Zeke
Authors: Wodke Hawkinson
Praise for
Zeke
When the object of our affection turns out to be a monster,
how far are we willing to go to justify the monstrous behavior? In
Zeke
,
Wodke Hawkinson explored that question to its furthest horrific outcome, and
that outcome is not pretty or comfortable; but it is absolutely captivating.
The powerful writing of Wodke Hawkinson is addictive and
enthralling. Brought into their world by the novel
Betrayed
, I was
amazed at their innate ability to realize and describe harsh, harrowing and
brutal scenes. The book had me turning pages faster than lightening. It also
unleashed a new understanding of my voyeuristic nature.
Zeke
, their
latest outing, proved no different.
~
Douglas Wickard
You may find yourself yelling at Sue, “Sue! He’s a bad
guy - run from him as fast as you can!” But Sue is already brainwashed. This
book will stay with you for days. Pass it on to all the single women in your
life. This should serve as a warning. There are many “Zekes” out there, just
waiting…
~
Kathleen Patel
ZEKE
By
Wodke Hawkinson
© 2012 by Wodke Hawkinson
All rights reserved.
ASIN:
B008J9DH2M
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information
storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author,
except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and
events in this work are either products of the author’s imagination or used
fictitiously.
“The basic
tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of
words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who
must use the words.”
-Phillip K. Dick
“I’m not completely emotionless, I’m prone
to fits of uncontrollable rage.”
-ZKM
Foreword
As we plotted Zeke and Sue’s
course, we utilized an atlas. But, if you tried to recreate the trip, it would
drive you crazy since we changed the names of not only the highways, but also
most of the towns. We took liberty with the buildings and sites in
Zeke,
most
of which are fictitious.
In
Zeke
, you will not only
journey across a portion of the United States, you will also venture into the
mind of a madman.
Enjoy the ride.
~
Wodke Hawkinson
Table of Contents
Robots to Serve the Collective
Sue’s eyebrows rose at the sight of
the new clerk behind the counter at Re-Books. He looked up as her entry
activated the bell above the door. Their eyes locked briefly, triggering a slow
pounding in her chest. Pretending disinterest, Sue sidled into a row of used
books. With the sun shining brightly, only half the lights were on, leaving the
aisles in semi-darkness. Once in a discreet position, Sue pushed apart a group
of books. Dust motes danced into the air as she peered at the clerk through the
gap she’d created.
He moved with a lazy indifference
she found captivating. Dark hair framed his attractive face, emphasizing
expressive indigo eyes. His stunning looks and lean, sinuous physique were
features you’d expect to see in Hollywood
,
not here in Cyrus, Maine.
While handling his next customer
with a bored but polite nonchalance, his eyes searched the store. As the
shopper fiddled with her handbag, he unobtrusively pocketed a few bills, closed
the register, and gave the woman her change. Sue caught her breath in
disbelief, and continued her sly surveillance of the sexy clerk.
A rebel.
Sue was seized by a small voyeuristic thrill, knowing he had no idea she had
witnessed his crime.
After thanking the woman for her
business, he picked up the book next to his elbow and began to read. Sue noted
his slender hands, his long fingers splayed across the cover. Desire spread
through her belly and flushed her cheeks.
Sue noticed she wasn’t the only
young woman inside the shop fascinated by the new clerk. A group of pretty high
school girls tittered at the front of the store, trying to catch his attention,
but he remained oblivious.
Grabbing a book at random, Sue
slowly approached the counter, at once dreading and craving eye contact. It
pierced her when it came and she caught her breath before she handed over her
book. He caressed her with his eyes after looking down at her selection, which
turned out to be a collection of poems, a subject that had never interested
her.
“Excellent choice.” His voice was
soft and low as a bowed string on a vintage cello. “I write poetry myself.”
“You do?”
“I do.” His smile was slow and
easy. “Of course, I’m not published yet, but when I get back home, I’m going to
get an agent to help me out. You know how it is. The business of business is
not my forte. How about you? Do you write?”
“A little.” The lie slipped out
before she could contain it; actually, she had never attempted to write poetry.
But, she might. Now.
“I’d love to see your work.” His
look was long and penetrating. An innocent statement, but loaded with sensual
undertones and implications.
Maybe she was just reading
something into his words that wasn’t intended; she couldn’t be sure. Emboldened
by his sheer magnetism, she
managed to break through the barrier of
her usual insecurity. “I’d like to read some of yours, too.”
“We’ll have to arrange something.”
His voice was velvet as he rang up her purchase and gave her the total.
Sue fumbled in her purse for money.
As their fingers touched, a rush of heat traveled through her. Anxious to
prolong the encounter, she stated the obvious, “You’re new here.”
“That’s right. But this is just a
temporary job for me.” He leaned closer. “I’m only in town long enough to get
my mom settled in her new place. Then I’m heading back to New York.”
“New York City?” Sue asked,
suitably impressed.
A poet from
New York
. And nice to his
mother, too
. She was filled with a strange longing.
“Yep, the Big Apple. I’m just
passing through, more or less.”
Sue stuffed her change into her
purse and turned to go, wishing she could think of something to say,
disappointed to learn he’d only be here a short time.
“Hey,” he called to her. “You gonna
come back and see me sometime?”
“Sure.” Her cheeks reddened.
“How about tonight?” he asked, his
eyes smoky with promise. “I get off at nine. You can wait for me outside and
we’ll go grab something to eat.”
“Okay.” As she headed toward the
door, the young girls glared at her. But she didn’t care; she was dancing
inside, unable to believe her good fortune.
“Wait.” His voice pulled her back
and she was certain he was going to say he was just messing with her; he didn’t
really want her to come back. But, instead, he asked a simple question. “What’s
your name?”
“Sue.” Her heart began to beat
again.
“Nice to meet you, Sue. I’m Zeke.”
Since she’d told Zeke she wrote
poetry, Sue decided she’d better brush up on the subject. She drove directly to
the coffee shop to study the book she’d just purchased.
Rushing through the door, Sue
noticed Joyce Mould at one of the tables. Joyce, dubbed Moldy by bullies, was,
to put it bluntly, unattractive. Her skin refused to tan and her long, dark,
dandruff-flecked hair, restrained by barrettes, hung limp to her shoulders. In
fact, everything about her was unremarkable. She was always dressed in
knee-length plaid skirts, lightweight sweaters, knee socks and loafers. Joyce’s
style did nothing to enhance her looks.
Sue and Joyce had fallen into
friendship accidentally during grade school, simply because neither of them
could interest anyone else. They were friends by default.
In spite of the dubious nature of
their comradeship, Sue genuinely liked Joyce and enjoyed her company. They had
done the usual things girls do: overnights at each other’s house, long talks on
the phone, chatting on the internet in one class or another when they were
supposed to be doing schoolwork, whispering and giggling against the wall at dances,
hoping for invitations that never came.
But, all the years together had not
made them truly close; they never shared deep, dark secrets. It was purely a
symbiotic relationship; each needed the other so that neither would be a
complete zero. They clung to their association throughout high school and into
college where Joyce doggedly joined clubs, started discussion groups, and
volunteered for the school newspaper. None of these efforts produced the
acceptance she’d desired. However, Joyce garnered one thing, a following of
sorts. She was incredibly smart, and she tutored. Boys only. Cheap. The
tutoring kept her in demand. Often, she was too busy to meet Sue for shopping
or a Coke, leaving her with only herself for company.
Sue dropped her shopping bag and
purse in the seat next to Joyce and headed to the counter to order a soda and
cinnamon roll. She returned to the table and plunked down, tearing off a bite
of the pastry. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” Joyce said. “You
barely caught me; I have to tutor Jeremiah Clark in thirty minutes.” Joyce
waggled her eyebrows at Sue. Jeremiah was the hottest boy in college. Sue felt
a stab of pity for Joyce, pining after a boy who would never look twice at her
in a romantic way.
Joyce shot Sue a questioning look
when she dug out the book of poetry.
“I know, right? But, I just came
from Re-Books. They have the most unbelievable new guy working there. He’s even
cuter than Jeremiah.”
“Cuter than Jeremiah? That’s hard
to believe. Although, I don’t believe you have a book of poetry either. So? The
world’s ending?”
“Ha, ha!” Sue said flatly. “But,
it’s true; he’s gorgeous.”
“What about your red-hot crush on
Taylor Lautner? Are you giving up on the dream of meeting him someday? He’d be
so
devastated.
If
he even knew you existed in the first place.” An annoying
smirk spread across Joyce’s wide, homely face.
