Danse Macabre: Fourteen – The Suffering

Alone With The Dead Danse Macabre by Andrea Speed Fourteen – The Suffering On the way back home – well, his home for now – he stopped to get some fast food, mainly because he felt so tired he wasn’t sure he’d stay awake on the drive. It was kind of pathetic, but what could you do? Apparently threatening to kill someone wasn’t enough to keep him awake anymore. But Gryphon was allowed one of those moments that he’d come to cherish, a moment when his Greek chorus of the damned fell mercifully silent. He got to hear the white noise hum inside his head, the emptiness where thoughts should be. Of course he had none; he felt hollowed out, flushed, wiped clean. The crowds of people who had shared space inside him had carved away pieces of himself...

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Danse Macabre: Thirteen – Gimme Shelter

Alone With The Dead Danse Macabre by Andrea Speed Thirteen – Gimme Shelter “Oh cry me a river, asshole,” Jeff said irritably, shaking his head in disgust. O’Leary continued to do so, although he was struggling to get a hold of himself. He sobbed in a strangled sort of way, like he was trying to physically hold back the tears and failing miserably. He still was refusing to look at him. Maybe a minute passed, the plopping sound of the rain in puddles an oddly appropriate counterpoint to his strange, squished sobs. “I didn’t mean … I panicked …” “I was black, so you fucking shot me!” Jeff snapped, and Gryphon was pretty sure he saw the puddles around them waver in response. He was only a ghost, but that didn’t mean his anger lacked...

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Danse Macabre: Twelve – Killing In The Name Of

Alone With The Dead Danse Macabre by Andrea Speed Twelve – Killing In the Name Of “What do you mean prepare to be disappointed?” O’Leary repeated, parking the SUV parallel to the mouth of the overgrown gravel driveway. Gryphon looked back to see Wax just standing there between the raindrops, like he was waiting for a bus. It made him briefly wonder if a bus of the dead would be any worse than a standard transit bus during rush hour. Probably not. It might actually be more peaceful and smell better. “He’s dead, Cal.” O’Leary glared at him, like he thought he was just saying that to piss him off. “What? No he isn’t.” “I assure you, he is.” Gryphon didn’t stick around to argue with him – he...

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