Finish the Fiction Story Contest - Week #16

LER

If Elissa was going to kill Cornel, this would be it. Isolated in a wood cabin in southeast Limousin, the cult leader went underground with only a handful of followers. The governments of Europe and the world ripped their countries apart in their search for Cornelius Smith, Grand Spiritual Leader of the cult, LER, or, Last Epiphanic Religion. Not only for orchestrating assassinations of public figures, torture or money laundering. Above all, they wanted answers.

Two days before, hundreds of LER followers gathered in major cities across the globe. At precisely seven o’clock at night, they doused themselves in gasoline and committed mass, self-immolation. The gruesome acts were broadcast live on television and social media. It was an act of existential defiance the world had never seen before.

Caught wholly unprepared, police attempted to intervene. They couldn't save a single one. For the moment the flames caught, the followers, to the last woman, disappeared. They left behind only the smell of gasoline.

Supernatural events are best left to imagination or nightmares. Now, the whole world had borne witness to something beyond its understanding.

Elissa got the word from her CIA handler.

Neutralize the target.

Could she? Even if she got past the others, there were questions. Questions that never should be spoken out loud, gnawing at her insides like a tumor with teeth.

They sat around the table, each of them armed with a forty-five at the hip per LER security-protocol. Cornelius relaxed, almost asleep, his long Jesus hair curling around his shoulders. O.M.’s arms folded like a meditating gorilla. Denis Labbat, a man Elissa’d never met, stared at the old wooden clock on the wall. He hadn’t moved, not even blinked since she’d entered the room. If his chest hadn’t heaved as evidence of his breathing, she’d assume the skeletal dark-haired Frenchman was dead. Margeux Blanc, LER’s Paris head, sat restless. Unable to stop her leg from shaking, the woman’s fingers rattled on the wooden table. She glanced at the clock, at Denis and Cornelius, then the windows and back to the clock. Elissa followed her gaze. Outside, the noon sun burned down the gorgeous French woodlands of Limousin.

Cornelius leaned forward. “Our five minutes of silence has reached its climax.” He said.

Denis gazed at the clock.

“What thoughts have you conceived in that time?” Cornelius asked. Elissa met his gaze. Cornel’s eyes were a radiant blue. “Margeux?” he said, not breaking his stare at Elissa. “What do you fear?”

“N-nothing,” Margeux replied. “I’m ready, Grand Spiritual Leader.”

“And you, O.M.?”

The bodyguard grunted.

“Denis?” he asked.

“Almost time.”

“And, you, Elissa? Are you prepared for the meeting?”

The clock struck noon.

The room went dark.

Elissa turned to the windows. Black. Sunless. A void.

Dennis, his bones rattling from his first movement, lit a candle.

Someone knocked at the door like a funeral drum.

“Elissa,” Cornelius said. “Why don’t you greet our visitor?”

I must be drugged, she thought. His eyes are red.

My Entry:

Elissa got up unsure of what wait on the other side of the door. The anticipation of the visitor filled the room with a dark dank humidity that opened the pores. She could smell death with the hint of rose buds, something sinister and sweet. The taste lingered on her lips like a fading meal, only her stomach turned, uneasy.

As she reached for the door knob panic struck. She wanted to grip her forty-five and start spraying lead around the room. Only duty called, from both Cornelius and the CIA. She had to know the identity of the visitor before making a move to shut this operation down.

The knob of the door warm to the touch. She turned it. As the door opened for an eternity a red glow filled the room and in walked the Queen of the Damned. She had cimmerian complexion, her tight flowing dress hugging her firm voluptuous body, yet it hid her feet, giving the effect of gliding across the floor with the grace of a snake.

“Bonjour, comment sont mes animaux de compagnie?” The Queen of the Damned asked with a silky sexy voice that turned Elissa on and she never pretended to be gay even undercover.

Cornelius fell back in his chair onto the floor then rolled over and got on his knees to pay tribute. The rest followed his example.

“Salutations ma Reine,” said Margeux. “Nous obeissons a chaque commande.”

“Rise Elissa,” said The Queen of the Damned. “Take your forty-five and kill each of them with a shot to their third eye so that they may see from where I came.”

Cornelius, Denis, and Margeux stayed on their knees waiting for their final shot. Only O.M. lost his faith and bolted for the door. He got stopped by the Queen raising her hand. It paralyzed him.

“Mange ton coeur!” The Queen’s words like venom.

O.M. began tearing into his own chest, while Elissa began to make the round starting with Margeux.

“Bang!” An execution bullet to the forehead where a third eye might reside. O.M. began to bleed, as he feverishly ripped away the flesh from his pectoral muscle. “Bang!” Another shot to the head and Denis fell dead. O.M.’s blood began to run along the floor. Elissa stepped into the stream of oozing red before delivering a final shot to Cornelius, “bang!”

The Queen and Elissa continued to watch as O.M. seriously tried to eat his own heart. Only he bled to death before he could grasp the thing pounding in his chest.

“O.M. lost his faith Elissa. He could have gone to Nirvana like the others. Only now he must remain in purgatory as a suicide.”

Elissa remained silent.

“Elissa, call your liaison at the CIA. Tell him the threat has been neutralized and that you’ve captured Margeux.” Said the Queen as her shape changed into Margeux only with nicer clothes, and some fine jewelry. “We are about to sell the world on a New World Order.”

Thank you,
Cyrus Emerson

Fear and Loathing in the State of Jefferson
https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B079R5KLPN&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_GsURAbAVDYNEM

Nirvana – The Man Who Sold the World

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