Prettynosferatu in topic Teen
A DETECTIVE STORY
The metal door stands there, a silent threat. There's no going back. Fine. I don't have anything to go back to: courage and desperation are kissing cousins. My mind drifts back to Laura. She had gotten close to me, and I had let her, and now she is gone. I should come with a warning label.
I had done my best to keep people away, trying to wear the bottom of a bottle like armor, numbing everything with the little, terrible pills (Zolpidem: white, elongated; Clonazepam: small, yellow. Venlafaxine: pink, hexagonal. Paroxetine: white, small). For a while, it was good. I reeked of alcohol and walked through a chemical haze, safe. Safe from myself.
Then she walked in.
I should have turned her away right then and there. Nothing good in my life involves women, specially pretty ones. But she had her sob story, and I'm nothing if not a dumb white knight at heart. And boy, she knew how to play the damsel. Fighting back tears she laid it all out: missing teenage sister, bad choices, guilt. A cocktail made just for me. Michelle. She said her name was Michelle.
The rest had been a rush of bad places and worse impulses. What I can remember of it, anyway. And now here I am, in front of the cruel metal door. My last lead. The words of a junkie, head presses under my shoe. It's probably bullshit, but right now it's all I have.
His voice comes back to me as I open the door. A new drug. Kidnapped girls. Rich assholes buying them as slaves. Probably fantasy. A roach scurries away as I make my way down the stairs, each step just that little bit closer to hell. Black mold covers the brick walls. I'm guessing this operation might not be FDA-approved.
Yeah, laugh it up. There's no way this has a happy ending. Either it's all a fairy tale, and I'm all out of paths to follow, or this rabbit hole leads straight to the mouth of a demon. Fair enough. Let it have me. Let it finish it. But not before I find Michelle's sister. If I have to go out, I'm going out doing one goddamn thing right in my life.
Doors. Door after door after door, escorting me through the hallway. Red light seeps out from under them- and the sounds... women. Women... no, it's not pain. It has been a while since I've heard that sound, but the whores fake it well enough for it to be fresh in my memory. Moans. The noises of ecstasy. I force myself to remember. Did I take anything extra tonight? Not as far as I know, but reality and I haven't been on the best terms in the last decade or so: it might just left me, like everything else. Right. So I might be hallucinating this- that's never stopped me before. A door at the end of the hallway. It's little, but it's somewhere to go to. A North Star in this ocean of moaning and muttered obscenities.
Unlocked. Never a good sign.
The monitors show them, the girls inside the rooms. The Red Rooms. Machines are penetrating them with chronometrical tempo, a song of abuse and degradation. Their eyes are fixed on giant screens showing spirals, pornography, flashing words. And hooked to their arms, the pink, bright drug. The speakers come to life, a cacophony of mindless, drooling submission. “I'm just a hole... use your good girl... I worship cock... I'm a worthless piece of rapemeat...”
It was true. The Red Rooms. Where any woman can be turned into an obedient nymphomaniac. I've listened to the tales, but I always assumed-
“Hi, honey”
The voice delivers the finishing blow. Now I know this is a fucked up dream. Laura is gone. They took her from me. Behind every bullet, every drug binge, every bottle, that was the one anchoring truth: they took her from me.
It can't be her. It can't.
She hasn't aged a day. If anything she looks younger than the day we met, but it's her. Nothing could disguise those green eyes of hers, those eyes that greeted my mornings...
Perhaps I was wrong. This isn't hell. It's heaven. Laura and me, here, forever.
“Come on... ten years and you have nothing to say?”
She flirts and sways as she nears me, like a phantom. I can see the other girls on the screens. Laura...
I reach for my gun, and soon my two loves are facing each other. Laura doesn't seem phased at her husband pointing a little device of death towards her.
“You've been using that a lot, I hear”
“Explain. Now”
She laughs, and for a second I want nothing more than to freeze time, right then and there. An eternal laughter, like the echo of a church bell...
“I think it's obvious, isn't it? They made me a Good Girl. And Good Girls make more Good Girls. We're everywhere, love. Every city. The Red Room makes Good Girls. Happy girls”
“Sex slaves”
“Slaves? Not at all! The Red Room shows the truth. The truth of what we are. What we are for. Our true purpose. To serve. To please...”
The words drip out of her like honey. Every cell of my body wants her. Wants her NOW. I can feel the animal within banging against its bars. And they won't hold for long.
“Now we can be together. You, me, and all the Good Girls you want. Wouldn't you like that? To see me eat their young, sweet pussies? To see us share your cock, out tongues meeting each other as we suck and lick...”
Yes. I would like that. More than anything. No. It's wrong. These girls are victims. And This person is not Laura. Not anymore. Let it all end. Let it all end.
“Just put the gun down and I'll show you all I've lear-”
A phrase that will go unfinished, forever.
I feel nothing. Nothing at all. I lost her once already. I suppose it's becoming a habit. If I have to go, I'll go doing one thing right.
One thing right. Free the girls. Set this whole god-forsaken place on fire. Let it end.
A monitor flashes green. “Process complete”. The sound of a door opening. I rush to the hallway.
She stands there, like a naked picture of temptation. She smiles, drool still on her breasts. She caresses her young body with a contented sigh. Michelle's sister. Too late. I got here too late.
I tried to do one thing right, and I couldn't.
“Mmm... hi Daddy! What can I do to please you?”
I tried to do one thing right. I failed.
She pouts. “I want to be a Good Girl for Daddy!”
I tried to do one thing right. I fucked up.
“Fine. You want to be a Good Girl?” I ask. She nods, eager.
“Go out. Find your friends. Bring them here. Because Good Girls-”
“Make more Good Girls!” she shouts in delight.
I tried to do one thing right. Clearly “right” and me don't get along.
Guess it's time to give “wrong” a try.
The metal door stands there, a silent threat. There's no going back. Fine. I don't have anything to go back to: courage and desperation are kissing cousins. My mind drifts back to Laura. She had gotten close to me, and I had let her, and now she is gone. I should come with a warning label.
I had done my best to keep people away, trying to wear the bottom of a bottle like armor, numbing everything with the little, terrible pills (Zolpidem: white, elongated; Clonazepam: small, yellow. Venlafaxine: pink, hexagonal. Paroxetine: white, small). For a while, it was good. I reeked of alcohol and walked through a chemical haze, safe. Safe from myself.
Then she walked in.
I should have turned her away right then and there. Nothing good in my life involves women, specially pretty ones. But she had her sob story, and I'm nothing if not a dumb white knight at heart. And boy, she knew how to play the damsel. Fighting back tears she laid it all out: missing teenage sister, bad choices, guilt. A cocktail made just for me. Michelle. She said her name was Michelle.
The rest had been a rush of bad places and worse impulses. What I can remember of it, anyway. And now here I am, in front of the cruel metal door. My last lead. The words of a junkie, head presses under my shoe. It's probably bullshit, but right now it's all I have.
His voice comes back to me as I open the door. A new drug. Kidnapped girls. Rich assholes buying them as slaves. Probably fantasy. A roach scurries away as I make my way down the stairs, each step just that little bit closer to hell. Black mold covers the brick walls. I'm guessing this operation might not be FDA-approved.
Yeah, laugh it up. There's no way this has a happy ending. Either it's all a fairy tale, and I'm all out of paths to follow, or this rabbit hole leads straight to the mouth of a demon. Fair enough. Let it have me. Let it finish it. But not before I find Michelle's sister. If I have to go out, I'm going out doing one goddamn thing right in my life.
Doors. Door after door after door, escorting me through the hallway. Red light seeps out from under them- and the sounds... women. Women... no, it's not pain. It has been a while since I've heard that sound, but the whores fake it well enough for it to be fresh in my memory. Moans. The noises of ecstasy. I force myself to remember. Did I take anything extra tonight? Not as far as I know, but reality and I haven't been on the best terms in the last decade or so: it might just left me, like everything else. Right. So I might be hallucinating this- that's never stopped me before. A door at the end of the hallway. It's little, but it's somewhere to go to. A North Star in this ocean of moaning and muttered obscenities.
Unlocked. Never a good sign.
The monitors show them, the girls inside the rooms. The Red Rooms. Machines are penetrating them with chronometrical tempo, a song of abuse and degradation. Their eyes are fixed on giant screens showing spirals, pornography, flashing words. And hooked to their arms, the pink, bright drug. The speakers come to life, a cacophony of mindless, drooling submission. “I'm just a hole... use your good girl... I worship cock... I'm a worthless piece of rapemeat...”
It was true. The Red Rooms. Where any woman can be turned into an obedient nymphomaniac. I've listened to the tales, but I always assumed-
“Hi, honey”
The voice delivers the finishing blow. Now I know this is a fucked up dream. Laura is gone. They took her from me. Behind every bullet, every drug binge, every bottle, that was the one anchoring truth: they took her from me.
It can't be her. It can't.
She hasn't aged a day. If anything she looks younger than the day we met, but it's her. Nothing could disguise those green eyes of hers, those eyes that greeted my mornings...
Perhaps I was wrong. This isn't hell. It's heaven. Laura and me, here, forever.
“Come on... ten years and you have nothing to say?”
She flirts and sways as she nears me, like a phantom. I can see the other girls on the screens. Laura...
I reach for my gun, and soon my two loves are facing each other. Laura doesn't seem phased at her husband pointing a little device of death towards her.
“You've been using that a lot, I hear”
“Explain. Now”
She laughs, and for a second I want nothing more than to freeze time, right then and there. An eternal laughter, like the echo of a church bell...
“I think it's obvious, isn't it? They made me a Good Girl. And Good Girls make more Good Girls. We're everywhere, love. Every city. The Red Room makes Good Girls. Happy girls”
“Sex slaves”
“Slaves? Not at all! The Red Room shows the truth. The truth of what we are. What we are for. Our true purpose. To serve. To please...”
The words drip out of her like honey. Every cell of my body wants her. Wants her NOW. I can feel the animal within banging against its bars. And they won't hold for long.
“Now we can be together. You, me, and all the Good Girls you want. Wouldn't you like that? To see me eat their young, sweet pussies? To see us share your cock, out tongues meeting each other as we suck and lick...”
Yes. I would like that. More than anything. No. It's wrong. These girls are victims. And This person is not Laura. Not anymore. Let it all end. Let it all end.
“Just put the gun down and I'll show you all I've lear-”
A phrase that will go unfinished, forever.
I feel nothing. Nothing at all. I lost her once already. I suppose it's becoming a habit. If I have to go, I'll go doing one thing right.
One thing right. Free the girls. Set this whole god-forsaken place on fire. Let it end.
A monitor flashes green. “Process complete”. The sound of a door opening. I rush to the hallway.
She stands there, like a naked picture of temptation. She smiles, drool still on her breasts. She caresses her young body with a contented sigh. Michelle's sister. Too late. I got here too late.
I tried to do one thing right, and I couldn't.
“Mmm... hi Daddy! What can I do to please you?”
I tried to do one thing right. I failed.
She pouts. “I want to be a Good Girl for Daddy!”
I tried to do one thing right. I fucked up.
“Fine. You want to be a Good Girl?” I ask. She nods, eager.
“Go out. Find your friends. Bring them here. Because Good Girls-”
“Make more Good Girls!” she shouts in delight.
I tried to do one thing right. Clearly “right” and me don't get along.
Guess it's time to give “wrong” a try.
