The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole! (1) by Timothy W. Long, Jonathan Moon Page A

surges.
    Lorna moves to the body, stares down at it, at the blood, at the position in which Rose is lying. Must have fallen. Look at that blood by her head; it just poured right out. Poor Rose.
    “She was a good mother.” A deep voice speaks from across the small space. The apartments at the Shady Oaks assisted living facility are scarcely more than large rooms. Rose’s place doesn’t even have a separate bedroom, just a small mattress tucked in a corner near the lazy boy. The big plush chair is currently occupied by a man dressed in a sharp suit. Dark gray with big lapels down the front. In one hand he holds a cane topped with a huge knob. With meticulous motions, he wipes the knob with a handkerchief. “But she asked far too many questions.”
    His hollow eyes make Lorna take a deep breath and whisper a quick prayer. She clutches her knitting close to her chest. She should turn and run, grab someone, scream at the top of her lungs, “THERE IS A KILLER IN THE BUILDING!” But she remains transfixed.
    The man stands, straightens his jacket, and smoothes his pants. They are made of some silky material, makes her think of girl pants, and isn’t that just the funniest thing? Girl pants on such a big strapping man. He has that cane at his side, and she can’t take her eyes off it.
    A dark beard covers most of his lower face, and the hair at the center of his chin has gone to gray so that it makes a little point. Looks like a dagger. She thinks for a stupid moment about how it would feel to have that beard rubbing against her thighs, which used to be soft and smooth as cream. She imagines him impaling her from behind and gets a little excited for the first time in ten years.
    The man steps out of the shadows, which is a neat trick, because there aren’t any. He moves closer to her and he is sly and sinuous, she can read that in his body language, in his eyes, which shift back and forth but never really focus on her.
    “What did you do?” Lorna demands. Her teeth chatter on the last word, but she feels stronger for speaking. Like she has overcome a treacherous climb.
    “What had to be done. Poor Rose.” He sighs and his voice is like satin. It tantalizes and whispers dark promises.
    “Who are you?”
    “You know who I am. Look deep.” He whispers the last two words as though to remind her of a shared secret.
    “I don’t know you from Adam.”
    “Adam? That twit. He should have taken care of business all those years ago.” His voice takes on a conversational tone as if they were old friends. It makes Lorna want to turn and run. “Rose never really wanted to keep me. At first she took to me because I was her only son. Her husband, well the man who took care of me for a few years before leaping to his death, didn’t have much input. My real father was always by my side, but he stayed in the shadows as he has for many years.”
    “Just let me go back to my room. I don’t care who or what you are. I just want to go and take a nap.”
    “There will be plenty of time to lie down in the near future. Events are in motion that I cannot stop. Events that will see me take my rightful place at long last. My mother was just an … an obstacle. I shall miss her, but it is for the best; a kindness really. What I have done, the release I have granted her.” He pauses and looks up with a pained expression. “Am I not a dutiful son?”
    His words are refined and cultured, his inflection proper for the expression of loss, but it’s a sham and Lorna can hear the lies for what they are.
    Darkness whispers, tugs at her, makes her want to sit down, but she fights it off with a shake of her shoulders.
    “Let me go. You sound like one of those actors in the old black and white monster movies. Except you can’t act.”
    “But I’m not touching you.” He stifles a chuckle. “It would do you no good, you know. You could run to the authorities, but they can’t stop me.”
    “Blah blah blah. You need a new script. I don’t