Memento Mori: Twelve – Dead By Dawn

Alone With the Dead: Memento Mori by Andrea Speed Twelve - Dead By Dawn It was always odd to be in the back seat of his own mind, watching as others took him over and made his body do things he never commanded it to do, but in this case he was glad. Hugh would probably think he was a big old pussy, but he hated fire; he especially hated when there was a lot of it where it shouldn’t be. Being surrounded by it was enough to bring on a panic attack … if his body was responding to him. Right now, it wasn’t. Right now, he could see Louis looking around in abject shock as the fire licked up the walls, spreading like a living stain, clinging to the ceiling as if in violation of physics, but perhaps the most shocking thing to Louis was that he wasn’t responsible...

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Memento Mori: Eleven – Don’t Save Us From The Flames

Alone With the Dead: Memento Mori by Andrea Speed Eleven - Don’t Save Us From The Flames According to Dante, there were nine levels of hell, which each one very specific in its punishments and the rules for those who would dwell there. Of course he was a fiction writer with a strong sense of Catholicism and an infatuation with a pre-pubescent girl, and Gryphon didn’t believe in any sort of afterlife like heaven or hell – some kind of fabulous or terrifying kingdom where you got to frolic with angels or get anally probed by imps – as it was such fairy tale bullshit he couldn’t believe anyone in their right mind bought for it a second. Still, he did believe there could be types of hell, such as the things Human beings did to one another,...

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Memento Mori: Ten – Wake Up The Dead

Alone With the Dead: Memento Mori by Andrea Speed Ten – Wake Up The Dead Clay did have an answer, as he expected, and he told Shane and Clay he wanted to go there tomorrow. He was lying, of course, but they weren’t to know that. After he got all the information he needed, he asked to be taken back to his motel, as he claimed to be completely shagged out after the whole Laurel Stanhope thing, and subsequent interrogation. No one disbelieved him; the pity was almost palpable. But of course it was a crock of shit. He went back to his room to have a piss, and dig out the money he had hidden in his duffle bag before heading out to the Buick. You can’t possibly be serious, Mr. Aronofsky insisted. “Would you stop saying that? I am. I’m not waiting for this...

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