The Immoral Ones- a Sinister Set

by Yolanda Olson

  At this point he’s still breathing heavily and clinging to whatever is left inside of him, there’s blood everywhere, and his eyes are wide open, but I’m not cruel enough to set him on fire while he’s still alive.

  I place the edge of the glass to my lips and sip the sweet liquid, resting an arm across my leg and sigh.

  Bitch, indeed.

  D.E.D

  D.E.D.

  D.E.D.

  (The Gemini Complex)

  Never Before Released

  A SONG OF VENGEANCE

  He may be screaming, but I know he's enjoying the feeling of me being about eight inches deep in his ass with a tire iron.

  I tell him that the louder he screams, the deeper I'll go and his screams start to give way to grunts of pain. He asked for this the moment he laid eyes on me and I knew that he would learn to enjoy it. I gave his ass a firm smack, letting him know that I was pleased with his ability to listen, to comprehend that true pleasure only came masked as pain and that the only way to fight this would be to accept it.

  As a reward, I tell him to turn onto his back. It's more of a reward for me because as he slowly begins to turn his body I get to see the tears streaming down his face; the jaw tightened in pain, and the sight of his body shaking is much more clear this way. I lean down and shift the metal rod slightly. I move toward him and sit with my legs now over his and gently begin to slide the warm metal into myself. I've been wet for the past hour now from fucking him my way and it doesn't take much maneuvering to get it inside of me. It burns at first but I keep my eyes locked on his face and push the feeling deep down into a place where it can't get a hold of me for very much longer.

  Then I begin.

  He lets out a sound fuck! as I start to move against the tire iron, fucking him and myself at the same time. I don't know how much longer he'll be able to stand this but it's not over until I decide it is.

  "Who's going to rip first, bitch. You or me?"

  The look of pain gives way to confusion then recognition.

  The momentary lapse of knowing who I am is only because I’ve added my own little spin on the line he hissed into my ear not long ago.

  But he knows who I am now and I can understand why it was so easy to lure him away tonight. I don't look like I used to when he first saw me. And he probably doesn't remember those words that were said to me five years ago, but I remember them well. I remember the feeling of him and his friends taking turns, brutalizing me, taunting me. They beat me, fucked me violently, and when it was over they left me for dead.

  But I'll never forget those words.

  He's just the beginning.

  I can feel the heat of rage taking over me as I pull away from him, letting the iron slide out of me. Then I grip the end firmly in my hand, lean over his sweaty, gloriously built body, and kiss him roughly before I use every bit of strength I can muster to shove the tire iron as far in as it will go and then begin to violently pull it up and thrust it down.

  I can hear the harmonious sound of his flesh as it tears.

  I can feel the warmth of his blood as it begins to coat my hand.

  He deserves every ounce of pain that I give him and if he’s still alive when I’m done here, I’ll show him that Hell will be a reward after this night.

  I still can remember when he had me in this way; not with a tire iron, or anything as cruel as what I’m doing to him, but he ravaged me uninvited and left me with no will to live.

  And this is his payment.

  I found him and now we play the game my way and see who will be the victor. We’ll find out shortly who goes to dance with the Devil this clear, dark night and we’ll find out if Hell will even accept one or the other.

  “Does the little boy have a name?” I hiss into his ear.

  He sputters, his hand gripping the sheets so tightly, that one smack from the tire iron will break his knuckles.

  And I’m tempted.

  So fucking temped.

  “Fuck you,” he manages to grunt through the blinding pain and I laugh despite myself.

  “Poor choice of words,” I snarl as I lean down and slip the rod back into his damn near decimated hole.

  “No!” he screams, trying to pull his body away from me. “Stop!”

  I grin and let the size socket sit dangerously against him and decide to give him a chance.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Damon,” he says, his voice catching on a sob. “Please stop. Please … I need help.”

  “But that’s why I’m here, Damon! To help you!” I say in a playful tone. “I’m only repaying the favor, you know.”

  He takes a deep breath, lets out a pained groan, and swallows so hard that I can hear it. I smile as I twist the handle of the tire iron, but keep it from entering him. Though that wouldn’t be too difficult since I’ve ripped him open quite nicely.

  “What … what did I do to you?” he asks in shuddering breaths.

  I blink rapidly a few times, my body becoming hot with rage, and do my best not to raise the weapon and strike him across the back of the head with it until his skull is nothing more than a dented piece of shit like he is.

  I’m wrong, it seems.

  He doesn’t know who I am, after all.

  “I’m Evan,” I reply through grit teeth. “Three years ago tonight I was walking home from the yogurt shop where I worked. You … you attacked me. You beat me so I wouldn’t cry out for help—you raped me so violently that I couldn’t walk for a fucking week. How could you not remember me?” I finish with a scream.

  Damon closes his eyes tightly as he begins to shake his head. A sob escapes from him as he turns slightly on his side. The mere act alone is enough to cause another river of blood to flow from him and as I settle onto my knees, I make sure that the tire iron is gripped tightly in my hand.

  If he tries to attack me again, I’ll kill him without so much as a second thought.

  “It wasn’t me,” he sobs pitifully.

  “Liar!” I seethe. “I saw your face! It haunted me even when I was awake! I couldn’t leave my house for months because of what you did to me!”

  I raise the weapon over my head and lay it across his face in a rage. I can hear a bone snap and when his nose begins to seep blood, I assume that he’ll think twice before lying to me again.

  His eyes bulge slightly as he raises a hand to his face.

  He holds up the other in surrender and I let the weapon lay across my bare thighs. I’m not done punishing him tonight, but a little casual conversation isn’t something I’ll deny him before I finish him off.

  “Wait,” he pleads, his voice muffled behind the hand still on his nose. “You don’t understand.”

  “There’s nothing to understand, you piece of shit,” I growl at him, rolling the rod in my hand. “Any last words? I’m getting sick of talking.”

  “It wasn’t me, Evan—I swear to God it wasn’t. I … I have a twin brother; Dane. You … you’ve mistaken me for Dane.”

  Well, shit.

  “Shame, I guess. Can’t say that I’m sorry though, Damon. And I think we both know that I can’t let you leave here. Not like this and not when you can raise the alarm on me. So, I’ll ask you again, any last words?”

  I pick up the rod and begin to lightly slap it against the palm of my open hand. It’ll be the rhythm that will lead him down into the fire to atone for his brother’s sins.

  If I can’t have one, the other will have to do.

  “Help me and I’ll take you to him. He deserves this, not me,” he begs, cowering on the bed like a frightened and abused dog.

  “What’s to say you’ll keep your promise?” I ask as I begin to consider his offer.

  “Because. I hate him as much as you do.”

  It’s been six months.

  Damon has healed as best as he can. He told the doctors and nurses in the emergency room that he had an accident at work and even managed to produce some falsified tape of the incident when the police came knocking at
his door.

  He’s kept his word not to turn on me and he’s been doing his best to convince Dane to come visit.

  His brother, of course, is suspicious of him, but he’s finally accepted his offer.

  I’m sitting in Damon’s room where he’s told me to hide and I can feel that today is going to be a great day.

  I can’t wait to see Dane’s face when he lays eyes on me and I know that we’ll have great fun once his brother and I subdue him.

  The plan is simple.

  Damon will keep him distracted, I’ll use the small rubber mallet he gave me to knock him unconscious, then he says I can use the garage to have my revenge. It’s allegedly soundproof and there are a myriad of fun things to play with in there.

  A knock at the door and I’m on my feet. I walk over to the door, crack it open, and listen intently as Damon takes a deep breath, then opens it.

  “Hey, man!”

  I can hear the sound of hands being slapped together in greeting and grit my teeth.

  This isn’t the time to be happy; this is the time to learn what fear truly is but until Damon coughs rapidly three times, I have to stay where I am.

  The door closes taking the sound of voices with it and the silence that suddenly overwhelms the home confuses me.

  I take a step out of the room and peer down the hallway. Since the living room is off to the left, if that’s where they’ve retreated, I decide that I don’t want to wait any longer.

  It’s been three years and six months since I’ve seen Dane; now is the time to get reacquainted.

  “Ugh.”

  I grunt as I try to open my eyes against the glaring light that’s been placed in my face.

  The back of my head hurts, but my hands are bound … over my head? What the fuck is going on?

  “Come on; wake up, I’m getting bored,” comes the angry voice.

  I shift uncomfortably as the weight of my body pulls down on me and squint at the two people in front of me.

  One is a small figure, female I think, and the other looks like … me?

  “What the fuck?” I ask groggily.

  The small figure comes closer, leans down, then places its forehead against mine, forcing my head up.

  “I’ve missed you,” she, definitely she, whispers.

  “What’s going on?” I grunt, finally managing to open my eyes.

  She is small.

  Long, brown hair.

  Narrow blue eyes.

  A sinister smile that’s curling the edge of her full lips.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I bark at her.

  “I’m Evan,” she says taking a step back.

  My brother—my own flesh and fucking blood—puts an arm around her shoulders and they both smile at me.

  “I almost died because of you,” he says to me, the smile faltering slightly. “You’ve always been like this, though. Take what you want, never face a consequence, and then let me take the blame…”

  His voice trails off as he looks down at the small girl under his arm.

  “...and that has to stop.”

  Evan smiles up at him as he shoves something into her hand. Something I’ve seen a thousand times before; maybe even a thousand and one.

  I let my body relax and wait for the small, angry little bitch to come closer.

  I take a deep breath when she pulls the pliers out of their holder and holds them up eye level for me. She gives the handles a couple of squeezes, grunts in a mania I didn’t know a person could be capable of, and takes a step closer.

  I close my eyes and crack my neck.

  If it’s pain she wants, then I’ll oblige her.

  Thud!

  I let out a low chuckle as her body suddenly crumples to the floor. Damon is standing behind her, a hammer in his shaking hand, and watch as a pool of blood begins to pool around her head.

  “But not today,” he finishes with, sucking his teeth and tossing the hammer to the side.

  “Let me down, little brother,” I tell him, using our stale joke. I’m older by four minutes and I never let him forget it. It’s a jest between the two of us and sometimes, I have to be stern about it.

  This isn’t one of those times now.

  Damon comes over and uses the lever on the wall to lower me back down to the ground. I easily remove my bound wrists from the hook that was holding me up and keep my eyes on her while he cuts my binds.

  “What was her problem?” I ask him once I’m free.

  “You raped her three years ago,” he explains, tossing the binds aside and taking a step back to look down at her.

  “Oh, get over it,” I mumble with an eye roll.

  Damon laughs as he picks up Evan’s unconscious little body and places her on the workbench.

  Heroes often come in all shapes and sizes, but villains are always the same. We look alike, and I don’t just mean my brother and me.

  I mean all of us.

  We’re all evil in our own ways.

  And while he gets Evan’s body ready for us to really explore and use up, I can’t help but think of something my dad told us when he first showed us how to be ourselves.

  Monsters never change their stripes and the dark will always win.

  Acrimony

  Acrimony

  Never before released

  Exodus 20:3

  Thou shalt have no other gods before me

  Beloved, Mine

  Part I

  1

  Today is the third day that I’ve been watching her. She walks by me as if I don’t exist. She sees me as a stranger on the street and nothing more—as if I don’t matter, but I’ll prove her wrong soon enough.

  I’ll wait until the seventh day to take what’s mine because, after all, that’s how many days it took for Creation to be completed.

  I won’t stray from my path, nor will I allow my eyes to rest on another for longer than they should, because she belongs to me.

  Even though I’ve seen her with another.

  Even though I’ve seen them tangled in their salacious embraces, committing sin after sin—she’s mine.

  I’m sitting on the bench in the park across from the row of strip mall stores that she seems so fond of wasting time in.

  It’s important to learn what makes her happy because I’ll be able to use that information when the time comes.

  And it will come soon because I’ve become quite tired of seeing her with someone she doesn’t belong with.

  Reaching into the front pocket of my jacket, I remove a small, oblong-shaped pack of gum. I use my thumb to push up the middle piece, unwrap it, and pop the stick into my mouth. I’ve always been fond of wintergreen—the taste, the smell, the color of her eyes.

  When I saw her for the first time and locked eyes with her, the way they took my breath away and reminded me of my favorite thing in the world, it made me realize that she was meant to be mine.

  But it seems that another has her attention in my place, and that just won’t do.

  For I am a jealous god.

  2

  My gum has gone stale by the time she reappears from one of the shops. She has a large, paper bag looped on her arm, and she walks with purpose.

  I smile as I narrow my eyes and read the sign of the store she’s just left. She was shopping in a high end men’s store and I know that I’ll be happy with whatever she’s picked.

  I get to my feet, spit the gum into the small tinfoil wrapper I had crumpled in the palm of my hand and deposit it in the trashcan next to the bench.

  I run a hand back through my hair, before I pull the hood up and walk toward the edge of the sidewalk. No cars are coming from either direction and I take it as a sign that I’m allowed to get as close as possible today.

  No hindrances to stop me make for a clear path.

  I won’t take her no matter how close I get, because it’s not time for that yet. I hope to know her name; to hear it in passing spoken by the other woman that’s with her on her trip, and have something new to a
dd to my altar when I go home.

  I dig my hands deep into my pockets as I cross the street, my eyes trained on my beloved and her friend, as I get closer and closer with each step.

  I’m on the strip now, walking behind them, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. It smells of juniper and it makes me smile. I know it’s hers because it’s the only thing I noticed about her the first time I stared into her wintergreen eyes.

  But it’s what I see next that stops me in my tracks.

  It turns my stomach and makes my mood become drastically sour.

  Out of the next store walks the only obstacle standing in our way.

  It’s him.

  The false god.

  And now I know that before I take her, I have to take him first.

  Arrogant Idols

  Part II

  3

  It’s dusk of the fifth day that I’ve been watching her, and tonight she’s home alone. I know this because I’m standing just outside his bedroom window watching him as he lays his head down to sleep.

  I’m not quite myself tonight, but I never am when it’s time to hunt.

  I take a deep breath, inhaling the night air. It’s pungent and damp, like the man before me and I can’t stand the smell.

  I reach into my pocket, lift the bottom of my mask, and slip a small bottle toward my nose.

  Another deep breath before I put it away and re-secure my anonymity.