The Immoral Ones- a Sinister Set

by Yolanda Olson

  My head leans back as the new me starts to take control. It’s quick, powerful, and dangerous. All of the things that I was meant to be—all of the things she will learn to enjoy.

  I stretch my arms backward, clasping my hands and pulling until I hear my bones pop rapidly. I have to be limber, fast, and precise or I’ll lose this fight before it begins.

  I stand back up to my full height and roll my shoulders before I press the small button on the side of my mask.

  Tonight I’ll be blue.

  Like his eyes; the ones that she looks into so adoringly almost as if I don’t exist.

  Like the color his flesh will turn when this is done.

  I’ll remove him from my path and that will be one less thing she will notice because she won’t mourn him.

  Not when she sees what he’s been reduced to.

  Not when she sees what’s been patiently waiting for her in his place.

  I walk toward the window and place a hand against the cool pane, smiling behind the hard, black plastic that’s obscuring my identity.

  He’s on his back and ripe for the picking.

  Tap, tap.

  He raises his head curiously, looks around his room, then shrugs and lies back down.

  Tap, tap.

  He sits this time, rubs his face with his hands before he sees me. I raise a hand and wave slowly, a lit up grin in the place of where mine should be.

  And while he can’t see it, it’s still there, because now the game begins.

  4

  I dig my fingers into the window sill as I begin to climb. He’s left his room rather quickly and I know he’ll come out the front or back door.

  I won’t allow him that edge.

  I’ve trained my body far too long for this moment to allow such a thing.

  Once I’m propped up carefully on the sill of his bedroom window, I reach up for the next window, my fingers grazing it slightly, before I’m able to pull myself up.

  I glance down when I hear him coming around the side of the house. He’s yelling, angry, and promising to do me harm.

  But first, he has to know where I’ve gone and I know he’ll never think to look up.

  I steady my breathing, dig my fingers into the small space between the glass and the frame, and manage to shove it high enough to be able to pull myself into his home.

  He’s still outside issuing his challenge to whatever “coward” is prowling his property, but he has something that’s mine and so this will be the give and take.

  Taking his life will give me access to my beloved.

  I press the button again, cutting the lights to my mask, as I glance around the room. It seems to be a study of sorts, with nothing important catching my eye.

  I’m not here to burglarize him because I don’t believe in stealing. To me, thieves are the lowest scale of humanity when most would gladly give assistance in place of having what they own taken from them.

  That’s no matter to me because that doesn’t apply here.

  I won’t be stealing his life; I’ll take it because he’ll beg me to, and a man such as myself always takes what’s freely offered.

  It will be an act of kindness.

  For I am a merciful god.

  5

  It’s quiet now.

  I’ve managed to make my way into his bedroom and have been waiting patiently beneath his bed. My hands are clasped loosely on my chest and the sound of my breathing is almost non-existent.

  I’ve practiced long enough to know how to slow my heart rate, which in turn allows me to control other aspects of basic human function.

  The bed creaks as his body lowers onto the mattress and I smile. He’s fallen into my trap just as I intended. His balls are much bigger than his brain it seems, and this will solely be his doing.

  I’ll sleep just fine tonight.

  I wait until an hour has passed.

  I count each passing second, all three-thousand and six-hundred of them, before I slide out from beneath him and get to my feet.

  I stand there for a moment watching him. He sleeps with an arm draped over his forehead, the sheets below his belly, and his right leg bent at the knee.

  His bare chest has a smattering of dark hair and his chin, just the same. His hair is dark and messy, and his mouth is slightly open. A quiet snore comes from deep within him each time he takes a breath and now that I have him memorized as best as I can, I know how I’ll behave when I have my beloved.

  I press the button and switch the light back on.

  It doesn’t wake him, nor should it. However, when I reach into the waistband of my pants and remove the large buck knife, I know that soon will change.

  I lean down, run the blade gently down the length of his arm, before I place a hand firmly on his mouth and drive it into his wrist.

  “Wake up,” I whisper. “It’s time to play.”

  6

  His scream is full of agony, his blood warm and rich. He struggles against the weight of my hand holding him down by his throat and I climb onto the bed.

  I straddle him, hold a bloody finger to the mask, and give him only one warning.

  “Shh,” I hiss from behind the glowing face he sees.

  His eyes are wide now and I think he understands that not all games played are meant to be won.

  His body is trembling beneath me as he nods quickly in agreeance. I reach into my waistband again and produce a second buck knife, driving it violently through his other wrist.

  He’s pinned to the bed now and if he attempts to remove himself from where I have him, he’ll tear himself to shreds.

  And that’s what I want.

  I will give him the option, and as I climb off the bed, and watch him, I can’t help but wonder if he’s man enough to do himself in.

  I glance around the room, my eyes falling on a cell phone that’s charging on the nightstand. I remove the plug, place it on his chest and clear my throat.

  This is where I’ll find out.

  I reach into the side pocket of my jacket and reach for an empty syringe. A blast of air will send him into cardiac arrest, or induce a stroke depending on what vein I stick it in.

  I hold it up to my face and it glows blue against the light.

  “Keep my commandments,” I tell him softly as I lean forward and drive the tip of the needle into his arm.

  He’s terrified now because he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but it’s not meant for him to understand.

  As the minutes begin to tick by, I watch his chest begin heaving erratically and I smile. His arrogance is his undoing and he won’t harm himself to call for help.

  His death is on his hands, and it’s time for me to go.

  I walk out of his bedroom as he gasps and struggles to breathe follow me into the hallway. I press the button and switch off the lights as I walk out the front door.

  I pull it off my face and walk down the street, whistling, and swinging it in my hand as I walk home.

  I’ll sleep just fine tonight because I didn’t take anything that wasn’t freely given.

  Before Me

  Before Me

  Part III

  7

  It’s the afternoon of the seventh day that I’ve been watching her and I’m sitting in the small coffee shop, my table directly across from hers.

  She’s even more beautiful this close and I know that my little lamb is ready to be mine. I can tell by the way she’s looked over at me through her tear-stained eyes and running make-up.

  I’ll see to it that she no longer paints her face because it’s not hers to alter in the slightest.

  It’s mine.

  Her body, her soul, her hopes and fucking dreams belong to me and she’ll know this soon enough.

  I sip the lukewarm coffee, lean an elbow on my table, and tilt my head at her when I see her eyes on me again. She catches my stare, smiles slightly, then turns her face away as another fresh tear falls down her face.

  They found the arrogant idol the very next
evening when he hadn’t reported to work, it seems. The news reported that he had been murdered, and that the authorities had no suspects just yet.

  And they never will.

  I’m meticulous, clean, and never leave the slightest trace of my presence when I play my games.

  This isn’t the first time, but I’m hoping it will be the last because the sad girl with the damp, wintergreen eyes is just within my reach and she belongs to me.

  I tear my eyes away from her and glance toward a passing barista. I smile, wave him over, and ask him to do me a favor.

  And he will because I always get what I want.

  I dip my spoon into my cup, stirring it slowly, a smile creeping across my lips as he walks over to talk to my intended.

  I begin counting.

  It takes one-hundred-eighty seconds before she comes over and stands awkwardly at my table.

  “Excuse me?”

  Her voice is soft, full of grief and slightly confused.

  “Yes?” I ask, glancing up at her.

  “Um … can I sit here?”

  I nod, the smile widening slightly as I go back to stirring my coffee.

  “The barista said you knew Joseph,” she continues quietly.

  I take the spoon out of my cup, drop it on the table with a clank, and raise my eyes toward hers.

  “Briefly.”

  I never knew his name because I never cared, but it makes sense to me now.

  “Were you friends?” she asks softly.

  I push the napkin dispenser toward her and she quietly thanks me as she reaches for one and dabs at her eyes.

  “Briefly.”

  She looks at me, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she doesn’t believe my words and I know that I’m making this harder than it needs to be.

  “He did something for me,” for us “and I’m sure he’s gone to a better place because of it. In fact, I can assure you of it.”

  “What’s your name?” she asks as she nods in understanding.

  I smile at her and get to my feet.

  “Would you like to go for a walk?” I ask, holding out a hand.

  She takes a deep breath, eyeing me cautiously, before nodding and placing her soft hand in mine.

  She doesn’t understand that by doing this, she’s entered the game of her own free will.

  8

  It’s evening on the seventh day that I’ve been watching her, the sun having gone down since we’ve spent our time walking around the town. She spoke of her Joseph like he was the heart that beat within her chest, but that’s because she didn’t see the coward that I saw.

  I won’t shatter her perception of him.

  I’ll let her believe he was everything she thought he was because it’s a kindness. I afforded him the same, and I will do so for her as well.

  The time is starting to get away from me and I can’t allow it for much longer, because this game will hold the grandest prize and I refuse to lose sight of what must be done.

  We walk a bit longer until she’s exactly where I want her to be.

  There’s a row of empty, dilapidated buildings just down the road from my home and this is where our game will be played.

  I squeeze her hand reassuringly.

  I have every faith that she’ll pass the test because I can see my equal in her eyes, but I have to be sure.

  “Where are we going?” she asks curiously as we turn down the darkened road.

  “We’re almost where we need to be,” I tell her with a glance. “A few more steps and I’ll show you what Joseph got to see.”

  She takes in a deep breath, tears springing to her eyes at the sound of his name, and she nods.

  We reach the door of the first building and she follows me in willingly. I let go of her hand, walk toward the first room and open the backpack I left the night before.

  Tonight, I’ll be green.

  Like her eyes, like the taste of winter that I love so much.

  I pull the mask over my face, turn toward her, and press the button.

  X’s are my eyes, and my lips are now stitches. She takes a step back, putting a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp and I think she understands that I’m no regular man on the street.

  I think she knows now that this game is for her life and if she loses, the consequences will be dire.

  But I’ve waited far too long for this moment to let it go and I want her to feel what I’ve felt when she’s passed me by on the street and ignored me every single time.

  I want her to know what it’s like to want something and not being able to grasp it until the moment presents itself.

  I want her to know that life is only what you make of it and only the strong will fucking survive.

  “Run, little lamb.”

  9

  A scream pierces the air as she stumbles backward. I calmly raise my hood over my head and give her a ten second head start. She turns and runs like she’s commanded to and I smile because it tells me that she’s complacent.

  Something that I’m not.

  When the ten seconds have passed and I decide to give chase, I can’t help but chuckle at her fatal error. Instead of running back out into the night and possible freedom, she’s run further into the building.

  I move quickly, agile and careful of the different traps that I’ve set up inside the darkened walls and her screams make her easy to follow.

  If only she knew that this was all in vain. No one will hear her scream because no one comes around this part of the neighborhood. It’s why I chose it as my playground and why I always bring my lambs here to conduct the test.

  I stop running, close my eyes, and listen.

  She’s running down the hall and if she’s not careful she’ll—

  A stumble, a loud snap, and a pained scream.

  It seems she’s found one of my toys, or rather, it found her. Had she not found it, no matter how fast she would run, I knew that I would be faster and it bothers me that I wasn’t able to play the game with her.

  But I shake it off and begin to walk slowly, deliberately toward her, crouching above her crumpled body when I find her. She swings an arm wildly, but I catch it by the wrist and give her a warning.

  “Shh.”

  Instead of heeding my command, she tries to hit me with her other fist and I catch that wrist as well. I get to my feet, pulling her up violently and kicking the side of the bear trap.

  She screams again, falls against me and starts to sob.

  “This shouldn’t have been so easy,” I tell her in a sing-song voice. “You should have run further away than this.”

  She cries.

  In pain, in agony, in terror and I take a deep breath of her juniper smell, my dick becoming hard at the way she’s reacting to my touch.

  “Be a good little lamb,” I whisper into her ear as I cradle her in my arms and make my way toward the staircase. Had she run in the room almost directly to her left, she would have gotten upstairs where I had intended for her to be, but she decided to be a coward and ran without thought.

  The price to pay for this is on both of us.

  I know that she’s not my equal now, nor my beloved, and she knows that I won’t let her leave alive.

  But first, I will taste everything she has to offer me.

  I’m thrusting my cock in and out of her, grunting each time. She’s still bleeding from the ankle, in shock, and in pain, but I won’t allow her to die without experiencing her god.

  The room is only illuminated by the glow from my mask and as I continue to fuck her, she begins to lose consciousness.

  Good.

  She doesn’t deserve to know everything that we could have had, nor does she deserve to know what my body could truly feel like against hers had the circumstances been different, but it doesn’t keep me from fucking her.

  I rest the hard, black plastic mask against her face and breath out as I cum inside of her. She could have been so much more than a pretentious, too-good-for-everyone bitch, but she chose th
is path and I won’t let her stray from it.

  Once I’m done, I pull out of her and get to my feet. In this room, on a broken ledge that sits along the wall is what will help me finish this game.

  I let out a tired laugh as a bead of sweat rolls down the side of my face. I walk to the wall and run my hand along the dusty ledge until my hand clasps along the long handle of what I’m looking for.

  Having secured it, I go back to my broken little lamb.

  A sacrifice to myself, for myself, so that I’ll be able to continue my games and find my beloved.

  I drop to my knees and spread her legs further apart, inhaling the sweaty scent of her freshly fucked cunt. I would love nothing more than to keep her, give her another chance, but I can’t and I know it.

  This has to end now.

  I place the tip of the machete against her opening, slipping it in gently at first. In and out, slowly, deeply, until I can smell the copper mixing with sweat.

  That’s when I pull the blade out for a moment, run a hand lovingly down her leg, then grip her thigh as I shove it back it in with all of my strength.

  A gurgle.

  A violent buck.

  And it’s almost over.

  She’ll die soon enough but she’ll have felt everything that could have been and no one else will ever touch my little lamb.

  For I am an angry god.

  Epilogue

  It’s the first day of seven that I’ve been watching her.

  The way her hips sway when she walks, the way her feet almost always seem to stumble on the other, the look of confidence in her face with her misplaced steps.

  I smile, reach into the front pocket of my jacket and remove a pack of gum.

  It’s polar ice.

  Like the color of her eyes, like the feeling that invades my lungs and takes my breath away.