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03.13.06 On the 15th
I: London, England - residence of
Lady Stephanie Dynasty-Lancaster
There's some days in life that I
just wake up in the morning and ask myself why I am bothering to do
this.
What will it accomplish.
I am an old man - a fact I
must constantly remind myself when I'm playing with young Master
Edward, who has now found the joy of the personal computer at only four
years old - and I am meddling in the life of a man who is only 35 years
of age, who has this young child and has so much going for him.
Despite selling his soul.
I can only see it growing more
intensely inside him, every time I watch the rebroadcast of each
"Outrage" programme.
I saw what he did to that poor
waif Dawn. The poor girl was mauled by the hands of that savage,
to the utter delight of that she-devil. I sometimes yearn to be
30 years old again so that I might strike him down myself.
I must be realistic
though. And I must stay on course.
I look down at young Master
Edward and remember that it is for his sake that I am doing this - for
the House of Lancaster.
I fear for the future. I
look at this world and see it falling apart at the seams.
I fear for Edward's
future. What type of man will he have to call "father" in the
future.
I fear for my future.
I fear that this insolent fool
will be victorious over Mr. Curtis, and I fear for the safety of the
others employed in OLW. If he tastes gold once again I know that
he will only increase his evils exponentially, and will stop at nothing
at holding on to his throne, to the point of insanity.
His avarice is insatiable, and
he is driven on by this Lady Macbeth.
I flip through the photo album
which I have in front of me and find one I prize, one with His Late
Grace the former Duke, and myself, back in 1977 after the restoration
of the Grand Library had been completed.
What a fine young fellow I
look, I chuckle.
As is James, the man who has
replaced me, and thankfully provides me with updates ongoing at the
Estate.
My chuckle melts into a frown
when I think upon what he has told me.
Things rotten to the core,
typical yet disgusting.
James told me he stumbled upon
a banking transaction carried out by the fool's financial advisor,
transferring money to a Swiss bank account, to the sum of one million
pounds sterling.
The fool never dealt with
Swiss banks.
But what can I do? Go to
the police? On what concrete basis?
There is none. For now.
But it only serves to steady
my resolve.
"Simkins..."
I feel a tug at my
trousers. I look down to see Master Edward having come for a wee
visit.
"Yes my fine young lad."
He's pouting so.
"It's almost my birthday on
the 15th. When's Daddy coming home."
"...I don't know."
II: Manhattan, New York - the Jean
Georges, at the Trump International Hotel and Tower
It's almost our anniversary, on the
15th.
One year.
Woop-de-fucking do.
Do I find myself any wealthier? Well...I will be soon, as soon as
Hëlius Andrös is finished copying those paintings from the
idiot's estate and I keep the originals.
And of course I got that nice little injection of funds from selling
the idiot's diamond from the wedding ring.
So yes, I suppose I am wealthier. Thank fucking hell, because I'm
sure as hell not getting anything much else out of this so-called
marriage.
I could give him a child I guess...and then kill the idiot and make
sure that he or she grows up with me manipulating them.
But then there's the Edward problem. The little bastard is heir
to the Duchy and the Estate. Maybe I could have him killed?
Marissah...kill a child? Now that's too far.
Or is it?
Paulus suggested it once when I was bitching that once the idiot's
gone, I'll have no right to anything seeing as Edward would take
over. I'd only be the Dowager Duchess, impotent otherwise in
every other way.
But if I had a child who could succeed the idiot, then my family and
lineage would take over...
It could be the House of Whitely instead. I like the sound of
that.
Look at him chatting away on his cell phone.
In the middle of dinner. I don't care, even if he's just brought
me downstairs from our condo to eat here.
I thought he had learned etiquette during his upbringing. But
from what he's told me he was too fucking drunk most of the time to
even take notice, so I shouldn't be surprised.
"I'll be dealing with Jesse
James it would seem."
I fake a smile as he hangs up, finally.
"Good. Should be an easy
win. Now turn of that goddamn thing and order us some drinks."
He doesn't seem too amused.
"Easy win? No win is an
easy win - even against some cowboy wanna-be piece of shit."
That's more like it.
"Well just do what you did to
Daeriq Damien, and try to avoid getting your ass whipped by half the
roster this time around, okay?"
"I did all right I thought,"
he shrugs.
"Only because the Untouchables
saved your ass. And so did Kirk, or whatever the fuck he calls
himself, at the end of the night."
"Kirk's not a bad guy. He
did me a favour, I didn't ask him to. Hell that was practically
the first words we've spoken since he's started running the show as it
were."
"What he did to poor Cole was
inexcusable though." Shit I just want to devour him...
Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned him - he looks decidedly perturbed
now.
"Inexcusable? You want to
talk inexcusable, you should just look at what you did after he was
already on the [he leans forward] fucking ground unconscious."
I run it back in my mind. Running my hands over his chiseled
chest, mixing more of his sweet blood into the bottle...oh shit that
turned me on so much.
"I don't know what you mean,"
I offer.
"You already had his blood in the bottle, yet you
just happen to add some more by crawling on top of his chest.."
"I forgot we already did."
"Bullshit," he angrily
sneers. Whatever.
"Robert, I am not going to sit here and talk about
this."
"Oh yes you fucking will."
He grabs my arm and stares at me. What's his goddamn problem?
"Lest I remind you that you are
my
wife and your devotion lays with me - if you look at him in that way
again I will make you regret it for the rest of your life."
He's deadly serious.
I only sit with my mouth agape.
Who does he think he is? I mean really.
He's nothing. His love or passion means nothing to me anymore.
He's just a damn wallet as far as I'm concerned. And if he wants
to try and think that he can order me around, like he did in getting me
to go to that fucking dinner with that loser Curtis? He's out of
his mind.
I don't want to get into it here and now. He's lucky. I'm
going to spare him my wrath.
I turn on the sweetest, most apologetic smile I can muster.
It disarms him instantly as his expression changes immediately.
He's such a fool.
"I'm sorry baby...I don't know
what came over me...just seeing his blood did something to me...I
promise I won't do it again."
I take his hand in mine and hold it, massaging it while never letting
go of his eyes.
"That's my girl. Now -
I'll have to be in touch with Kirk later since it was he who I was just
talking to - don't let me forget. I think Mr. James is going to
regret having been assigned this bout with me. Be confident my
sweet - I am, as you should be. I only hope Curtis is, lest he be
easy pickings."
Oh I'm confident. I'm confident that everything in this marriage
is going to work out to my advantage
- and that once I'm done with this wrestlinng shit - God how I hate it - and once I'm done with
him - he will only have regrets, loneliness, and bankruptcy to keep him
company.
"Drinks, madame?"
"Château Cheval Blanc,
1982, a bottle."
The waiter nods and leaves.
"That's $9450," he
protests.
I giggle.
"Oh baby - money makes
everything taste better."
I am become Death
The Destroyer
of Worlds
