Dagger and Death
I: Monday, October
31,
2005: New York City, New York: Trump
International Hotel & Tower, approximately 2:30AM
Dagger
I must give myself completely over to him. On this night of all other nights I must bow before him and acknowledge that he still controls my fate and it is to him that I owe all my success, all my happiness, my very being. The Dark Lord has fulfilled his promises to me and I must do so to him. I know I have wavered but I must keep my eyes on him.
On this night of all nights I set myself some time to think. To think deeply on all the conflicts mired in within me.
I have candles, no less than a dozen, blood crimson red scattered about the library. I have my compact disk of the soundtrack from Polanski's 1971 masterpiece interpretation of Macbeth in my Bose Wave Radio/CD, with the track "Dagger and Death" set on repeat. It haunts my very being and purifies and focuses my intensity. My bloodlust. My hatred. My strength.
I know what we must face. The Destroyer of Worlds must destroy the worlds of all those he will face. All the strengths that he will face must be crushed and bent to his will. The Shatterer of Dreams, the Evolution of Essence must yuke all that is within him.
Yet I know that this match versus Killingbeck, Phoenix and Finnegan is but the prelude to the main act. And this main act shall lead to the final curtain, either for myself or for him.
I hear the tormented souls of the damned cry out, and those who walk the earth unbeknownst to all mortals make themselves known unto me. My body trembles. On this one day the portal to the other realm opens and we may experience the pains and sufferings of those who cannot rest.
I close my eyes and they clench tightly, out of my control. I must focus. I must focus.
I am the Thane of Glamis. I am in Dunsinane.
I open my eyes. I am in a dark hallway, I wear the Chain of Nobility. I feel the blood of the Lancasters of Wessex pulsating through my veins, and the savage deeds they committed to keep their titles, their lands, their honour, their lives, decade after decade, century upon century.
It is darkness, darkness engulfs me.
The dagger appears. Come let me clutch thee.
I have thee not but yet I see thee still.
Now with gouts of blood upon thee. You show me the way I must go.
Lead me forth then.
I enter the room to where I must go. Finnegan but sleeps and dreams a dream that will destroy him.
He sees when awake yet he is blind. He hears my words but he is deaf.
And this shall lead to death.
I pull forth the dagger corporeal to touch as that was incorporeal to vision.
Finnegan slumbers but slumbers not as I stab him:
I stab him
I stab him
I stab him
I stab him.
The Destroyer of Worlds hath destroyed.
We stab Phoenix We stab him We stab Killingbeck We stab him and We take his crown.
The Destroyer of Worlds hath destroyed.
Death
I'm standing outside our library, in my silk robe and Victoria's Secret negligee, waiting for my husband.
He said he'd only be an hour or so, doing God knows what, but he hasn't emerged.
I'm sitting here waiting to be screwed, and he has the nerve to stand me up? He's sitting there listening to the same track from the Polanski version of Macbeth repeatedly. It's ungodly. I know he told me not to disturb him, but who the fuck does he think he is?
I need to talk to him about something even more important than his husbandly duties to me. I can't sleep because of it, as I've tried to sleep instead of waiting for him, but since I'm unable, I need answers.
Shit...Am I to wait like some servant, waiting for their master?
Fuck him, and fuck this, a vow is a vow, and he told me about an hour, no longer.
I lurch forward and open the double library doors.
I freeze dead in my tracks. Blood red candles are lit everywhere, he sits in utter darkness save for those flames which dance and illuminate the room. He sits behind his desk, two fingers of each hand pressed against his temples, his eyes shut tight.
I don't know what...I...
Enough of this bullshit.
"ROBERT."
His hand reaches down for the remote for his Bose radio to hit the off button.
"I told you not to disturb me."
"Fuck Robert you said an hour or so. It's been over three now."
"I don't care how long it's been now please, just get out."
The son of a bitch.
"EXCUSE ME? You don't fucking talk to me like that, I'm..."
He slams the desk with his hand.
"Shut up. And get out."
I've never seen him like this...but he's going to fucking pay for this. Dearly.
I turn around and slam the door shut, but I remain inside. He's going to lose this one. He lets out an audible sigh. He slides down his chair and braces his face with his right hand, closing his eyes again.
"What. What is it."
"I need to ask you something and I want an answer now."
He extends his left hand out to me and sets it onto the desk, inviting me to query.
"Tomorrow is a very important night and I need to know if we're invited to attend the Met gala with the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall."
He opens his eyes again, his expression has not shifted however.
"This is important to me Robert, I want to go and I expect that we will."
"I received no invitation from the St. James's Palace nor has our presence been requested by anyone in the Royal Family. So no we're not going."
I...what? I throw my hands up into the air.
"What the fuck Robert? I'm NOBILITY, I'm the goddamn Duchess of Wessex, a virtual MEMBER of the Royal Family and we don't get invited! That's bullshit. They're here in MY city and we aren't even invited to greet them? This is unbelievable."
I can't believe this, I really can't. I'm insulted beyond belief. Now I know how Wallis Simpson felt.
"Marissah. How many bloody times do I have to go over this. We are not directly related to the House of Windsor, any relation is so blurred I can't make anything of it and any relation that does exist goes back centuries ago. Now please. Enough."
I look at him with disgust. He gives up so easily.
"Doesn't duty mean anything to you? You're Duke of Wessex and you just take this lying down?"
I'm deliberately pushing his buttons and I can play him like a fucking violin. He frowns deeply.
"I don't have to sit here and take this from you, do not ever dare mention duty to me, you're not my goddamn Father."
"You're right I'm not, I'm your wife and you can have the fucking decency to talk to me like it, and you can answer one more thing."
He grits his teeth. "If I answer will you get the hell out?"
I shrug. "If I want to."
"What."
"I want the phone number of that German artist you've employed in the past."
He furrows his brow in confusion. "What? Hëlius Andrös? Why?"
"You told me he does portraiture and art of any kind."
He nods. "He's great at reproduction art and can paint from the Renaissance to cubism, surrealism, whatever. What the hell do you want to talk to him for."
"I want to commission him to do a portrait of myself and my loving husband," I sneer. I think that tamed the dragon somewhat.
He reaches into his pocket and tosses his cell phone to me.
"His number should be on there somewhere."
I catch it and give him what he wants, silence. I close the doors and hear him muttering something under his breath.
Now this bastard I married is going to pay.
Dagger
I must give myself completely over to him. On this night of all other nights I must bow before him and acknowledge that he still controls my fate and it is to him that I owe all my success, all my happiness, my very being. The Dark Lord has fulfilled his promises to me and I must do so to him. I know I have wavered but I must keep my eyes on him.
On this night of all nights I set myself some time to think. To think deeply on all the conflicts mired in within me.
I have candles, no less than a dozen, blood crimson red scattered about the library. I have my compact disk of the soundtrack from Polanski's 1971 masterpiece interpretation of Macbeth in my Bose Wave Radio/CD, with the track "Dagger and Death" set on repeat. It haunts my very being and purifies and focuses my intensity. My bloodlust. My hatred. My strength.
I know what we must face. The Destroyer of Worlds must destroy the worlds of all those he will face. All the strengths that he will face must be crushed and bent to his will. The Shatterer of Dreams, the Evolution of Essence must yuke all that is within him.
Yet I know that this match versus Killingbeck, Phoenix and Finnegan is but the prelude to the main act. And this main act shall lead to the final curtain, either for myself or for him.
I hear the tormented souls of the damned cry out, and those who walk the earth unbeknownst to all mortals make themselves known unto me. My body trembles. On this one day the portal to the other realm opens and we may experience the pains and sufferings of those who cannot rest.
I close my eyes and they clench tightly, out of my control. I must focus. I must focus.
I am the Thane of Glamis. I am in Dunsinane.
I open my eyes. I am in a dark hallway, I wear the Chain of Nobility. I feel the blood of the Lancasters of Wessex pulsating through my veins, and the savage deeds they committed to keep their titles, their lands, their honour, their lives, decade after decade, century upon century.
It is darkness, darkness engulfs me.
The dagger appears. Come let me clutch thee.
I have thee not but yet I see thee still.
Now with gouts of blood upon thee. You show me the way I must go.
Lead me forth then.
I enter the room to where I must go. Finnegan but sleeps and dreams a dream that will destroy him.
He sees when awake yet he is blind. He hears my words but he is deaf.
And this shall lead to death.
I pull forth the dagger corporeal to touch as that was incorporeal to vision.
Finnegan slumbers but slumbers not as I stab him:
I stab him
I stab him
I stab him
I stab him.
The Destroyer of Worlds hath destroyed.
We stab Phoenix We stab him We stab Killingbeck We stab him and We take his crown.
The Destroyer of Worlds hath destroyed.
Death
I'm standing outside our library, in my silk robe and Victoria's Secret negligee, waiting for my husband.
He said he'd only be an hour or so, doing God knows what, but he hasn't emerged.
I'm sitting here waiting to be screwed, and he has the nerve to stand me up? He's sitting there listening to the same track from the Polanski version of Macbeth repeatedly. It's ungodly. I know he told me not to disturb him, but who the fuck does he think he is?
I need to talk to him about something even more important than his husbandly duties to me. I can't sleep because of it, as I've tried to sleep instead of waiting for him, but since I'm unable, I need answers.
Shit...Am I to wait like some servant, waiting for their master?
Fuck him, and fuck this, a vow is a vow, and he told me about an hour, no longer.
I lurch forward and open the double library doors.
I freeze dead in my tracks. Blood red candles are lit everywhere, he sits in utter darkness save for those flames which dance and illuminate the room. He sits behind his desk, two fingers of each hand pressed against his temples, his eyes shut tight.
I don't know what...I...
Enough of this bullshit.
"ROBERT."
His eyes open to coincide with a
distinct pang in the music - where the dagger that leads Macbeth to
Duncan's chamber appears to him in a hallucinatory vision wrought by
murderous thoughts.
His hand reaches down for the remote for his Bose radio to hit the off button.
"I told you not to disturb me."
"Fuck Robert you said an hour or so. It's been over three now."
"I don't care how long it's been now please, just get out."
The son of a bitch.
"EXCUSE ME? You don't fucking talk to me like that, I'm..."
He slams the desk with his hand.
"Shut up. And get out."
I've never seen him like this...but he's going to fucking pay for this. Dearly.
I turn around and slam the door shut, but I remain inside. He's going to lose this one. He lets out an audible sigh. He slides down his chair and braces his face with his right hand, closing his eyes again.
"What. What is it."
"I need to ask you something and I want an answer now."
He extends his left hand out to me and sets it onto the desk, inviting me to query.
"Tomorrow is a very important night and I need to know if we're invited to attend the Met gala with the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall."
He opens his eyes again, his expression has not shifted however.
"This is important to me Robert, I want to go and I expect that we will."
"I received no invitation from the St. James's Palace nor has our presence been requested by anyone in the Royal Family. So no we're not going."
I...what? I throw my hands up into the air.
"What the fuck Robert? I'm NOBILITY, I'm the goddamn Duchess of Wessex, a virtual MEMBER of the Royal Family and we don't get invited! That's bullshit. They're here in MY city and we aren't even invited to greet them? This is unbelievable."
I can't believe this, I really can't. I'm insulted beyond belief. Now I know how Wallis Simpson felt.
"Marissah. How many bloody times do I have to go over this. We are not directly related to the House of Windsor, any relation is so blurred I can't make anything of it and any relation that does exist goes back centuries ago. Now please. Enough."
I look at him with disgust. He gives up so easily.
"Doesn't duty mean anything to you? You're Duke of Wessex and you just take this lying down?"
I'm deliberately pushing his buttons and I can play him like a fucking violin. He frowns deeply.
"I don't have to sit here and take this from you, do not ever dare mention duty to me, you're not my goddamn Father."
"You're right I'm not, I'm your wife and you can have the fucking decency to talk to me like it, and you can answer one more thing."
He grits his teeth. "If I answer will you get the hell out?"
I shrug. "If I want to."
"What."
"I want the phone number of that German artist you've employed in the past."
He furrows his brow in confusion. "What? Hëlius Andrös? Why?"
"You told me he does portraiture and art of any kind."
He nods. "He's great at reproduction art and can paint from the Renaissance to cubism, surrealism, whatever. What the hell do you want to talk to him for."
"I want to commission him to do a portrait of myself and my loving husband," I sneer. I think that tamed the dragon somewhat.
He reaches into his pocket and tosses his cell phone to me.
"His number should be on there somewhere."
I catch it and give him what he wants, silence. I close the doors and hear him muttering something under his breath.
Now this bastard I married is going to pay.