Sangre De Toro (Old Draft - Now Published!)

Chapter 35 - Death in the Afternoon

Yet his paranoia was settling in, a frequent occurrence these days. Pepelito's initial lack of interest troubled him; even bulls needed to show him the respect he craved. Maria hadn't spoken to him in over a week. Couldn't someone remind the conservative Catholic politician that not listening to your husband was a sin?

It had been over two hours since he'd used his golden spoon, and his nose itched for another hit. He walked to the dressing table, watched sternly by a large portrait of Franco in military uniform. Opposite Franco was another painting of Javier himself, posing like the one above the fireplace, sticking out his chest with a macho expression on his face - except this time he was naked. Mirrors lined the walls by the bed, and Javier had installed one on the ceiling.

On a bare section of the wall near Franco's picture, were two yellow and red banderillas, plus his first ever sword. He seldom got his own hands dirty, but his underlings all knew it wasn't just for bulls.

He put the spoon in his nose and sniffed hard. For all the good it was doing, this shitty batch might as well be sugar. Maybe it was? So many people were out to destroy him! He huffed several more spoonfuls, then pounded the table in rage - there was no difference in how he felt. Exactly the same as two hours ago!

This white gold usually kept him at the top of his game for daring feats of bravery, alert enough to see off rivals for his empire. But this time, the rush he craved didn't materialise. Instead, there was a pain in his nose. He felt a trickle of liquid and then a gush as blood began to pour from his corroded nostrils - which now happened with ever increasing regularity.

It had to be stress, right?

Or, was Eloise right about vaccines? Could it be that 5G mast down the road?

'You've got a drug problem,' Maria had shouted. A drug problem?

As if that bitch knew more about drugs than him!

He staggered to the luxurious en suite bathroom and tipped his head back, sitting on a chair with a warm, wet towel over his nose, but nothing seemed to stop the bleeding. He was in perfect health, he could handle his coke - so it couldn't be that. He wasn't addicted. Today, he'd barely had any!

Maybe it was poison?

For a moment, he thought about one of the bulls he'd killed yesterday, the blood pulsing from the tortured animal's mouth and nose as it looked at him with pleading, sad eyes. He forgot the thought in an instant. Its destiny was to die in the ring, by the hands of the greatest matador in history. Nobody could call him cruel; he'd given it the glorious death it deserved. Their endorphins stopped them feeling any pain, and if not, the pain just improved the flavour of the steaks he loved.

As he reflected on this triumph of his, trying to distract himself from his bleeding nose, Javier heard a sound from downstairs. His guests weren't arriving for a while. Was the back entrance closed? Had that useless housekeeper forgot to shut it again?

He didn't have time for that shit, he had people to do it for him. He'd try another vial in a while. No, the bleeding had stopped, he'd do it now. He took another hit, lay down on his bed, gazing up at the gold framed mirror on his ceiling. He shut his eyes, feeling faint and weak. His heart hammered in his chest, but with none of the usual buzzy exhilaration. Something was wrong; he'd make his supplier explain himself, or face the consequences.

There was a noise coming from downstairs. The unmistakable sound of footsteps, growing louder. Probably just one of the servants.

But then the door burst open.

Eloise marched into the room, a look of demented fury on her face and a demonic gleam in her eyes.

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