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<blockquote data-quote="Arrgh! Mark!" data-source="post: 2124613" data-attributes="member: 14559"><p><strong>Chapter 2 – The Dark Home of Sanity</strong></p><p></p><p>When the shark bites, </p><p>With his teeth dear,</p><p>Scarlet billows start to spread</p><p></p><p>Fancy gloves though, </p><p>Wears Mack here dear</p><p>So there’s not a trace of red.</p><p></p><p>On the sidewalk, Sunday morning</p><p>Lies a body </p><p>oozing light.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Someone’s sneaking’</p><p>Round the corner</p><p>Is that someone Mack the Knife?</p><p></p><p>- Mack the Knife, Louis Armstrong.</p><p></p><p></p><p>“Darkholme Sanatorium?”</p><p></p><p>What sort of name is that, anyway? I remember thinking - when would that woman get off her phone? The ring tone of doom. There I was, cheap suit-clad avenger in a dark rabbit-skin fedora with a man of seven feet looming above me and a raging need to pee. And she wouldn’t get out of that damned flash Mitsubishi thing with the flanges and extra bitties on the outside. </p><p></p><p>The big man smiled at me. “Mr. Goethe?” I was getting tired of that. “Ever been here before?”</p><p></p><p>“No. I’m sure I’d remember a name like that. Sounds like somewhere they keep criminal genius’s with the power to destroy the world or something.”</p><p></p><p>That infernal smiling bald guy just grinned a little harder. Why was everyone so smiling? Clients in this business are crying and whinging and flailing about. But then, they didn’t have me by the balls.</p><p></p><p>* * *</p><p></p><p>“Project Zarathustra?” Asked the white clad scientist fellow with hard eyes and a permanent lickspittle expression. I remember clenching my muscles, trying to burst free from the ..restraints?</p><p></p><p>“Yes. We shall create him, and he shall be the Prophet. He..”</p><p></p><p>The scientist coughed slightly. The other man, Harold Hawk, that moustachioed preacher with a mind like a diamond looked over. </p><p></p><p>“What is it, you bloody Igor?” </p><p></p><p>Hard-eyes smiled. “I’d hate to have you resembling some two bit villain from the comics.” </p><p></p><p>Hawk laughed, his braying cry echoing over the spotless room. “You’re right, of course. But the drugs should be kicking in.”</p><p></p><p>My vision blurred. Nothing more than that. The two of them waited as I blurrily gazed about the room. I must admit I had a feeling of dissapointment. Lickspittle with his hard eyes and likely traitorous feelings and Hawk with his already composed speech and donkey laugh. I remember telling them something about do it with hacksaws.</p><p></p><p>Maybe it happened. I’ve no idea. Blurry vision for ten minutes, throes of red, my hands looked red in the light..</p><p></p><p>* * *</p><p></p><p>“I mean, Darkholme Sanatorium? Dark Home? Isn’t that a bit grotesque? Most of these places are called Nicey home for the momentarily eccentric or something.” </p><p></p><p>“Mr. Goethe,” Ah, she’d finally arrived. Women and phonecalls. “I’ve heard you have a way with words. Lets wander in, see what we find.” That ice-cold voice sent shivers up my spine. </p><p></p><p>Nodding, I followed her past the rather ominous shrubbery and the odd people being pushed around in wheelchairs. None really looked like a goatee would suit. I stroked my stubbly face, thinking that I probably should have showered. Ah well. </p><p></p><p>“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Goethe. Where are you from?”</p><p></p><p>“Melbourne, actually. I came here for the inclement weather.” She smiled, bringing a hand to cover her red, red lips and dark eyes…</p><p></p><p>“Really? Tell me, did you ever go to Lunar Park?”</p><p></p><p>Lunar Park? Isn’t that in Sydney? I remember a great face, a little girl..</p><p></p><p>“Not that I know of.”</p><p></p><p>We had reached the entrance to the great dark building with the sound of air conditioners and smell of sickness under chlorine. Her big lurker, seeing us enter, exited scene left with her car. I wondered how long she intended us to be here. I was thinking, quick ask of the receptionist, tell her that I’d do some ‘Research’ and exeunt as if chased by bear. </p><p></p><p>So much for that idea.</p><p></p><p>The receptionist was attractive in a non-seductive out-of-my-league way. Those cold eyes, like cigarette ash. “Welcome to Darkholme, how may I help you?”</p><p>That cheery voice immediately put me on my guard. No one who’s worked for an eight-hour shift is cheerful. I was immediately suspicious, but used my magic to smarm my way into the proceedings. </p><p></p><p>Before Ms. Hawk could speak, I cut in. “Hello! I’dliketoaskaboutapreviouspatient, If you please! Thanks so much!” The receptionist blinked those ash eyes at me, visibly backing up. </p><p></p><p>Harriet, her mouth still open, quickly turned it into a smile. “Yes! Thanks! My friend stayed here some time ago and is tracking his parents. You will be able to help us, won’t you?” The lie was maintained as I smiled knowingly at the receptionist. Oddly, she drew back even further.</p><p></p><p>Come to think of it, I wasn’t like that at all. Not normally, I mean. I don’t remember ever making such an arse out of myself in front of a woman since high school. I attributed it to the fact I hadn’t been laid in six months. Or however long it was. I was edgy, lost my cool. I took a moment to come to myself.</p><p></p><p>The receptionist blinked. “Uh, I’m not sure..”</p><p></p><p>Harriet smiled charmingly. The receptionist, no older than Harriet visibly relaxed. She smiled. I’m not kidding you folks, there was some serious mojo happening and there was no men invited. Ms. Hawk touched me on the wrist with a knowing glance. Within moments the two of them were “Off” in the “Filing Room” and there I was, left all on my lonesome with the vestiges of longing trailing me like cords of acid-soaked razor wire.</p><p></p><p>I flicked my fedora. Noticing a mirror, I practiced sliding my fingers on the brim. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide.. she’d like this..</p><p></p><p>What? </p><p></p><p>What was happening to me? Sure I hadn’t been laid, but this was a bit much. I could even see them in the filing room, talking. Why did my imagination leap so far..?</p><p></p><p>Why in all hell did I want her so badly? Through the window with its multitude of stickers (You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps!) she didn’t look so crash hot. Pretty, yeah. Stunning.</p><p></p><p>But I had no sudden desire to rip my clothes off and become “Flash” Gordon, so to speak.</p><p></p><p>By the time they came out, I also wondered why exactly it was that Ms. Hawk hadn’t been able to get these files before. And there they were, in her hands. If she had the ability to get those files..</p><p></p><p>Why was she using me?</p><p></p><p>End Part 2</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Arrgh! Mark!, post: 2124613, member: 14559"] [b]Chapter 2 – The Dark Home of Sanity[/b] When the shark bites, With his teeth dear, Scarlet billows start to spread Fancy gloves though, Wears Mack here dear So there’s not a trace of red. On the sidewalk, Sunday morning Lies a body oozing light. Someone’s sneaking’ Round the corner Is that someone Mack the Knife? - Mack the Knife, Louis Armstrong. “Darkholme Sanatorium?” What sort of name is that, anyway? I remember thinking - when would that woman get off her phone? The ring tone of doom. There I was, cheap suit-clad avenger in a dark rabbit-skin fedora with a man of seven feet looming above me and a raging need to pee. And she wouldn’t get out of that damned flash Mitsubishi thing with the flanges and extra bitties on the outside. The big man smiled at me. “Mr. Goethe?” I was getting tired of that. “Ever been here before?” “No. I’m sure I’d remember a name like that. Sounds like somewhere they keep criminal genius’s with the power to destroy the world or something.” That infernal smiling bald guy just grinned a little harder. Why was everyone so smiling? Clients in this business are crying and whinging and flailing about. But then, they didn’t have me by the balls. * * * “Project Zarathustra?” Asked the white clad scientist fellow with hard eyes and a permanent lickspittle expression. I remember clenching my muscles, trying to burst free from the ..restraints? “Yes. We shall create him, and he shall be the Prophet. He..” The scientist coughed slightly. The other man, Harold Hawk, that moustachioed preacher with a mind like a diamond looked over. “What is it, you bloody Igor?” Hard-eyes smiled. “I’d hate to have you resembling some two bit villain from the comics.” Hawk laughed, his braying cry echoing over the spotless room. “You’re right, of course. But the drugs should be kicking in.” My vision blurred. Nothing more than that. The two of them waited as I blurrily gazed about the room. I must admit I had a feeling of dissapointment. Lickspittle with his hard eyes and likely traitorous feelings and Hawk with his already composed speech and donkey laugh. I remember telling them something about do it with hacksaws. Maybe it happened. I’ve no idea. Blurry vision for ten minutes, throes of red, my hands looked red in the light.. * * * “I mean, Darkholme Sanatorium? Dark Home? Isn’t that a bit grotesque? Most of these places are called Nicey home for the momentarily eccentric or something.” “Mr. Goethe,” Ah, she’d finally arrived. Women and phonecalls. “I’ve heard you have a way with words. Lets wander in, see what we find.” That ice-cold voice sent shivers up my spine. Nodding, I followed her past the rather ominous shrubbery and the odd people being pushed around in wheelchairs. None really looked like a goatee would suit. I stroked my stubbly face, thinking that I probably should have showered. Ah well. “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Goethe. Where are you from?” “Melbourne, actually. I came here for the inclement weather.” She smiled, bringing a hand to cover her red, red lips and dark eyes… “Really? Tell me, did you ever go to Lunar Park?” Lunar Park? Isn’t that in Sydney? I remember a great face, a little girl.. “Not that I know of.” We had reached the entrance to the great dark building with the sound of air conditioners and smell of sickness under chlorine. Her big lurker, seeing us enter, exited scene left with her car. I wondered how long she intended us to be here. I was thinking, quick ask of the receptionist, tell her that I’d do some ‘Research’ and exeunt as if chased by bear. So much for that idea. The receptionist was attractive in a non-seductive out-of-my-league way. Those cold eyes, like cigarette ash. “Welcome to Darkholme, how may I help you?” That cheery voice immediately put me on my guard. No one who’s worked for an eight-hour shift is cheerful. I was immediately suspicious, but used my magic to smarm my way into the proceedings. Before Ms. Hawk could speak, I cut in. “Hello! I’dliketoaskaboutapreviouspatient, If you please! Thanks so much!” The receptionist blinked those ash eyes at me, visibly backing up. Harriet, her mouth still open, quickly turned it into a smile. “Yes! Thanks! My friend stayed here some time ago and is tracking his parents. You will be able to help us, won’t you?” The lie was maintained as I smiled knowingly at the receptionist. Oddly, she drew back even further. Come to think of it, I wasn’t like that at all. Not normally, I mean. I don’t remember ever making such an arse out of myself in front of a woman since high school. I attributed it to the fact I hadn’t been laid in six months. Or however long it was. I was edgy, lost my cool. I took a moment to come to myself. The receptionist blinked. “Uh, I’m not sure..” Harriet smiled charmingly. The receptionist, no older than Harriet visibly relaxed. She smiled. I’m not kidding you folks, there was some serious mojo happening and there was no men invited. Ms. Hawk touched me on the wrist with a knowing glance. Within moments the two of them were “Off” in the “Filing Room” and there I was, left all on my lonesome with the vestiges of longing trailing me like cords of acid-soaked razor wire. I flicked my fedora. Noticing a mirror, I practiced sliding my fingers on the brim. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide.. she’d like this.. What? What was happening to me? Sure I hadn’t been laid, but this was a bit much. I could even see them in the filing room, talking. Why did my imagination leap so far..? Why in all hell did I want her so badly? Through the window with its multitude of stickers (You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps!) she didn’t look so crash hot. Pretty, yeah. Stunning. But I had no sudden desire to rip my clothes off and become “Flash” Gordon, so to speak. By the time they came out, I also wondered why exactly it was that Ms. Hawk hadn’t been able to get these files before. And there they were, in her hands. If she had the ability to get those files.. Why was she using me? End Part 2 [/QUOTE]
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