Cursed Souls Blood, Brains & Rock'n'roll

Chapter 11 Too much tight latex

A van appeared a couple blocks away from 666 Bachman Street. If someone would look out the window of their house and see this van, that someone would suspect something wrong. This black-colored van that was driving very slowly looked suspicious. One could even say that it was driving at such a speed for the sole purpose of looking as suspicious as possible. But no one could see this suspicious van, because it was too early in the morning for a decent modern person to get out of bed and look out the window. And who would ever think of driving around looking suspicious this early in the morning? Unless they had something to hide.

But the van stopped, and two female figures in nun's robes got out. In their hands they held small cases, which looked no less suspicious than the whole picture, which could only be revealed to a madman who had risen so early. The figures, judging by their gesticulations, talked very suspiciously to the driver, and then walked toward the house near where the van had stopped. They didn't enter the house, but walked around it and disappeared into the backyard. The van meanwhile continued down the road at an extremely suspicious speed. It was all very suspicious. Something was going on. And most likely someone was hiding something.

"I don't think we need to worry about that," Simon said, sitting down on the couch. "It's just some old lunatic. In my experience, the best way to deal with such personalities is to just ignore them."

"Brains..." Rob replied, dragging a chair from the kitchen and placing it next to the armchair.

"Yeah, maybe. But aren't there a lot of people in the world whose eyes fall out?"

"Brains..." Rob replied, pointing out that there are even fewer people in the world who can put their fallen-out eye back into the eye socket.

"Robert, my dear friend. You worry too much about Julia. That's what makes you so paranoid. Just like our poor William."

"Brains..." Rob persisted.

"As you wish. I won't say anything to our furry friend. But I have to admit, as a friend of William's, I don't agree with this decision."

"Brains..."

"But I'll keep quiet."

Abraham Moore was sitting in a chair and looking at the clock that hung on the wall. The larger hand pointed to the number three. The smaller hand pointed to the number one. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Now the big hand was pointing to the number nine. It was hard not to agree with Moore's thoughts that time flew very fast. "Tick-tock" had only sounded twice, and already half an hour had passed.

"Time is merciless to everyone," he thought wistfully. "Our age is not infinite. Nor, unfortunately, is mine. I am no longer trusted by those bureaucrats at the head of the Order. I don't scare them as much as I used to. They used to be afraid to say my name out loud. They used to call me the Colt of God. Yes, fear allowed me to control them. Allowed me to lead the Order in the righteous path. And now they're getting bolder. Now they think everything has to be done according to procedure. Idiots. Why do I need any authorization? Why do I have to report on my work? Aren't the remains of these unholy creatures enough proof that I did my job? Acts, orders, protocols, reports, forms. That's bullshit. I answer only to Him. He's my judge. Oh, where are the old days, when the servants of the Order never asked unnecessary questions, and went into the lair of the monster and cleaned it out. But no, it's a new time and a new order. We're civilized people now, these fat old men say. But if all your civilization has to offer me is television and the Internet, then it's worthless."

Abraham glanced at his watch. A couple more tick-tocks had happened while he was thinking. It was two o'clock in the morning.

"It's time," Abraham said to the silence.