Part 002 - A Taste of Things to Come *

Sean turned on the radio. An old-fashioned soap opera played on the only station that came in clearly. He listened for a few minutes and then got lost in his thoughts. Killing someone like John Smith for his supply of human blood would be no problem. Society would be better off without such evil scum. Sean would be an invisible hero.

A couple of hours later, Doctor Death materialized next to Sean, startling him out of his superhero reverie.

“His mammoth ego has him sponsoring a foundation that takes care of motherless children,” said the ghost. He floated around Sean’s head. “He uses charity as a cover for his evil secret life. He will be home from a fundraising event in an hour.”

Sean gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles becoming paler. Smith made him mad, fatally mad, fatal for John Smith. Sean couldn’t wait to kill him.

“We need to put John Smith down tonight,” said Doctor Death, “he is planning another abduction tomorrow.”

“Will there be any evidence we can pass on to the authorities to give closure to his victims’ families?”

“In John Smith’s killing scenario, he covers his playroom in raw canvas. The gore dries on the canvas, which he hides with paint splatters. Then, he mounts and frames his work and displays it around his home as part of his art collection. He doesn’t worry about the exhibition as he is a famous collector and great art patron.”

“Tell me everything about his sick behavior,” said Sean. “I want him to pay for his deeds, and I need to know as much about him as possible.”

“He goes to towns far away from his home with no ties to his life. He targets huge men charged with killing their wives. Set free by the courts, they go home to their children, where they continue their abusing ways. He goes to their neighborhood bars. He sits next to them. He spikes their drinks. They get woozy, and he offers to drive them home. They accept. He looks very innocent. He gets them in his car, and they pass out. He drives to a secluded spot. He puts them in a trunk. He takes the men to his private jet and flies back to Mount Olympus. He puts them in his soundproof room, tied to a hook hanging from the ceiling. He stuffs chewed bubble gum in their nostrils. They feel like they are suffocating. He covers their eyes with it. They never see what’s coming. He leaves their mouths free. They scream. Their ears, unstuffed, hear their panic. He spanks them with a leather belt, the buckle digging fleshy chunks from their backs. He chews on their fingers and toes. After torturing them for two days in this way, he uncovers their eyes. They watch as he ejaculates over their mutilated bodies. He gets most excited over the ones who cry and beg to be set free. Once he achieves his sexual release, he rolls a cast iron, bull-shaped oven into the room. He stuffs the men inside (they are too weak to fight him by this time.) He starts a slow fire. He sits in the room watching and listening as the men become ashes, their horrific screams before they cook, feeding his obsessions.” (Men and their bar-b-ques.)

The scenery outside of the car changed from empty desert to sporadic small towns, to rundown suburbs and now to more high-end exclusive gated private homes.

“His pathology seems very autobiographical,” said Sean.

“Ew, don’t we sound like a doctor,” said the poltergeist-wanna-be, “That’s my moniker.”

“Don’t get all childish on me, DD. I just read a lot.”

“You happen to be right, though. John Smith goes after men who remind him of his father.”

“How long have you been watching him?”

“I was hanging around the night his father killed his mother. I’ve haunted him ever since.”

“Why haven’t you done anything about him before now?”

“You are the first person, um, vampire, I have found who would accept that I was real and not some schizophrenic hallucination.”

They pulled up to the garden gate of Mount Olympus. Sean cut off the car’s engine. The full moon hid behind heavy clouds, but the white mansion sat in the center of a multitude of spotlights like a singer on stage performing a solo. Sean didn’t know if he wanted to proceed with this course he was on. John Smith seemed to be doing the world a favor by removing these family killers and abusers, almost like he planned to do. His conscience experienced a seizure of regret. Doctor Death noticed Sean’s hesitancy.

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” The wraith became more opaque and expanded to fill the car’s interior.

“You can’t back out on me now.”

Sean felt Doctor Death invade the cells of his body. He shivered and clenched his muscles.

“You get out of me now,” Sean said. His anger management stressed his system. This situation, and his lack of nourishment wore him out.

“Relax, my fiendish friend.” The vaporous MD condensed back to normal.

“If it makes you feel better about going on with our plan, you should know that he once killed a young mother and her baby because he thought the woman had seen him with one of his victims. Another time, he ran over an old man when leaving a bar with another of his psychotic specimens. I have a whole list of the innocents taken in his urge for self-gratification.”

Sean’s zeal for vengeance and sanguine fluid returned. He gathered his energy reserves, stepped out of the car, and transformed into a bat. He flew to John Smith’s bedroom, squeezed through the crack of the partially open second-floor window, and reverted to his humanoid appearance.

John Smith lay naked in his king-sized, round bed covered in pink stuffed animals.

* Shang Tsung: We are here to fight in Mortal Kombat. Tomorrow the great Kombat begins, and now a taste of things to come.