Thanks to all of you that commented and fapped for the first chapter. I really think this is something I can keep up week to week, so I'm confident I'll be able to run through the whole story I've planned. Again, special thanks to my girl Kahla for the art. She's wonderful for having done such cool art for my blog. I hope she does more because she makes you guys look great! Also, thanks to everyone that messaged me about being in the story. I'm sure I can fit everyone in! Anyways, enjoy!
“How many people have you killed?” Hugh said to the baseball bat, hanging up on display.
The baseball bat had actually killed plenty of people – sixteen to be exact. It was owned by someone influential in the mafia. This particular bat had also wounded hundreds of different people in its history. The history of the bat went back well before the Destructoid bomb as well. The first and second kill were like you would expect: A few hits to the head to cave in the skull. But some of the other ones were gruesome. One of the victims was a woman beaten to an unidentifiable pulp. The swings of the bat told a story of passion. Perhaps it was because of the vibrations of the screams were coming from both the man and the woman. Maybe it was because there were tears of sadness and rage from the murderer dripping on it. Maybe it was because it was used to sexually violate the victim.
Hugh could only assume that the more gruesome murder was because of adultery, cheating, or some other thing. But, the bat was authentic and had genuine history. It had intrinsic value and could be sold at a high price to a collector of such things. It wasn’t just a Louisville Slugger. It was much more than that. But, he had to prove it.
James entered Hugh’s antique shop and looked around. There must have been hundreds of objects nicely displayed around the shop with seemingly no relation to one another. On one wall there was a monkey paw, an old movie poster, a shelf of video games, and a tea set. And on another wall there was a can of compressed air, a stuffed animal, an old action figure, and a pair of underpants used in David Lynch’s movie adaptation of Dune.
“Those were worn by Sting?” James asked.
“Yes sir.” Said Hugh.
“And do they speak to you?” James said.
“Of course. I know all about Sting’s penis and buttocks.” Hugh laughed.
“What about this?” James pointed to a revolver.
“That… Is fake.” Hugh said. “It only dates back to around 2025. But it’s such a good fake that I decided to put it up on display. The man who made this was obsessed. More obsessed than anyone I’ve… Well I don’t know him, but from what I get from the revolver itself – the man worked on this replica for years to get everything exactly right. He even put together old materials so that an appraiser might be fooled by any kind of testing. Only I would have been able to tell. But I still keep quality replicas around the shop.”
“Some people, I guess, need to have something like that to do in their lives.” James suggested.
“Like making a fake gun?” Hugh said.
“You know… An obsession.” James said.
Hugh gestured around the room and smiled. “We are prisoners of our fate. You and I are who we are because of our abilities. They seem natural, even though in our minds we can think they are technology based, or man made. This is my obsession. And, well, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Can you read people the same way you read objects?” James inquired.
“Of course I can. But I don’t like touching people for the most part – too much history in one body for me to handle.” Hugh tapped his temple with his index finger.
“Talk about getting to know someone’s secrets.” James said.
“Hmm… I mean when I touch someone it’s not mind reading. For that I might have to touch their brain or something. No, I sort of read their skin.”
“You’re a creepy dude Hugh.” James chuckled.
They sat for a moment in silence. James was waiting for Beyamor and thinking of something to talk about. Maybe Hugh had some dice sets made of rare materials.
“You want to know a secret?” Hugh said.
“What?” James flinched from broken silence.
“I can also tell the future.” Hugh said.
“Wait, what? How does that work?” James did a double take.
“I guess it’s a conversation for another time.” Hugh turned.
James hadn’t noticed when it started, but now there was rain pouring down upon the roof. As the door to the shop opened the whole room was sweating. Beyamor walked towards them, soaked to the bone with rain. He looked worried still, shaken by the events that led him here.
“Beyamor right?” Hugh said and Beyamor nodded in response. “Do you think you could turn off your humidity Beyamor? You’re making me wet.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Beyamor said as James laughed. “It just kind of happens, I can’t control the moisture. Um… Did you know there was a guy out there in a salmon colored robe and sunglasses selling crack?”
“Oh him… He’s out there all the time. He’s crazy. Let’s begin shall we?” Said James.
“Okay.” Said Hugh. “Since this cloth was supposedly cut away from its owner recently, I’ll only talk to it about recent events.”
The inanimate object spoke to him.
The piece of cloth was worn that day by a human female. She was a sweaty gal, fit and young – smooth skin. The cloth was attached to another pair of expensive pants that was probably something worn by someone in business, working in an office. It probably had a suit jacket to go with it, something to cover up her skin while the pants accented her butt.
She was in a hurry, or running away from someone. No, she was crawling frantically. Then in an instant her leg was chopped away. The blade was straight and sharp, but curved at the end – like a katana. The severed limb lay there for a moment and then the foot was grabbed or maybe stabbed. The limb was pulled away from the cloth. Blood coated the rest of the pant leg for a while longer. The blood, after a while, spontaneously turned to ash. After that, a few days later, it was picked up by someone. The cloth felt the man trembling. He used it to wipe his tears. It was Beyamor.
“Did you know the person that wore this?” Hugh said to Beyamor.
“No.” Beyamor said.
“You’re probably lying… But whatever.” Hugh explained. “The woman that was wearing this had her leg cut off by a katana. Whatever happened to your village, it wasn’t just people going on vacation. They might have been massacred.”
“There are people that are strong enough to do this by themselves, but it’s strange Beyamor didn’t find any evidence other than this.” James said. “Mass murders are messy. Usually there isn’t enough time to clean it all up before someone notices.”
“Geez, you talk as if it happens every day… Hmm, I mean, I can’t tell one way or another. I just know she was tortured. Whoever did it must have missed this when they cleaned up the evidence.” Hugh pondered. “The murderer never touched this item with anything else but his sword though. And the only thing I can’t figure out is why the blood on the pant leg turned to ash.”
“This is blood?” James scrunched his brow. “I thought it was dirt.”
“Nothing I know of turns blood into ash so fast. It just decomposed within about the span of an hour.” Hugh said.
Beyamor slammed a fist down onto the counter, spun around, and stormed out of the shop. James looked at Hugh and shrugged. Hugh smirked. James hurried after Beyamor. He was afraid that Beyamor had experienced more than he was letting on.
“He’s related to the person that wore this. Be careful with him.” Hugh said as James ran.
James scurried outside and caught up with Beyamor. The rain came down heavy on their heads. James almost felt like he was swimming through it.
“Hey bud! Stop! What’s goin on!?” James yelled. Beyamor stopped.
“That was my wife!” Beyamor wailed. “My wife was murdered! My whole village – murdered! Everyone I know is dead! Slaughtered! Fuck!”
Beyamor walked on, under his own cloud of rain. It hid whatever tears he shed. James decided to leave him alone. He could get a hotel somewhere and calm down. The rain followed Beyamor so closely that James felt the afternoon sun drying him after he left.