"Please... find my husband, Mr. Cross," the woman in white asked as she lit a cigarette. I'd rather shoot him. I reflected. He doesn't deserve you. Whoever the bastard might be. I'll admit, it wasn't the first time a dame walked through those doors. But this was different. God damn, even her scent hit like a drunken trucker. Her perfume stuck to my skin while burning into my core. Chemical warfare never smelled so good. M...

"Did you bring those references?" I blink. This conversation couldn't get any weirder. Sure it seemed like an interview. We sat in an office. I tried not to keep adjusting my tie. And she reviewed papers nearly sorted in a small manilla folder. The only clue to the utter insanity of the situation was the lack of a resume. No, instead of my work history, she perused glossy 8 by 10 photos of my nude body in exacting positio...

The following entry is reserved for the highest levels. We can only speculate as to why the creature wrote this down. Hand delivered to our agent in upstate New York. The messenger then burst into flames. This is an exact duplicate of the original note. Any further questions may be directed to Xavier Costello. I wonder at what age Mary knew. Was the knowledge always a part of her? From infancy, did the holy mother grow in...