Toymaker Ch. 07

I had no idea how much of that would stick, and for how long, but if it stuck for even a few days she'd have fucked up her life enough that recovering might be hard. I made sure the vibrator was set to maximum, and smiled. This wasn't what I'd planned for her, but in some ways it was better.

I stood up to have a few words with Winsome next, but she'd suddenly fallen asleep in the chair. Ecstasy can do that, I remembered, especially if she'd had a few drinks. I considered waking her up and taking her back to my hotel room -- no, bad idea. I was leaving a very fucked up victim in my wake here, and giving anyone a trail back to me was a poor plan.

I spent a few minutes in the club, asking after the red-head, but no one seemed to know her. I took off before Lisa pulled herself back together and got back to her life of whoring.

**

And now, we are up to the present.

There's no words for the lingering rage I feel. No one fucks up my domination of my toys, and if I can, I'll find that red-head, somehow, and bring her down. But I've got no leads, so I figure this is going to take a while.

I'm writing this account because I'm trying to understand this long, strange trip I've been on. As long as I was in total control and could bend just about anyone's emotions, I felt... well, cool, calm, and above all powerful. Now that I know there's someone out there who can fuck with me -- maybe more than one? -- it's all different. So I've been spending the evening writing and thinking.

I'm evil. I know it very well. But I'm also unrepentant. I'm a maker of toys, and some of my toys, like Marla and Lisa, I have set free for others to enjoy. Others, like Keiko, I am never going to give up. I am powerful and free to make these choices, and no one can change them. I am a god, and people are my food, entertainment and shelter. And if sometimes I spit out their bones, it's their fault for being so willing to follow their desires into dark places.

But I'll write this exactly once -- deep down, I feel loathing; deep, personal loathing. No so much because of Lisa; she was a faker and a bitch and needed to be taken down. Marla, though... I was drunk with power and I overindulged myself. It was wrong, loathsome, and yet, so very, very hot. The power... fuck, the feelings I get from it are barely human; you'd never understand.

But right now I need to... revel in my power again. The fact that someone wrecked my fun, that one night a week ago... it made me feel weak, and that's unacceptable. I will exercise my power, and more ruthlessly than I ever have before. I must. It is the price the world pays for trying to toy with a toy maker.

It's going to be very simple.

I've found a woman who rides a bus on a regular schedule. She even looks a little like the red-head from the club -- different cut of hair, fewer freckles, but the same general build. She's got some sort of emotional problem -- she emotes constant sadness, self-loathing, helplessness... emptiness, above all. (I can only assume she suffers from clinical depression.) We've exchanged a few words -- her name is Windy (no, not Wendy, she was very specific about that). She works in the garment district and is not certain how much longer she'll have her job. She's perfect.

You have power over someone when you can make them do something they do not want to do. There is something that people do not want to do, and that even I cannot force them to do. Because it takes more than a twist of the emotions, to contemplate suicide. There are defenses that hold up, even against despair.

But this depressed girl -- if I read her right, and she's a very easy read - does not have that defense. So I am going to twist her loathing into an unanswerable raging current, and then let her find a knife beside her. And then, on a bus full of people, I will bend her emotions so darkly, that she will do what no one wants to do. The knife will plunge into the heart, in front of a dozen witnesses. Simply to escape the unanswerable loathing.

I know the drug-like rush I get from exercising power, and there is no power like this. Tomorrow is going to be the best day of my life.

**

Police Prelim Report 4/12/----

Officer Alex Dobrasena, Homicide

UCR code: None (Apparent Suicide). VNA code: 26-A.

Location: Transit Bus 53, on Mercy St. (Northbound)

Victim was a Caucasian, about 5' 11", male, blond hair, app. age 35. Death was caused by a serrated army knife, recently purchased by victim, and was self-inflicted. Call came in at 7:25am, medical team OS 7:35am. I arrived OS 7:36am.

Multiple witnesses report victim talked quietly and intermittently with the primary witness (see attached WS from Windy Grey), for a few minutes; some reported they had talked on the bus before. The victim then removed a knife from his pocket, apparently in order to get to a cell phone, and laid the knife on the seat between them. He did not open the cell phone, but suddenly returned it to his pocket, picked up the knife and pieced his chest with an upward movement, sobbing in pain. He then turned to the primary witness, seemed suddenly shocked or horror-stricken, and spoke, variously reported as "You are-" or "You're the-" and collapsed to the floor, thrashing. One witness placed the time of death as 7:24:35. No attempt was made to touch or remove the knife. Primary witness checked victim's wrist for a pulse and found none. No other contact with the body was noted until med. team OS.

Primary witness reports having spoken to the victim on the bus before, but knew very little about him, except to say he'd seemed depressed in the past. After interviewing three other witnesses, it was obvious she had played no part in the death, and she was released to attend her classes. She had no explanation for the phrase he spoke as he died, and did not recall hearing it, citing shock.

Unusual agreement among witnesses. Only account conflict was that one witness reported primary witness whispered to the victim as she knelt to take his pulse: "You thought you were the only one?" Primary witness denies this and states she only begged people to call police.

Hospital confirmed COD, knife passed near heart and death was rapid. Prelim drug test was negative.

**

I'm releasing this story because I found it on a used USB drive in a second-hand store. The file was buried under some crappy commercial encryption with a default password that a five year old could look up online. At first I assumed it was fiction, and I'm publishing it that way - because what else would I do? But the police report I appended above is real, and some quiet checking I did confirms that the details that are publically available, all check out.... including a parapsychology research lab that was shut down, a good few months back, in the next city over.

I don't know what to believe. But a student graduated recently from the local college, by the name Windy Grey. I tried to track her down -- I got pretty persistent, actually - and got nowhere. Except this: a week ago I got a letter in my mailbox, hand delivered, no stamp:

We don't mean harm to anyone and I don't wish to be bothered. Thank you for your diligent interest, but there really isn't a need for alarm or concern. Let's please leave it at that. --W

Make of it whatever you want. I'm publishing this anonymously and I'll never talk about it again.