Menewsha Avatar Community - I need a bit of help.....(updated)

I started this story about three years ago now, and its lost on a dead laptop, but I did manage to post it somewhere before I lost it. This is all I have left of it. It still needs a title, and the rest of the story, but I think I got stuck, that's why I stopped.
Enjoy!
Warning:this contains strong language and some other inappropriate themes.

Quote:

Introduction
‘What is it with the world today?’ Greg thought, ‘I know that the economy is failing but what does that have to do with the way people have been acting? It’s like they’ve all got Tourette’s syndrome or something.’ He walked into the office to gather his things and go home when Stephen showed up at his door.
“How’s it goin’ G-man? Just thought you might want to go out to the bar tonight. I got some pretty tight girls there just aching to meet you.”
“Not tonight Stephen, I have some work to do. You know? Maybe next week.” Greg replied.
“C’mon man, its Friday night and you’re probably the only guy who’s gonna be in his apartment alone tonight. Just come out for a few drinks and hey, who knows I might even help you after.” Stephen gave him the same strange ‘pal’ face, one he used every time he tried to get his way.
“No Stephen, I really need to get this done by Monday. Now if you don’t mind, GET OUT OF MY DOORWAY!” Greg gave him a hard look.
“Sheesh man, you don’t have to yell. I’ll get out. Have fun doing your work.” He said the last bit with a sneer.
“When are you going to grow up Stephen? I mean Jesus, you’re nearly thirty and you still get plastered every night. It’s a miracle that you still have your job.”
“Yeah, well… well… fuck you Greg. I don’t need you.”

There’s a knock on my door. “Jim?” a muffled voice floats through.
“Jim are you home?”
“I’m here Melinda, just let me get to the door.” I call back. I get up from my easy chair and set my laptop on the table. I walk over to the door and undo the three or so locks and open it.
“Jimmy!” Melinda squeals “It’s so good to see you back!”
“It’s good to be back. Why don’t you come in?” I say, warmly.
“Oooh Mr. Romantic now are we? What’s gotten into you James Irving?” she plays.
“Nothing, can’t a guy be nice to his fiancé every now and then?” I reply, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
“Stop it. So what are you writing this time?” she eyes my laptop open on the coffee table.
“You know the usual. Boring dribble that makes the brain hurt.” I tell her, more sarcasm.
“Oh that stuff,” her voice goes deep trying to imitate mine “the same boring crap that pays the bills.” We both laugh.
“You’re getting pretty good at that, have you been practicing while I’ve been gone?”
“No, I’m just sick of you spouting the same crap over and over. Now seriously Jim, why can’t you ever tell me what you write?”
“Because it would ruin the surprise. That’s why.”
“Very funny, Hey! I brought home some of those um…” her voice trails as her eyes grow wide.
“Mel?” I ask. No reply. “Mel?!” the sound of glass smashing fills the room as her body slumps to the floor. There is a man standing where my fiancé was two seconds ago. “Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?” I demand.
“The point is not who I am but who you were.” His voice is deep, eerily deep. Like the super villains of yesteryear. “Now come with me and you won’t die as quickly.” He holds out the bloody knife that was just in my girl’s back. My face twists into an expression of pure rage.
“You bastard! I’ll kill you for that!” I scream as I lunge at him. He moves, faster than I have ever seen anyone move before. I slip on the rug and find myself on the floor in a puddle of wine. The broken glass cuts my arm like hundreds of tiny knives. Before I can react he is on top of me with the knife to my throat. Suddenly the man’s face clicks in my mind, and I remember where I had seen him before…

Chapter One: The Beginning of the End
________________________________________

The date is June 7th 2005. I’m in Aruba on business with one of my editors. I’m alone on the beach and just loving it, suddenly there is an eerie feeling crawling down my spine, the feeling you get when you’re being watched. I quickly scan the area for a camera poking out of the bushes or the unusually pale guy who seems to randomly appear, mostly things seen in cheesy movies. I see nothing unusual and continue to enjoy the beach. My fiancé is back at home because the company thought it might be a ‘liability’ and also I could only afford one plane ticket. Mine.
I spot a man in a suit coming towards me. This man is in a white dress suit not a white bathing suit, and that is definitely unusual. And the thing that draws my attention beside the man in a three piece suit on the beach, is the classic ‘surround myself around muscle so that I have good protection’ bit. He is surrounded by three of the biggest men I have ever seen, besides the strong-man competitions on ESPN. “Monsieur Irving? Might I have a word with you?” he asks in a very thick French accent.
“Who are you?”
“How impolite of me. My name is Monsieur David Manuelle, perhaps you have heard of me, no?”
“No I haven’t, and may I ask how you know me?”
“I read your books, of course!”
I feel the need to slap myself in the head, ‘How could you forget you’re a writer?’ I ask myself.
“Sorry, I think I’ve been out in the sun too long. My mind isn’t where it should be.”
“Then shall we go somewhere shady?” he asks, a wry smile drawing across his face.
“Sure. Let me get dressed first. Where should I meet you then?”
“At the Café de L’Orange. 4 o’clock sharp. Until then, I bid you adieu.” He turns, motions to his guards, mutters something in French to them, and walks away. One of the guards walks off in another direction. I almost instantly realize that the direction that he is headed is towards my car. “Hey! Just where do you think you are going?” I call out to the man. He shrugs it off and keeps walking. I grab my towel and run off across the white sand after him. He takes a sharp turn and keeps going to the port-a-potty over by the parking lot. Again the need to slap myself in the head arises.
I get to my car grab my jeans and throw them on over my bathing suit and toss on the black t-shirt that is sitting on my passenger side seat. I rummage through my trunk and pull out a wrinkled button down shirt, roll up the sleeves and put it on. I get into my car and turn the key; the clock on the dash says its three fifty. ‘Ten minutes’ I think to myself. I go to put it into gear when there is a slam on the door. It’s the guy who I followed up the beach. He wrenches the door open and plops himself on the seat.
“Excuse me but…”
“Be quiet and drive. I am not here at all.” His English sounds forced, like he doesn’t know the language all too well.
“Okay, but may I ask one question?”
“No questions. Just drive.” I’m not in the mood to have my head handed to me so I back out of the space and head to the Café de L’Orange.
I get there a few minutes early so I sit down and order a coffee. Manuelle walks in as my coffee arrives and sits down across from me. “You are here before me. I like a man who is punctual. Now we get down to business. I brought you here to discuss a sort of politics with you.”
“You just randomly walk up to guys on the beach and take them to coffee shops to talk politics?” I interrupt. He chuckles.
“No, just you. I needed to find someone who is somewhat well known, and when I heard you were in town I saw my opportunity.”
“Alright, alright, what do you want to talk to me about?”
“You know what people generally talk about…” He stops mid-sentence and, with a sneer, snaps his fingers “Get him.” The next thing I know, a ham-sized fist is hurtling toward my face and everything goes bright for a split-second and then blackness.
I awake in darkness, and the smell of dirty gym socks. My face feels like it has been caved in, I feel the blood trickling from my now broken nose. I try to wipe it away, only to find I’ve been bound at the wrists and ankles, and neatly hog-tied. I couldn’t see anything, I try to scream, but the sock stuffed in my mouth prevents it. It tastes worse than anything I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve had some strange foods abroad. A sharp bump and my head hits the roof of my enclosure. ‘Great, I’ve been stuffed in somebody’s trunk.’ The thought enters my mind, then it hits me, I didn’t see any of those guys show up in a car. ‘Damnit! This is my trunk! I’m helpless, totally and completely helpless.’ Another thump and my head smacks the lid once more, this time on a protrusion, cutting the side of my head, the blood pouring down the back of my neck and face. I start feeling drowsy from the combination of the hum of the road and the slow loss of blood, and I pass out.

Chapter Two: Dazed and Confused
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I wake to blinding light as I am dragged out of my temporary prison. It’s still daylight, so we weren’t traveling for long, but this place was secluded. A grand mansion lay out in front of me, as my eyes adjusted to the light I could see that it was bright white against the green foliage, accented with golds and reds that would make Liberace’s jaw drop.