Graham Donovan (_backfire) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2010-07-05 19:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | #solo, 2009-07-19 |
All the neighbors get pissed when I come home; I make them nervous
Who: Graham and Randy (NPC)
Where: Around in Ann Arbor
When: 11pm
Warning: Not for the easily squicked
Randy was a relatively normal guy. Worked a typical office job in the city, had an adoring wife with a couple of kids, and was overall not a horrible person. Though who the hell was normal these days? Even if people appeared normal on the outside didn’t mean there was nothing fucked up going on underneath it all. And there surely were some fucked up things in this man’s life. Aside from a gambling problem, the man also dabbled in the drug market. A lethal combination, that was for sure, and it was enough for him to rip off a drug lord and get what he wanted. That’s how gambling worked. In Randy’s mind, it was a fair deal, but that didn’t mean he didn’t piss anyone off. And the fact he walked away with a shit eating grin on his face didn’t help with the matter either.
The streets were relatively quiet in Ann Arbor as he stepped out from a convenience store to pick up some milk and bread for home. Another late night out feeding his addictions, but his family didn’t need to know that. As far as they were concerned, he was going to a sports bar with some friends and having a good time. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing suspecting. He’d just head on home, place the milk in the fridge, the bread in the drawer, and sneak into his bed to call it a night. Randy kept to himself while he walked down the street to his car, whistling lightly to himself. The only lightpost on the street was flickering obnoxiously and in dire need of being changed. It illuminated the small perimeter for all of two seconds for flashing out for a second, then repeated the process. And in that split second, he swore he saw someone near his car.
But those two seconds of light revealed he was alone.
It didn’t help that Randy had that uncanny sensation that someone was following him. Had been for several days now. Ever since he scored big with the drug gamble, something in the back of his head said he was being watched. Pausing for a second, he examined the area, even looked over his shoulder for a second before calling out, “Hello?” No answer. Shit, who would answer if they were keeping tabs on him like that? Swallowing hard, he slowly inched on over to his car, staring up at the light with a hint of fear in his eyes. There was nothing comforting about the situation he was in and he simply wanted to go home as soon as possible and now worry about it. Perhaps the next morning he’d wake up and all would be well. He wouldn’t have to explain to his wife why he was being paranoid. She didn’t need to know. No one did.
Just as he fished out his car keys, there was a loud crash down the nearby alley. Jumping, he spun on his heels to take several steps and investigate to commotion. All there was was a knocked over trash can still rolling on the ground, as if someone had abrupt knocked it over. Randy merely blinked his eyes on confusion while trying to peer in to the abyss down the alley. “Hello?” He called out again, though only once more. Seconds after those words left his lips, a cold hand clamped over his mouth from behind and held him firmly. There was no time to panic or react or do anything, for a second later another hand collided upside his head. With his eyes rolling into the back of his head, Randy faded away into his own darkness.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally woke back up and even more confused about where he was now. This wasn’t the streets of Ann Arbor. Far from it. His eyes began to scan the black proximity, wondering for a moment if something was covering his eyes, though he caught the faintest glint of moonlight seeping into the high windows stringing around the top of the room. And whatever room he was in was enormous. Randy squirmed to move, only to realize he was bound naked to a chair that he was propped up in. What exactly was holding him together was beyond him. He even dared to open his mouth and scream out for help, only to realize something was obstructing that as well. He sat in the dark silence for what felt like forever, twitching his head around frantically in hopes his eyes would adjust to the night and see more of what was around him. Slowly, he began to panic, wondering why the hell he was there to begin with and if he’d be let go.
Then the brisk sound of a match being lit up shot through his ears and echoed throughout the room. Whipping his head to look straight ahead, he flinched as he saw the match behind held inches away from his face. With the light illuminating such a small area, he was able to at least see that someone was there holding the match in front of him. A pale man with hair that blending into the shadows. His eyes were accented by the dark circles looming beneath, only adding onto his eerie appearance. And it didn’t help that his wide eyes latched onto Randy with such interest, as if he was a kid staring in awe within a candy store. As the match dwindled down to the end, it was then blown out and flicked into Randy’s face, only to have another one struck up again and held even closer to his face. Then that one would die down, be blown out, flicked at him, and a new one would be struck up. And each time a new match was brought into play, it grew closer to Randy’s face, and each time he couldn’t help but notice the man’s lips slowly curling up in a psychotic grin.
Around the tenth match, the flame was held up directly near his eye, causing Randy to flutter his eyelid frantically before turning his gaze away, only to have man grab his face and force him to look back, even going as far as to holding his eye wide open. Randy not only flinched at the flame being held insanely close to him, but also the cold hands that latched onto his face - those same cold hands he faintly recalled before he appeared here.
“You’re such a predictable man, Randy,” Graham spoke calmly, that unnerving grin never fading from his face. “Follow in your footsteps for twenty-four hours and that’s more or less your life in a fucking nutshell. Do you always follow a strict routine like that?”
Randy merely struggled in his seat, trying his best to escape the vice grip and away from such torture. Wait, was this even torture? What the hell did this guy want from him? Randy attempted to question him, only to have his words muffled by whatever was over his mouth. In turn, Graham just snorted in mild amusement.
“I’d get bored as fuck if I were you,” he blew out the match, flicked it to the side, then struck up another. “Having your life planned out better than a grid system for a city. Then again, I guess that means that tonight was rather predictable, knowing your track record. You know, I’ve been dabbling in the world of organized crime for several years now and rule number one is always don’t fuck over over the big guy. And you, good sir, fucked up. Did you really think you’d get away what you did?”
So it was about the drugs. That was the only thing Randy could think of when it came to shit he fucked up in. Everything else was fine in his life. Perhaps close to perfect, if he could say so himself. This was simply a minor mistake in his life. A bump in the road. He didn’t deserve to be bound to a chair and treated this way. He needed to be back home asleep and not worrying about a damn thing.
Graham’s grin morphed into some sort of sneer as he snickered lowly. “You’re not much of a talker, are you? Might be better that way. It’s my first time doing this and I don’t want to fuck up. Not like- FUCK.” The match suddenly went out and Randy could distinctly tell that the man dropped to the ground. Doubled over, Graham clenched his hand while letting the jolt of pain surge through his body. Not paying attention to the match meant risking a burn on his finger tips and while a small act like that was mildly irritating at best for normal humans, it hurt like a bitch to a fire elemental turned vampire. Randy sat there and listened to Graham whimper in agony, finding himself to get a slightly chortle out of the situation. This guy had kidnapped him and couldn’t even handle a slight burn?
His amusement was heard by the vampire though and as his eyes flicked on up to his captive, he sprung back onto his feet and sunk his fist into the man’s gut. Not only did that send him in the chair flying back, colliding roughly into the floor, it also gave Randy a few broken ribs in the process. Now there was nothing funny about the situation. His muffled cries rang loud in Graham’s ears as he walked over in a furious fit and propped the chair back up with Randy in it. “You’re in NO fucking position to be cracking up, man. You should be lucky that I was hired to take care of you this evening and not some mafia grunts. Have you ever dealt with guys like that before?” The man was too busy blinking away the tears forming in his eyes to even acknowledge the question fully. Graham had no patience, though, and his face knotted up with fury as he took a step closer to and bellowed right into Randy’s sobbing face. “ANSWER ME.”
The intimidating scream echoed throughout the vast area and Randy swore he felt the ground shake as the sound traveled through the vicinity. He couldn’t see the vampire staring him down with vicious eyes, but he could feel that icy death lingering from his face. It took him a second to calm down, doing his best not to hyperventilate, and shook his head in response. A very timid shake, but an answer nonetheless. Graham scoffed in reply, shaking his head as he backed away. “You have it so fucking easy,” his voice slowly drifted further away, as if he was walking away. “Think you can life your life like that? Fuck you for thinking for even a second that you can. I fucking hate people like you that think they can get away with shit every goddamn second of their life.” The sound of something being picked up from the ground was faintly heard and then the voice simply came closer. “Let me tell you something; you can’t get everything you want in life, but you sure as hell try to get close. Trust me, I’d know. And I sure as hell know that when you fuck up big time, you can’t do shit to redeem yourself.”
Graham lit up another match, standing several feet away from Randy with a bottle of vodka in hand. Extending it out to the man, he perked up his eyebrows with a questioning look strung upon his face. “You like vodka? Hmm?” This time around, Randy immediately shook his head, not wanting to hear that horrid scream again. “What, are you fucking serious? You’re into drugs and gambling, but you don’t fucking drink?” With a roll of his eyes, Graham opened up the bottle with teeth and spat the cap to the side. “Well, I had this bottle lying around and I can’t fucking drink it anymore, so figured I’d be nice and let you have it. No worries, it’s on me.” Randy eyed the vampire in sheer confusion, not sure what he was getting at. Then Graham took a step in closer and tilted the bottle of vodka, pouring the clear liquid all over his right arm that was fastened tightly to the chair’s arm. He squirmed as some of the liquid splashed up onto his face, turning away with a disgusted sound. The smell overwhelmed him enough to want Graham to cease his actions and the second he felt the alcohol stop being doused over his arm, he turned his head back. Just in enough time to watch that match dangle over him for a painful second and then dropped directly onto his arm.
Flames roared up in an instant, completely covering his arm and gently licked at his face. Randy’s eyes flared up with fear as he tried to scream through his makeshift gag, flailing his head about and squirming in his chair. It didn’t matter how much he struggled or cried or shrieked. There was nothing he could do but sit and wait for the fire to eat up at his skin. He could feel the fire peel away and char his flesh. He could smell it being burnt off as the fire just crackled in delight. And the whole time Graham stood several feet back, arms crossed at his chest, and watched with twisted pleasure. Randy eyed him with terror looming over his face, horrified at the pleased grin that was plastered on the vampire’s lips. He found amusement in the fact Randy was on fire and struggling, and the more Randy lashed out and cried, the more Graham just laughed his ass off.
He wasn’t sure how long it was until the fire finally died down, but all he knew was that Graham never moved. No, Graham waited for that fire the burn out completely before he closed the distance between the two of them, he wasn’t that stupid. After whipping a hand across the man’s face to ensure he didn’t pass out, he leaned back in a held a match up to his face once more. “Hurts, doesn’t it? I hear that for someone who isn’t a fire elemental that it’s immensely painful. Was it?” Randy didn’t bother responding, knowing he didn’t want to show more signs of weakness. Closing his eyes and fearing the worst, he slowly opened them when he realized Graham just laughed. “No opinion? Well then, I guess I can fucking do what I want.” Blowing the match out, he then straightened back up to take the bottle of vodka and poured it directly into the man’s crotch. Though before striking up another match, he leaned back in to rip the duct tape that was covering the man’s mouth.
“Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT! Please! I beg of you! I wasn’t meaning to fuck anyone over! Everything was fair!” Graham didn’t seem to take an interest in the man’s hysterical pleas and lit up his match anyways. “I’ll do anything! Pay whoever back! I’ll give the drugs back! Just please, don’t-” Too late for that. The vampire dropped the match and watched the man’s lap roar up into flames. This time around was far more entertaining, now that Randy could scream and cry all he wanted. The sound bounced off the walls and filled his ears, only to add onto his morbid pleasure of the whole situation. And just like before, he stood back and watched Randy burn. His eyes never left those seductive flames as they tore Randy apart and made him howl with agony. For a moment his cries died out and Graham was certain that he passed out from the pain, though once the fire flickered down into nothing, he came back to reality. All that was left was a weeping man bound to a chair in duct tape.
“...what the fuck are you doing to me?!” Randy demanded, his voice weak and fearful. “Is this your way of torture? To get something out of me?! I told you I’d give the drugs back-”
He stopped only to hear Graham throw his head back in maniacal laughter. Which was more terrifying - the fire or his voice - was beyond him, but it was enough to silence him and make him cower. “You think this is torture? Really?!” Graham stifled his amusement before taking several steps to the side, obviously up to something in the dark. “I wasn’t hired to torture your dumb ass. I was hired to kill you.” Randy didn’t think it was possible to be overwhelmed by even more fear, but apparently it was. The whole scenario didn’t make much sense to him initially. Being burned and smacked around seemed like a way to strike fear into him, not kill him. So what was the immense hold up? “I was told to make it flashy, but I figured it’s been a while since I’ve played with fire, so might as well toy with someone I’m going to fucking kill anyways.”
That’s all that was? Sick pleasure for this guy before he finally killed him? What was he going to do now, take a gun and shot him in the face? Or perhaps slit his throat with a knife? Randy wasn’t sure, but all he knew was if that wasn’t a part of killing him off, then he didn’t want to know how he was being killed. Though in the last moments of his life, he couldn’t help but think about his family. How he was suppose to be home by now after picking up some bread and milk from the store. Not only were they not going to have that come morning, they weren’t going to have daddy dearest either. Now he was more concerned about that than the fact he fucked over a crime lord.
“Please, I’m begging you, don’t kill me! I have a family I need to look after. My wife doesn’t even have a job so she can look after the kids. They don’t need to know their father dealt with drugs or gambling! They-” His words were cut off as something was shoved down his throat and instantly made him gag. Graham held the stick of dynamite there for a minute before unraveling the wick.
“You talk way too much,” was all he said in reply, walking away from Randy. He couldn’t tell how far away the vampire wandered off to, but after a minute he saw neon red lights flicking on in the darkness, similar to those on his digital alarm clock back home. The numbers was finally set to 2:00 and then began to go backwards, as if indicating a timer. Seconds after that, a match was struck, illuminating the small area Graham was standing in. About ten feet away was a cluster of five massive propane tanks, one of them strapped with a brick of C4 to it. Detonators poked out from the plastic explosive and were rigged to a car battery and timer. He could barely make out the dynamite’s wick that was snaked within the tanks to create some sort of a web. With the match still in hand, Graham lit the end of it and watched the tiny spark travel along the wick.
Randy couldn’t help but watch both the fire flicking about the area and the timer count down. He only peeled his eyes away to see if the vampire was still there, only to find nothing but looming shadows. It was like he disappeared into them and left Randy alone. And with both the neon lights and dancing flame teasing him with death, he couldn’t help but be scared shitless. Hell, he couldn’t even piss himself if he wanted to now. All he could do and sit and wait to see which one would was faster: the timer or the fire. Or maybe his lack of blood, thanks to his extremities being burned off, would kill him first. Or maybe the stick of dynamite that was still gagging him and making it incredibly hard to breathe. Randy wasn’t sure. All he could do was sit there and see for himself.
By the time the explosion went off, Graham had shadow jumped is way to safety, far away from the fiery chaos that erupted and jolted through his body. He spun on his heels briskly to catch sight of the old factory mill that was being renovated for some reason or another explode in flames. The fire shot through the sky and he could distinctly see in the far distance a majority of the building collapsing in the aftermath. Hey, Pyotr wanted him to do something flashy, so this was as flashy as it got without blowing up the whole town. He was pretty damn confident in the fact that either Randy’s head was blown off or the fiery explosion took him out. Either way, the body was going to be devoured by the flames and the rubble would sure as hell crush him to nothing.
But that moment, Graham didn’t care if Randy was dead or alive. He merely stood there and took in the flaming sight like it was the fourth of July all over again. A massive, shit eating grin formed on his lips while he stood in awe, eventually erupting in his own explosive laughter. He didn’t care if the explosion disturbed the area or if he killed someone he didn’t even know. All that mattered to him was that he got to play with demolitions and was getting fucking paid for it. How was he going to say no to that? He remained in the shadows for some time, cracking up at the whole thing, recalling the panicked screams while he lit the fucker on fire and the look in his eyes when he started up the timer and wick. That was just as much of an adrenaline rush as blowing the mill up.
And as Graham continued to cackle into the darkness, slowly shadow jumping from shadow to shadow, occasionally crashing into something, he briefly recalled the last time he blew up a building and killed someone with it - Chicago. Back then it was an accident. A mistake. Something he never meant to come to completion. And he had begged and pleaded for forgiveness back then and even now, just like Randy had. It was one fuck up; couldn’t he be shown mercy and start over? Not in Graham’s eyes. He had to deal with the angry parents who lined outside of the courthouse when he was given his sentence, furious that he managed to escape the death penalty. People spat in his face and told him he deserved to burn in hell for what he did. Even his inmates at prison were relentless and claimed he was a psychotic. And if that wasn’t bad enough, people were even more furious when he was released. A monster like that didn’t deserve to be released - he deserved to die. At every corner there was someone to remind him that he wasn’t worthy of life and needed to go back to jail. They’d question why was he left out and why he didn’t die from the prison conditions alone. They’d scream that if he didn’t burn in hell, then he’d burn everything else he touched.
And they were right. All of them. And Graham didn’t give a fuck.