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Description
Marianne Nolan was chosen and Joe set out to gather as much information about her as he could. Included were her schedule, workplace, and the habits of the people she lived with. Everything written in his fine leather notebook with perfect script and alignment even though the paper wasn't ruled. After a couple weeks of studying her Joe devised a plan of attack, chose the perfect method for a quick silent kill, and gathered everything he needed. The death date was set for two days from then after Joe was content he had everything he could possibly need to complete the tasks unnoticed. The days before were always fun. Joe thrived on planning and re-planning to get everything perfect. The day of was always the most fun though. Executing everything beautifully with no false steps or slip ups got him erect like no woman ever could. The days following were days of relaxation and recreation. Joe ate, drank, and was merry for as long as he could be until the crescent asked for his services again. That was the way and it was a good way. Joe liked it; his ear to ear smile showed it.  Joe's duty now was to wait and watch Marianne to make sure he hadn't missed any small details that would become a wrench in his flawless plan. He saw her pull up from work on time, get out of her shiny new car, and walk up the steps to her front door. She never locked it behind her because an hour later her little sister would be home from college and Marianne never really trusted her with a key. Day one went just as all previous days had, so now all the stood between Joe and a fine slaughter was a day and bottle. Joe needed vodka to steel his nerves for the killing. He never could handle the pleading or the warm coat of blood without a stomach full of clear spirits; a mind numbing liquor to some strength and indifference to Joe. He stopped by the J&P market to pick up a couple of bottles on his way back to the motel. He hoped Shirley had calmed down after almost two full weeks away and that she would talk to him when he got there. He was lonely and missed her rotten smile and dirty matted hair.

She wasn't calm but she did speak almost immediately. She was talking so fast her lips were blurring, so fast that Joe was barely able to catch all of the words that she insisted were of the utmost importance. Shirley had jumped in her story to when she was two years old sitting at a cracked glass table having a bowl of cereal floating in lukewarm tap water. She always had water on her cereal because her father said she didn't deserve milk like her sister always got. Her sister poked her and called her water baby when they were sent out to play in the yard alone. Vanessa teased her about their dad loving her more and taunted her about not getting to play daddy's game. She went on about how fun it was even though she said it through an obvious frown. Shirley wasn't jealous--she wasn't anything--that was something she got from watching her mother endure her father's cruel words and backhands. While they were playing outside a sharp wind cutting bang came from the upstairs loft. Both girls were shocked to stone and slowly moved their heavy legs walking towards the door. Before they got there Shirley's mom burst through the screen door wearing little more than a bra and panties. Both under garments were polka dotted in iodine colored blood and soaked in a fear's worth of perspiration. She grabbed Shirley and barked at Vanessa to get in the family's old car. They were off and they were silent all the way to a two story house a few hours drive away. It was the house their father grew up in and where his mother still lived. Shirley blurred like her lips and was replaced by the white and black specks. Joe sat in the same stone shocked stillness the girls did when they heard the bullet slice the air. His silence was interrupted by an angry stomach. A stomach angry enough to break Joe's rocky pose and prompt him to head off the find some food. Not a single crumb found in the motel forced an outing to the closest open store he could find.

Joe walked in and noticed the store was packed when the parking lot told him it would be empty. Fellow shoppers were glowing with golden halos while garishly displaying their pearly whites as he walked by. Joe's eyes were magnifying glasses so everything looked out of proportion. The shoppers shoved their faces so close against his that he could smell the lotions and tonics that coated their smooth ivory skin. He sensed they knew and they were pleased that they were in the presence of a man who had set himself aside to make the world a better place for each and every one of them.They needn't know about the perks. As he drank this all in Joe's halo grew and burned hotter and hotter; bright red at first then blue and finally so hot it was a harsh white beam exploding off his head and out of his hands. Walking was floating and the floor melted under his feet leaving a canal through the store of smoldering lava behind him. As it cooled crystals formed the shapes of contorted faces Joe knew but didn't notice. The beams of light curdled milk in the dairy aisle, wilted lettuce in produce, and burned the cheeks and tongues of his admirers transforming them into an angry mob. Joe spun around hitting some of the now clenched teeth, hissing crowd with the shopping cart he chose on his way in. Their golden halos were gone, replaced by scaly skin and blood shot eyes. They had familiar faces Joe thought he recognized but couldn't place. His hands were welded to the handle of the cart another victim of the white hot aura that he couldn't control. His hero-ship was turned against him in a matter of minutes by no fault of his own. It was merely a misunderstanding and as soon as he learned to control it he'd be able to return and make amends. Until then he would need to stay out of places with large crowds and friendships were out of the question. Being a hero was solitary and he accepted this fate knowing he had Shirley and the television to keep him company and give him the friendly advice people need from time to time.

He ran out of the shopping center with the cart still attached to his hands. When he crossed through the automatic doors into the cool night air the cart released and he dashed to his car door yanking it open before slamming himself into the seat. The door closed and Joe looked back expecting to see frothing faces but all that he saw was an almost empty parking lot with just one store employee smiling as he lit a cigarette. Joe turned to face the steering wheel but caught a curious reflection as he swung his head around. Glancing back over he could see the faint outline of a face in a reflection on the back windshield. The reflection grew in size and opacity as Joe focused on the image trying to determine first if it were friend or foe and second the identity of the approaching figure. As soon as he recognized the person or thing had his hateful face the glass shattered into tiny diamonds bouncing off the backseat and on to the floor below. Joe sat staring at the figure admiring its features as one would admire their own before hopping into the shower. Entranced by its likeness to his own Joe didn't move or think as he should and just sat with his neck twisted to face the back window. Blood and saliva shot out of the other Joe' s throat splashing through the open window into the car. It soon covered Joe's waist and starting gushing out into the parking lot. He pushed open the door to speed the drainage process and looked back to further study his twin. Only what he saw looked nothing like him, but more like the monster Vanessa showed him under her dress. Joe tried to harness the power he felt inside the store to burn and destroy his attacker but it failed him. Not even an orange spark left his finger tips when he had willed flesh searing light and heat. Joe found himself in another plan B situation, turned the key, and started the car. Leaving the parking lot Joe made a right turn to get back on the highway.

Before he got to the highway he found himself pulling into the driveway of a small house in a quaint but dreary neighborhood. The beautiful woman, Vanessa's mom, he saw last time for a brief moment when she walked in from the cold was sitting on the porch rocking her baby. Vanessa was running around the yard screaming vulgar phrases and lifting her dress to passing cars. Some drivers honked and hollered for more while others appalled at the way such a young girl was acting turned away, yelled shaming words and, threw shaming glances her way. Vanessa looked right at Joe and lifted her dress. Blood was running down her legs on to the tops of her feet which streaked the grass while she was prancing around the yard.

Vanessa taunted the way only young children can, "Wanna play the game again, Joe?"

Vanessa's mother kept rocking not noticing or not caring what her little girl was doing and saying. Her dad opened the screen door and popped the woman in the mouth then the back of the head; she just kept rocking the baby. He insulted her and spit on the baby's face; she just kept on rocking. Vanessa saw and laughed just as she had before. Joe didn't know what to make of everything he saw, but he wanted to help the mother and baby get away and even felt sorry for Vanessa. The house and car faded Joe was standing in a wooded area on top of a disturbed patch of ground. His wife was breathing on his neck from behind. He knew it was her from the combination of her overbearing perfume and cigarette breath. Spit dripped onto his shoulder and formed an ice cold stream down his chest. She clenched his forearms with her rigid fingers using them to pull his body into hers.

Vanessa whispered, "You're going to sleep here."

A knock on the driver's side window woke Joe to bright morning sun. He heard a muffled voice through the glass and looked over at a store employee. Joe made out the words "You can't sleep here" so he started his car causing the young man to take a few backward steps away from the shuddering car. On his way back to room 109 at the Embassy Suites Motel Joe noted that neither the back window was broken nor the car covered in pale red spit. It was another of Vanessa's message in his dream attempts. This time Joe got the message to buy some coffee until he could track down some meth to keep himself awake and appease his furious stomach.

This was the night. Joe's mouth dripped soaked in anticipation's saliva while vodka churned with stomach acid slowly leaking into his blood through his quivering guts. Each step closer to Marianne uncovered a raw anger under Joe's slippery skin, the anger turned to rage lifting silver scales that covered his body, and his white hot aura returned in a brilliant flash. Joe was again a hand of God. The rail on the front steps charred where Joe's fingertips dragged over the damp surface. Steam whistled under his feet so loud he feared the neighbors would wake and alert his prey or worse, the police. He opened the front door and slid in as fast and as quietly as he could to get away from possible neighborly eyes and to get to Marianne before she knew what was coming. Mrs. Nolan was naked standing in front of the bathroom mirror when she saw Joe breach the threshold into her room. She was admiring the breast her father bought her for her recent birthday and instead of fear of Joe she was embarrassed that he caught her in a moment of vanity. Fear finally shook Marianne when she saw that Joe was wielding a straight razor and a crow bar. It was far too late to run and the crow bar smashed into a brittle skull creating a lake of blood spanned by bridges of twisted hair. Another swing found the bar across Marianne's cheek exploding the bone into five. Falling to her knees she begged Joe to stop and told him he could have anything he wanted.

Marianne gasped and forced through her sore face, "Please don't kill me."

Joe slit her throat and watched the thick blood swirl around the white beam jutting from his hand. Standing on her back he used the crow bar to coax her spine free, snapping tendons and muscle, while he crushed her ribs under his weight.  Joe cut the skin from her stomach in strips and stuck them to the wall watching as some slid down slumping in piles bolstered by the base boards that polished the room. Her body was finally moved to her bed where Joe could assault her with his last dignity stripping act. He came in his hand and watched it fight the water on the way down the drain. After washing his hands he used them to mark her forehead releasing the rage and dousing his aura. With nothing left behind to link him to Marianne's fate he left the way he came. Getting out a few moments before her sister would lose her voice screaming through a river of turquoise tears.

Description
Marianne Nolan was chosen and Joe set out to gather as much information about her as he could. Included were her schedule, workplace, and the habits of the people she lived with. Everything written in his fine leather notebook with perfect script and alignment even though the paper wasn't ruled. After a couple weeks of studying her Joe devised a plan of attack, chose the perfect method for a quick silent kill, and gathered everything he needed. The death date was set for two days from then after Joe was content he had everything he could possibly need to complete the tasks unnoticed. The days before were always fun. Joe thrived on planning and re-planning to get everything perfect. The day of was always the most fun though. Executing everything beautifully with no false steps or slip ups got him erect like no woman ever could. The days following were days of relaxation and recreation. Joe ate, drank, and was merry for as long as he could be until the crescent asked for his services again. That was the way and it was a good way. Joe liked it; his ear to ear smile showed it.  Joe's duty now was to wait and watch Marianne to make sure he hadn't missed any small details that would become a wrench in his flawless plan. He saw her pull up from work on time, get out of her shiny new car, and walk up the steps to her front door. She never locked it behind her because an hour later her little sister would be home from college and Marianne never really trusted her with a key. Day one went just as all previous days had, so now all the stood between Joe and a fine slaughter was a day and bottle. Joe needed vodka to steel his nerves for the killing. He never could handle the pleading or the warm coat of blood without a stomach full of clear spirits; a mind numbing liquor to some strength and indifference to Joe. He stopped by the J&P market to pick up a couple of bottles on his way back to the motel. He hoped Shirley had calmed down after almost two full weeks away and that she would talk to him when he got there. He was lonely and missed her rotten smile and dirty matted hair.

She wasn't calm but she did speak almost immediately. She was talking so fast her lips were blurring, so fast that Joe was barely able to catch all of the words that she insisted were of the utmost importance. Shirley had jumped in her story to when she was two years old sitting at a cracked glass table having a bowl of cereal floating in lukewarm tap water. She always had water on her cereal because her father said she didn't deserve milk like her sister always got. Her sister poked her and called her water baby when they were sent out to play in the yard alone. Vanessa teased her about their dad loving her more and taunted her about not getting to play daddy's game. She went on about how fun it was even though she said it through an obvious frown. Shirley wasn't jealous--she wasn't anything--that was something she got from watching her mother endure her father's cruel words and backhands. While they were playing outside a sharp wind cutting bang came from the upstairs loft. Both girls were shocked to stone and slowly moved their heavy legs walking towards the door. Before they got there Shirley's mom burst through the screen door wearing little more than a bra and panties. Both under garments were polka dotted in iodine colored blood and soaked in a fear's worth of perspiration. She grabbed Shirley and barked at Vanessa to get in the family's old car. They were off and they were silent all the way to a two story house a few hours drive away. It was the house their father grew up in and where his mother still lived. Shirley blurred like her lips and was replaced by the white and black specks. Joe sat in the same stone shocked stillness the girls did when they heard the bullet slice the air. His silence was interrupted by an angry stomach. A stomach angry enough to break Joe's rocky pose and prompt him to head off the find some food. Not a single crumb found in the motel forced an outing to the closest open store he could find.

Joe walked in and noticed the store was packed when the parking lot told him it would be empty. Fellow shoppers were glowing with golden halos while garishly displaying their pearly whites as he walked by. Joe's eyes were magnifying glasses so everything looked out of proportion. The shoppers shoved their faces so close against his that he could smell the lotions and tonics that coated their smooth ivory skin. He sensed they knew and they were pleased that they were in the presence of a man who had set himself aside to make the world a better place for each and every one of them.They needn't know about the perks. As he drank this all in Joe's halo grew and burned hotter and hotter; bright red at first then blue and finally so hot it was a harsh white beam exploding off his head and out of his hands. Walking was floating and the floor melted under his feet leaving a canal through the store of smoldering lava behind him. As it cooled crystals formed the shapes of contorted faces Joe knew but didn't notice. The beams of light curdled milk in the dairy aisle, wilted lettuce in produce, and burned the cheeks and tongues of his admirers transforming them into an angry mob. Joe spun around hitting some of the now clenched teeth, hissing crowd with the shopping cart he chose on his way in. Their golden halos were gone, replaced by scaly skin and blood shot eyes. They had familiar faces Joe thought he recognized but couldn't place. His hands were welded to the handle of the cart another victim of the white hot aura that he couldn't control. His hero-ship was turned against him in a matter of minutes by no fault of his own. It was merely a misunderstanding and as soon as he learned to control it he'd be able to return and make amends. Until then he would need to stay out of places with large crowds and friendships were out of the question. Being a hero was solitary and he accepted this fate knowing he had Shirley and the television to keep him company and give him the friendly advice people need from time to time.

He ran out of the shopping center with the cart still attached to his hands. When he crossed through the automatic doors into the cool night air the cart released and he dashed to his car door yanking it open before slamming himself into the seat. The door closed and Joe looked back expecting to see frothing faces but all that he saw was an almost empty parking lot with just one store employee smiling as he lit a cigarette. Joe turned to face the steering wheel but caught a curious reflection as he swung his head around. Glancing back over he could see the faint outline of a face in a reflection on the back windshield. The reflection grew in size and opacity as Joe focused on the image trying to determine first if it were friend or foe and second the identity of the approaching figure. As soon as he recognized the person or thing had his hateful face the glass shattered into tiny diamonds bouncing off the backseat and on to the floor below. Joe sat staring at the figure admiring its features as one would admire their own before hopping into the shower. Entranced by its likeness to his own Joe didn't move or think as he should and just sat with his neck twisted to face the back window. Blood and saliva shot out of the other Joe' s throat splashing through the open window into the car. It soon covered Joe's waist and starting gushing out into the parking lot. He pushed open the door to speed the drainage process and looked back to further study his twin. Only what he saw looked nothing like him, but more like the monster Vanessa showed him under her dress. Joe tried to harness the power he felt inside the store to burn and destroy his attacker but it failed him. Not even an orange spark left his finger tips when he had willed flesh searing light and heat. Joe found himself in another plan B situation, turned the key, and started the car. Leaving the parking lot Joe made a right turn to get back on the highway.

Before he got to the highway he found himself pulling into the driveway of a small house in a quaint but dreary neighborhood. The beautiful woman, Vanessa's mom, he saw last time for a brief moment when she walked in from the cold was sitting on the porch rocking her baby. Vanessa was running around the yard screaming vulgar phrases and lifting her dress to passing cars. Some drivers honked and hollered for more while others appalled at the way such a young girl was acting turned away, yelled shaming words and, threw shaming glances her way. Vanessa looked right at Joe and lifted her dress. Blood was running down her legs on to the tops of her feet which streaked the grass while she was prancing around the yard.

Vanessa taunted the way only young children can, "Wanna play the game again, Joe?"

Vanessa's mother kept rocking not noticing or not caring what her little girl was doing and saying. Her dad opened the screen door and popped the woman in the mouth then the back of the head; she just kept rocking the baby. He insulted her and spit on the baby's face; she just kept on rocking. Vanessa saw and laughed just as she had before. Joe didn't know what to make of everything he saw, but he wanted to help the mother and baby get away and even felt sorry for Vanessa. The house and car faded Joe was standing in a wooded area on top of a disturbed patch of ground. His wife was breathing on his neck from behind. He knew it was her from the combination of her overbearing perfume and cigarette breath. Spit dripped onto his shoulder and formed an ice cold stream down his chest. She clenched his forearms with her rigid fingers using them to pull his body into hers.

Vanessa whispered, "You're going to sleep here."

A knock on the driver's side window woke Joe to bright morning sun. He heard a muffled voice through the glass and looked over at a store employee. Joe made out the words "You can't sleep here" so he started his car causing the young man to take a few backward steps away from the shuddering car. On his way back to room 109 at the Embassy Suites Motel Joe noted that neither the back window was broken nor the car covered in pale red spit. It was another of Vanessa's message in his dream attempts. This time Joe got the message to buy some coffee until he could track down some meth to keep himself awake and appease his furious stomach.

This was the night. Joe's mouth dripped soaked in anticipation's saliva while vodka churned with stomach acid slowly leaking into his blood through his quivering guts. Each step closer to Marianne uncovered a raw anger under Joe's slippery skin, the anger turned to rage lifting silver scales that covered his body, and his white hot aura returned in a brilliant flash. Joe was again a hand of God. The rail on the front steps charred where Joe's fingertips dragged over the damp surface. Steam whistled under his feet so loud he feared the neighbors would wake and alert his prey or worse, the police. He opened the front door and slid in as fast and as quietly as he could to get away from possible neighborly eyes and to get to Marianne before she knew what was coming. Mrs. Nolan was naked standing in front of the bathroom mirror when she saw Joe breach the threshold into her room. She was admiring the breast her father bought her for her recent birthday and instead of fear of Joe she was embarrassed that he caught her in a moment of vanity. Fear finally shook Marianne when she saw that Joe was wielding a straight razor and a crow bar. It was far too late to run and the crow bar smashed into a brittle skull creating a lake of blood spanned by bridges of twisted hair. Another swing found the bar across Marianne's cheek exploding the bone into five. Falling to her knees she begged Joe to stop and told him he could have anything he wanted.

Marianne gasped and forced through her sore face, "Please don't kill me."

Joe slit her throat and watched the thick blood swirl around the white beam jutting from his hand. Standing on her back he used the crow bar to coax her spine free, snapping tendons and muscle, while he crushed her ribs under his weight.  Joe cut the skin from her stomach in strips and stuck them to the wall watching as some slid down slumping in piles bolstered by the base boards that polished the room. Her body was finally moved to her bed where Joe could assault her with his last dignity stripping act. He came in his hand and watched it fight the water on the way down the drain. After washing his hands he used them to mark her forehead releasing the rage and dousing his aura. With nothing left behind to link him to Marianne's fate he left the way he came. Getting out a few moments before her sister would lose her voice screaming through a river of turquoise tears.