Prelude

This story contains some graphic, possibly offensive imagery. I'm warning you beforehand. Proceed with caution.

Sully was having a bad day.

It started when the vending machine at the motel ran out of cigarettes. If there was ever a day when he needed a smoke, this was it. But that was Sully’s life in a nutshell; never a smoke when he needed one.

And then there was the rampant sense of paranoia. Maybe it was the lack of nicotine, or maybe it was the all day Judge Judy marathon that he was forced to watch because the receiver was busted on the TV. Something about that old bitch made him nervous. It was her forehead, Sully supposed. Something about her sweaty brow.

Sweaty was an operative word with him that day, because of course the AC was busted. It was a cheap “no tell mo-tel”, so the inconvenience was almost to be expected. But it was necessity. Sully like he privacy that such places of ill repute provided. You could literally sign your name Janet Jackson on the register so long as you paid cash. And the toothless hick behind the counter would just smile and say “Thank you Ms Jackson.” But honestly the main reason he was there was because it was cheap. The sedatives had cost quite a bit thanks to the rising costs of healthcare, and he was low on cash this week. It was literally a choice between eating and air conditioning.

So yeah, being cooped up in the motel with no smokes, no AC and only Judge Forehead to occupy him was making Sully a might squirrely. Of course there was always the girl. Damn she was hot. But he’d already had a few go’s on her. And while Sully was, he supposed, quite a Man... in the end he was still a man, and needed some time to recharge. And anyway, the mid-day heat would have made the act unbearable. She was dirty enough as it is.

It was about the time a man kicked in the door that Sully realized he wasn’t all that paranoid. He was smart. And a smart man knows when he’s about to lose.

Of course someone found him. Sully had known it would happen for weeks, as much as he tired to convince himself otherwise. He’d made a mess of the last one. He’d broken the rules. “When you break the rules, you have to pay.”; his mother always told him. And so Sully always lived by the rules... well, the ones he’d set for himself. But that day he couldn’t help himself. She was so damned pretty. She was a cute little tomboy with over-alls, pigtails and light-blonde hair. The pig tails had done it for him. He got overly excited, and when he was choking her.. well. Her blue eyes ran bloodshot as the life choked out of her. When he was done, Sully wondered if she’d enjoyed it as much as he had.

Unfortunately, Sully wasn’t used to killing. She was his first; a fact of which, Sully thought the little bitch should feel honored in whatever pit of Hell she found herself in. Unprepared as she was, all he could think to do was pour some bleach on her and dump the body in the river.

He should have laid low and let things cool down for a while. And he’d planned to. That is, until he saw this one. She was even prettier than the last one, and he knew he had to have her. Red hair and a soccer uniform. Red hair! The rarest of beasts! What man could resist? None, he knew. A few drugs and a room later, and the bitch was raring to go. And this time, he would take special care to control himself. No more breaking the rules, no matter how hot the piece. Not that it mattered now.

It might have even been worth it to kill her.

The door damn near exploded when the man kicked it in. In fact he’d kicked it in half, the top barely hanging by it’s hinges. Sully had expected cops, but he clearly wasn’t. Cops don’t wear black Armani and red silk ties. If it weren’t for the fact he was built like a professional wrestler, Sully might have assumed he was a business man. He didn’t even have a gun. But honestly, he clearly didn’t need one.

“Don’t. Move.” And Sully didn’t.

The Suit looked over at the girl, unconscious but breathing. See? He wasn’t all that bad! He didn’t kill this one. And the last one was an accident. They would all see. But he just kept staring silently at the girl for a long time. The silence was painful. But when the Suit finally turned his eyes to Sully, it was worse.

Sully could tell from the look in his eyes that he didn’t understand. Fucking puritanical fascist. The Suit couldn’t see the beauty of what Sully was doing. He was just showing them the Truth. They were all whores, even when they’re young. He was just giving them what they wanted. So he’d killed one... so what? In the end it’s just another dead whore. What’s one more?

He’d tried to explain to the brute what he was doing. Sully had even offered him a turn on the girl, which he felt was more than fair. What kind of man turns down a red head? Probably gay, Sully figured. The offer only seemed to enrage the Suit even more. He’d had it right the first time... clearly a fascist.

“Mother FUCKER.” Sully thought that was uncalled for. Only a simpleton resorted to name calling. And anyway, he’d never fucked an old one.

The Suit grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The force of Sully’s body hitting it knocked a painting of a sail boat onto the floor, glass shattering everywhere. His hands were massive and strong as steel, but clean and manicured. His grip was steel as he choked the life out of Sully. He struggled. Kicked and swatted with all of his might, but to no avail. For all his effort, he hadn’t even managed to rip the Armani. Sully’s face was flushed red as the man slowly crushed his windpipe. Blooded flowed from his nose as if it were toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. There were police sirens in the background, but they wouldn’t arrive in time. It seemed to him there truly was no such thing as justice. Finally after much struggle and a world of pain, Sully stopped moving. The last thing he’d seen was the look in the man’s eyes. It wasn’t satisfaction; it was pure, unfiltered hate. And that, Sully supposed, is what a monster looked like.

The man let his body fall to the floor like dead weight. The girl was unconscious, but still breathing. Perhaps she wouldn’t even remember what the bastard had done to her. He’d thanked God for small favors, if God could even be said to be involved in such affairs. He went to the bathroom to wash his hands and splash some water on his face.

The boys in blue were about a minute away from busting in on him and the dead body. So he sat away from the girl in a chair by the window. He lit his last cigarette and took a long, slow puff; blowing it into the air. Vincent was having a bad day.

The story is called Monster. It may or may not be a the prelude to a larger story starring Vincent. I apologize as to the graphic nature of it, but that is essentially the point. Obviously I did not intend to glorify child molestation, which I personally believe deserves the death penalty. I would appreciate any feedback as to how you reacted and how far I went.