11.07.06 Avarice - Heresy Most Foul

I: Tuesday, October 31, 2006, New York City, New York; Trump International Hotel and Tower

My holiest of days is upon me. I have avoided all meetings, appointments, events - anything that would dissuade me from participating and concentrating on the most significant day of the year.

I remember last 31st of October all too well. My wife so curtly interrupting my solemnity, I could have choked her to death where she stood.

This time things are different. I screwed her out of her mind a few hours ago, satisfying her, and well, myself, frankly, and to guarantee silence within my study.

I reflect more upon the year that is past. It is THIS day above all others that marks the passing of the year, not the first of January.

The year did not disappoint. I became the best in the world. And remain as such.

The hold on the championship is strong. I look at OLW and I see my challengers to be nearly non-existent.

Ripper Longshanks comes to mind though as I mentally pour over the roster of rogues. I've had several dealings with him in my prior life. He betrayed me. He feels he is the epitome of evil. Should he cross my path again, we will be on a different footing this time. The Darkness is dead and buried. And I will send him to join them if needs be. It is I that looks down upon him now. I am sovereign; he is slave. And I shall keep it this way.

Ironically, it is my alleged teammates that hold me in such dishonour, that it is they who ought to be the next victims of obliteration. Daniel Vicious along with his beat off buddy, Jefferson Andrews.

Mr. Andrews learned the hard way, yet again, that he should not oppose my will, and that to fight with me, instead of against me, would be the most profitable and easiest way to live a glorious, prosperous life, with a career to match. He shuns me though and only has his words to move him onwards - towards what, I don't know - let the illusions guide him until he finds them empty.

I think on these things too much though. I must focus all my energy and depravity once more upon yes, him who sustains me.

A deep, blood red glass of burgundy red wine sits waiting for me on my large mahogany desk. The light from a few well placed candles dance and reflect off the walls; the shadows are manipulated with every flicker, with every passing second. They are indeed hypnotic.

I sit in my leather backed office chair and pointing my remote at the Bose Wave player, hit "play." Once more the Third Ear Band's "Dagger and Death," from Polanski's Macbeth begins.

I close my eyes. I hear the demons cry. I envision the bloody murder.

My breathing accelerates. I pick up my glass of wine. I feel my rage and hatred reaching their apex. My free hand grows tighter on the leather to the point that I feel like my fingers shall break.

My body begins to shake.

The trembling increases.

My eyes flash open. Out of the corner of my eye...

...No.

Is this possible...one of the shadows

...I shake my head and mumble...unable to even move in this chair

the glass of wine shatters onto the floor beneath me.

The...it...begins to slide up my leg and into my arm

I

Powerless. He begins to scream at the top of his lungs as he grabs the temples of his head and squeezes them violently. He collapses onto the ground and grabs his face with a moan of anguish and torment; his finger nails dig deep into the flesh; blood spews forward and down his arm as he stumbles to his feet and thrashes into the bookcase. A marble bust of Shakespeare falls from the case and joins the wine glass, splintered on to the ground.

He grabs the edge of the desk as he falls to his knees, and pulls himself up, still unable to rid himself of that which is torturing him.

A vision enters his mind and a message is relayed: ten times you must defy Him; or you shall pay.

"ROBERT!"

The Duchess of Wessex rushes in and grabs her husband who is now laying on top of the desk, his back arched up in the air.

His back ceases to arch with her touch; he now lays on the desk, bleeding, but now free from its grip.

She turns off the music and pulls him up slowly, as the blood from his self-inflicted nail marks continues to roll down his cheeks. She runs a hand through his hair as he falls forward into her arms, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

She looks around to see the damage done in the room before looking back at her husband.

Several hours later:

"I have no explanation for what happened to you," noted the physician.

The Duke looks up at him and sighs loudly.

"Is there anything I can do?"

The physician shakes his head. "I found nothing wrong. Your scans came back normal: neurological, cardiovascular, everything. Save that back injury you suffered years ago which still shows, I can find nothing. How are you feeling now."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Aside from my face which stings like shit, not bad. But something did happen."

The physician nods sympathetically.

"Unless it's something psychological. If anything, and I mean anything, happens like this again, you seek treatment immediately. Since you've had no past episodes and there's no history of it in your family we don't want anything flaring up. Until then, there's nothing I can do."

He pats the Duke on his shoulder.

"Just try and rest."

The Duke and Duchess thank him and depart the facility.

"You damn well better cut your drinking," the Duchess spouted coldly.

"It wasn't the drinking," he retorted under his breath so as to not disturb the others in the building.

"Then what the fuck was it."

"I told you what happened."

Angrily she opens the door to the Jaguar, taking the driver's seat upon her insistence.

"You expect me to believe that. What is this a fucking Exorcist remake?"

"Until it happens to you you won't know what I went through for those two minutes of...hell."

"Holy shit Robert." She turns to him as they pull out of the lot. "You're really really fucked up you know that?"

The rest of the trip was in silence. They prepared for bed, but he was rebuffed by the Duchess.

"You think I'm going to spend a night with a fucking psychotic tonight? No way."

She slammed the door and locked it.

Robert wasn't angry. He was left stunned, but not angry. Just resigned to what had happened to him - so he thought.

He rubbed his head, still aching somewhat from the vice like grip he imposed on it, and moved into the guest room of their condominium. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head hanging low, his arms resting on his knees.

The event churned through his mind repeatedly. Did it happen? Could it have happened.

Perhaps he was losing it. Perhaps all those blows on the head - as that washed up Irish piece of shit Finnegan used to remark - are finally taking their toll.

He lost all comprehension from those two minutes of terror.

The message still haunted him. Ten things. What ten things? More importantly...or else, pay.

...pay how?

The old cliché in all its truthful glory played out: do not ask questions you do not want answers to.

He looked at his watch. Nearly 5AM.

He needed reassurance. It lay in England.

A moment later on his cell phone: "James."

"Yes sir, good morning sir...it's quite early over there!"

Score five points for Jim in the "bloody obvious" category.

"Yes James. I did not have a very...enjoyable 31st of October."

"Oh...is there anything I can help you with?"

"Unless you're a trained exorcist..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Enough about me. How's the Estate. What have you been up to."

"Things are going well enough Rob. Your financial...advisor, Mr. Paulus, is still frequently over."

"Good to hear, I hope he's handling things well. I haven't had the time or impetus to look into things for weeks if not months on end. I really should check things out."

"Yes..."

A nervous gulp is silenced by Jim with as much force as he could muster.

"As for myself Rob, I've been trying to keep busy. Saw a wonderful documentary on last night."

"Oh?" His interest is piqued and he is distracted momentarily from his trauma. "What on."

"Fascinating look at Moses, his time in Egypt, freeing the Hebrews, bringing the Ten Commandments to the people and what not. Really great stuff."

..."Rob?"

"Thank you Jim. I have to go now."

He hung up.