July hotter than hell in the hills of East Tennessee. That rusted out white Chevy van loosely mounted black ladder rack on top and perfectly placed novelty Stuckey’s truck stop bumper sticker just above the license plate. Missing passengers seat two flower pattern curtain’s hiding an antique chair with engraved rich walnut wooden legs bolted to the floor. Hair and skin embedded into dark blood stained vintage horse jockey pattern upholstery from countless victims whom shared fate having known the existence of this old chair.
Central avenue pike, van rolling slowly south bound towards down town Knoxville two tough leather skin white-knuckled hands squeezing the ripped frayed vinyl steering wheel. Glaring blank black eyes straining not to blink scanning this hunters paradise ready for destiny. One self righteous son of an evil ass bitch mid-fifties salt and pepper hair down to the collar of his button up uniform knowing exactly what he’s looking for nothing less excepted absolutely no settling determined evils harbored deep within every woman.
Smoked air burnt rubber smell of tires skidding across blacktop bringing the van to a screeching halt. Fully engaged prey in sight hardly able to control his overwhelming excitement screaming out loud
“She will be perfect” !
Kill wagon seemingly turning on it’s own down the road beside the Frosty Freeze hunter stalking the prey not one thought to getting caught no one matters this must be done what he desires is justice what he must do thoroughly thought out perfectly planned and justified in his own mind. Bringing the van to rest tires against the curb passenger window all the way down timing is everything and timing is perfect.
Dirty blond locks late twenties naïve to the situation body aching every scab scratched from her body a needle slave willing to do or sale anything since the first prick into her arm. Leaning towards the window old school music from the eight track, strong smell of Stetson cologne, and a larger than life man wearing a freshly pressed blue collar button up uniform with the name Judas embroidered above the pen pocket.
“Needle in back - climb in take care of yourself then it’s my turn”
Merely a means to get wrecked not giving two shits what’s said or what deal is made excepting the Johns open ended terms with a sigh of relief willing to do anything to head off the pain of clarity quickly approaching since her last fix. Hearing the creaking sound as he pulls the old van door open positively ready for anything and everything. Judas himself ready to get this show on the road quickly letting the trick know he’s the man with a plan.
“Needle in back laying on the chair be done before the van stops”!
Whore wasting no time climbing into the van heading straight to the back picking up the already loaded syringe falling backwards into the chair music a little louder smell of cologne a little stronger. Slightly pushing the plunger flicking the needle three times, unprepared not expecting one stop shop service asking the John.
“Do you have something to tie off with”?
Judas turning back replying hit to the neck bitch before pulling the flower pattern curtains closed leaving her to find happiness beneath the dim overhead light as he drives away.
Dope whores lucky day better than money quickly turning her head to the side pulling one arm out through the top of her shirt restricting blood flow to the head popping a perfect neck vein. Slowly breaking skin with the shiny tip of her only friend pushing the plunger heroin mixing with blood beginning her journey pushing every last drop to her head.
“Don’t fuck up you owe me”! With perfect timing a vote of confidence from the front.
Thirty seconds later a burst of euphoria and the misery of withdrawals vanishing total peace setting in as she fades out needle still hanging from her neck. Unaware of the journey started after excepting the deal made with a devil an open agreement for him to name the price, a price the drug addicted whore will pay no exceptions absolutely no renegotiating the contact already running through her veins. Expecting usual services due on her back, on her belly, on her knees, willing to do all three for one more trip.
In the clutches of the chair eyes barely open it’s all just a dream, now in debt to the devil for a Shot Twixt Wind and Water willing to walk straight through the gates of hell for the fire running wild in her veins.
A successful hunt with the chair where life begins and ends once again occupied. Van in motion with a son of a bitch paying no attention to faces of lost souls who have survived tonight’s hunt.