The Matchless by Justin Robinson

Author:Justin Robinson [Robinson, Justin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HellBound Books Publishing LLC
Published: 2019-05-16T22:00:00+00:00

***

Dagmar was pleased when she saw what Gaff had prepared for her. The house, as it was in Los Angeles, had no basement. She had foreseen the need for a place no one would find, where no one could escape, however, and had one of the rooms downstairs converted. She’d installed a heavy door that locked from the outside, soundproofed the walls, and had the few pieces of furniture inside securely bolted to the floor. The soundproofing was more for her benefit than anything; even if Vorspan started to rant, Gaff would hear none of it.

Gaff fetched her in the morning, after her daily run through the hills and her breakfast of fruit and egg whites. She, alone in the kitchen, eating primly at the counter, browsing the news on her phone, would have been such a normal sight. A wealthy woman enjoying the morning of the relentless work it took to look as she did. The illusion was shattered when Gaff lumbered into the room. He would never have a place in the normal world.

As he was when home alone, he was stripped to the waist, showing off the regularly-spaced glass scales embedded in his flesh. Even now, after having reduced him to little more than a milk cow, she was fascinated. Installed back when he had been fully human, now they grew from him like scales, and yet agonized the skin as they did so. His tattooed eyebrows, thin and delicately arched, made him look almost like a drag queen.

A ragged hole in Gaff’s abdominals wept a tiny rivulet of blood.

“Dr. Vorspan is downstairs, Ms. Eichel.”

“Thank you,” she said, popping the last piece of honeydew into her mouth, and placing the plate in the sink. “He’s bound?”

“Securely. The door is locked as well.”

“Good. What happened?” she asked, gesturing at the hole.

“He had a gun.”

“I see. Wait for me outside the door. I need to prepare.”

The huge, pale man sucked in a breath and nodded. She suspected he might flush, but there was not enough blood in him for that. Most of it had been taken away by his creator.

Dagmar went upstairs, quickly showered the run off of her, put on some subtle makeup, a little perfume, and her clothes. She would not be seen in anything less than her best. She finished with an elegant pair of heels. She went into the ritual room and assembled the kit of what she would need, placing it all in an old doctor’s bag. Then she came down the stairs to her makeshift prison.

Gaff waited by the door, his arms folded in front of him, those weird glassy eyes staring straight ahead. As she approached, he opened the door and let her into the small chamber. The room was barely fifteen feet on a side. The light came from a single lamp bolted to the dresser. At the center of the room was Dr. Richard Vorspan, attached to a chair with leather restraints, a ball gag in his mouth. Drying blood ran from both nostrils and a cut at the bridge of his nose.

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