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 Posted: Fri Sep 28, 2007 7:08 pm
"...and that, ladies and gentleman, ends my broadcast night. I hope you've had a ghoulishly good time, and stay on for Madman Matt in the morning."
With that, Aaron cycled into Matt's morning advertisement, sliding the headphones off and slouching down in the chair.
"You look dead, A." Matt said as he walked in, a twinkle in his red eyes and a twisted smile on his ******** you Matt." Aaron threw back with a smirk, hefting his weight from the chair and pushing some loose brown hair from his face.
"Not in this life time-" Matt began.
"-or the next. I know, I know." Aaron responded as he crossed the room "Have a good day brother."
"You too, man. And get somethin' to eat, you're wastin' away."
"I keep tellin' yuh dude, that's the maggots."
Matt laughed "Whatever man." before slipping the headphones on and howling into the mike.
By the time Aaron was down the hall, Matt was in his full routine, no doubt walking up more than a few unfortunates who'd left their radios on. He chuckled slightly as he staggered towards the staff room.
Moving with a slow, uneven gate, he approached the fridge when he heard a slight cough. Turning his head in a most exhausted fashion, his eyes eventually came upon an unfamiliar blond sitting in the corner.
Black heels, stockings, charcoal business skirt and suit coat, white blouse, her outfit had a certain static rigidity ill-fitting this particular radio station. Though there was a passable smile on her face, even her green eyes spoke more of intensity and focus than genuine happiness.
"Aaron Wight?" Her voice had an odd lilt to it, like his name was more a business statistic than a facet of his person.
"Somethin' you need, sweet cheeks?" He replied, pushing errant hair aside again. Though by no means long-haired, he did tend to keep his bangs unnecessarily long, mostly out of habit. In doing so, he revealed a very tired looking face inset with two deep, hazel eyes.
"Susan Waters." She replied in a hard tone.
"Alright Susie-Q, what can I do for you?" He retorted, hand now reaching for the fridge.
"I've come to interview you in relation to you radio personality."
"The hell," he crooked an eyebrow "why?"
"I'm doing a series of magazine articles relating to false images and how close to reality they are, and I find yours rather... interesting." With that, she removed a pen and pad from her pocket.
"You wanna do a psych piece on 'A wight's all-night fright'?" He replied in a somewhat mocking tone.
"Not so much a 'psych piece,' but yes, an article addressing how close, or far, you are in relation to this character you've created."
Finally opening the fridge, he leaned in, "Yuh know, normally babe,"
"Susan." She interjected.
"Yuh know, normally babe," he replied in an equally hard tone. "I'd love to. Publicity is always good. But there's been some s**t goin' down in my neck of the woods lately."
"You mean those CEO murders."
"Wha- now how'd you know those took place down my way?" He peaked his head up around the fridge door.
Now, the smile on her face was genuine. "A good reporter does her research."
"Obviously not good enough." He mumbled.
"What was that?"
"Nevermind. Suffice it to say, I'm tired, so I'm gonna get a bite then go back to my apartment and die. Dig?" With that, he pulled a beat up metal lunchbox from the fridge.
"Mr. Wight, I really must insist." She said, standing, those black heels hitting the ground with an even click.
"And why's that, Susie-Q?" He closed the fridge and looked towards her. Something about the look in his eyes no longer spoke of exhaustion, but something a touch more sinister.
"Because in my research 'Whitey,' I've come across some disturbing parallels between those aforementioned murders, and the 'ficticious' actions of your persona. So, unless you'd rather I see where that path leads, I would suggest you give me that interview."
Aaron was in front of her faster than she expected, staring down at her with those shadowed, hazel eyes. Something about them made him far more imposing, his presence far greater, as though he was blotting out everything in the room but himself. Eventually, through gritted teeth, he replied.
"Fine. Meet me at my apartment in 3 hours. I trust I don't need to give directions."
"So I'll get my ******** no. I'm just gonna show you that 'A wight's all night fright,' goes all day too." With that, he spun quickly on his heels, grabbed his lunch box, and was gone.
It took Susan a few moments to compose herself. When she finally did, she was leaving the staff room when something caught her eye. One the table, where he'd set the lunch box, there was an old pooling of liquid. Leaning closer, the realization was enough to rattle her: blood, and a lot of it. This was going to be an interesting interview.
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Posted: Fri Oct 05, 2007 7:32 pm
At 10 minutes to 10, Susan stood outside the apartment building. One of the nicer apartment complexes, it fit the burgeoning middle class feel of the area. That's what had made those recent murders all the more peculiar, that men of such power would be in a neighbourhood like this.
Clicking her heels again slightly, she firmly pressed the buzzer corresponding to Aaron's apartment.
The intercom crackled: "I said '3 hours', not '2 hours and 51 minutes' so wait the other 9, Susie-Q, or piss off." His candor was even more irritated than at the radio station.
She bristled at this reply and intently pressed the button again. No response. A third time. Still nothing. As she began to push the button for the fourth time, she heard a feint whistle, getting rapidly louder.
Glancing up, she noticed the errant flowerpot with just enough time to stare dumbfounded before it shattered at her feet, sparking a rather impressive jump on her part.
Then came the voice, from 10 stories up: "I've 7 more minutes, Susie-Q, so either be patient or ******** off!"
"What the hell was that?" came a new voice, closer to her than Aaron's but not by much.
"It was your mom, Patterson. I finished poundin' her a** so I flipped her off the balcony."
"You b*****d! Don't you speak like that about my mom! She was a saint!"
"Mine's dead too, Patty-boy. And she's still a better lay than yours was!"
"You ********! That's it, I'm comin' up there Aaron. Let's see how well that big mouth of yours works with a broken jaw!"
"Fatty-Patty, you read my mind you bloated sack of s**t!"
She shook her head and pulled out a cigarette.
As she took the last drag off the smoke, the door suddenly buzzed. Hastily tossing the butt aside, she slipped in. The elevator doors opened just as she entered, an odd bit of fortune on her part. Stepping inside, she realized there was a man standing next to the buttons.
"Excuse me sir, I have an appointment to keep." She tried to slip past him to press '10'.
The man turned towards her, and she gasped slightly; he was a bloody wreck. It looked like his face and neck had been beaten heavily with a chain. His eyes were completely closed over with bruising and his flesh was a livid mix of purples, greens, yellows, and reds. Large quantities of sticky blood clung to his battered mess. It was enough to rattle her, if only for a moment.
Then, he spoke. "Ah no miff." His words were muffled by the swollen flesh and the absence of teeth. "Eron sen meh."
He stabbed the button and the doors close.
The next nine floors seemed to take an entirety. The elevator lacked music, so the only sound was the periodic drip of blood, and the tortured breathing of this brutalized man.
Finally, the device stopped and the door opened.
"Beeehhh." The man said before shoving her into the hall. By the time she turned, the door was closed and she could see the light descending.
As the last of it faded from view, she turned and proceeding to the apartment. Knocking evenly on the door, she received what was now the expected 'harsh response.' "'sunlocked."
Silence, for a good 30 seconds, as she stood by the door, waiting.
Abruptly, it swung open. "It's unlocked means you can ******** op-."
Aaron was cut off as her foot buried itself in his crotch.
"That's just to make clear I won't be as easily beaten as that gentleman in the elevator." She said, pulling on his head by the hair to glare in his eyes.
The smile on his face sent on chill down her spine and, the steady tone of his voice fired up her flight reaction like nothing else, but she didn't budge.
"Susie-Q, I'd expect no less. Now, unless you plan on draining my balls with those toes of yours, I'd suggest you pull your foot from my sack and come in." Her grip loosened, her foot descended, and she entered.
His apartment was morbid shrine to rock music. Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Freddy Mercury, Lynyrd Skynyrd, these and many other dead rock greats were represented. What was eerie, was how: their albums were present, as were various posters, statues, and pictures. But any instance where the musicians were visible, they'd been painted, expertly, to look dead. Grey pallor, bluish lips, purple veins. It was as though all these displays had originally been done post-mortem, and then doctored for the public to make the musicians look alive.
He smiled, a real, pleased smile, as he noticed her wandering eye. "Impressive eh?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah." She responded.
"I've been doin' these for years. Takes a good bit of work, but I find it more appealing than the creepy false life of the normal stuff."
"Anyway," he dropped himself down in a rather beat up old beanbag chair "You wanted that interview, so have at it. Just sit on the couch there, it should be pretty clean." This last part was said with a tidy smirk.
Pulling a recorder from her purse, she sat carefully upon the ancient-looking brown couch. Pressing the button on the side, the green light came on, "Alright Aaron, or should I say 'Mr. A Wight of the all-night fright' let's begin..."
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