Kendrick is a police officer. Kendrick has a special, secret friend. Together, they explore the boundaries of human depravity and horror. Make a tour of duty with Kendrick and his monster.



Kendrick Sutherland lay beside her on his back, his fingers laced behind his head, his gaze fixed on the water-stained, crumbling ceiling. 'When,' he wondered? 'When did it happen? How did it happen? Why did it happen to me?'

His closely cropped hair bristling across the palms of his hands, he turned his head gently to the left, and gazed into her deep, mocha eyes. Wide, liquid, and silently brooding, her gaze reflected his.

'Some day,' he sighed, rolling his eyes to their whites and returning his stare to the ceiling, 'Some day they're going to ask themselves the same questions. Some day they'll ask 'Why?'' He chuckled wickedly to himself. 'As they have asked so often in the past. The frustration of such a question lies in the fact that it has no adequate answer, except perhaps to conclude simply 'Because' or 'Why not?'

'One thing is certain,' he considered, dreaming of his future in bold, lurid headlines, 'I am immortal in it. Every time they ask, for they cannot help but ask, they must remember me. They must remember what I have done… what I will do… what I might do.

'Once they consider my crimes, they will question my motives. What would they say if I could tell them that THEY are my motives? Then, now, and then again.

'For they, that ephemeral oligarchy of whispering voices, shadowed brows, and pointing fingers, torment me, as they have ever tormented me, as they must always torment me. I long for them and I hate them. I would live forever in their thoughts by swimming in their blood.'

His breast heaved and his thoughts seethed, while his brain boiled. Thrust straight alongside his nude and quivering body, his arms went rigid and white. His knuckles shone bare through the skin that covered them, as he gripped the blanket into pinched bunches and his spine arched. Rage raced his heart and filled his gut with bitter bile. Icy liquid energy burned his muscles hot and tensely corded. He tasted polished copper and sour acid at the back of his tongue.

'They made me what I am. They mold me today. Tomorrow, they are the record of my existence. I have been. I am. I was. Undeniably. Without question. Unlike the teeming billions, they will remember me. For, she is obvious, unforgettable, irrefutable evidence of my existence.'

At once, sudden as it came, all his anxiety passed. He relaxed, and exhaled an explosive, long held breath.

When Kendrick calmed enough to speak evenly, he said, "You're lucky, you know. It might have been someone else. Anyone else. Anyone but you. Except, it WAS you. It IS you. Because of it, because of me, you, too, will be immortal."

He sucked a dusty breath, and smiled to ponder marquees yet to be lighted. "At the same time, you are the cause of it, the reason for it. Without you, it is impossible. So, I don't think it really could have been anybody else. Do you understand?" She remained silent, and he sensed confusion. "I mean, it MUST have been you, after all. It HAD to be you. It has always BEEN you. Because it IS you.

"You were born to it. To me. To now. You suffered every heartbeat, every breath, every thought to be here with me at this moment. Think of it." His smile broadened, and he felt the calming cool of aftermath spread a lazy drug throughout his wasted flesh. "We are one in our shared act. We validate each other with it."

His hair bristled against his palms, again, as he turned to gaze into her dark eyes. "Do you understand?"

Lifeless and dulled, those impenetrable orbs remained half-focused on his for many long, all but unbearable seconds. Finally, she rolled her dilated pupils behind her eyelids, and shrugged, her purple-tinted lips twisted into a cruel smirk.

"I'm glad it was so memorable for you," she rasped, rising to a sitting position to put her left foot through her panties, which dangled from her right ankle, before she pulled them up. She arched her body to set the thong properly at the small of her back, before she shimmied her short skirt down around her hips. "I just get paid. Since it was so nice, maybe you wanna sweeten the deal with a nice, big tip, mister."

Something about the way she said the words 'big tip' made Kendrick's loins tingle magically. Her lips were full, and the dark paint rendered them morbid. How they glistened! Her wet, pink tongue wriggled enticingly within her foul mouth to shape her words.

He propped himself on his elbows to watch her push her breasts back into her skimpy top. From below, he admired her buttocks, when she stood to finish her effect, and put all her parts back into their proper place.

As she worked, she drawled, "Especially since I came all the way out here to do it in this… god-awful shit hole." Expertly, she gazed into a tiny compact and applied another coat of lipstick by dim moonlight, without skipping a syllable. "You're lucky I'm such a pro, honey. Lots of girls would have freaked out long before you even got them out here. What is it, baby, some kind of hardware fetish?" She smacked her lips together, and he trembled.

After she tucked the compact back into her little beaded purse, she cocked her hip and placed a fist there. She surveyed the property with a slow turn of her coiffed head.

Around her, festooned in rotted canvass tarps and tattered plastic sheeting, the hulks of rusted press-drills, lathes and band saws obscured the interior of a well-weathered and vandalized single-room office. Its window storefront had been shattered long ago. She could see through to a chaotic asphalt lot beyond, which added various shrouded lumps of ruined industrial equipment to the general clutter. A high chain-link fence topped with razor wire encircled the little compound. Across the far side, a distance of perhaps a hundred yards, she noticed a light burning in a single window of a squalid, squatting little building.

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