Master of Plagues, D. B. Reynolds [best books to read fiction .txt] 📗

“Sir, do you possess some type of power?”
Stuart cut straight into a vengeful grin. “Mam, you haven’t seen nothing yet. I will possess powers that no one on this planet has ever seen.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that in my life,” an older woman marveled. “I mean, you patted that thing over the head and it didn’t even attempt to bite you. Normally, a rat of that size would bite you in half.”
Passengers surrounded Stuart with the adulation of a worldwide celebrity. He would’ve loved to stand around and talk, but he had much work to do. His all-day metro card would get him close enough to the Staten Island Ferry. The ferry would get him home so he could put his plans into action.


CHAPTER—6

MESSAGES AND MEMORIES

The Staten Island Ferry got Stuart close enough to his predominantly Jewish and Italian neighborhood of Arden Heights. The Orthodox Jewish community remained conservative and crime-free. The residents wanted to keep it that way. Stuart lived in an area of upscale clustered townhomes right off the main thoroughfare. His exact address in Staten Island was 695 Barlow Avenue.
The journey back to Staten Island was tiresome. His fifteen minutes of fame down in the subway sort of boosted his morale. He shoved the key inside the lock of his $850,000 home and trampled inside. The lights were switched on and an aura of dead silence engulfed the five bedroom hideaway. Luxury couldn’t begin to describe the benefit he enjoyed. Stuart’s very wealthy parents decided to leave New York and retire to a life of leisure down in Florida.
The allure of Florida had been calling them for several years. Being moguls in the New York real estate game, Harry and Isabel Duffelmeyer decided to be good to themselves by spending some of their mega-millions on property throughout South Florida. Stuart emerged into a front room decorated to suit his taste. And his taste wasn’t bad. An Italian marble table flanked by black leather chairs complimented the distinguished oil paintings hanging perfectly on the black and white striped walls. Pure white carpet covered every inch of floor space.
Stuart looked over in the corner at a glass table with a cordless phone resting on top. Flashing red numbers indicated he’d gotten several calls while he was out. A total of twenty-two calls were displayed on the machine. Collectively, who would’ve called him twenty-two times? The most calls he’d ever gotten in one day’s time was five or six. He pressed the playback button with hesitation.
The first call he’d gotten said, “Son, this is your parents. Your mother and I were at the country club all day. I played a couple’a rounds of golf, then just sat around and chat with the fellas. Give us a call when you get this message.”
The first message was from Stuart’s wealthy and highly-esteemed father, Harry Duffelmeyer. How modest Harry could be. The fellas he spoke about were multi-millionaires just like himself. Some were even billionaires, those who took in sun and played golf while in semi-retirement.
The second call he’d gotten said, “Stuart, this is your mother. Like your father said, we’ve been at the country club all day. Listen honey, we’re gonna be in town a couple’a days early for your NYU graduation. Son, we’re very proud of you, and we look forward to you getting your diploma in veterinary medicine. Oh, and by the way, we tried to reach you on your cell phone, but didn’t get no answer. Please give us a call and let us know that you’re okay.”
Stuart stood to the side and waited to hear the third of twenty-two messages.
Quite the insensitive, comical voice spoke into the machine. “Hey, Stu, we sure hope that you had a good time at the motel in the Bronx. We sure picked you out a beauty, didn’t we? So tell me, how does it feel not being a virgin anymore?”
The message ended with a series of loud giggles. The voice belonged to the master prankster himself, the notoriously evil Anthony Greenstein.
“That bastard!” Stuart snorted in rage. “Anthony wants to bring his sick jokes to my home.”
Stuart couldn’t’ve been closer to a psychotic outbreak. How in the hell did Anthony Greenstein get access to his home phone number? Oooops! During the early stages of the prank, Stuart handed over his number in order for them to have some means of contact. Dark redness was caked across his face. His upper and lower teeth pressed hard enough to grind steel into powder. Big beads of sweat popped right out of his pores.
Stuart listened to the fourth message. “Hi Stuart, just wanted to let you know we enjoyed watching you have fun with your mechanical fantasy doll. It must really feel good to have lost your virginity to someone like her.”
A voice of such strong seduction belonged to Megan Piccirillo. The message ended with uncontrollable laughter.
“That ding dong!” Stuart rebelled. “So, she wants to make a laughing stock out of me at her own expense. Well, she doesn’t know who she’s fooling with.”
He pressed the button and listened to the fifth message. “My man, Stu, how’s it going? We sure hope you had fun at the motel like we did. We’ve never had that much fun before. Boy, did we have a lot of fun.”
Those customary voices belonged to David Nguyen and Abdullah Tariq Muhammad. Like Anthony and Megan, the message ended with uproarious laughter.
The sixth message played and the sexy voices of women were heard. “Stuart, we know that you had the time of your life. What a way to break your virginity, huh?”
Those two enticing voices belonged to Dana Potts and Prudence Cundy. Giggle after giggle faded as the message came to an end.
By now, Stuart was enraged. The redness across his face only got darker. Steam blasted from both of his nostrils.
Venom pumped through his veins as he waited to hear the seventh message. “Hey, Stu, what’s up baby? Just wanted to let you know that we had a complete blast at the motel. Take care of yourself and congratulations on losing your virginity.”
Voices of such comedic overtones belonged to Taylor Warrwick and John O’Connor. The two pranksters just had to rub in what they’d done to Stuart. The remaining messages also came from the group Stuart dubbed as the “egomaniacal eight”. They just didn’t know when to quit.
“Those relentless rascals had quite some time on my watch,” Stuart grumbled, the strongest inclination of resentment gripping him. “They’re going to pay for what they did to me! They’re going to pay! They’re going to pay! They’re going to pay!”
Quietness grasped every inch of space in the house. Memories of the painful episodes came back to haunt Stuart. He attended Chabad Lubavitch Synagogue of Staten Island as a young boy. Kids made complete fun of his goofiness. His clothes and thick glasses were the sources of their entertainment.
When he got to Hebrew school, the kids never stopped picking on him. The clothes and glasses kept him square in the spotlight. But it wasn’t until he got to high school where his problems were more pronounced. He suffered the worst form of anti-Semitic prejudice from other high schoolers. Several of his classmates smacked and kicked him around on a daily basis.
Two of his classmates in particular, Russell Loveless and Gerald Robusto, used Stuart as their amusement. Being a top athletic jock, Russell scored big with the chicks. Girls loved watching him stroll down the hallway between classes, flexing his big muscles, followed by his irresistible cheesy smile. Top grades and goods looks were the traits which gave Gerald favor with the girls and other classmates.
Coming down the hallway carrying his books with his head hung low was a sophomore Stuart Duffelmeyer. Russell and Gerald spotted him as he came their direction. The pair of popular high schoolers couldn’t resist picking on someone they considered the biggest nerd of the last decade. As usual, they were surrounded by an entourage, mainly the good-looking girls who fed off their popularity.
“Well, well, well,” Russell announced to his schoolmates. “If it isn’t the nerdiest, the dorkiest, the goofiest, the weirdest guy in all of Staten Island.”
Russell gained a series of laughs from those standing nearby.
“If it isn’t the king of all nerds,” Gerald added. “This guy dresses like he jumped straight out of an old crayon box.”
Gerald racked up a series of laughs from his bent sense of humor.
“Those glasses are thick enough to see into a fiftieth story apartment in midtown Manhattan.”
“What’re his parents doing with all those millions they’ve made in real estate, sewing his clothes together from nineteenth century textile mills?”
Stuart walked into the midst of the jokesters. Gerald stuck his foot out to keep him from moving forward.
“Where you going, nerd?” Gerald said, pounding his hand on top of Stuart’s shoulder.
Stuart looked him on the side of his face. “I’ve got to get to my next class.”
“You’ll get to your next class when we say so.”
Russell stepped in front of Gerald with an erect finger pointed at the center of Stuart’s face. “That’s right, Jew Boy. You’ll get to your next class when we say so.”
“Please don’t call me ‘Jew Boy’,” Stuart strongly detested.
“You’ve got a problem with us calling you that?”
“You’re putting me on the spot. You’re making fun of my Jewish heritage and I don’t like it one bit.”
Russell shoved Stuart against the wall. “Well, what’re you going to do about it, Jew Boy?”
“Please, don’t call me that!” Stuart yelled, twisting his mouth sideways.
Gerald emerged back into the bullying process. “Embarrassed? Self-conscious? Don’t like being Jewish?”
“You guys are practicing Anti-Semitic acts against me,” Stuart charged, brave enough to stand up for his Jewish heritage.
“What if we told you that we didn’t like Jews?”
“I’d say that you were prejudice against my people.”
“Well, I don’t like Jews, and I don’t like you. You’re nothing but a nerdy kyke.”
Stuart had had enough. He slammed his books to the ground and took a swing at both Russell and Gerald. It might’ve been a bad move. Russell grabbed