MEGAN FOX, OMEGA SUPREME

Ghosts In The Heart (Omega/She wolf) industry done with her? I'm just starting!

    Asshole's Note:

    Wolves have little control over who they're attracted to. Animals are attracted to animals. They don't have a dating service. And by the way, for those who say in nature, kind fucks kind...unless, you don't consider yourself human, shut the fuck up. Matter of fact, you're actually correct, for WE ARE WOLVES, BITCH!! In a million years, no chick fucks with Megan...her beauty destroyed my relationship...must respect that. Prepare for an incredible Megan Fox tribute...her talent? Her face. Look at it, can you blame me? She worked magic.

     Wilkerson exhaled and glanced at his visitor again--and saw him regarding him with a strange expression on his face. For the first time, Wilkerson noticed the magazine laying on his desk. It wasn't there when he called Corrine, and the man wasn't carrying it when he walked into his office...he was sure of it.

      Without me noticing, he took it out from somewhere in the time It took me to speak to  Corrine, Wilkerson thinks, in under three damn minutes. What is he, a fucking magician?

     "What's that?" Wilkerson says.

     "That," he replies, "is what I came to tell you about."

      Wilkerson glances at the magazine again. Whatever it is, it's turned over so the cover is hidden. On the back, he sees an ad for some perfume. The type of ad he's seen a thousand times. An ornate glass bottle, this one in the shape of a swan. The perfume inside is pink, he assumes, since the glass swan is pink. At the top, in fancy white letters, he reads: SUMMER & SPRING. And  directly beneath that: LANCOME. Perfume? 

     "That isn't it," the stranger says, "what I wanna show you is on the front cover. Who I wanna show you, I should say. She's been the source of all my troubles...I believe she's been following me..."

    Wilkerson starts to reach for the magazine, but something makes him pause in the act. He looks at his visitor again. "You never said your name, sir."

    The man is gazing at him now, with a dazed, faraway look in those eyes of his. "You can turn it over. And my name is Jacob...Jacob Crowder. When you turn it over don't feel too alarmed...it's the kind of thing I've been dealing with for years...but I won't be surprised if you not
only know exactly who she is, but were probably just thinking about her."

    Now, of course Wilkerson is intrigued at this point. He drops his hand, leaning back in his seat again. "Mr. Crowder, you said?"

    Crowder nods, but didn't speak.

    "Okay," Wilkerson continues, "this is a real estate office, and I'm regretting giving you this audience. I really am very busy, so could you please get to the point, sir?"

    Crowder shuts his eyes again, opens them, and does something Wilkerson didn't expect: He smiles down at the mahogany desk, and the smile lights up his entire face; it's a bright, beautiful smile filled with extremely white and even teeth. Between his eyes and that smile, Wilkerson figures he has little trouble attracting the ladies. But then, Crowder glances at the magazine again before finally regarding Wilkerson. And the smile has vanished as if it never was. A dark expression has replaced the sunny one.

    "My grandmother passed away fifteen years ago," he says in a soft, contemplative voice. "She was ninety-five, and when she died, most of her mind was gone. It wasn't complete senility, but she'd begun to lose it...talking to people who weren't there, accusing all of us of doing the craziest things like stealing money from her she never even possessed. My father wanted to put her in a home, but my mother wasn't having that."

    "I take it she was your mother's mother?"

    Crowder nods. "Yeah, you got it. My father never liked her and the feeling was mutual. Anyway, after she finally passes, they find a letter in her room underneath her mattress...see, they--meaning my mother and father, had decided to clear out her room, and put all her belongings upstairs in our attic. My grandmother had become something of a hoarder, and over her many years she'd accumulated lots of odds and ends. All kinds of stuff, mostly worthless, but she did also have what some might consider antiques."