Sandmen Read online

  SANDMEN

  by Lucas Alpay

  Copyright © 2020 by Lucas Alpay

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to the actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A NOTE TO THE READER:

  Movies has Ratings:

  G – General Audiences

  All ages admitted. Nothing that would offend parents for viewing by children.

  PG – Parental Guidance Suggested

  Some material may not be suitable for children. Parents urged to give "parental guidance". May contain some material parents might not like for their young children.

  PG-13 – Parents Strongly Cautioned

  Some material may be inappropriate for children under 13. Parents are urged to be cautious. Some material may be inappropriate for pre-teenagers.

  R – Restricted

  Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. Contains some adult material. Parents are urged to learn more about the film before taking their young children with them.

  NC-17 – Adults Only

  No One 17 and Under Admitted. Clearly adult. Children are not admitted.

  If this book is a movie it’s

  R-Restricted

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 1

  She would be killed again.

  “Run, bitch, run,” a man said, a man wearing dark, a man in darkness with a knife, a man with a lustful smile as he chased a short-haired, blonde lady with a white dress. This man liked her mole on her face, an iconic mole that he’d cut off before her less than iconic death. “Run!”

  “Wait up!” another called. Another man with a knife in the darkness.

  Run, bitch, run.

  The woman was screaming now, but only silence left in her pretty lips of red. She entered an alley, the darkest alley in the world. She hoped it wouldn’t be a dead end, because that would be so bad if it were a dead end. Why should it be called dead-end? she thought. Maybe it was coined like that because those who invented it killed someone in enclosed walls; the killed was, of course, dead, and it was his end. The woman laughed, against all of it, she laughed. A funny thought and laughter, the most inappropriate things needed be done in her unfortunate state.

  “Come on, babe!” the man with the lustful smile shouted. Now she started to wonder if anyone could hear them, if there would be witnesses when she would be killed. Would she be killed then? Could be. She was slow, and her white heels were killing her, or in this case, would lead her to her death-again. But it wasn’t a death again. She knew she was just an imitation of life, born in the likeness of a woman named Marylyn. A hot, sexy lady Marylyn. That’s it, that could be her weapon against these men in the dark. Her hot sexiness that would capture these men’s excited, boyish hearts. She would find a boy (if there would be a boy), a gullible boy, and ask him to protect her. She ran faster.

  “I’m going to rape you first!”

  She was going to be raped! She didn’t want that, she wanted to run and live and meet her maker, which not God but a man. She would thank him and that man could do whatever he wanted with her. She’d let her maker-man, she’d let him kiss every inch of her body. But not to this man in the dark, never!

  “Don’t run, we’ll make it easy!” the other man in the dark said. His voice was good, she could feel it because it was soft and assuring her that what he was saying was true. But what did he mean by “we’ll make it easy”? Were they going to be easy but rape her at the same time? This confused her.

  BANG!

  She hit a wall. She had luck in the other alleys, but in this alley she had none. It was dead, and it would be her definite end. So much for her short life.

  Slowly she heard those steps. Clip, clop. Clip, clop. Like horses in a very slow pace by horse’s standards. She could hear them smile, their breaths that had lusts. She would be raped, and they’d take it easy on her.

  She touched her head. It was bleeding, it was red, like her lips. She had hit head first, like a bull that was under the power of instinct alone.

  “Hello, hello, you feisty little thingy. I missed you!”

  “Now, now, Mark. Let’s just get over with it. I’m feeling something past 16th street,” this was the man that had said they’d make it easy.

  “Fritz, it’s a Marylyn, I haven’t had a Marylyn for three months. It’s been always pop stars, I’m tired of skinny ass pop stars!”

  “We have all the time in the world and you still need Marylyn?” the Fritz man said. “Gold, Mark, just gold.”

  Mark man started with his belt, and then he unbuttoned his pants and made his way to the zipper. It was all done in five seconds, a performance that was one for the record books. She would be raped, and it would be hard, like hardcore porn teenage kids were watching one in the morning.

  Marylyn closed her eyes and covered her body. She prepared for the worst. And then she heard the sound of a gun being pulled out. She opened her eyes and saw the Fritz man pointing a gun at the Mark man, or maybe at her—this was all confusing.

  He pulled the trigger, and she was dead.

  Chapter 2

  Mark was always, and would be forever, the odd one between them. It was like him, so like him; he always wanted to rape those beautiful dreams. He disgusted Fritz, Fritz who sometimes had raped those said dreams himself. But it shouldn’t be so often, Mark was often, very often, that in fact it could be considered criminal. That was Mark for you.

  But Fritz, he was different from his peers, or so he liked the idea of it. He knew he’d done some awful stuff at first, unacceptable stuff, inhuman stuff, gory out-of-the world gutting of human bodies kind of stuff. And the rapes, of course the rapes. But it had gone tiresome in time. He now wanted a woman who do liked to be fucked, like “hey, cutie, come here and seat with me and we’ll be wild”, not like “Ahhh! No! No! Noooo! [sobs] Help!”. No, not that anymore. He felt like a devil now every time he did it. But he did it. Yes, he did. But they weren’t real women, they just looked like women, felt like women, had womanly body parts. Whatever they were, they would always kill them at the end. Kill them.

  Use your imagination. There are many ways to kill. If you’re sick like Mark, then killing a man by the use of a tiny bread knife wouldn’t bother you. Fritz liked it fast. He came and went and moved on to the next. This was all legal, by the way. They wouldn’t go to jail because there
were no ethical laws they were stepping at. This was nature. It was their nature. Simple. Even God wouldn’t punish them. Satan wouldn’t accept them. Well, that’s life for you, Fritz thought. Fucking purgatory then!

  “You want?” Fritz asked, offering Mark a bubblegum.

  Mark pushed him hard. “Shit you, man. Why did you have to do that to Marylyn, huh?!”

  “Still hanging your ass about that I see,” Fritz shrugged, a cool, manly shrug. “I’ll let you have the next one.” He put a gum in his mouth. Chew, chew.

  “The hell you will—give me that!” he snatched the pack of gum from Fritz. “Pop stars, always fucking pop stars these perverts are dreaming. Hate it.”

  Fritz laughed a little inside. Now who’s talking.

  When the sun had finally risen on the horizon, that was the time they’d finished with all the killings. That was the end for all of them, all in the city, Tandems like Fritz and Mark who had different preferences in how to end a short life. They would be eating now as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t killed about a hundred soulless beings. Nothing did really happen, because that was what they were. Nothing.

  Fritz and Mark entered a McDonalds, and they ordered the greasiest thing that could be digested, the thing that would kill you if you tried to ingest it for years. They never tired of it, after all, it was their only reward after doing a good job.

  It’s goddamn boring, everything, Fritz thought. Although he never did bore out of these cholesterol-packed foods, this lifestyle, but in the end it was still a repetitive heaven for him. And if heaven would be repetitive like that, then better step down and try hell for once. But Fritz couldn’t go to hell. There was no hell in this life of theirs. Could be; if he punched their boss hard in the face that was. But their boss, no, no one dared to punch their boss in the face. The monster would rip Fritz apart, he would bash his head, and that would give Fritz a century worth of headache. No, that was not the hell he wanted. Honestly, he wanted a simple life, a human life. So did that mean that he was not human, Mark too? Both of the blokes had heads, arms, legs, the whole nine yards. Yes, they looked human, but well… somehow they were not. But that didn’t bring Fritz down in dreaming that ordinary, another-kind-of-boring life.

  And he was beginning to believe that that life was better than this.

  Mark stood up, still chewing his burger; loud, loud chewing. “I’m gonna go. You?”

  “I’ll stay here. You know I like people looking at me like a Fed or something.” Yes. They looked like Feds with their black ties, black suits, and all black except for their white polo shirts—overly generic.

  Mark pulled out a silver ring, a thick kind of ring that would hurt and crack a rib if punched. He then went to the restroom, and there put the ring on. He got out and said his ‘see ya’ to Fritz. Before Mark could leave the building, he bumped into a smug-looking man, a man with low-waist pants, slouched gait, and bobbing his head to a sound only heard by him. Mark hated their kind. So he bumped him. Hard, in the face bump. Fritz shook his head on that as he watched Mark finally walk out while the man almost fell—but the smug man like he was, he regained his smug balance. But Fritz laughed out loud when the man looked confused while searching for the reason why he almost fell back.

  People looked at Fritz. That made him stop. He drank his coffee and thought: I should wear my ring.

  Fritz walked like how a Fed would walk, or maybe CIA—he could be anyone with his suit. He wasn’t wearing his ring, Magic Ring he called it, so he could be seen, so he could wink at girls, be a man men wanted to be. He was flashing the holstered gun beside him and the fake badge that was in no way had the credibility. Because it wasn’t real, it wasn’t trying to be real—it was a plain gold metal in the shape of a shield. A prop. He put on his shades as the sun got brighter and higher. He pulled out a cigarette, a lighter, and smoked. Now this was how a proper Fed looked like. Scary but with enough friendly in the bones.

  He then reached his home, his office. It was a building (of course it was a building nowadays). In the past they were literally underground with the rats, but now they were all comfortable and could walk with the human-humans. He entered it and found a young blonde receptionist in a little black dress. Not his type. He liked those women who were wrapped up, where he could use his imagination at. Not like this skank. He hated her.

  “You’re not wearing your ring, Fritz,” she said when he passed her.

  It was a requirement, none of them should be seen entering this building. They did exist in the day (the day shift) but that didn’t mean they should be careless.

  “What are you going to do, Hillary?” Hillary, even her name he despised. It had been ten years since she’d chosen that name. Now Fritz didn’t loathe every Hilary, it was just that he hated any name the woman called herself.

  “I’m going to report it, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Pssh. Like that would do anything .”

  She made a face. “Just go up, William.”

  He went up using the stairs. He’d considered using the elevator, but since he had been walking for a while now, why not continue the exercise? He could use the endorphins.

  William, Fritz thought. That was his old name. He loved that name because William had no conscience, unlike Fritz.

  When he reached the seventh floor, he saw those people like him, those who managed to kill without such remorse. Women, men, gay, all the genders were here. Of course, their sexual orientation varied from time to time; just to change things up. Fritz had turned gay once, he’d fancied the taste of men, then he’d turned Bi, then he was back in being straight. Maybe next century he’d be gay again-still would depend on his taste. They were all like him actually, these “officemates” of his.

  You might be asking, ‘just how old they were?’ What’s up with the changing names? Sexual orientation? OLD. Oldest was seven hundred, youngest, eighty years-old. They were ancient. They had experienced almost all the recorded wars that changed history. And when you’re shying away from immortality, each year would look like a day to you. Freedom would be there, but boredom would be there too. So change things up—move the furniture there, fuck a man, a woman, fuck both, try killing with your teeth—you know—change. If you don’t change, then better kill yourself, Fritz’s mentor had told him that. He was dead now, killed himself due to living too long. He’d said to Fritz, “life is too tiring, don’t be like me, okay?” and then he shot himself in the mouth. Lovely death. Paintball splatter all around.

  Fritz reached his chair. His desk looked like a desk of an obsessive-compulsive; all papers were aligned and the pencils, god the pencils, they were categorized by numbers, the thickness and the darkness they produced. It was not Fritz’s fault, it was the building’s caretaker’s fault. The man liked to organize things, clean things. If a strand of hair fell off you, his weird sixth sense would react and he’d know where the fuck was your hair even on their red-brick flooring. Fritz was always terrified at that man.

  “Fritz, goddamn you!” said a man that came bolting out of his office. “Where’s that shit?!” He searched at the crowd of suits and black dresses.

  Fritz smiled and ducked his head down.

  “There you are!”

  He was a big man, a wrestler-man, old man, bald with glasses, but still Old Testament scary. Fritz liked him, he was their boss. Wilder, he wanted to be called. Bigman Wilder.

  “Hilary told me you’re not wearing your ring!” Wilder said when he reached him.

  “I want to change things up, boss.” No, he didn’t, he wanted to be looked at, to be adored with his sunglasses and manly stride. “Besides, no one followed me. No one even saw me. I’m careful like that.”

  Wilder pointed his finger close to his nose. “See this finger? Look at it—If you ever do that again I will ram this to your eye and pick your brain. You understand?”

  Fritz nodded. “Loud and clear, boss. Sorry.”

  Wilder walked away with his fists and index finger.

/>   Mark chuckled at the desk next to him. “Fritz, you stupid, stupid man.”

  After all the paperwork (the patterns of their kills and what they’d killed), they all moved to the second floor. Right on the dot, it was nine in the morning. Every day it would always be nine. It was always nice to have their forty winks, doze off, dream their own kind of dreams. They each had their private rooms, small rooms, typical rooms with typical things. They all went to these rooms with routine sighs. All of it was replay, that was why they liked the night more, a night of murders and not getting caught, a night where they could be bogey men, unseen and deadly. Of course they had those tandems of the day, but the killings were so rare in the day it was actually more tiring than forced-sleep. At least in sleeping you could shut your mind off.

  But Fritz didn’t find any sleep when he laid down on his cot. Their rooms were shut off from any light, cramped up; a claustrophobic would freak out in there. And Fritz wondered about them, the claustrophobics. What would be their reaction if I put three in here? he asked the air. There were many thoughts that followed after that, thoughts that didn’t make sense. And when sleep finally turned out to be a lost cause, Fritz wondered about the coming night, wondered what dreams might materialize, wondered how Mark would kill each one of them.

  Chapter 3

  Night time.

  Fritz stood up from his bed. He pulled out some undergarments in his small cabinet and changed. He opened his lights and looked at the mirror behind his door. The face looked at him, a wonderful, lovable face, the face that had the quality of a 60's leading man. He always thought of his face like that, ordinary but had a hint of something extraordinary underneath, a calculated face, a trustworthy face. He had black hair, his nose was thin, and his face was elongated; the kind that still looked thin even when fat. He wanted to destroy that face. But he couldn’t, he hated the pain.