Total Immersion, page 24
He was unable to observe much around him as he was surrounded by old, rusted, metal shipping containers. He found himself leaning against a three-foot wide steel pole, and cautiously peered around it. He assumed this is where Sam had left off and was curious what he may have missed previously.
Just as his face made its way around the pole, a burst of gunfire sent him flying back behind the thick column of steel. He felt trickles of sweat form on his forehead. He pumped the shotgun, spun back around the pole, and fired a round at his mysterious assailant. He took cover and reloaded the 12-gauge.
In the distance, he heard buoys ringing their bells as they were violently tossed by the sea, along with the distant sound of ships blaring their horns.
“Hey, my friend! We meet again!” Dopey called out from somewhere nearby.
Tommy nervously looked around, trying to get a sense of where the voice was coming from amidst the rows of towering structures.
“You should know that you are going to die like a fucking pig here,” Dopey added as Tommy moved along the side of the graffiti-ridden container, his shotgun leading the way.
“I don’t think so, asshole!” Tommy yelled back, darting around the left side of the container.
“I have you outmanned and outgunned!” Dopey replied.
Tommy dropped onto his stomach and peered around the large, metal box.
From this position, he could make out an abandoned warehouse. He glanced around, hoping to spot Dopey or his friend, but the only movement was from a seemingly endless sea of mice and rats that ran in large packs from container to container.
Not wanting to stay in one place too long, Tommy decided to make a run for the warehouse. His only intention was to see what Dopey looked like and get another eyeful of Hans (whom he had seen briefly when Sam blew his legs off during Tommy’s last training session), not just play a game of cat-and-mouse with these killers.
Tommy stood, and just as he was about to make his mad dash, he heard the unmistakable sound of a clip being inserted into a gun. The noise came from directly above.
As he glanced up, he found himself staring at a smiling Dopey, standing on the roof of the adjoining container holding a semi-automatic Uzi, that big Irish Cross and evil leprechaun tattoo decorating his hairless chest. He was shorter, and older, than Tommy imagined.
Dopey lit up with an evil grin. “I thought you were better than this. Too easy. No challenge for me today,” Dopey said, the Uzi pointed right at Tommy.
“Well, the day isn’t over yet, you sick fuck,” Tommy calmly replied.
“Hey, sticks and stones, man. Sticks and stones.”
Tommy was cornered with nowhere to run, the shotgun dangling at his side. Any attempt to raise his weapon would surely cause Dopey to waste him.
“Where’s your partner?” Tommy asked, hoping to prolong the conversation.
“So cliché, this small talk. Like a bad movie. I fucking hate small talk,” Dopey said, and tightened his finger around the trigger.
Tommy was seconds away from calling it quits and pulling the kill switch, when a rat scampered up Dopey’s bell-bottom jeans. That moment of distraction was all Tommy needed as he lifted the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
The buckshot hit Dopey square in the face, blowing away his skin, hair, and teeth to smithereens. He was still standing, but faceless, a red blob of bloody flesh left sitting on top of his neck.
Dopey’s body tumbled off the container and landed flat on his back. Tommy calmly reloaded, stood over the killer of Jenny Knight, aimed the shotgun at his genitals, and fired one shot. The blast separated Dopey’s legs from his waist. A spray of hot blood spewed across Tommy’s face. He promptly wiped at it with his sweaty hand, which only managed to smear the red blood across his glistening skin.
Tommy turned away from the carnage and, still hoping to catch a glimpse of Hans, scaled up the container.
Climbing onto the top, he surveyed the scenery around him. From this vantage point, twenty feet off the ground, the entire area was eerily deserted. A slew of weather-beaten warehouses, eighteen-wheelers, massive cranes, and acres upon acres of containers stretched out for miles. Directly to his right, a massive Chinese cargo ship sat moored in the water. He felt a warm ocean breeze kick up around him. The sounds of the buoys continued to ring out in the distance as Tommy scanned the area for any sign of Hans.
Maybe this program’s only star attraction is Dopey, he thought.
He was ready to exit when the sound of a powerful motor broke the silence. It seemed to echo from every corner of the dock. Tommy spun a full three-sixty but saw nothing that would indicate where that booming sound originated from.
The sound grew closer, and as he looked up, his answer was right on top of him.
A monstrous Super Post Panamax crane used to lift containers on and off the ships swung around. Its gigantic boom hovered directly over the container.
The spreader—used to lock on to and lift containers—suddenly dropped towards him.
Tommy vaulted across the container, narrowly escaping a bone-crushing death. As he landed on his stomach, the shotgun slipped from his hands, and slid off the edge.
Tommy spun onto his back as the massive spreader latched onto the side of the container. The sound of the motors intensified, and the crane easily lifted the container off the ground.
Tommy stood and grabbed onto the arm of the spreader, managing to balance himself on the now-moving container. In moments, he was sixty feet off the ground.
A bright, golden sun shimmered off the picture-perfect ocean.
Tommy popped the safety latch on his holster and removed the .357 Magnum as the container soared away from the dock, heading out over the water.
Tommy spun around and got his first glimpse of the glass-enclosed booth, which was perched high atop the crane’s mammoth steel structure.
Tommy moved the .357 from his left hand into his right. Desperate to line up a shot, he jammed his black boots under a thick, metal wire that ran along the length of the container. Feeling momentarily stable, he lifted the powerful handgun, and took aim. He gently tightened his finger around the trigger. When he spotted the long arms and gaunt face of Marfan Syndrome Hans, he fired.
The bullet struck the left-hand corner of the control booth, shattering the thick glass. Hans covered his face as shards of glass sliced into his forearms. Droplets of dark, red blood seeped out of his skin. He lowered his grotesquely large hands away from his face and hit the emergency stop button on the control panel.
The crane’s movement came to a sudden stop, swinging the container hard to the left, and jerking it back even harder to the right. Tommy felt the wire across his shoes tighten and was grateful he was wearing steel-toed boots. He quickly lined up another shot, now holding the 357 tightly with both hands. He took a deep, calming breath, and fired three shots in quick succession.
The first two bullets missed their mark, but lucky number three entered Hans’ forehead just off the hairline and exited milliseconds later out of the back of his head. Brain and blood mixed to form a thick jelly-like substance that exploded against the back wall of the booth.
Amazingly, Hans was left standing, his eyes snapped wide open, a horrified expression etched on what remained of his bloody face. Half his skull was scattered around the small booth.
Tommy tossed the gun off the side and threw his arms up in the air. “Yes! Yes!” he screamed out victoriously. “Right between the eyes! Right between your fucking eyes!”
Tommy remembered first hearing about the case when he was eighteen. How these two monsters had brutally murdered the pregnant wife of a celebrated homicide detective.
Now, here he was, eight years later, and Tommy Fincher was hanging out in that very detective’s home, close to becoming the great man’s partner, and violently eliminating his wife’s murderers.
Life is fucking strange, he thought, and let loose one more victory scream.
Inside the crane’s control booth, Hans’ body wobbled. A second later, his knees caved in, and he fell face-first onto the control panel. As his head made contact, his nose smashed into a small, red button, which released the spreader holding the container.
Tommy had no time to react as the container dropped one hundred feet, slamming into the water below.
[][][]
Inside Sam’s dead daughter’s bedroom, Tommy’s body, strapped tight to the chair, violently shook from side to side, his wrists and ankles held firmly in place by the steel cuffs.
[][][]
Back in the program, Tommy stood on top of the container. It bobbed up and down on the water’s surface. His steel-toed boots were jammed under the thick wire, and his left ankle was seized with a throbbing pain that shot all the way up his leg. He was dazed, and soaking wet. Blood poured out of his nose, and his head pounded so hard he was unable to focus. He felt the freezing water up to his waist, and knew the container was sinking fast.
[][][]
In the bedroom, Tommy’s finger pulled the trigger again and again and again.
[][][]
Tommy knew something had gone terribly wrong. “It’s just a game. I’m playing a game,” he mumbled in a panicked whisper as a wave crashed over him, the putrid saltwater invading his mouth and nose.
The container’s descent quickened. Tommy dropped to his knees and attempted to yank his steel-toed boots out from underneath the powerful grasp of the wire. Tommy grabbed the bottom of his right leg and pulled with everything he had, praying he could dislodge his foot.
He was soon neck deep. A rush of saltwater poured into his mouth. He gagged as his stomach muscles tightened.
Just seconds before the container slipped under, Tommy took a deep breath of air, and disappeared from the surface.
Once underwater, the container sank like a stone, taking Tommy along for the hellish ride.
[][][]
Back in the room, strapped tight to the Total Immersion chair, Tommy’s fingers trembled as his body convulsed. His head, hidden behind the heavy helmet, shot upward and fell back hard against the headrest. His index finger continued pulling the trigger, trying to engage the kill switch.
[][][]
The container came to rest on the bottom of the ocean. It slammed into the sea floor, stirring a cloud of sand that further darkened the already murky waters.
Tommy reached down and tried to release himself from the deadly grasp of that wire, an animal caught in the hunter’s trap. All he could hear was the intense pounding of his troubled heart. He felt the blood coursing through his veins.
He felt he would implode.
It’s a program. It’s not real. None of this is real. It’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. The water isn’t water. Nothing exists.
His vision pulsed black.
You’re in Sam’s house. In his bedroom. Strapped to his chair.
You’re not drowning. You can’t drown.
It’s a machine. It’s a program. A shiny, silver disc.
It’s not reality!
Pull the trigger. If you pull the trigger, all this pain will stop.
Tommy could no longer hold his breath.
OPEN YOUR MOUTH, he thought. OPEN YOUR MOUTH AND BREATHE.
Unable to hold out any longer, he opened his mouth, took in a deep breath, and a massive burst of saltwater poured down his throat.
[][][]
Back in the room, Tommy’s body frantically thrashed, the steel cuffs cutting into his flesh. The twin laser beams stayed mercilessly focused into his eyes, refusing to release their user.
[][][]
Deep under the water, a tremendous pounding filled his head, like a jackhammer meticulously cracking his brain into dust.
His eardrums simultaneously exploded.
His eyes bulged from their sockets, causing instantaneous blindness and filling his raging mind with a horrible, deathly silence.
Dreamlike images of his mother filled his thoughts, gracing him with uncompromising peace. They came in a series of still photos, and he heard her call out his name over and over.
As the images faded, her sweet voice faded along with them.
forty—four
Things change, Travis thought as he entered Kim’s stately elevator, dressed to kill, a bright smile plastered on his handsome face.
He called out, “Forty-five, please.”
A sultry voice repeated, “Forty-five.”
The elevator began its silent ascent and Travis took a seat on the oak bench.
The last couple of weeks had been nothing short of spectacular. Their relationship was back on track. Their sex life reached new heights by the day.
On Wednesday night, the governor threw a re-election party. Kim and Travis had been invited as his personal guests of honor. The evening ended back at Kim’s penthouse, where they made love for hours, showered together, then made love one more time.
On the hero front, he successfully eliminated the evil Clarence Franklin Whiteford without so much as a hitch. He even sliced off a few more limbs just to keep Kim extra happy.
She was, as expected, ecstatic with his work. After hearing the ghastly details regarding the ugly demise of that degenerate pervert, she rewarded him with a gourmet meal she’d slaved over all day. Later, she entranced him with an ultra-erotic striptease set to Cardi B’s “WAP,” an oldie but a goody, and a personal favorite of Kim’s. The remainder of the night was spent cuddling under a blanket next to the roaring fireplace, sipping a smooth brandy. He felt her soft skin caress his body, her warm breath gently wafting against the nape of his neck. It was in those quiet, romantic moments that his love for her was complete.
“Forty-five,” the sultry voice announced.
Travis stepped out of the elevator. As he entered the foyer, he stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes went to the floor, where the black-and-white marble tiles had been replaced by a series of little, yellow bricks. They started off small, and circled and wove around, growing larger and larger, and eventually creating a golden path, which led through the foyer and down the hallway.
“Kim?” Travis called out as his foot touched the start of the yellow path. “Honey? Sweetie?”
There was no response, and then a strange voice called out, “Follow the yellow brick road.”
“Follow the yellow brick road?” Travis repeated, smirking.
As he took his walk along the famous pathway, the music swelled, and the chorus sang out, “Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick road . . .”
The music grew louder with each step as he followed the path down the long hallway. “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz . . . If ever a Wiz there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because, because, because, because, because, because . . . because of the wonderful things he does . . .”
The yellow bricks came to a stop at the imposing door of the master bedroom.
Travis placed his hands against the door, and slowly pushed it open.
A mini Emerald City shone brightly inside the confines of the large bedroom. Moving images of painted horses pulling carriages played on the walls, and every few seconds, their colors miraculously changed. The ceiling was transformed into a crystal-clear blue sky, dotted with white, puffy clouds shaped like the Tin Man, the Lion, and the Scarecrow. At the far end of the room, an immense spinning emerald emitted rays of brilliant green light, which highlighted the king-sized, emerald-shaped bed complete with dark green satin sheets.
“Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho! And a couple of tra-la-las! That’s how we work the day away in the merry old land of Oz. We get up at twelve and start to work at one. Take an hour for lunch and then at two we’re done. Jolly good fun!”
Travis soaked in the extraordinary sight.
Suddenly, the music cut off as a great puff of black smoke appeared in the center of the bed. When the dense smoke cleared, Kim had magically appeared, dressed as Glinda, the Good Witch of the North. Her pink costume varied only slightly. The two glaring differences were that Kim’s breasts and ass were completely visible. Those areas of the dress had been carved out, and instead of a magic wand, this nasty witch carried a black riding crop.
It was the entrance to beat all entrances.
Travis clapped away, shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!”
Kim raised her eyebrows in a self-mocking salute to her genius, and asked in a high-pitched voice, “Are you a good witch? Or a bad witch?”
Travis, bathed in fabulous green light, responded with a sneering, “Oh, I’m a bad witch, baby.”
“Dorothy!” Kim called out. “Bring this badass witch before me.”
A small hand fell onto Travis’ shoulder. He spun around and came face to face with Judy Garland. She looked older than she appeared in his favorite movie, and from the neck up, it was Dorothy all right, but the body was a different story altogether. This Dorothy sported a black dress and leather miniskirt, her breasts teasing out of the ultra-tight outfit. The famed ruby slippers were replaced by three-inch ruby pumps.
Travis stared at her sweet face as she smiled and said most innocently, “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Dorothy produced a black bullwhip and wrapped it tightly around Travis’ neck. Before he knew it, her pierced tongue was probing the inner sanctum of his mouth. His cock swelled, and with the whip still wrapped around his neck, she proceeded to pull him over to the emerald bed.
Travis glanced up. Kim towered over him, standing majestically at the edge of the bed. With a nod of her head, she signaled Dorothy to unbutton his shirt.
“And when do I get to meet the Wizard?” Travis asked as Dorothy bit down on his now-exposed nipple.
“You, my dear, are the great and powerful Wizard, and we are here to serve only you.”
Just as his face made its way around the pole, a burst of gunfire sent him flying back behind the thick column of steel. He felt trickles of sweat form on his forehead. He pumped the shotgun, spun back around the pole, and fired a round at his mysterious assailant. He took cover and reloaded the 12-gauge.
In the distance, he heard buoys ringing their bells as they were violently tossed by the sea, along with the distant sound of ships blaring their horns.
“Hey, my friend! We meet again!” Dopey called out from somewhere nearby.
Tommy nervously looked around, trying to get a sense of where the voice was coming from amidst the rows of towering structures.
“You should know that you are going to die like a fucking pig here,” Dopey added as Tommy moved along the side of the graffiti-ridden container, his shotgun leading the way.
“I don’t think so, asshole!” Tommy yelled back, darting around the left side of the container.
“I have you outmanned and outgunned!” Dopey replied.
Tommy dropped onto his stomach and peered around the large, metal box.
From this position, he could make out an abandoned warehouse. He glanced around, hoping to spot Dopey or his friend, but the only movement was from a seemingly endless sea of mice and rats that ran in large packs from container to container.
Not wanting to stay in one place too long, Tommy decided to make a run for the warehouse. His only intention was to see what Dopey looked like and get another eyeful of Hans (whom he had seen briefly when Sam blew his legs off during Tommy’s last training session), not just play a game of cat-and-mouse with these killers.
Tommy stood, and just as he was about to make his mad dash, he heard the unmistakable sound of a clip being inserted into a gun. The noise came from directly above.
As he glanced up, he found himself staring at a smiling Dopey, standing on the roof of the adjoining container holding a semi-automatic Uzi, that big Irish Cross and evil leprechaun tattoo decorating his hairless chest. He was shorter, and older, than Tommy imagined.
Dopey lit up with an evil grin. “I thought you were better than this. Too easy. No challenge for me today,” Dopey said, the Uzi pointed right at Tommy.
“Well, the day isn’t over yet, you sick fuck,” Tommy calmly replied.
“Hey, sticks and stones, man. Sticks and stones.”
Tommy was cornered with nowhere to run, the shotgun dangling at his side. Any attempt to raise his weapon would surely cause Dopey to waste him.
“Where’s your partner?” Tommy asked, hoping to prolong the conversation.
“So cliché, this small talk. Like a bad movie. I fucking hate small talk,” Dopey said, and tightened his finger around the trigger.
Tommy was seconds away from calling it quits and pulling the kill switch, when a rat scampered up Dopey’s bell-bottom jeans. That moment of distraction was all Tommy needed as he lifted the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
The buckshot hit Dopey square in the face, blowing away his skin, hair, and teeth to smithereens. He was still standing, but faceless, a red blob of bloody flesh left sitting on top of his neck.
Dopey’s body tumbled off the container and landed flat on his back. Tommy calmly reloaded, stood over the killer of Jenny Knight, aimed the shotgun at his genitals, and fired one shot. The blast separated Dopey’s legs from his waist. A spray of hot blood spewed across Tommy’s face. He promptly wiped at it with his sweaty hand, which only managed to smear the red blood across his glistening skin.
Tommy turned away from the carnage and, still hoping to catch a glimpse of Hans, scaled up the container.
Climbing onto the top, he surveyed the scenery around him. From this vantage point, twenty feet off the ground, the entire area was eerily deserted. A slew of weather-beaten warehouses, eighteen-wheelers, massive cranes, and acres upon acres of containers stretched out for miles. Directly to his right, a massive Chinese cargo ship sat moored in the water. He felt a warm ocean breeze kick up around him. The sounds of the buoys continued to ring out in the distance as Tommy scanned the area for any sign of Hans.
Maybe this program’s only star attraction is Dopey, he thought.
He was ready to exit when the sound of a powerful motor broke the silence. It seemed to echo from every corner of the dock. Tommy spun a full three-sixty but saw nothing that would indicate where that booming sound originated from.
The sound grew closer, and as he looked up, his answer was right on top of him.
A monstrous Super Post Panamax crane used to lift containers on and off the ships swung around. Its gigantic boom hovered directly over the container.
The spreader—used to lock on to and lift containers—suddenly dropped towards him.
Tommy vaulted across the container, narrowly escaping a bone-crushing death. As he landed on his stomach, the shotgun slipped from his hands, and slid off the edge.
Tommy spun onto his back as the massive spreader latched onto the side of the container. The sound of the motors intensified, and the crane easily lifted the container off the ground.
Tommy stood and grabbed onto the arm of the spreader, managing to balance himself on the now-moving container. In moments, he was sixty feet off the ground.
A bright, golden sun shimmered off the picture-perfect ocean.
Tommy popped the safety latch on his holster and removed the .357 Magnum as the container soared away from the dock, heading out over the water.
Tommy spun around and got his first glimpse of the glass-enclosed booth, which was perched high atop the crane’s mammoth steel structure.
Tommy moved the .357 from his left hand into his right. Desperate to line up a shot, he jammed his black boots under a thick, metal wire that ran along the length of the container. Feeling momentarily stable, he lifted the powerful handgun, and took aim. He gently tightened his finger around the trigger. When he spotted the long arms and gaunt face of Marfan Syndrome Hans, he fired.
The bullet struck the left-hand corner of the control booth, shattering the thick glass. Hans covered his face as shards of glass sliced into his forearms. Droplets of dark, red blood seeped out of his skin. He lowered his grotesquely large hands away from his face and hit the emergency stop button on the control panel.
The crane’s movement came to a sudden stop, swinging the container hard to the left, and jerking it back even harder to the right. Tommy felt the wire across his shoes tighten and was grateful he was wearing steel-toed boots. He quickly lined up another shot, now holding the 357 tightly with both hands. He took a deep, calming breath, and fired three shots in quick succession.
The first two bullets missed their mark, but lucky number three entered Hans’ forehead just off the hairline and exited milliseconds later out of the back of his head. Brain and blood mixed to form a thick jelly-like substance that exploded against the back wall of the booth.
Amazingly, Hans was left standing, his eyes snapped wide open, a horrified expression etched on what remained of his bloody face. Half his skull was scattered around the small booth.
Tommy tossed the gun off the side and threw his arms up in the air. “Yes! Yes!” he screamed out victoriously. “Right between the eyes! Right between your fucking eyes!”
Tommy remembered first hearing about the case when he was eighteen. How these two monsters had brutally murdered the pregnant wife of a celebrated homicide detective.
Now, here he was, eight years later, and Tommy Fincher was hanging out in that very detective’s home, close to becoming the great man’s partner, and violently eliminating his wife’s murderers.
Life is fucking strange, he thought, and let loose one more victory scream.
Inside the crane’s control booth, Hans’ body wobbled. A second later, his knees caved in, and he fell face-first onto the control panel. As his head made contact, his nose smashed into a small, red button, which released the spreader holding the container.
Tommy had no time to react as the container dropped one hundred feet, slamming into the water below.
[][][]
Inside Sam’s dead daughter’s bedroom, Tommy’s body, strapped tight to the chair, violently shook from side to side, his wrists and ankles held firmly in place by the steel cuffs.
[][][]
Back in the program, Tommy stood on top of the container. It bobbed up and down on the water’s surface. His steel-toed boots were jammed under the thick wire, and his left ankle was seized with a throbbing pain that shot all the way up his leg. He was dazed, and soaking wet. Blood poured out of his nose, and his head pounded so hard he was unable to focus. He felt the freezing water up to his waist, and knew the container was sinking fast.
[][][]
In the bedroom, Tommy’s finger pulled the trigger again and again and again.
[][][]
Tommy knew something had gone terribly wrong. “It’s just a game. I’m playing a game,” he mumbled in a panicked whisper as a wave crashed over him, the putrid saltwater invading his mouth and nose.
The container’s descent quickened. Tommy dropped to his knees and attempted to yank his steel-toed boots out from underneath the powerful grasp of the wire. Tommy grabbed the bottom of his right leg and pulled with everything he had, praying he could dislodge his foot.
He was soon neck deep. A rush of saltwater poured into his mouth. He gagged as his stomach muscles tightened.
Just seconds before the container slipped under, Tommy took a deep breath of air, and disappeared from the surface.
Once underwater, the container sank like a stone, taking Tommy along for the hellish ride.
[][][]
Back in the room, strapped tight to the Total Immersion chair, Tommy’s fingers trembled as his body convulsed. His head, hidden behind the heavy helmet, shot upward and fell back hard against the headrest. His index finger continued pulling the trigger, trying to engage the kill switch.
[][][]
The container came to rest on the bottom of the ocean. It slammed into the sea floor, stirring a cloud of sand that further darkened the already murky waters.
Tommy reached down and tried to release himself from the deadly grasp of that wire, an animal caught in the hunter’s trap. All he could hear was the intense pounding of his troubled heart. He felt the blood coursing through his veins.
He felt he would implode.
It’s a program. It’s not real. None of this is real. It’s a dream. It’s a nightmare. The water isn’t water. Nothing exists.
His vision pulsed black.
You’re in Sam’s house. In his bedroom. Strapped to his chair.
You’re not drowning. You can’t drown.
It’s a machine. It’s a program. A shiny, silver disc.
It’s not reality!
Pull the trigger. If you pull the trigger, all this pain will stop.
Tommy could no longer hold his breath.
OPEN YOUR MOUTH, he thought. OPEN YOUR MOUTH AND BREATHE.
Unable to hold out any longer, he opened his mouth, took in a deep breath, and a massive burst of saltwater poured down his throat.
[][][]
Back in the room, Tommy’s body frantically thrashed, the steel cuffs cutting into his flesh. The twin laser beams stayed mercilessly focused into his eyes, refusing to release their user.
[][][]
Deep under the water, a tremendous pounding filled his head, like a jackhammer meticulously cracking his brain into dust.
His eardrums simultaneously exploded.
His eyes bulged from their sockets, causing instantaneous blindness and filling his raging mind with a horrible, deathly silence.
Dreamlike images of his mother filled his thoughts, gracing him with uncompromising peace. They came in a series of still photos, and he heard her call out his name over and over.
As the images faded, her sweet voice faded along with them.
forty—four
Things change, Travis thought as he entered Kim’s stately elevator, dressed to kill, a bright smile plastered on his handsome face.
He called out, “Forty-five, please.”
A sultry voice repeated, “Forty-five.”
The elevator began its silent ascent and Travis took a seat on the oak bench.
The last couple of weeks had been nothing short of spectacular. Their relationship was back on track. Their sex life reached new heights by the day.
On Wednesday night, the governor threw a re-election party. Kim and Travis had been invited as his personal guests of honor. The evening ended back at Kim’s penthouse, where they made love for hours, showered together, then made love one more time.
On the hero front, he successfully eliminated the evil Clarence Franklin Whiteford without so much as a hitch. He even sliced off a few more limbs just to keep Kim extra happy.
She was, as expected, ecstatic with his work. After hearing the ghastly details regarding the ugly demise of that degenerate pervert, she rewarded him with a gourmet meal she’d slaved over all day. Later, she entranced him with an ultra-erotic striptease set to Cardi B’s “WAP,” an oldie but a goody, and a personal favorite of Kim’s. The remainder of the night was spent cuddling under a blanket next to the roaring fireplace, sipping a smooth brandy. He felt her soft skin caress his body, her warm breath gently wafting against the nape of his neck. It was in those quiet, romantic moments that his love for her was complete.
“Forty-five,” the sultry voice announced.
Travis stepped out of the elevator. As he entered the foyer, he stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes went to the floor, where the black-and-white marble tiles had been replaced by a series of little, yellow bricks. They started off small, and circled and wove around, growing larger and larger, and eventually creating a golden path, which led through the foyer and down the hallway.
“Kim?” Travis called out as his foot touched the start of the yellow path. “Honey? Sweetie?”
There was no response, and then a strange voice called out, “Follow the yellow brick road.”
“Follow the yellow brick road?” Travis repeated, smirking.
As he took his walk along the famous pathway, the music swelled, and the chorus sang out, “Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick road . . .”
The music grew louder with each step as he followed the path down the long hallway. “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz . . . If ever a Wiz there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because, because, because, because, because, because . . . because of the wonderful things he does . . .”
The yellow bricks came to a stop at the imposing door of the master bedroom.
Travis placed his hands against the door, and slowly pushed it open.
A mini Emerald City shone brightly inside the confines of the large bedroom. Moving images of painted horses pulling carriages played on the walls, and every few seconds, their colors miraculously changed. The ceiling was transformed into a crystal-clear blue sky, dotted with white, puffy clouds shaped like the Tin Man, the Lion, and the Scarecrow. At the far end of the room, an immense spinning emerald emitted rays of brilliant green light, which highlighted the king-sized, emerald-shaped bed complete with dark green satin sheets.
“Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho! And a couple of tra-la-las! That’s how we work the day away in the merry old land of Oz. We get up at twelve and start to work at one. Take an hour for lunch and then at two we’re done. Jolly good fun!”
Travis soaked in the extraordinary sight.
Suddenly, the music cut off as a great puff of black smoke appeared in the center of the bed. When the dense smoke cleared, Kim had magically appeared, dressed as Glinda, the Good Witch of the North. Her pink costume varied only slightly. The two glaring differences were that Kim’s breasts and ass were completely visible. Those areas of the dress had been carved out, and instead of a magic wand, this nasty witch carried a black riding crop.
It was the entrance to beat all entrances.
Travis clapped away, shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!”
Kim raised her eyebrows in a self-mocking salute to her genius, and asked in a high-pitched voice, “Are you a good witch? Or a bad witch?”
Travis, bathed in fabulous green light, responded with a sneering, “Oh, I’m a bad witch, baby.”
“Dorothy!” Kim called out. “Bring this badass witch before me.”
A small hand fell onto Travis’ shoulder. He spun around and came face to face with Judy Garland. She looked older than she appeared in his favorite movie, and from the neck up, it was Dorothy all right, but the body was a different story altogether. This Dorothy sported a black dress and leather miniskirt, her breasts teasing out of the ultra-tight outfit. The famed ruby slippers were replaced by three-inch ruby pumps.
Travis stared at her sweet face as she smiled and said most innocently, “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Dorothy produced a black bullwhip and wrapped it tightly around Travis’ neck. Before he knew it, her pierced tongue was probing the inner sanctum of his mouth. His cock swelled, and with the whip still wrapped around his neck, she proceeded to pull him over to the emerald bed.
Travis glanced up. Kim towered over him, standing majestically at the edge of the bed. With a nod of her head, she signaled Dorothy to unbutton his shirt.
“And when do I get to meet the Wizard?” Travis asked as Dorothy bit down on his now-exposed nipple.
“You, my dear, are the great and powerful Wizard, and we are here to serve only you.”
