From: Hatani@aol.com
Date: Fri, 18 Jul 1997 21:12:01 -0400 (EDT)
Subject: A Flaw
A Flaw
by Charles Matthias
"Let's simply refer to him as an old man." the figure pacing back and forth
said to the still
darkness. "His name is not one that I can divulge, that would reveal too
much. I know
you do not speak of such things, but you do not need to speak them. What do
I mean, I
shall explain.
"His nature is one that you may find hard to comprehend. His very mind is
like a sieve, or
maybe even a scythe. With it, black night can howl freely through vaulted
chambers we
feel are most private. No I will not desist in speaking in riddles - I like
riddles. Riddles
make the mind work, keep it moving, preventing betraying emotions to rise to
the surface
for mortal men to glimpse. You are aware of that aren't you? I thought so.
"His nature is one that defies logic, it is something intangible, for he can
grasp the
intangible, and make it his own. Right now, if he so wished, he could know
what we are
saying. No, I've said too much. You are not ready for that now. Oh, you
think you are
ready? You think that you can deny the world as you know it and plunge ever
more into
a world as different as any in another Universe? Do you think you can leave
this
comfortable station, this perspective of reality? Do you truly believe that
you can take this
plunge? I see.
"He is a wizard. I know that sounds impossible, but it is true. He dwells
on a plane
different from yours. He hears thoughts, he will know your name when you
greet him.
Be it something bizarre such as Sennacherib he will know it. For it is the
word that dwells
constantly on our minds." the pacing figure pulled a cigar out from his
pocket and casually
lit it, puffing slightly. "He can change the very fabric of your flesh.
"You don't believe me do you? You truly do not understand the power he
holds? Let me
give you a demonstration. There, feel that? Look at your hand, not quite
what you'd
expect to see on a Tuesday night I'd wager. I bet your wondering why I am
even telling
you all this. If you go to him now, he will pick up your thoughts, and there
is no chance
for success. That is why I need somebody like you. You have a trained mind,
it will be
hard for him to detect your thoughts as they are, but I know that he will
still pry them
from your brain; he will pick your cerebrum until he knows every facet of
your life: every
pet you've had, who you took to the prom, your very first paycheck, the name
of your
mailman, how often you clean your earwax. He will know all of it.
"So why am I doing this? Simple really, I want him dead. Impossible you
tell me? A man
who can read the thoughts of others can not be killed? A man who could turn
you into a
flea before you knew it, could he be killed? I say, the answer is yes. He
can die, his flesh
is as mortal as yours. However, it requires a special sort of concentration,
a special
protection for the mind.
"I know just the thing." the figure stared into the blackness about him,
staring at the
shadowy figure almost invisible in the corner. The man smiled, taking a deep
breath of the
cigar fumes, savoring the rich Cuban aroma. "You are wondering why I am
talking so
freely? He cannot hear us now. Do you think if I can do that to your hand
with a minimal
effort that I cannot prevent him from listening in? He does not even know
that this
conversation takes place. I simply have made this conversation look
unimpressive, he will
not even take notice of it.
"Ah, you've guessed it. That is indeed what I intend to do. I will take who
you are, and
remove it from your very mind, and replace it with something more suitable
and
incongruous. I know this sounds horrible, but it is only for the duration of
the job. Once
he is dead, then I will return you to your present state, and you will be
paid.
"It's not enough? You think you are worth more than five million? Fifteen?
I like your
style - even though I could simply erase you mind with a simple thought, you
still have the
gall to demand more money. For your sake, I will give it to you, you shall
have every
penny of it. Half now? I am afraid that is entirely out of the question.
If I were to give
you anything physical, then it would be child's play to trace you back to me.
I have
agreed to pay you fifteen million. You will receive it. I will pay you on
completion of the
job, that is agreed.
"Thank you so much for your cooperation, I could not do it without you." the
man turned
his back, and began to chew on the end of the cigar. He looked into the
murky blackness
about him. It was like looking directly into the souls of men, for it was a
task that his kind
was to well suited. Was it ever a wonder that his kind tended to make
people's outside
reflect what was inside?
He turned back around and looked at the silhouette. "Leave this place. Do
not return
home, you will not need anything there. At nine o'clock, you will become a
new person.
You will know what to do then. Nine o'clock."
He watched as the figure slipped into the darkness, vanishing completely from
sight. He
blew another wisp of smoke from his mouth, and then smiled, "Your hand is
back to what
is was before. No need to give ourselves away quite yet." He turned back
around then,
and savored the flavor of his Cuban.
---------------
His name was Tyrone Sennacherib Flint. His father had been an archeologist
specializing
in the Assyrian Empire. His mother had been dead since he was two. He had
traveled
with his father on his journeys to far away locales, and had learned several
different
Middle East languages such as Arabic and Hebrew. He had been an only child,
and had
grown sick of spending his time with his father, and joined the military. He
was retired
many years, after several successful campaigns in which his comrades died and
fell beside
him. He had met a girl, had a child with her, and then abandoned them both
in the street.
He had moved on to another city. He worked as a translator of ancient Middle
East
documents for the religion department at a well known university. There he
met a
beautiful librarian, who was already married. He slept with her anyway, and
by him she
had another child. Again, he left to face ridicule, moving on.
The cycle continued, city to city, woman to woman, child to child. He left
them all. He
came to a new city, settled down, found a job in a library translating
documents. He
settled in, but it seemed this time, that something here was different.
There was something
about this town which frustrated him. He couldn't quite tell just how long
it was that he
had bee frustrated by this town, nothing was going wrong for him, he was
making a bit of
money working in the library - though he had come down with a sickness and
hadn't been
to work in the past few days - and he was keeping himself clean, and his
affairs organized.
What was bothering him, was that he couldn't get a woman. No woman he
approached
wanted to have anything to do with him, and it was all making him frustrated.
He needed
to mate, he had to find a woman. Of course he realized that sitting around
in his
apartment would get him no closer to his goal of seducing a woman. No man
was more
potent than he, only he should procreate. He vowed to leave his apartment in
search, it
didn't matter where, let his feet guide him. Perhaps that was what he needed
to do.
---------
When the well measured man stepped into the store that morning, the old man
looked him
up and down curiously. He had seen worse people in his time. This one was
no different,
but there was something special about him. His inner being was quite
unusual, but it
seemed to fit his face. It was an unremarkable face, one that would soon be
forgotten, but
he could feel the pure animalism flowing from him. It was not a wonder that
it his
younger days he had been able to seduce so many! He would need something
that made
his skin younger, and gave him back his hair - for a time of course. His
soul was too dirty
to let remain on the street. He knew just the thing.
----------
"Can I help you Tyrone?" the old man asked as the figure walked in. Tyrone
didn't seem
to take much notice of him at first. He looked down at the wolf that lay by
the door
watching his every move. He kneeled down holding out his hand to the beast,
"I won't
hurt you." he said calmly, placing his hand palm up not he floor before its
nose. The wolf
sniffed it, licked it experimentally, and then stared up into his eyes. It's
reaction was
mixed, it whined a bit, but otherwise did not move. Tyrone stood looking at
the old man
who was slightly of bemused expression.
"How did you know my name, it's not a common name?" Tyrone asked.
"I know lots of things," the old man replied rhetorically, " an old man in a
popular shop
can pick up many things from passerby's." Tyrone noticed the old man staring
at him for a
moment as if waiting to see if Tyrone believed him. The old man was gaunt,
with what
appeared to be the beginning of a stoop. His gnarled visage pried at his
face for a few
moments, and then turned away to look at the wolf laying by the door, "How
can I help
you, Tyrone."
Tyrone stared at him, not taking his gaze away from him, "What's your name,
old man?"
"What does it matter? You came here with a need, and I can fill it." the old
man replied
evasively.
"I don't give money to people without names. I don't do business with people
without
names. I don't discuss things with people without names." Tyrone replied.
"It's a simple
thing, tell me your name, I'm curious, surely you have one. A man cannot get
as old as
you without earning several I'd imagine."
The old man smiled a bit, then looked sternly into Tyrone's face, which
remained fixed in
its calm determination. "You have killed people without names."
"How do you know?" Tyrone narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
"You have a military look about you. You stand straight and erect. You have
an
unflinching gaze. You have a look in your eye that tells all who are not
afraid to see, that
you have killed people, that you know death. What is death but another bit
of business?
All things in life are business Mr. Flint. Mortuaries make money from death.
You have
engaged in business with people without names countless times. What is one
more time?"
the old man did not flinch once during his response, and Tyrone was impressed
with the
old man's resolve.
"I see your point." Tyrone admitted. "We tell more tales with our very
appearance than
we can ever in words."
"Well spoken." the old man nodded, the tension hat had filled the room
suddenly gone.
"Now what is it that you came looking for?"
"You cannot help me with that." Tyrone shook his head. "Not a soul can help
me with
that."
"Don't be too quick to judge young man." the old man cast a reproving look at
him.
"I am hardly a young man." Tyrone countered.
"So it's youth you desire." the old man stated as if he had known all along.
"Doesn't everyone?" Tyrone admitted evasively.
"Not as many as you think. Take me for example, I certainly am not a
strappling youth. I
have to take geritol just to get up and down stairs." the old man replied
whimsically. The
wolf barked once at the joke, his tail wagging.
"So what can you do?" Tyrone asked. "Can you take away my blemishes, can you
return
my hair? Can you get rid of this flab that I know is forming." He patted
what looked to be
an iron stomach.
"Most men your age would be jealous by your physical appearance, not so many
are as
healthy." the old man politely disagreed. "However, I can do something about
your loss of
hair, and those blemishes you speak of. Just give me a moment and I'll pull
it out."
Tyrone watched as the old man moved at a measured pace back towards a shelf
behind the
counter, and pulled a small bottle out. It looked to Tyrone to be a perfume
bottle, but
with a strange milky liquid. The old man handed it to Tyrone, and he
promptly read the
label. "Crocodile's Tears. What an interesting name, where did you come by
it?"
The old man smiled and leaned over the counter, speaking in a voice of one
who is
showing off his prize trophy, "You may have heard the children's tale of the
lion who lost
all his fur? Well, they had to collect the tears of a crocodile, and that in
itself is an
amazing thing of which I will tell you later. When they spread it over the
lions body, his
hair grew back so big, that they had to cut it down again to manageable
size."
"I don't want an afro." Tyrone felt the few strands of hair he had left with
his free hand,
still clutching the bottle in the other.
"Your hair will grow back to a length and style that you are satisfied with.
One that will
fulfill your innermost desires." the old man told him candidly.
Tyrone chortled slightly, "Why should I trust some thing that seems more a
charlatan's
trick when I could try something that will, although not quite as effective,
like Rogaine,
will nonetheless produce similar results?"
"This is no charlatan's trick. Crocodile's Tears will indeed give you your
hair back, and
remove the blemishes from your skin. Would you like to give it a try right
here and now?"
Before Tyrone could answer, a phone began to ring, Tyrone looked about the
store, he
had seen no phone when he entered. The old man reached beneath the counter
and picked
up a receiver. His face took on a look of disgust as he replied, "Of course
I'm going to be
there. Is it not required?" Tyrone looked at both him and the bottle.
Perhaps what the old
man said was true? Would it hurt to purchase the item, and then try it later
where no
charlatan mirrors or tricks could fool him? Yes that was what he'd do.
"Of course I'm going to bring him. You think I need to worry about this
place being
robbed. You remember what I told you about the last burglar I had......
Fine, Jason,
fine.... Yes I know what they say about me...... I don't care what they think
of my
doings...... Look, Jason, I don't have time for this right now, I have a
customer......
Good-bye."
The old man put the phone down, and then shook his head, "An old college
friend of mine.
He's with the reunion committee. He always calls at the worst times."
Somehow, he wasn't sure how, Tyrone knew that the old man was lying.
However, who
he was talking too was not important. "I'd like to purchase this. I guess it
can't do any
harm."
"Are you sure you don't want to try it out first?" the old man asked. Tyrone
wondered
just why the old man was so eager to see him try it. Perhaps it was to see
the look of
surprise on his face when the concoction worked its miracle on him. Well, he
was not
going to let some old geezer have the pleasure of making him look silly.
"I'll try it in my own time. How much is it?" he asked.
"Only fifteen.", the old man replied.
"Just fifteen? For something that is supposed to do give me my hair back,
and take my
blemishes away?" Tyrone was incredulous. "Isn't that a tad cheap?"
"Would you rather it be fifteen thousand, or perhaps fifteen million?" the
old man asked
him rather irritated.
Tyrone shrugged sheepishly, "Why not, fifteen dollars." He ruffled through
his pockets
and pulled out a ten and four ones. "Wait, I think I have enough change." He
pulled out
his wallet and dumped his change purse onto the table. He had two quarters,
and dime
and a nickel, and a mess of pennies. Counting them out one by one, he
stopped when he
realized that he was going to be two cents short. "Can you spare me two
cents? If not I'll
go out and take two from that fountain out in the main square." Tyrone asked
facetiously.
"Two pennies will not put me in the poor house. Take your Crocodile's Tears,
and shed
that image of your age for one of youth." the old man told him, moving the
money into his
hands and dumping them in a cash register. He tore of the receipt, stuffed
it in a small bag
as well as the bottle, and pushed it into Tyrone's hands.
"Thank you, old man." Tyrone turned to leave, glancing once more at the wolf
lying
before the door.
The old man then called out from behind him just before he reached the door,
"Don't let
him fool you. Hezekiah is no caged bird. He has a tunnel that you don't
know about."
"Of course." Tyrone replied. "Sennacherib will not make that mistake again."
then he
turned and looked at him for a moment. "How did you know that was my middle
name?"
"I never said it was." the old man shrugged. "It is just a bit of advice. I
like to help people
out. What I meant by it was, never believe for a moment that you have all
your bases
covered. Your enemies will always surprise you if you do."
"Thanks for the advice." Tyrone said, then stepped out of the store and back
into the mall
proper. Crocodile's Tears, what a bunch of nonsense, but he had bought it
nonetheless.
So why was he feeling this way? Why did he want to try out this concoction
as soon as
possible? However, the mall was not the place to do it.
-----------
When he returned to his apartment that evening he felt much better. His
illness of the past
few days was gone, and this 'magic potion' as he now likened it, was going to
solve his
problem about finding a woman to use. He carefully removed it from the bag,
feeling a
little silly to be so trusting of an old fool. He went into his bathroom,
turned on the light
and stood in front of his mirror. He turned the bottle over in his hands and
quickly read
the instructions:
"Apply warm water to any part of body before applying the liquid. Next, wet
a hand
towel in warm water, and then spray a bit of the liquid on the towel.
Squeeze the towel
till all the water drips from it, and then carefully massage the towel over
all parts of body
that have been moistened by the warm water. Important: remember to take a
hot bath
after the liquid has been rubbed into skin."
He then looked down to read the list of ingredients. It contained only one
item - tears of a
crocodile. He rolled his eyes in disgust, convinced more than ever that this
was all a sham.
However, he could not explain his desire to apply the liquid immediately. He
set the bottle
on the sink, and rifled through the drawers for a hand towel. Finding one,
he lay it on the
sink as well, and then quickly took off his shirt and pants. He slipped his
underwear down
to the ground, and tossed it into a corner. He looked over his body,
examining the slowly
forming beer gut, even though he never touched the stuff. He saw the
beginning of
flabbiness taking hold of his chest. He saw the lack of hair on his head,
and the scarcity of
it on his chest and legs. Even his arms could use a little help. His crotch
was well
forested, and he really wasn't sure he wanted to use some 'magic potion' on
his most
precious of appendages.
He pulled the cap off the bottle and was immediately greeted by a scent not
unlike that of
the swamps he faced in Vietnam. That was a memory that stirred up the
thought of death,
and the only good women he could find were the oriental who were just as
likely to take a
glass tube and slip it over your penis and then smash it, rupturing your
urethra and then
letting you die a slow and painful death as they were to succumbing to your
every whim,
letting you take them in every way, in every orifice. Then there were the
venereal diseases
that reached out from their sickly arapeture to grasp at your penis, to hold
it in, and then
move throughout your body, making it a thing of scorn and ridicule. No, it
was not a
memory he savored, but it was not one that bothered him either.
He looked himself in the face, and then back at the bottle. He put the cap
back on, and set
it on the sink. Not now, he wasn't ready to use it quite yet. There was
something odd
about it. Maybe in fact they were Crocodile's Tears? No, that was
ridiculous. This was a
sham, there was no other explanation. He should take this old man to court
for
mislabeling his product.
However, one thing still nagged at him. If the liquid would not restore his
youthful
appearance, then what would it do? Would it shrivel up his skin so that he
looked nearly
one hundred? Would it scar him so that it looked like he had been in a
chemical fire? Or
perhaps, the impossible would happen, he would look young again, his hair
would grow
back, and he could find women again.
However, what if his problem wasn't with his appearance, perhaps his
standards were too
high. That might be it, he tended to go for the uppercrust, the prim and
proper women,
the ones who's bodies were too good for just them alone. Well, this time he
would make
sure that he did not overreach himself. He would settle for less. Tonight,
if he couldn't
find a woman who'd sleep with him, he'd try the 'magic potion'.
* * *
A Flaw - Part II
by Charles Matthias
The bar was half-full, a load stereo was blaring out some pointless attempt
at music. He
couldn't even make out the words of the singer, it sounded like he was
gargling water
while he sang. The place stank of stale beer, and there were a number of men
slumped at
the bar, a mug of ale gripped limply in one hand. Tyrone glanced over the
scene, hands in
his pockets of his leather jacket. He noticed a few women, one waitress in a
tight black
dress with a cigarette butt clenched in her teeth as she lowered the mugs to
the table. The
establishment was on the border of being seedy, apart from the two framed
pictures of dog
playing poker hanging behind the bar the walls were unadorned. He imagined
that there
were condoms to buy in the restrooms that were stationed at the back of the
establishment. What was more, the vacant stares he received from several of
the patrons
told him that most were regulars at this place.
He sat down in an empty spot on the bar, and ordered a whiskey from the sour
looking
bartender. He took it in one hand, sipped it, and then nearly gagged from
the flavor. He
swallowed it though, not mentioning his dislike of it to the sour bartender.
He glanced
about the bar, looking into the booths that lined the other wall. Most of
them were
couples, but there were a few unattended women. One was so obviously on
drugs - the
moves, the way the eyes darted about, the unhealthy shivering in her legs,
and the way she
clutched at her purse - that Tyrone did not give her a second glance. The
other two were
more to his liking. The first, a gothic punk who had too much black makeup,
she looked
like a walking corpse, but he was sure that she still had some life in her.
The second was
more interesting to him, a woman of unbelievable plainness. She would surely
be lost in a
crowd, but her square face, light drown hair, and bluish eyes called to him.
She was not
what he would hope for, but she was what he was aiming for.
He did not waste time in moving over to her table. She was drinking a
daiquiri,
strawberry from the flavor, and she did not object when he sat down opposite
her. In fact,
she did not even notice him. He looked her up and down, waving a hand in
front of her
face. He then looked about the bar to make sure that nobody was watching
him. He saw
only the comatose bodies of the other patrons, the bartender was obviously in
the
backroom. He then turned again to the girl, and gave her a quick slap on the
cheek.
She turned to look at him, her slender hand rising up to touch the cheek.
Her eyes began
to water, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Who are you?" she asked
in a
breathless whisper, as if she had just seen a ghost.
"Name's Tyrone Flint." Tyrone smiled at her. "I saw you sitting here by
yourself, pretty
spaced out too, so I figured I'd be a good Samaritan and see what your
problem was.
What's your name?"
"My name?" she asked, almost in a daze. "I don't know. I don't know what my
name is."
she began to cry even more.
Tyrone reached across the table and smiled, "It's all right, you can tell me
what you
know."
She looked into his face, her eyes searching for something, Tyrone not sure
what, but she
smiled, and he assumed that she had found it. "I...I don't know what has
happened."
"What can you remember?" Tyrone asked her.
"I remember....I don't....I can't remember anything!" she began to cry again.
Tyrone moved a bit closer, clutching her hand comfortingly, "Don't cry in
public. Look,
I'll help you out. Do you have anything on you? Anything that can help us
find out who
you are?"
"I don't know what I have." she replied meekly.
"Look, I would very much like to help you, but only if you want me to. Would
you
permit me to help you?" Tyrone asked. This was a great chance, he thought.
Why she
lost her memory he could not fathom, perhaps she was having a brief fit,
something
traumatic causing her to forget everything. He'd heard of it happening
before, but never
seen it. With his gentle molding, he could get her in bed within a few
hours.
She smiled, blushing, and casting her eyes down at her hands. "I would very
much like
that."
"Good." Tyrone said, smiling. "Now, do you have a purse?" She reached down
and pulled
up a small brown handbag that was by her side. "May I see it?"
She gave it to him, and he rummaged through it's contents. There was an
assortment of
things stuffed in the purse, an unopened pack of Big Red, a few bandages,
some loose
change - he counted about twenty dollars - and a few other tidbits, but no
billfold. He
found no credit cards, he found no ID, nothing that would tell her who she
was, or where
she lived.
"This is mighty unusual miss, you don't even have any credit cards." Tyrone
told her
reprovingly.
"Should I have?" she asked, a worried expression passing across her face.
"Yes you should." he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "See,
I have a
whole stack of them." He showed her his assortment of credit cards, Visa,
Discover,
Sears, and of course his ATM card and driver's license. "Without any of
these, there is no
way we can tell who you are now."
"Oh my...." her voice began to quaver, and she shook, taking a drink of the
daiquiri.
Tyrone caressed her hand comfortingly, "Why don't you come home with me, you
can
spend the night there, and tomorrow morning, I'll take you down to the police
office, and
we'll get things sorted out. Maybe they know who you are. Would you like to
spend the
night at my place?"
"I don't know." she said not completely convincingly. "I don't even know
you."
"Look at it this way, you don't remember anybody. I'm offering help. Come
to my place
to spend the night. I'll let you sleep in my bed, the couch is rather
uncomfortable."
Tyrone smiled amiably.
"I guess so..." she said not quite sure. "Is it safe there?"
"I don't bite." Tyrone winked at her.
She blushed again, and took back her handbag. "All right, let's go to your
place."
He offered her his arm, and she took it. He led her out of the bar, dumping
some money
before the bartender. He didn't look at the amount, but it would certainly
cover the cost
of one mug of horse piss. Leading her out into the night, he smiled, so far,
his lack of hair
and blotchy appearance was not stopping him from getting a woman. Perhaps he
wouldn't need the Crocodile's Tears after all. It was much better this way,
to solve his
problems himself, he didn't need a silly 'magic potion'.
----------
She looked about his apartment when they arrived. It was a simple thing. One
bedroom,
one bathroom, living room, kitchen, and laundry. That was all he had, and
that was all he
needed. She sat down on the couch, finding the cushions in need of stuffing,
and smiled
weakly at him.
Tyrone went into the kitchen, took out his single bottle of wine, popped the
cork, and
filled two wine glasses. He turned his stereo on, playing gentle music,
soothing music, by
some Brahms or Wagner, he wasn't sure which. He handed her a glass, and she
thanked
him, sipping at it.
Sitting down beside her, he draped his arm about her neck. She lay into the
nook of his
shoulders, but said nothing else. He sighed contentedly, and looked over her
face. Now
that he had her here, she really was a fetching creature. He imagined her
without the plain
baise dress, imagined her soft skin beneath his flesh, imagined her crying
out in ecstasy, as
he bellowed in triumphant orgy. He felt his skin crawl at the thought, and
it excited him.
He snuggled a little closer into her side, being careful not to spill his
wine. He took a sip
of it, and then set it down on the table.
"I wish I knew who I was." she said, turning to look into his eyes.
"Would you like me to give you a name?" Tyrone asked.
"Please do. What name would you give me?" she asked, smiling at him, one of
her curls
of hair slipping over her shoulder.
Tyrone pushed her lock of hair back, and looked at her with eyes that spoke
more than his
words could. "I would call you, Asherah."
"Asherah?" she asked confused.
"The god of fertility in the ancient days of the middle east. Her
worshippers made
Asherah poles that they set aside the altars of Baal. I am making an Asherah
pole for you
now." Tyrone explained leaning closer towards her.
"And who is Baal?" she asked, curious, not objecting to his advances.
"He is another god of fertility." he was only inches from her face now. "You
are my
Asherah. Let me worship you tonight. For I am enchanted by your beauty. I
want to
have you. I want to give you the pole I've erected for you." he knew that it
sounded
corny, and any other guy who heard it would gag, but women love that sort of
stuff. He
knew, and she was obviously a regular woman.
"Oh, Tyrone." she said, putting a hand to her chest.
"I will be your Baal." he smiled, as he leaned further.
She fell back against the back of the couch, and he lay on top of her, his
lips and hers
entwined. His hands wrapped about her middle, locking in place. Her arms
flailed about,
grasping at anything she could reach. She knocked the glass of wine over,
and it spilled
onto the carpet, but Tyrone had other things in mind. He forced his tongue
into her
throat, and then rose from his position, smiling, licking his lips. She lay
gasping for
breath.
He smiled like a conqueror who has just breached the main wall of his
opponents
fortifications, and went down into her wet mouth once again. The strains of
the romantic
chords of the Wagnerian overture continued to peal out from the radio like a
snake
winding its way over a statue. So too did their bodies entwine, moving
almost to the rise
and fall of the music. He laughed inside, he didn't need any Crocodile's
Tears.
He picked her up by the waist, and made for his bedroom. She locked her legs
about him,
holding on, not rising from their embrace for a breath. He threw her onto
the bed, their
lips never once parting. He kicked his shoes off, and with one hand reached
behind and
pulled his socks off. Her short heels fell from her feet, and he could not
help contain a
smile. He reached up and began to tear at his shirt, popping buttons as he
did so. He
threw the remnants to the ground behind him, and her hands moved over his
chest; he felt
a pang of shame at how hairless he really was, he felt somehow like he was on
the verge of
death because of it, but she didn't seem to take notice. Perhaps she did
though, because
she spent only a few moments feeling that, then returned to his back, where
hair is
shunned.
He began to wiggle his pants down to his knees, and noticed something amiss.
Though he
was undressing for sex, she was not. He decided to correct that
straightaway. He reached
down with one hand and began to pull at her skirt. Immediately, he knew it
was a
mistake. She began to struggle beneath him, and pushed at him feebly with
her hands. He
continued, reminding himself that this was natural, she would soon give in.
However, he
efforts only become stronger. She pushed him away, and he looked down at
her, his eyes
a fire, but his mouth fixed in a wicked but sensuous grin.
"No." she said. "I don't want to do that."
The mood destroyed, he turned over on the bed, feeling somehow cheated.
"Don't you
even want to see what a fine specimen I am?"
"I....No, I want to go home." she said, pulling up her skirt, and draping her
legs off the
side of the bed.
"Look at what I am!" Tyrone declared, throwing off the last of his garments.
"Is this not
what you want. Is this not what you need?"
She looked over at him, examined him from head to toe, and then shook her
head. "No,
it's not that."
"Bullshit!" he said, still smiling. "You don't think I'm good enough. I'm
told old! I am
still quite potent, I am not some senile dog who will screw any leg he bumps
into. I am a
bull, I have power, and I want to give you my seed!"
"I don't want your seed." she said, her voice rather calm. He was not
expecting this. He
was not acceptable. How could he take her now, he was utterly rejected by
her. If she
would reject him, then he would reject her, and find another.
"Get out of my house." he told her.
"Don't, your scaring me." she said, looking at the way he smiled at her.
"This is my apartment, I can do anything I wish, and I wish you out." he
grabbed her arm,
and dragged her to the door.
"Stop! Your hurting my arm!" she cried out.
He paid her no heed, but wrenched the door open, and tossed her out on the
concrete. He
then slammed the door shut. He paid no attention to her feeble knocks at the
door, nor
her pathetic whimpering. He just stood there, cold and stiff. Eventually
her sobbing
dwindled down into a silent moaning, and then there was nothing. He did not
check to see
if she was still there, it no longer mattered to him.
He reached down and picked up the tumbled wine glass. He turned to look at
the stereo
which was still playing some Wagnerian opera. He tossed the glass at the
stereo,
smashing both. Sparks flew from the stereo, but they quickly died away. He
walked back
into his room, looked at the mess of a bed, and threw himself on it. He
would have to use
the Crocodile's Tears. There was no other way out. He was simply
unacceptable to even
ordinary women. There seemed to be no other way.
A Flaw - Part III
by Charles Matthias
The old man was not surprised by seeing him walk into the store the next
morning. "So
what do you want this time, Jason."
The dapper and urbane man dressed in a casual suit smiled at the old man.
"This is just a
social call this time. I was in the area, and after calling you, I decided
that I should at least
come by to see you."
"My store is graced by your presence." the old man replied in mock
hospitality.
"I see your doing well." Jason gave the store a cursory glance. "How many
fools have
come here in the past month and got not quite what they expected."
"Plenty." the old man replied evasively. "But it's not my job to judge them."
"Of course not, I wouldn't dream of accusing you of judging others." Jason
told him
plainly.
"That's your job." the old man retorted.
"Of course, I have been given the task by the committee to ensure that our
kind does not
overstep their bounds." Jason replied highly.
"Is that the reason you're here, to accuse me?" the old man's gaze narrowed.
The wolf
growled at Jason, but he paid it no heed.
"Of course not. I am here to warn you. Your activities have attracted some
notice. Some
people are starting to ask questions. People disappearing with no
explanation tends to
make the authorities very unhappy." Jason counseled.
"Like they could ever trace it to me. I just give people the ability to
bring out their
innermost desires. Just because a lot of these people want to be animals or
sex slaves, I
cannot help that." the old man told him bluntly.
"That's a gross oversimplification, don't you think." Jason chided him.
"Either way, I do not have to listen to you." the old man turned his back.
"And why is that?" Jason asked casually.
"Because you are in my place of power now. You have no authority here." the
old man
declared.
"Of course not. However, any attempt to magic me will prove useless." Jason
declared.
"I know, you very fond of that reflect effect." the old man snorted in
disgust.
"Crude, I know." Jason admitted. "Yet effective."
"Is there anything I can do for you? Or are you going to stand there and
accuse me of
crimes I haven't committed."
"Actually, I'd like to do a little browsing. I have somebody I need to meet
later today,
and I'm sure there are many interesting things here that I can look at."
Jason replied,
glancing at a werewolf costume hanging from a shelf. "Stocking up for
Halloween?"
"Of course, I always want to be ready." the old man told him. Then a sparkle
came into
his eye, "Do you actually plan on buying something?"
"Perhaps, I could probably spend a week entertaining myself by defusing all
the booby
traps that you have laid on your merchandise."
"I'm sure it would keep you busy." the old man nodded, looking at the wolf,
and then
shook his head in disgust.
----------
Tyrone Sennacherib Flint tossed his sheets aside in the morning. Usually he
was slow to
rise in the morning. However, not this morning. He wanted to try the
Crocodile's Tears.
He waltzed directly into his bathroom, and looked over the various items he
had left on
the sink. He remained bare of body, and he looked over himself, trying to
identify all the
places that he would need the benefit of the Crocodile's Tears.
Turning the hot water on, he splashed it over his face, and all over his
head. He also
wetted down his arms and chest. He then made sure to douse his legs as well.
Then he
looked back for the instructions.
"Next, wet a hand towel in warm water, and then spray a bit of the liquid on
the towel."
He put the hand towel under the warm water, and sloshed it about for a few
moments.
Then he unstoppered the bottle and was once again greeted by the swamp like
texture of
the odor. He savored it this time, for that was going to be his future, this
scent would
guarantee him women. He spritzed a generous helping onto the towel, and then
squeezed
the water out of it.
After it dripped for a few moments, he looked back tot he instructions to see
what the
next step would be.
"Squeeze the towel till all the water drips from it, and then carefully
massage the towel
over all parts of body that have been moistened by the warm water."
He took the towel first to his head, and gently stroked his baldness with the
wet towel.
He felt it tingle as it touched, but once he moved the towel to another part
of his body, his
skin begin to feel dry, almost as if it were to crack. That must be why the
instructions tell
him to keep wet, he figured.
He spread the solution across his face, all over his face, in every nook and
corner. He
made sure to apply it to his neck as well before moving down to his chest.
He made sure
to massage it in very good on his chest, and he already felt stronger and
more lively than
he had before. However, the sensation of his skin drying up was at the same
time thrilling
as it was frightening. Perhaps it was a sham? However, he still had another
step to go,
perhaps that was the step that made everything work right.
He wiped the towel across his arms, making sure to get over all of them. His
hands were
already covered in the solution, so he didn't bother with them, but went
straight onto his
legs. He felt the tingling sensation race up his spine, move throughout his
entire body. He
savored the moment, for it was the change that he felt coming, his hair to
return to him,
for he knew it would. He tossed the spent towel in the sink, and looked to
the bottle to
read the final line of instruction.
"Important: remember to take a hot bath after the liquid has been rubbed into
skin."
He smiled, yes a hot bath to soak in would be wonderful. He climbed into the
tub, and
turned on the hot water tap. He felt the steam rise as the hot water
splashed down into
the empty tub. He let it wash over him, soak through his body. The drying
sensation
ebbed as the touch of the water, and he felt his skin go soft and smooth, yet
firm at the
same time. He let himself sink into the growing pool, not caring about
anything else in the
world at the moment.
-------------
Jason looked at his watch, and turned to glance at the old man who was
helping out a
young teenager. "Well, it's getting near time for me to head out. I think
I'll stay a little
while longer though."
The old man grunted, and returned to helping the youth find what was right
for him.
-------------
Tyrone climbed out of the tub sometime later, he wasn't sure how long. He
was feeling
much refreshed, much better, much younger. He walked over to the mirror to
see how
much younger he looked. The face that stared back at him was not one that
he'd
expected, not something that he would have thought would happen ever. The
face that
stared back was his own, yet it was young. The hair was back, all over his
chest, and his
broad face looked firm and virulent. He would have no difficulty attracting
a female now.
As he examined himself he saw that his chest looked like a bear rug, and his
legs were
almost of the same consistency. His arms were much lighter, but with still a
respectable
amount of hair on them as well. What was more, every last on of his
blemishes was gone.
The scars he suffered, gone. The splotchy colors on his face, gone. Every
last mole,
gone. He would have no trouble spreading his seed now.
As he continued to look, something else began to happen that frightened him.
As he
watched, his face began to sag, and the hair on his head tumbled to the floor
at his feet.
The thick matting of hair on his chest completely dropped to the ground, as
it had never
been there. Every last strand of hair on his head, every last strand of hair
on his legs and
arms and chest, was gone. All he had left was his tiny eyebrows, and his
pubic hair.
What was even more shocking was to watch each of his blemishes rise once
again to the
surface. His moles burst out from his skin like some burrowing insect. His
scars formed
themselves from the very sinews of his flesh. Even the splotches returned to
his face. He
howled in anger, this was no supposed to happen. He was supposed to look
young again!
If anything, he looked older. His skin was cracked and dry all over, and he
felt himself
begin to peel in several places. This was inexcusable. He would see this
old man, and
demand an explanation. If he was a simple charlatan, he would get his money
back and
more. If not, then other measures would have to be taken.
-----------
Jason watched as the customer left the store carrying a package. Jason
walked up to the
old man who was trying to ignore him, "So what is he going to turn into?"
The old man snorted, "That was a perfectly mundane mask I sold. He didn't
want to look
at the things that his heart desired."
"What a pity." Jason shook his head. "I'm glad to say that he wasn't your
last victim
then."
"Oh what do you mean?" the old man asked.
"Simple, you've fallen into my trap." Jason smiled at him.
"Really?" the old man asked, nonplussed.
"You don't even know what I'm talking about." Jason gloated. "You are going
to be met
with justice very shortly."
"Oh, what sort of justice?" the old man asked, still unconcerned.
"You have transformed so many, it only seems fitting that the same should
happen to
you." Jason told him pulling a cigar from his suit pocket.
"And how are you going to manage that here in my own domain? This is my
place of
power, you can do nothing here." the old man looked at him for the first
time, his eyes
boring into Jason's self-congratulatory smirk.
"Oh, I knew I had no chance of that. I have gotten to you already. It
shouldn't be too
much longer before you start to feel the effects of your own concoction."
"Which one would that be?"
"Crocodile's Tears."
The old man smiled, "So you sent Sennacherib to attack Hezekiah then?"
"In a manner of speaking, only this time, Hezekiah's walls will fall." Jason
replied
confidently.
"I see, so just how did you manage this? Or is there anything I can do about
it still?"
"There's nothing you can do. Once you sold him that bottle, I had you. It
was simple
really, to make sure he had no knowledge to betray to you, but at the same
time to
maneuver him to using that substance. Of course, I modified it once it was
out of your
store. You forget, it was I who did the detailed study on the tears of
crocodiles."
"To alter the liquid's properties without me knowing would have required you
to get near
him. I never once saw you near him." the old man objected, a look of
confusion and
disbelief on his face.
"You now of Asherah?" he asked.
"Of course, the girl who lost her memory, I seem to have lost track of her."
the old man
admitted.
"She never existed. It was me. I placed my own memory in a certain location
that I knew
you could not enter, and then designed her to drive Tyrone into a need for
sex, and then to
deny him it."
"Clever." the old man conceded. "I must admit I actually did not know that
was you. Go
on, tell me more."
"Well, there really isn't much more to it. Now that Tyrone has used your
product, and
since my tampering with it prevented it from working properly, he will be
coming here."
"How do you know that?" the old man asked curiously.
"I designed him that way." Jason admitted. "It was a simple matter, I knew
that his
persona would prompt you to give him the Crocodile's Tears, and that was
exactly what I
wanted. You've done everything I needed."
"That's why you called me yesterday then." the old man surmised. "You didn't
want him
to use it before you tampered with it."
"Exactly, then my plan would have been ruined. He's no good to me as a
crocodile. I
need him human for a little while longer."
"But now I will become a crocodile, is that correct?" the old man asked,
seemingly
disinterested.
"That is the whole idea. When Tyrone arrives, he will see you, a crocodile,
recognize it as
a threat, and given his military training, take out that threat, by killing
it." Jason smiled
triumphantly. "Enjoy these last few moments you have as a human, they won't
last much
longer."
The old man sighed. "It's a very good plan Jason. Executed brilliantly I
must say.
However, I can use my own will now to prevent all of this from happening."
"No you can't. You cannot touch me now, nor will any use of will here be a
good idea for
you will only destroy yourself, as all your items are supercharged. I'm sure
you would
have noticed me doing that. At the slightest move of your will, they
detonate."
"Well, you certainly have me in a bind here. So it's a matter of waiting for
me to turn into
a crocodile isn't it? Of course, that won't happen, because it's you that is
turning into a
crocodile. I'd say about now." the old man smiled mischievously.
Jason's smile dropped from his face, and he narrowed his eyes for a moment,
then they
went wide. He looked down at his hands, where his skin was cracking, and
turning green.
His hair began to fall from his head, and he let out a bellow of rage.
"You see, you had only one flaw in your plan." the old man gestured to the
wolf lying by
the door looking between the two wizards nervously. "This is Hezekiah's
tunnel. Nathan,
a patron working off his debt."
Jason turned to stare at the wolf with malice and disbelief. The old man
watched his eyes,
savoring the shock in them. The whites of his eyes quickly darkened into a
pale yellow,
while his pupils shrunk into narrow slits. "Nathan smelled Tyrone's hand when
he walked
in the door, and he smelled something odd. He detected a crocodilian scent.
Since we are
nowhere near a swamp, or anyplace where crocodiles can be found, I knew that
something
unusual was going on. When you called at just the right moment, I got
suspicious, not
enough to take direct action, but just enough to take a precaution. You were
so confident
that you knew the secrets of Crocodile's Tears, you failed to notice that I
fooled with it
first."
As he talked Jason, stunned, continued to shift. His clean suit tore at the
seams, as his
scaled flesh beneath writhed and moved over his shifting bones and muscles.
His head
began to slope back, the large brain case disappearing between his two
upraised eyes. His
nose and mouth pushed their way out, his teeth sharpening and yellowing, his
tongue
thickening, and his gasps of rage deepening.
"What I did simply ensured that if anybody else fooled with the substance of
the liquid, the
effects would strike only that person. So now when your little hit man comes
back here,
he'll kill, not me as you intended, but you. And of course, there is nothing
you can do
now. You probably won't even remember being anything but a crocodile in
another
minute." the old man smiled, patting Nathan on the head. "Fitting end I think
for such a
cold blooded creature as yourself anyway."
"Fool!" Jason gargled, his arms and legs shortening. He fell heavily to the
ground, his
long thick tail stuck half in his torn slacks. He was almost completely a
crocodile now, his
limbs were not completely in the proper proportion yet. "I am not going to
lose my
humanity! Nor is some idiot going to kill me! I will be back, old man. I
am not yet
finished with you."
Jason, began to move towards the front door of the store, opening his jaws
menacingly at
Nathan, who backed far away from him. The old man watched him leave,
crawling on his
belly, when a thought occurred to him, "Why Jason? Why did you want to kill
me?" the
old man asked out of curiosity.
"If you must know," the words were barely understandable, but the old man was
good at
understanding the speech and thoughts of animals, "you are the cause of my
wife's death."
The old man looked startled. "I am? Interesting, Jason you never had a
wife."
"You lie!"
"No I only speak the hard truth. Does it not seem likely to you that the
enforcement
division which you purport to represent wanted to kill you instead? Simply
fill your head
with memories that do not exist, and then send you after a much more
accomplished
wizard than yourself. I hope you go easy on Tyrone, he should be here any
minute." the
old man looked at his watch, and then down at the crocodile that had been
Jason.
Jason was not responding, but let forth a bellow of rage, pure and
animalistic. He was
indeed a bull now, and of course he would find his attempts to cling to his
humanity rather
futile. The crocodile's brain was just too small and primitive for that. He
watched as the
crocodile smashed out the front door, and across the street, and down the
nearest sewer
grate.
"Always liked the classics, he did." the old man smiled reflectively. "I
should have picked
up on that sooner. Anyway, Tyrone will be here shortly, and he's not going
to be very
happy."
The old man looked at his guard wolf, and smiled, "What do I intend to do?
Well, I'll
give Tyrone a free bottle of Crocodile's Tears. Jason is going to need a cow
to mate with
down there in the sewers, and given Tyrone's need to procreate, I think he
will fill that
position nicely."
Nathan wagged his tail, it was indeed a fitting end to Jason and his flawed
plans.
--------------
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