Estavore

          Captain Peter Estavore built himself up by putting other people down. Every day, he would push people until they were on the edge of their own personal chasm. Peter left them there, hanging by the skin of their teeth to their self-esteem, alone, to fend for themselves. He really didn’t care if they survived or not. A man of that horrible, careless type ought to live in an insane asylum - or maybe Hell - and never let out. But, unfortunately, the people of this era didn’t believe in that and didn’t really care till they themselves were broken, helpless, and barely able to stay alive let alone help anybody else.
         The Captain (as he called himself) was afraid he would get beaten down by society, until he looked around. So he added two and two together, realized no one gave a rip, and went on his joyous way. He cheated many people until he had enough money to make an estate that dwarfed the largest home in New York. The huge marble front stairs led up to the door, which was framed around the edges in a leafy gold design, and the knocker (which was engraved and inset with all colors of diamond) made the highly-polished brass doorknob look like it cost 50 cents. In reality, it was the finest brass melted down from a horn used to announce kings. The entire front of the building was ominous, too. One look made you want to run away the same time as you were enticed inside. Who knew what wonders lay beyond that door?
          If you ever did go in, you’d wished you hadn’t. Peter had rooms chock-full of psychological torture devices which were very cleverly disguised. Once someone had been lured in, the core of their being was stretched between a few posts and flogged with whips of the psych much worse than any cat o’nines.
         You heal from cat o’nines.
          The most amazing part of the charade was that he didn’t even spare his family. He fed them all kinds of lies to cover his rancid butt. Slowly, but surely, he degraded everyone of his wives, girlfriends, and children. He used subtler things on them, but the evil waves rolling off him were surging onward to no end. If that was the most amazing thing, it also was the saddest. The poor women were netted in, played with, and tossed out be survive any way they could(as long as dear ol’ Captain wasn't involved).
         In the darkness, Peter sometimes cried. He ached for a real relationship; real friends. He did not want to be condemned to die alone in his mansion and not found for three months. His mind brought up pictures of his body, rotting. He wondered if adipocere would set in. He wondered if some beggar would wander in and use the soap-like substance as actual soap. Would maggots eat out his eyes? Or would the crow do that after they swoop down through the windows, the chimney, or an open door? Crows would certainly crack open his skull to let the rats gnaw at his brain.
         His brain, however, as he has grown up, became toxified with all kinds of poisonous thoughts. The rats would surely die from such exposure. That, in turn, would invite more lovely guests to the feast. On a clear day, the “guests” could smell for miles the feast to be had. Peter could just imagine them all flocking to his deathbed. How long would it take before nothing was left?
          They could probably devour him in three days flat, leaving absolutely nothing for his mother to mourn over.

         In Morgan’s mind, that image would come up soon. Much sooner than precious Peter could imagine.
          He hadn’t quite broken Morgan; too much confidence that day, apparently, and now she was a little more than mad. She had big plans to take down Peter Estavore and all his horrible empire stood for. She was determined that when she was done, nothing of his body would be left.
         She figured she would crawl, begging, to his door, pleading to be let in. The last encounter he had with her was a few years ago. Morgan was positive that he would not remember her. Oh, but she remembered him. She remembered all the things he told her, all the promises. And what had happened to those promises? They withered and died along with a part of her soul. She would never get it back, and she knew it. But what she planned to take from Peter made up for all that.
          When she crawled up to his door, he had let her in as planned. She sat across from him at the table while he studied her. He spent a lot of time peering into her face. Her eyes, her nose- he found her riveting. There were features that tingled a faint memory in the back of his mind. She looked familiar from somewhere, but he didn’t know how that could be possible. He offered her a room and a month’s worth of shelter. She accepted right away.
         Already, Peter was playing his games with her. He wondered how she would act when all the lights got turned off. Did she scare easily? He would have to find out later, when it finally did go dark; he was the only one that had a key to her room.

          For some reason, Morgan’s plan never got off the ground. Peter’s house was so wonderful, she felt guilty for ever wanting to kill him. The parties were grand, and the food was exquisite. Peter was amazingly polite to everyone. Someone like that could never be malicious; she was sure of that now.
         At the far end of her insanity, Morgan’s real self clung to hang on. If she ever let go, everything would be lost. She clawed at the thread keeping her to herself, trying to climb up. She only ended up slipping further down. The thread kept fraying.
          Peter had plans for this Morgan. To keep her distracted, the Captain often scheduled brainwashing sessions with the closest thing he could consider a friend- his younger wanna-be half brother. Petri had been thoroughly brainwashed already to suit Peter’s purpose beautifully.
          Morgan could see what was happening from her objective point of view, and she didn’t like it. It angered her endlessly that Peter could get away with these things! She knew she was dying- there was no way around it. She gathered every ounce of strength she had, and let go of that thread. She floated through the darkness, trying to get oriented. If she fell too much, she would hit rock-bottom and die. Her body would die, and her soul would evaporate. If she went too far, there would be no Heaven for her. She concentrated very hard on landing softly on Peter’s mind.
          Luckily, she did. She started hacking with everything she had to get inside and destroy. The Peter in the physical world passed out, and entered his mind to fight her off. They fought extremely ferociously, until Morgan seemed to be losing it. She was weak; she was foreign.

         Although accurate records were never maintained, the gossip on the street was that the great, grand Captain Peter Estavore was brutally murdered by a drugged prostitute. The girl’s body supposedly shriveled until nothing was left, and Peter’s body curled up into itself. People said that from then on, he walked around in a daze which often reached the point of striking out at people, screaming at them, “Cover! Cover! Here come the crows! My eyes! My eyes! Hide me! Here come the crows!”