided and protected him since he was brought into being, and is now ready to enter with full awareness of who he is and what his purpose shall be! Now we shall reveal ourselves to our son Cane so that he may know what needs to be done!"
All of the members of the tribe took of their hoods and showed their faces to him. Cane had a feeling of shock and contented understanding. There before him stood some of his teachers from grammar school, Jake Marino, Coach Werner, his sister Mary, and his father, who was the high priest. The high priestess he did not recognize, but was soon to learn something.
"This is your mother Cane." Larry told him.
His sister Mary came out of the brush holding a baby which belonged to her. Tonight was not a night of sacrificing animals. It was a night of human sacrifice. Child sacrifice. Mary handed the baby to Cane, while the tribe circled around the fire once again. Chanting(in German now) continued as Cane threw the infant in the fire. It made a high pitched squealing sound then fell silent. A wild orgy of writhing ecstacy concluded the ceremony on the hallows eve in Dyker Park.

Behind the Clouds II

                
                                                    Behind the Clouds II

                                                                                               by- Peter Cooper
                                                                                           www.petercooper.biz


                    Once Rob realized that Steve, Carrie and Christine  were no longer in the Cut Throat, he rushed outside to see if Steve's car was there. It was gone. Rob knew Steve better than anyone else. Better than Steve's deceased parents, better than any of his girlfriends, better than any of his teachers, coworkers, aquaintances, and better than Steve himself. Most importantly, Rob knew Steve psychologically, and Rob knew that his friend was having a psychological break.  Steve was prone to violence and tonight Rob noticed that his friend, was much more detached and distant than he had ever seen him.  He went back inside and told Freddy and Jason (facedown at the bar) that he was leaving. Rob quickly went over to Laurie and said
 "I need your help". 
 It made sense since she was the only one sober.
"Ask anyone you can if they had seen Steve, Carrie and Christine right before they left and if      they mentioned where they were going. I'm going to make some phone calls." Rob said.
"Alright, I'll see what I can find out." Laurie said.
                    Rob went back outside and halfway down the block to a payphone in order to avoid all the commotion in and around the Cut Throat, hugging the sides of the buildings to avoid the rain as he did so. He arrived at the payphone, which was exposed to the rain and without a care picked up the reciever. He quickly dialed in his calling card code and number, while having to listen to the voice recording telling him how he could save more money on his car insurance by switching to Geico, which seemed like forever and a day. Finally the recording indicated to him that it was the appropriate time to dial.(fucking recordings)
                    Rob dialed in his teacher's number quicker than Mae West at a male strip joint. A voice mail came through saying
"You have reached the emergency contact of Dr. Damien Horn. State your emergency and I will return your call most urgently."
 Dr. Horn is the head of psychology department at Rutgers University, and Rob is his best, brightest and closest student. He informed Rob that if he ever needed anything to give him a call.          
                "Dr. Horn, I have to talk to you about a friend of mine, who I have reason to believe, is going to commit a brutal, cold-hearted and ruthless crime if we don't get to him quick. He is having a psycotic break and appears to be on stimulants, and also drank a great deal tonight. He's also got two females with him and I believe they are in danger. Please call me back on my cell."
 Just as soon as Rob headed back towards the Cut Throat, his phone rang.
"Dr. Horn?!"
 "Yes. What seems to be the problem kid? Are you in trouble?" Dr. Damien asked in his
quintessential flat but inflected speech pattern. 
 "Dr. Horn, I have a real bad hunch about something tonight. Remember when you taught us that instinct and perception is just as important, if not more so than rationality and theory?"      "Yes."     
"Well... I have developed that instinct and perception very sharply wouldn't  you say?"      "Yes."    
"Ok. Tonight I know something very messy is going to happen, and it involves my best friend and two girls." 
"How can I help?"   
"I need you to pull some strings and make some calls and get on this."   
"Robert. In order for me to help you out, I need you to tell me what we are dealing with." Dr. Horn said a bit more forcefully now. His tone darkening.
"I need you to tell me precisely what the case is, so that I can make an accurate asessment of the situation at hand and report it to the necessary individuals in a swift, accurate and timely manner."  
"I know Doc. Alright here it is."  We have a twenty-two year old male, wearing black jeans and a black shirt, medium length jet black hair, blue eyes and driving a black 1977 Camaro. It should be easy to spot. He is six feet;two inches tall and weighs two hundred and twenty pounds. He is prone to violence and it appears that he is on a stimulant of some kind. Probably cocaine or amphetamines. I have been with him this evening and he has also smoked pot and drank heavy."           
           "Not to nit-pick Robert, but does this man have a name?" 
"Yes sir. Sorry sir. Steve Vittola is the name."   
"Any relatives?"      
"No sir. Not that I am aware of. He has no siblings and his parents are deceased.  To the best of my knowledge, each of his parents were only children and his  grandparents are deceased. The girls he has with him are both voluptuous and  are both long haired brunettes.  One is wearing black laced-up boots to the knee and a red one piece pull-over dress. Her name is Christine.  I do not know the last names of the girls, but I can find out in a minute. A friend of the girls is       here with me and she can give you full detailed information about them."     
"Put her on the phone." 
"Let me call you back in a few minutes. She is in the bar we were at, asking questions and I am down the block outside, in order for me to hear you."
"Ok, but listen to me Robert. Call me directly on the emergency line again. All incoming calls on that line are patched through to The Department of Mental Health, which is why it is always screened before I call back. Everything you told me is being monitered and I'm glad it is. The information you gave is already being looked into."    
"Thanks Doc. I'll call you back in a few." 
"Good. In the meantime we will get a track on this friend of yours." 
                The phone clicked and Rob Piletto acknowledged that Dr. Damien Horn was indeed a    good friend to know. Water was flowing freely in the gutters and people were crammed  in all of the cafe's, pubs and clubs on West fourth. Whoever wasn't, was headed quickly for the subway or their cars. The streets were clearing one way or another. As Rob was  walking briskly back to the Cut Throat, he had a sudden feeling that he had betrayed  his friend.
(After all, Steve and I have known each other since we played little league together. We have been through many ups and downs to say the least, and his eratic, impulsive behavior has only manifested itself recently) Rob thought to himself in the rain which was now a downpour.                        
              Rob remembered the look on Steve's face at his parent's wake back in '99. Both had been brutally stabbed in their sleep by an unknown assailant. Steve witnessed the whole thing while under his bed across the hall of their home. He had his loaded .357 under lock and key under the bed, but by the time he was awakened by the sound of his mother's loud gurgling (blood was filling her lungs and her throat had been cut) and his father's muffled screams (a rag was stuffed in his mouth while being sliced from  the anus up to the breast bone) it was to late. He could not get the box unlocked in time. The killer left quickly out of the bedroom window.      Rob remembered the pale, blank stare that Steve exhibited and that he did not shed a tear. It seemed as if he were in another dimension. He also remembered saying to Steve
"Just give it time. You will never get over this loss, but with lots of time you will get back to living your life as your parent's would want you to. To which Steve replied coldly
"Wait and see."     
                  As Rob approached the Cut Throat, Laurie came out front looking for him.
"I was wondering what happened to you." Laurie exclaimed.   
"I just got off the phone with a good friend of mine. I gave him the run down of what's going on, but he needs to speak with you so you can give him all you know about Carrie and Christine. Background, favorite color, everything. By the way, did you find out anything from someone inside?" 
"Not much. A few people confirmed that they saw him leave with Christine and Carrie though. They didn't have any information on where they were going" Laurie said.  
"Alright, that's good enough. At least we have witnesses eyeballing them leave together. I am going to get Dr. Horn on the horn and he's going to ask you questions.  Trust him and trust me ok?"    
"Ok."    
             Rob dialed and spoke with him for some time, giving the doctor all of the information she could regarding her friends. Hair color, skin color eye color, favorite color. Everything. After hanging up she turned to Rob and asked
"What do we do now?    
"I'm going to look for him. I have the best idea of the places that he may go. That is, if by some miracle you have a car, and if so, that you drove it here, and if that is the case you will let me borrow it."
"Yes, yes and yes" Laurie said."I was DD tonight so here are the keys. I'll walk  you to it."             As they walked up to, and around Washington Square Park, Robert got goosebumps, as the car he was going to drive happened to be parked in the spot next to where  Steve's car was parked. He looked at the empty space for a moment(which seemed like hours to him) and was truly creeped out. It was symbolic to him. 
           "I gave Dr. Horn my cell. He told me to stay at the Cut Throat in case of anything."       Laurie said.       
"Good. I hope everything turns out alright." Rob said.    
"Good luck Rob."      
 "Thanks. I'm afraid I'm going to need it."
 Rob started up the Jeep Wrangler and headed off into the dark, desolate, rainy New York twilight looking for Steve. 
                      After driving for ten minutes Christine and Carrie started to feel drugged.       "Steve, I don't feel so good." Christine said.
"Me neither." added Carrie."Can you just take us home and call it a night?" Carrie continued slowly and pleadingly.  
"The reason you don't feel good is because I put some narcotics in your drinks and if you were smart enough you would have seen it. Too bad your nothing but a pair of stupid cunts. Now shut the fuck up and take what I feed you bitch." Steve said, softly cackling as he did so.   
It was at this point that Chrisitne and Carrie knew they were in grave danger. They had seen the madness in the eyes, and to make matters worse, they were starting  to drift into another place now. Steve was almost at the lower east side when he turned the radio on to hear the news, and also turned on his newly installed police scanner. Nothing.
                       He turned onto east second street which was deserted at the moment. (The rain washes away the stank that the skanks put forth in this putrid city) Steve thought to himself, when suddenly that thought was interupted by the nose of a .22 to the back of his head.             The adrenaline in Carrie's bloodstream was now fighting off some of the effects of the drug that Steve slipped in her drink. Barely. She still had the presence of  mind to know that she was in a world of hurt right now but was in the back seat where Steve could not get a good look at her.
                      As quickly as she pulled the .22 out of her purse, she just as quickly cocked the hammer and said "Make a fucking move and I'll repaint this piece of shit with your twisted brains." Christine's conscience was also being brought back to the surface as this was occuring. She went into her purse and pulled out a can of mace.
"If you move I'll burn the eyes out of your dead skull before she gets a chance to repaint this piece of shit with your brains." she said. 
                        As intoxicated as the girls were, Steve was much worse. This was not the first       time he had a gun to the back of his head, but it was the first while this messed up. It was why he stopped the car. He absolutely could not maneuver the vehicle. The narcotics were hitting the girls quick and hard now, and they knew that if something was not done soon, they may cease to exist come sunrise. Neither one of them was in any condition(nor was it safe for them) to get out and seek help. They were in a shady part of the city, and monsters lurk in the shadows waiting for prey such as themselves.  
                       Christine sprayed Steve in the face with the can of mace. It felt as if his skin was peeling off of his skull, and in blind desperation reached out and grabbed Christine by the throat. She sprayed him again and he vomited, but still had a vice-like grip on her windpipe. One good hard squeeze and it would be curtains for her. Carrie was in a stupor as all of this seemed like a movie playing in her head,  momentarily realizing that this was reality.
                         Christine sprayed yet again and Steve's  grip loosened slightly, but the other hand came in a powerful sweeping flash and cracked Christine on the bridge of her nose.
"Cunt! Fucking cunt!" Steve bellowed, and repeated the blows to Christine's face, when the pain ripped through his shoulder, and his ears suddenly went deaf after Carrie shot him. He slumped over to the floorboards when another shot ripped into his leg. His torso was in the floorboards on top of Christine's legs, with his legs splayed over the driver's seat. Blood was seeping out of Steve's shirt and jeans.
                        He was mumbling incoherently. Blood was pouring from Chritine's nose, where       he had caused the bone to protrude from the skin. Carrie passed out from a haze of alcohol, narcotics and shock. Twenty minutes later Carrie came to from the sounds of the police scanner saying,
" We've got'em. East second and first." 
Moments later the doors to the Camaro were jerked open by a pair of New York's finest.
                                        

 
                                                                            Epilogue


             They immediately called for an ambulance. Steve was taken into custody at the ER(the gunshot wounds were not fatal) and given twenty-five years in Attica for attemted murder, drug and weapons charges and assault. Carrie and Chrisitne gave their testimonies and eventually went on with their lives. Rob severed his relationship with Steve and eventually got his Phd in psychology. Jason became a bouncer at the Cut Throat and Freddy still lives with his parents.

Behind the Clouds

 
 
 
"Behind the Clouds"
 
                                                           -by Peter Cooper
                                                         www.petercooper.biz
 
             As he looked out at the blue green arches of the Verrazzano Bridge from his bedroom window, Steve Vittola knew that this Friday night was going to be different than every other Friday night of all the Friday nights of his life so far. Steve Vittola is a large young man of twenty-two, with broad shoulders, tree trunks for legs, steely blue eyes and jet jet black hair. Though he is twenty-two, his face shows the battle scars and experience of many fights, and a man who loves controlled substances and alcohol.
             After eating a salisbury steak T.V. dinner, washing up, slashing on some aqua velva and taking his medication, he stepped out of his one bedroom apartment on 62nd St and 14th ave. This was not far from the W train, "which used to be the B train before the fucking cocksuckers blew up the World Trade Center" Steve thought to himself. He was meeting friends in the city tonight, and as he walked up the block to where his mint condition '77 Camaro was parked, Steve Vittola knew this night would be special. He was also well prepared for it. 
              As he came within sight of his car parked near the corner under a street light, the same feeling came over him as always when he looked at it. Complete relaxation and calm. That particular feeling intensified five times when he climbed behind the wheel and started it. The big 425 he had installed roared to life with ferocity. Steve looked at his watch ( Casio. He did not own a cell phone, because he thought anyone who did was a dependant fag) and it read 7:45 p.m. "If the traffic is usually the way it is, and it does not start to rain, I should be there at about 9:30 p.m." he thought to himself. This was when Steve was at his most calm and serene, without a care in the world. When he was alone with his own thoughts, behind the wheel of the car that he rebuilt from scrap.
               He put some King Diamond in the new CD player he had installed, shifted into drive and set out onto 14th ave, headed towards 86th St. He was on his way to pick up Rob Piletto before heading into Manhattan. Rob was the kind of guy who did not talk much, but when he did you listened. He perceived things very acutely and acurately, and then gave his oppinion of the situation in one or two sentences. The statements had lots of profundity and reality.  

Behind the Clouds

Rob had just completed his masters degree in psychology at Rutgers University in Jersey, and he was damn good at it. Recreational drug and alcohol use were not something that he and Steve had in common, but Rob knew not to judge his friends and Steve and Rob both knew and loved automobiles. They also had the same taste in women. Long, lean, loose and clean if you know what I mean. As they came onto the BQE from the belt parkway, Steve lit up a pre-rolled joint, and Rob rolled down the window so he would not be bothered by the smoke. This was a ritual they had shared a thousand times before. Traffic was relatively light, the moon was full, though one could only catch brief glimpses of it, as heavy clouds shrouded it in a passing veil of foreboding ominous doom.
Steve put the roach in the ashtray in the Camaro as traffic started to get heavy heading into the Brooklyn-Battery tunnel. After about a minute after entering the tunnel, Steve started to think about all the tons of water of the Hudson above their heads. "What would happen if we got trapped in here?" Steve said. Perhaps we would be squashed like water bugs, or in another scenario be trapped like rats until we starved to death, suffocate or maybe even drown slowly." We would be dead" Rob said plainly. "I wonder if the guy at the toll booth knew I had smoked. Did I look fucked up? Did I get weird?" "No", Rob replied rationally. "We had the windows down for miles so he could not smell it, and your eyes are not red." Steve was not one of those people who got blazing bloodshot eyes like Christopher Lee as Dracula, when he smoked pot or drank. He would get paranoid as hell though, and the the more intoxicated he became, the further and deeper his paranoia would get. Rob would always be able to keep him in check though, as he knew exactly what to say and what not to say to keep his friend from going off the deep end. However, being in the tunnel with the deafening hum of the vehicles resonating off the walls and ceiling did not help Steve uneasyness.
Just as Steve felt that he was being buried alive in a giant tomb, the Camaro roared out on the downtown Manhattan side. "Thank God" Steve said. "I thought we were going to be in there forever ." "Don't worry, it was not that long. You know how time perception slows down when you smoke dope" Rob said. They turned onto the Westside Highway headed towards the lower west side . It was now 9:20 p.m. "What time are we supposed to meet them?" Rob asked. "I told them around 9:30" Steve responded flatly. Steve and Rob were not glamorous people, and neither were their friends. They all just wore clothes that were comfortable, ate things that were easy to cook and assumed only about three positions when they fucked, with the absence of hours of foreplay. This is how they lived and they enjoyed it. Headed towards the west village and almost there, Steve finished up the roach that was in his ashtray to keep his buzz going. Driving around Macdougal and Bleeker streets Steve finally found a spot right by Washington Square Park, which was miraculous considering it was 10:00 p.m on a Friday night.

Behind the Clouds

As Steve and Rob stepped out of the car, thunder claps were heard
overhead, and the moon could not be seen anymore, though Steve felt
it's imposing presence behind the clouds. Now they ducked into the
place they came here for. A tiny hole in the wall on West 4th called
The Cut Throat. The place literally had holes in the walls, smelled
of stale beer, and let's just say you didn't put your ass on the
toilet seats. It was a fun and familiar place though, and the beers
were two bucks each and shots were three.
Upon entering, Rob and Steve saw that Christine,Laurie,Carrie,Fred
and Jason were at the bar, and could tell from twenty feet away that
they had all gotton an early start on the evening. It was at this
point Steve knew the night was going to go according to plan. He
started thinking "everyone who planned to be here is here and now I
can proceed." Christine and Carrie shouted out almost
simultaneously, "hey Steve, over here!" Steve having a delayed
reaction, lumbered over and Rob followed. Fred and Jason exchanged
brief pleasantries with Steve, who went to speak with Carrie and
Christine. Rob conversed with Fred, Jason and Laurie.
The Cut Throat had lots of regulars there tonight and a few new
faces. It was loud, and the jukebox was playing "Don't Tread on Me".
"So where have you been?" Christine asked. "I haven't seen you in
like a month." "Yeah, me neither" added Carrie. "You have been
making yourself very scarce lately." Carrie and Christine were both
voluptuous young brunettes of twenty-one, who had both known Steve
in and out of the bedroom, and both were aware of their involvment
with him. They were also both very competitive about Steve.
"I'v been working all the time and rarely have any time to myself"
Steve said. "Any time I do have to myself is spent alone, just
relaxing."("more like brooding" Steve thought to himself) "Sorry I
haven't called." "You must have had sleepless nights dreaming about
me" Steve said, half jokingly and half serious. "Not really" Carrie
said. "I'v been pretty busy myself, doing this, doing that."(at
which point Steve noticed Carrie giving Christine a sly look, and
they both smirked and then laughed under their breath) Steve was not
laughing with them. He then ordered a boilermaker for himself and
did not ask if any of his friends wanted anything.
"So what does that mean?" Steve asked in a very composed
manner(hiding the urge of wanting to rip out their throats). "It
means that she has been having fun and taking care of things while
you have not been around" Christine said. Christine, although
twenty-one, had the feminist male bashing attitude of a forty-five
year divorce when drunk. Steve always thought she was bisexual. The
bartender suddenly appeared and set down Steve's shot of Jim Beam
with Budweiser chaser. Steve just as quickly threw it back in the
blink of an eye, and did not bother with the chaser just yet. He
was now starting to feel more powerful and intoxicated. Somehow
when Steve would hit a certain point of intoxication, his thoughts
would become psychotic, though his body would maintain it's balance
and composure. He was not at that point just yet.
Meanwhile, Rob,Fred,Laurie and Jason were speaking and thinking of
more random lighthearted subjects. Rob was saying how hard it was
going for his Ph.D. while Jason and Fred were debating as to
whether or not the Islanders would win a cup anytime soon. Laurie
was just listening, laughing and watching everyone in The Cut
Throat have a good time. Steve was now on his sixth boilermaker
when he was asked by Christine and Carrie if he would mind going
home with them. He responded by saying "hang on, I'll be right
back". Steve walked to the back door slyly and slipped out of
sight into the back alley. He took a piss.
He began walking back to his car when suddenly it began to rain
heavily. Without a second thought Steve quickly, yet methodically,
headed for his Camaro. As he reached it, that wave of calm and
well-being hit him again. He aproached the rear of the Camaro and
opened up the trunk to double check if all of the contents were
still there.(they were)He opened up the door and got in. He went
right into the glove compartment and pulled out a gram of coke,
already mixed and ready to go. He put his finger in the bag and
brought it back out with a small mound on the end of it. He put it
up his nose and snorted. A cold wave went up his nasal cavity and
down the back of his throat when it happened. That point of
intoxication where all of his thoughts and perceptions, although
not connected to reality, are very clear and precise in his mind
and not cloudy. He took another three snorts, put the bag away and
started up the 425. His ability to operate and maneuver the
vehicle was fine, since the four squad cars that he saw on the way
back to The Cut Throat did not stop him or even flash the
cherries.
As he pulled up to the front, he saw Jason and Rob standing
outside underneath the awning. The voices started at this point
saying "what the fuck are they doing out front?! I know. They are
waiting out front so they can question you about where you have
been and what you have been doing.

Behind the Clouds

Steve had double parked the car, shut it off, took the keys with
him, stepped out and headed towards the bar. Although Steve was a
big man, Jason,who was six feet eight inches tall, and three-hundred
pounds, had a good six inches and fifty pounds on him. However, that
was of no consequence to Steve. As he approached them, Rob said
"what happened to you man? I saw you duck out the back. I thought
you were ditching me." "What the fuck! I was gone for fifteen
minutes and your up my ass! What are you spying on me for. Oh, no
wait. You're a fag aren't you!? A blazing cocksmoking fag. You and
this big stupid mule. I bet he's the pitcher and your the catcher!"
Steve ranted as he stood out in the rain.
Because of the loudness of the rain hitting the pavement, and the
front door to The Cut Throat being closed, no one heard this, exept
for a few passers by who thought nothing of it. Rob actually took
this with a grain of salt since he had seen Steve messed up before,
though not quite this bad(which was really saying something). "Just
go inside" Rob said patiently. He lightly pushed Jason aside so
Steve could go in. Steve gave both of them quick darting glances,
and the corners of his mouth curled up in a twisted maniacal grin.
He went inside in a flash.
Jason, who was not much of a contender tonight since he was
shitfaced, and unlike Steve was an invalid when heavily
intoxicated, said to Rob almost incomprehensibly, "what the hell is
up with him?". "He's got demons" Rob said plainly. As Steve entered
The Cut Throat, he noticed Christine and Carrie getting ready to
leave. "There they are! Don't let them get away" the thoughts
swirled in Steve's head. He slowly walked over to them as "Bark at
the Moon" was overheard on the jukebox. "Wait, don't leave without
me" he said. "I know I said I'd be right back, but as soon as you
asked me to go home with you I went to get my chariot, which now
awaits us out front." This was all said with a sweethearted
inflection that the girls suprisingly bought into.
This was the point that Steve's one-hundred and forty IQ(he had it
tested by one of the school psychologists after throwing a desk at
a nun in his senior year of high school) was used for evil and not
for good. The fact that moments earlier,he was very close to
ripping his best friends heart out of his chest, and now was fast
talking these two willing females into his car,gave Steve the
feeling of invincibility. The heavy amount of cocaine in his
bloodstream also had something to do with it. "The only thing left
for you to do is get these bitches into your car without anyone
else seeing it" the thoughts continued to swirl. "It is pouring
rain outside and strangers testimony will not hold up in court,
but your friends' sure will." Steve ordered up one last drink, his
usual, and even got Carrie and Christine a couple of beers.
While they were drinking up their last beers,Steve told Fred and
Laurie tp go and get Rob from outside. Steve knew that Jason was
not a problem because he was wasted. Upon asking Freddy however,
he noticed that he too was going to be praying to the porcelin
gods pretty soon. "One less body to worry about" Steve thought,
and he suddenly belted out a huge cackle that could be overheard
by any conversation occuring nearby. "Shit! Don't draw attention
to yourself you asshole" the thoughts swirled. "Ok Laurie, will
you go and get Rob for me?" "Sure, I'll be right back" Laurie
said. This was it! Rob grabbed both girls and slipped out the
backdoor.
The same backdoor that he slipped out of earlier to take a piss
among other things. Carrie and Christine were to drunk to
resist. He quickly moved down the end of the alley that would
lead them half a block away from the front of The Cut
Throat,where his car was still parked,and out of sight. They got
out to the street and headed hurriedly towards the Camaro. The
only obstacle left was if Laurie or Rob were standing out front.
Steve gave a furtive glance to The Cut Throat and to his relief
saw no one. He piled Christine and Carrie inside and got behind
the wheel.
After starting up the Camaro, he replayed the last two minutes
in his mind faster than any CD or DVD player ever could. He knew
that the few passers by on the streets were running with their
heads down or walking with umbrellas over their faces, and no
one,including the bartender, saw them leave. Steve quietly
shifted into drive and softly moved down West 4th street. He
turned the corner out of sight, with two drunk and willing
females, a gram of coke and an arsenal in his trunk.

to be continued........

Copyright 2004
Peter Cooper
www.petercooper.biz