AN: Yes, this is really a chapter…I swear… Ha ha, you can stop laughing at me now. I mean it…cut it out! Eh heh….just kidding of course…Anyway, I felt bad about not continuing this story and I kind of missed it, so here it is again! Hopefully more will be up soon, but of course I always say that…..so….we'll see. But I'm trying, I promise! And as always, comments are at the bottom! Also, I have a new story that's just a one-shot called "Broken" but I really like it, even if it is kind of (really really kind of) odd, but it would be much appreciated if maybe somebody out there in the big wide net could take a peak at it? So read and enjoy…and review…please?
Chapter Thirteen
*Meeting From Hell*
A large grin was plastered onto Pulitzer's face as he drummed his fingers lightly on his large desk. The extravagantly carved faces that had been fashioned on the legs of the desk gave lopsided grins to the people seated around the room.
"Have you all heard the news?" Pulitzer asked, excitement rushing through his voice.
The room tensed with anticipation and his waiting employees held their breaths.
"We absolutely demolished him!" Pulitzer said, pounding his fist on his desk for added momentum.
The office erupted with jovial cries that quickly stopped as Pulitzer continued.
"We're outselling Hearst like we've never outsold him before! The old man just doesn't know what to do with himself. In fact, I'm sure he-"
Pulitzer paused and quite noticeably sniffed the air.
"Do I smell…onions?" He asked, his brow furrowing.
His eyes, followed by the rest of his employees, drifted to the back of the room where to previously unnoticed guests were seated on a very expensive looking couch. They seemed not to notice that anyone was looking at them, and while one peered off into space looking bored, the other continued to carve something out of an onion.
Huffing slightly Pulitzer said, "I wasn't aware that we had any guests," he directed his words at his employees, "Which one of you are they with."
The people in the room looked at each other expectantly, but no one came forward.
A frown settled onto Pulitzer's face.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," he began, "But whom are you?"
The one with the onion, a young man with sandy blond hair, looked up with an annoyed look on his face, as if he had been interrupted in the middle of something important.
"Hmm?" Was his only response before he went back to his onion carving.
Pulitzer could feel his temperature rising, "What are you doing in my office?" He snapped coldly.
"This is the office for The World, correct?" The young man asked distractedly.
"Yes," Pulitzer replied curtly.
The man with the onion gave his friend a sidelong glance, "You may proceed, mon ami," he directed.
"I can't believe you Spot…"his friend mumbled under his breath before standing up.
He addressed Pulitzer.
"I just want to start off by apologizing. My friend here has a penchant toward the dramatic, so he's making me do this. Usually, I don't even involve myself in his affairs, but he hasn't done this in awhile, so he wants..."
"Just read them their rights already, Jack," Spot grumbled.
Jack sighed in annoyance. "You are Joseph Pulitzer and collective employees, the staff and owner of The World newspaper, the biggest paper in New York. Your papers are carried around this city by children who have no money, and probably will have no money for the rest of their lives. Yet you charge them almost more than they can possibly scrounge together for papers at your distribution offices, and you won't allow them to sell their papers back if they have any left over at the end of the day. You are in constant competition with William Randolph Hearst which result in price wars, which only benefit you because you spend almost as much as you earn, and yet they are always detrimental to the children. You-"
Pulitzer interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Is there a point to all this?" He asked in annoyance.
Jack's mouth tightened grimly. "You and your board are idolaters."
There was a moment of stunned silence before everyone except Spot and Jack were clutching their sides with laughter.
Spot's eye twitched slightly, and he stood up yelling, "Alright, Alright, SHUT UP ALREADY."
Silence penetrated the office and Spot, with a figure carved from onion in hand, slowly walked over to the desk where Pulitzer was seated.
Spot stared meaningfully around the room before looking at Pulitzer and gesturing to the onion figure.
"It's you," Spot said simply, setting the figure down on the table.
"Do you know much about voodoo?" he continued, "It's a fascinating practice. Close to Satanism, but not exactly. You see, there is no religion in voodoo, no doctrine, no faith. It's just an arrangement of superstitions really. But the most well known is the voodoo doll."
Spot sneezed loudly and paused, as if waiting for something. When silence greeted him he kept talking, "A representation of an individual is created and then subjected to various tortures, like poking it, or burning it. The desired effect is that the real individual experiences the same pain."
"Get security, NOW," Pulitzer announced to the room suddenly.
One of his employees made a dash for the door but Spot pulled a knife out from a pocket inside his coat, throwing at the door. It went straight through the lock, successfully barring anyone from escape. The employee grabbed the knife handle and proceeded to pull as hard as he could, but it remained in its place, completely unmoved.
Jack held up his hands, "Again, I apologize for my friends-"
"Just get on with it Jack," Spot growled out.
"Fine," Jack snapped back, "Basically," he spoke to the assembled persons in the room, "You are all guilty of worshipping something other than the lord: Money. Not only that, but not a single one of you passes for a decent human being."
"Like you, Mr. Stone," he spoke to the gray bearded man seated near him, "Last year you cheated on your wife of seventeen years, eight times. Twice with prostitutes. You even had sex with her best friend while you were supposed to be watching your children. In the bed you share with your wife, no less."
Spot nodded at Jack and he turned to the next employee, a trembling man with a bad comb over.
"And you Mr. Johnson," Jack said sadly, "You got your girlfriend drunk at a new years eve party last year and then paid a man to have sex with her while she was passed out, so you could break up with her guilt free when she sobbingly confessed the next morning. She committed suicide three months later. You even sent flowers to her wake."
Jack swallowed distastefully before speaking again.
"Mr. Wryer disowned his gay son; Mr. Turner paid a man to kill his mother so he could collect the profits of her life insurance, which he used to buy an Oriental rug; Mr. Giles went to the scummiest brothel in New York City because he knew that was the only place where he could pay to have sex with an eleven year old boy."
He stopped when he reached the only female employee in the room. "But you," he said, "You're an innocent. You've done nothing wrong. You've led a good life and have never abused your powers here."
She stared up at Jack and gulped, shaking slightly. Spot patted her on the back.
Turning to Pulitzer Jack spoke softly, "But you Mr. Pulitzer," he licked his lips, "You have more skeletons in your closet than this assembled company. I can't even mention them aloud."
He leaned over and whispered in Pulitzer's ear. Pulitzer's face turned ashen and he stared straight ahead of him, not meeting anyone's eyes.
"You're her FATHER, you sick fuck!" Spot called out.
Jack rolled his eyes. "Am I done now?"
Spot patted him on the shoulder, "Get outta here you crazy kid."
Jack quickly exited the room, pausing only to wrench the knife from the door. Everyone was too scared to move, much less race for the door, and Spot glared at them all menacingly.
"With the exception of Ms. Pryce," he said slowly, "There is not a decent human being among you. Do you know what makes a decent human being? Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement - lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God."
Spot walked as if to exit the room, but right as he reached the door he paused, turning around.
"I forgot my voodoo doll," he explained, walking over to Pulitzer's desk. "You know, it really does look at you…Maybe, if I believe enough…"
He trailed off, waving his hand over the doll and moaning as if in tune with some tribal ritual. Pulitzer's terrified gaze shifted from Spot, to the doll, and back to Spot again. Spot's hand circled closer and closer until he let out a strangled yell and smashed the doll with a closed fist. Pulitzer winced and shut his eyes, clutching the edge of his desk as if bracing for impact. His eyes opened slowly as he realized that he was unharmed.
Spot laughed lightly, "I don't believe in voodoo," and he strode out of the room.
The assembled company breathed a sigh of relief that caught in their throats as the door quickly banged open again.
"But I do believe in this," Spot said as he entered the room again, whipping out his newly bought gun and taking out each member of the board including Pulitzer with a barrage of bullets, until he was left with only Ms. Pryce.
Looking around the blood stained room in horror Ms. Pryce began to shake violently. Spot walked over to her and reached out his hand to her with a kind expression on his face.
"It's okay," he said smiling gently at her, "You've done nothing wrong. They were bad men, but you are a pure soul."
He paused for a moment, and his expression hardened. Grabbing her collar he sneered at her, "But you didn't say 'God bless you' when I sneezed."
Spot placed the gun at her head and she squeezed her eyes tightly.
"SPOT!" Jack yelled from outside the room.
Grimacing, Spot lowered the gun and said apologetically, "Sorry, force of habit." Replacing the gun in his coat pocket he casually walked out of the room, leaving Ms. Pryce and the bloody massacre behind.
AN: Wahahahahahaha…come on…who doesn't love Spot being evil? -snigger- Review por favor! It would make me very happy indeed. .;;
Comments:
Ali: I know this has been a very very long time since the last update…but….err….eh heh….you should still be proud of me! -sticks out tongue- actually, not really, not at all….I can't believe I took this long…wah…anyway, I love you MUCH dahlink and thank you so much for not already coming to bash in my head for taking so long on this.
rumor: psssst……want to know a secret? I don't even know what's going on with the girls! But shh…don't tell…-hides under desk as heavy objects are thrown- I know I know, but I couldn't resist adding in more mythological characters…I'll work it out….I hope…-crosses fingers-….anywho, thank you much for your review! I think that rhymed….-sigh-…
Pyromaniacal Llama: It's okay, I'm confused too. Really…I swear….That's more than slightly worrying, ne? Lol, thanks for your review! Sorry you're confused, mebbe sometime I'll actually become a good writer and you poor readers will know what I'm talking about?
Cards: That was the singularly most amazing and wonderful review I have ever gotten. –bows- You are my hero….
Bess3: Eh heh….yeah…..i would expect that most everyone has stopped checking to see if I updated…Ah well…I hope you at least like this chapter! And more will come, I swear it on my….on my……on my INTERNET CONNECTION! Oooo….big bet….
