Beauty of Seattle 3

September 8, 2017 by Patrick Starks

11026885 - drawing of young melancholy girl, fragment of painting

(Episode 3)

Here we were, all three of us—the beauty, the beast, and I. I’d now learned all that I needed of the mystery behind the victim that was murdered—more so, I’d now learn just how jealous the beast was. He was an insecure one, one that would do just about anything to keep the drool of other men from falling onto his precious, his love—that in which appeared to be more of a prisoner than anything.

“Come closer my dear, this gathering is for you after all,” the beast said. But the Beauty hesitated, she knew the beast very well, that he was nowhere close to an example of a gentle man—and from the way the jewelry around her neck vibrated, I could tell she feared him so. I would ponder on the idea of why she was here, how she even got in this situation in the first place, but sooner or later the beast would be the rotten egg within the story.

The beast had already confessed to me what horrors he had done, and by this I knew there was no chance in hell that he would let me go, not even my soul. We now sat at what appeared to be a table from the 1700’s, where the legs of it wielded the curvature of a spiders. Oddly, the beast had a butler, to bring food to this table—he was a hideous looking man, but surprisingly came off to be a fine chef. Although, I had to laugh, with all the abominations sitting in the room, it wasn’t a surprise that nature would try and balance the disgust with something nice—that being the beauty.

“What was that?” the beast asked. I’d dared not to say it again for that I felt would be a part of the meal as well. “Here you are sir, the finest salmon in Seattle, from the best fisherman the world has yet to know,” the butler said. I was amazed, it smelt incredible, just as the beauty I thought, but of course a different kind of incredibility. I didn’t waste any time, I was starving my ass off, and sadly, the closes thing I ever came to tasting anything was the horrid breath of the detective I’d meet, before the exquisite, yet timid, dinner I would be having.

I then grabbed the fork and knife to the side of me, I could tell that they were just washed, they were somewhat hot, however, I still managed. I took one slice, and everything looked precise, not undercooked or overcooked—the butler would continue to impress. I went in for a bite, but something wasn’t right, I didn’t like the feeling, it felt something of a killing intention. I would take advantage of my peripheral vison, I could see that the beast was insulted by my rude jester, as his eyes burned through the side of my temple.

“Oh, you’re not going to pray before you eat?” the beast asked. I was so fucking thrown off, here it was a murder telling me to pray before I eat, he couldn’t had been fucking serious, but the bastard was—I could tell he enjoyed watching me tremble, just as the beauty did. The beast then took the lead by reciting the lord’s prayer.

Everything became awkward, as much as it could ever become, the beast eyes were closed, but the beauty and mine were not. She gazed at me, with her green apple eyes, and I gazed back, I tried to read her lips, but was too interested of knowing what could’ve  been there taste—cherry or bubble gum I’d ponder—she then rolled her eyes at me, and shook her head, just as any woman would do a thirsty, yet perverted man.

The beast then finished the prayer and began to eat. As classy as he attempted to be, he obviously had no manners, eating just as a boar would do. And as his face continued to be stuffed with the salmon I would once praise, he continued to play mind games with me. “Tell me young man, do you read at all? Is there a particular book you would recommend?” the beast asked. I honestly didn’t know, the last book I ever came close to reading, let alone finishing—was Harry Potter, and so I told him just that.

The beast laughed, nearly spitting pieces of salmon all onto the beauty and I. “You’ve got to be fucking joking, that’s all you’ve read; indeed, you are a fucking child. This is what you want, hmm…” the beast said, staring deep into the eyes, and the soul of the Beauty. The beast then stood up, I thought he was for sure through with me at this point, but strangely, he was intrigued and wanted to play more with me—he was no average murderer, but the best, some would call it cynical at best. I looked down at my phone to maybe call back the asshole detective, that he’d maybe aid me out of this situation,  but it seemed there was no reception in the room.

“To the library!” the beast yelled. And as he said that, he was already through the door. I on the other hand was a gentleman, I would walk over to pull the beauty’s seat back and help her up—redemption for the fetish of her lips, I thought. “Now! and you, you stay right there,” the beast said, as he pointed to beauty.

The beast and I then walked into what appeared to be his study. Millions of books traveled the room, only to be lit by candle light, but it was quite dusty, no clorox nor broom. He grabbed a book from a shelf that had no candle light to reveal it. The book was as big as his hands, and was dusty enough that one would call it a pile of shit more than a book, however, something about this book was just as precious to him as the beauty was.

“Look here,” the beast said as he opened the book and blew the dust off. I tried to look, but thanks to his ignorance of blowing some of the dust in my eyes, I was unable see a fucking thing. “Oh, man up already, it’s just a little dirt,” the beast said. Again, more mind games. I wanted to put my fist down his throat, but feared that be like jamming it down a lions’.

In the book, there were pictures of beast just like him, but in the middle of it all, there was the beauty. I didn’t understand, just how old were they, and more so, what were the holding in the photo—it looked like a feather of some sort, but I paid it no mind, at least for the moment. The beauty didn’t look like she aged at all, although the beast did. “I know, I still look fucking sexy don’t I, although, beauty doesn’t look at all like herself anymore,” the beast said. He couldn’t had been that fucking conceded I thought, but he was a murder, and he was a beast—I guess it was somewhat a part of his confidence. 

“You see, it wasn’t always like this, at one time this was our land—the land you call Seattle. The beauty is all we have of it, what was destroyed. She is the only true native of it, and without her it is all gone. And it’s always been people like you that would see her destroyed, to take advantage of the things you don’t understand. I won’t let that happened, too many have fallen, too many have fallen…” the beast said, as his eyes sparkled with sadness.

I was at a loss for words, just what did he mean by being a native, I was born in raised in Seattle after all, surely I had to be one as well. “Beauty! Come here!” the beast yelled and she wasn’t far, for that she instantly reacted by the swinging of the door. “Show him, show him your gift,” the beast said. The beauty I believed never shown any one like myself before the gift she held, but was put on the spot by a murderer to do so.

In that very library, I felt a power that I’d never experienced, a power of goddess. And as I dodged all the books that would try and decapitate me, there I witnessed it all, a true Beauty of Seattle.


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