Free Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings by Edward Lee, David G. Barnett

everything around him.
    The man began to say something, then stopped himself, and instead gave Travis an understanding nod as if this weren’t the first time he heard someone say something like that. Then he grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it up.
     
    ««—»»
     
    “Dude! Seriously, what the fuck?”
    “Huh?” Travis snapped out of his memory and was shaking. Dew had his giant claw on Travis’ shoulder and was giving him a good jostling.
    “Where the fuck do you keep going, my man?” Dew asked still shaking Travis.
    “Please stop shaking me.”
    “Oh, sorry.” Dew stopped. “But seriously, you having seizures or something?”
    “Don’t worry about it,” Travis said absently.
    Dew shrugged. “Whatever, man.” He tried to seem cavalier about it but Travis detected a slight hint of concern in the demon’s voice. He didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing.
    As Travis gathered himself he started looking around and found he was standing in the middle of a bloodbath. Or at least it seemed that way as everything around him was awash in a deep, bloody red. From floor to ceiling, everything…red.   It made the narrow   tunnel they were in even more claustrophobic.
    “Like stepping into a vein. Ain’t it?” Dew said.
    “Kind of—” But Travis realized Dew had kept moving and was almost out of sight. He hurried to catch up, not wanting to be left alone.
    Travis started to turn to catch up with Dew. He came around a slight bend to the left and barreled through a velvet curtain. The first thing that hit him was an assault of bass that threatened to burst his eardrums. The next thing to hit him was Dew’s back. It was like hitting a brick wall. Travis staggered back, dazed.
    “Easy, boy.” And Dew took a step to the side. “We’re in…” And he held up his massive arms to the air and spun around. “This is gonna kick so much ass!”
    No one seemed to notice the giant demon bellowing in the middle of the room. The room looked how you would expect a club in an old abandoned warehouse to look: dim, bleak, minimal. The low light hid the dirt and age. Long, plush couches lined the walls, while round sofas dotted the floor in little islands of comfort. All were littered with a human menagerie. Travis had kind of expected to see nothing but Goths in here. He had been to many clubs like this over the years looking for willing souls to participate in his little rituals. But Painfreak was different. There were Goths, sure, but the crowd was more than just that. The only word that seemed fitting to Travis was…normal. Most of the people here looked normal. No leather, vinyl, piercings, tattoos or bondage gear. Just normal people dancing, making out…fucking.
    Travis was unimpressed. And Dew, as he always seemed to know what Travis was thinking, said, “Don’t be disappointed yet. This is just the warm-up area. Let’s get some drinks.”
    Travis shrugged and said, “Alright.”
    The bar was packed, but a nice wide opening seemed to miraculously appear as Dew approached. And just as he reached the bar, the bartender slid gracefully in front of the demon. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green and lit up like neon beneath severe black bangs even Bettie Page would envy. Her hair cut off just as severely at her creamy white shoulders. Travis let his eyes wander down the bartender’s figure as far as the bar would let him. From what he could tell, she was perfection in female form. And as she parted her dark red lips, Travis waited to hear what the voice of an angel sounded like.
    “S’up, Dew, ya fuck?”
    Turns out the “voice of an angel” sounded like a 50-year-old trucker from the Bronx named Sal. And apparently, Sal had been smoking since he was in the womb.
    Dew turned and looked at Travis who stood there, jaw to the ground, slobbering. You would have thought it was the funniest thing Dew had ever seen as he let loose a belly laugh that rivaled the bass pumping throughout the air. Travis