A meow echoed quietly around the corner as the cat plodded down the stairs and pranced into the living room. There was no hint of despair or fear in its tiny voice, just a cat who had found more hands to attend to it.
“They’ve got a cat?” Freddie groaned.
“Is that a problem?” Bullet asked, his raspy voice gaining an almost sarcastic flair.
“I hate cats,” Freddie replied.
“It’s a fucking cat, who gives a shit?” Skull-face jeered, keeping his eyes firmly on Dalton.
The conversation felt surreal to Dalton. These boys stood before him and his family in masks with knives at the ready, they had slit Nathan’s throat, and they were worried about a cat. Dalton wrinkled his brow and parted his lips slightly in confusion.
“Just kick it outside, man,” Bullet ordered with a shrug. “We don’t need the distraction.”
Skull-face nodded and lowered his knife before scooping up the family feline in his spare hand. The other two steadied their weapons on Mara and Lenore as Dalton fidgeted in his seat, hoping for a moment of opportunity. It was becoming evident they were not going to make it easy.
The front door opened and Skull-face tossed the cat out onto the porch and slammed the door quickly shut. On the floor just feet from Dalton, Nathan coughed suddenly. His whole body quaked. Dalton turned just in time to see a spout of blood bloom over his lips. The kid moaned, slowly coming out of shock. Skull-face turned to see what was happening and bolted back over in front of Dalton.
“No, no, no,” Mara begged, “Nathan.”
Dalton forced himself to look up and into those dark eyes behind the white mask. “You cannot just leave him there to die. He needs a doctor.”
Bullet stared back, his eyes squinted in what Dalton thought seemed like confusion. For a moment he did not speak, he just studied Dalton. It felt like he was calculating Dalton in his mind, trying to understand him. Finally, Bullet moved. He stepped over Nathan’s body and squatted down by his head. He looked down at Nathan thoughtfully and then back up to Dalton.
“You care about this boy?” Bullet asked, a hint of the confusion Dalton sensed in his eyes emanating from his voice. Before he spoke again, Bullet brought his blade down to Nathan’s open wound but stopped just short of contact. “I thought you’d want him dead.”
On the floor, Nathan jerked weakly and tried to speak, but Bullet’s hand quickly covered his mouth. He brought his knee down heavily on Nathan’s chest and kept the boy on the ground. The knife hung in place over Nathan's neck. Nathan stopped jerking. The fear of the blade slicing deeper down into his neck was like a numbing agent.
“What? No,” Dalton stuttered. How could he want the boy dead? Sure, the kid was a thorn in his side, but he was just a boy, a kid. Of course he made stupid decisions and yes, he deserved a good scare, but death? No. “Just think about what you’re doing. Put the knife down.”
“You seriously want him around?” Bullet asked. He tilted his head.
Skull-face and Freddie shuffled in place, chuckling lightly at the thought like it was funny somehow. Dalton did not see the humor in it. He only saw horror.
“Don’t hurt him,” Dalton pled.
“You do realize what he was doing to your daughter behind your back, right?” Bullet continued. “In your own house.”
Dalton didn’t answer, he didn’t want to know the answer. He didn't need to know. Nothing warranted the horrid intention behind those black eyes.
Bullet looked at Dalton intently. He emphasized his words. “He was screwing your daughter, in your own house.”
“You know. Ah! Ah!” Skull-face shrieked playfully, thrusting his hips back and forth.
Dalton clenched his eyes shut and tried to block out the boy's noises. He breathed in deeply. It doesn’t matter right now, Dalton. It doesn’t matter right now.
“Let him live,” Dalton pled more quietly, letting his fear and anger for the masked trio outweigh the hurt and anger he felt toward Nathan.
“No,” Bullet said coldly before turning to Nathan, “Karma’s a bitch.” Without delay, Bullet pressed the blade down into the boy’s flesh and sawed back and forth. Blood squirted from the gaping gash where Nathan’s neck bent unnaturally back the further the blade sliced. He gasped desperately for air. He tried to block the opening with his hands but Skull-face held them back.
Dalton went to move but Skull-face's blade greeted him. It hovered a foot away, daring him to move. He sat back down, afraid and horrified.
Finally, Bullet pulled the blade back and hovered over the bleeding boy. Crimson flowed freely from the gap in Nathan’s neck and out his mouth. His body shook violently, stuttered noises escaping his jaws between gurgled breaths. Mara screamed in agony and jumped from her seat only to be hurled back into place by the strong arms of Freddie. He placed his blade on her throat to remind her to stay still.
“Why? Why?” Dalton implored the white mask. “Why?”
Bullet let his face turn and fixed his stare on Dalton. Behind the mask, a menacing grin caused Dalton’s insides to curl even more than the sawing of his blade. Dalton broke eye contact to look to Nathan. He did not want to see it happen, he did not want to witness it, but something in him made him need to see it.
At first Nathan’s body began to move less, jerk less. The gasps and blood-filled gurgles became less frequent. Then as his air passage filled with the very crimson liquid that gave him life, his body ceased to move, his chest failed to rise and his eyes went glassy.
“No. No. No. No,” Mara said over and over again.
Dalton could not remove his eyes from the cold lifeless orbs of the boy that used to be Nathan. Now he was nothing more than a corpse, a reminder of what had been and what would never be.
“You really should thank me, Dalton,” Bullet spoke up finally.
Jarring him from his stupor, Dalton let every ounce of anger he could muster fill his face as he met the monster’s gaze.
“What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Bullet asked, as if it was the question he had been waiting for all along. “What do we want? We just want to have a little All Hallows’ Eve fun, you know, trick or treat. Like I was telling your wife here. We want both, though. I mean look at this place, there is bound to be money here somewhere, right?”
Bullet’s lips formed into a huge grin, his eyes narrowing as his cheeks rose behind the mask. The look seemed almost gleeful. Not demonic or mad, but excited.
“You can have whatever the hell you want!” Dalton yelled, “Just leave my family alone!”
“Oh, I plan on having whatever the hell I want,” Bullet’s grin became mad. “But not before we have a little fun.”
Fun.
The simple word amplified in Dalton’s head. It was such an unusual word to be used immediately after slicing someone's throat wide open. His imagination conjured up images of flashing billboards and neon tube lights like those outside a rundown hotel on some back alley street in Los Angeles strobing the promise of fun. His eyes, on the other hand, saw anything but the brilliant flashes of light.
On the floor Nathan was dead, his own blood soaking his collar from the gaping wound across his neck. Mara was shaking, likely in shock, tears pouring down her face. She rocked back and forth, repeatedly muttering the same despairing word over and over again. No, no, no, no. Closest to him, Lenore sat on the couch next to Mara with her arms encompassing her shoulders. Her eyes were averted from the mess on the floor. They pled to Dalton with a frightened gaze.
Stop them. Please.
Her green eyes bore into his soul, not in spite or anger, but in need. Dalton didn't know what to do. He was defenseless. He had no weapon, no advantage, no foreseeable plan to overcome these boys.
“Let’s move the body out of the way,” Bullet nodded to Freddie. “Wouldn’t want it to get in the way.”
Freddie turned to face the plain white mask, then his face moved down to the body on the floor, blood pooled beneath it, and then back up to Bulle
t. He didn’t move.
“Uh...” Freddie mumbled as Bullet crouched down and found purchase under Nathan’s armpits, his wrists smearing the red liquid across the tile.
“What are you waiting for?” Bullet asked incredulously. The boy didn’t move. Dalton could imagine scared eyes behind that nasty mask. “Come on, don’t be a pussy on me! Pick him up.”
The boy snapped out of his stupor, shook his head slightly and then bent down and wrapped his hands under Nathan’s limp ankles. The boys hefted the body up by the head and feet and drug it a short distance away before depositing the shell next to the artificial fireplace. They let the body drop with an ungraceful thud. The head smacked hard against the black ledge of the fireplace. Dalton winced. He knew there was no more pain there, no more consciousness to register the hard drop to the tile floor, but it still nagged him.
“So where to begin?” Bullet wondered aloud, eyes flicking between his three captives and Freddy, a grimace on his lips between the small slit in the mask. Dalton squinted angrily when Bullet’s eyes met his own through the cut outs in the mask. The edges of Bullet’s lips rose in satisfaction. He lifted his right hand and let his index finger jut out slowly, swaying portentously between Mara and Lenore with eyes still fixed on Dalton, toying with him.
“No, if you’re going to do something, do it to me!” Dalton yelled out, almost jumping to his feet, fighting the urge to get up and pounce.
“That’s not how this works,” Bullet explained. “See, I'm making the calls, and right now it’s just not your turn, Dalton. How selfish of you.”
“Selfish bastard,” Skull-face muttered, a mix of disgust and glee in his voice.
“Let’s see now,” Bullet continued. He diverted his attention from Dalton and let his eyes go back and forth with the motion of his finger. Back and forth between Mara and Lenore. “Ah.”
His finger stopped and his eyelids transformed his pupils into slits. “Mara,” Bullet exhaled, his raspy voice a mix of calm and derision.
“She’s mine, right?” Freddie’s voice lifted, taking a step forward. Bullet grunted, then nodded his head as he stepped around the couch. Dalton watched intently as the masked figure took up a position directly behind Mara.
“I’ve been waiting on this for a long time,” Freddie said. He stepped up in front of Mara and pocketed his knife.
“What are you doing?” Dalton asked.
“What I want,” Freddie replied dryly.
“Don’t worry, Dalton, we’re not going to kill her.” Bullet paused, caressing her neck dangerously with the sharp end of the blade and smiled. “Well, not yet at least.”
Dalton’s eyes went wide. Not yet? The two syllables repeated in his head. Dalton begged, “Please, don’t hurt her.”
Carefully, Freddie lifted the front of his mask, rolling the latex up just above his mouth, revealing dark black skin and thin, chalky black lips. He leaned forward, tried to kiss Mara, but she butted her head forward, smacking hard against his forehead. Freddie reeled backward, cradling his forehead.
“Bitch!” he yelled at her, rearing back his gloved hand and smacking her across the cheek. Mara yelped in pain.
Dalton’s instinct and emotions overrode his restraint. He sprung to his feet and bound toward Freddie, hands ready to deliver a pounding blow. Seconds slowed to minutes. Dalton watched as Freddie turned to see him, a slow motion picture, a target.
Suddenly something caught his ankle and time sprung forward as Dalton’s chin met the tile floor with an explosion of pain up his jaw. Shrill screams pierced through his head from the couch. His vision blurred for a split second before the sight of Freddie’s black tennis shoes came into view.
“What do you think you’re doing?” one of them asked, Skull-face Dalton thought.
“Do you want me to kill her?” It was Bullet, there was no doubt in Dalton’s mind. That raspy voice would be stuck in his head for all eternity.
Dalton put a hand underneath his chest and pushed himself off the floor. Blood trickled from his chin onto the tile. He faintly realized his blood was mingling on the floor with Nathan's. It pooled into tiny puddles along the grey borders. He wiped his mouth as he went to get to his feet. Something small and hard slammed between his shoulder blades, sending him back down to the ground. He barely kept his face from smashing onto the plain stained tile again, bracing himself with the palms of his hands.
“Let ‘em up,” Bullet ordered.
With Bullet behind the couch and Freddie standing in front of him, that only left Skull-face behind him. Dalton imagined the small-framed kid smiling gleefully behind his mask, though he couldn’t put a face to the image in his mind.
“Now sit down, and don’t move unless you want her on the floor next to Nathan,” Bullet explained, bringing his blade around and placing it under Mara’s neck. In pain, Dalton propped himself up and got to his feet. Bullet looked at Dalton and maneuvered his face down next to Mara. His mouth almost touched her ear, “Now you’re going to cooperate like a good little girl, aren’t you?”
Mara nodded vigorously, keeping her chin high, trying to avoid the sharp edge of the blade. Dalton took his seat nervously, his eyes never leaving Mara. Bullet nodded once to Freddie and the boy stepped forward again, leaning down and putting his thin lips on Mara’s.
Gripping the arms of the recliner tightly, Dalton shook angrily as Freddie’s lips parted and continued to kiss his daughter.
“Stop, please stop,” Lenore pleaded.
Ignoring her, Freddie continued. Gradually his hand moved from its perch on the leather cushion where Mara was seated. It slid closer until it reached her bare leg. Freddie swatted away the thin fabric covering Mara's leg and locked his palm on firmly. He squeezed her smooth flesh, sliding his hand up and down in a rush of lust.
He moved back for a fraction of a second to look into Mara’s scared blue eyes. They pleaded with him to stop, begged his heart to find some semblance of empathy, to see the monster he was. Her eyes were met with a wicked grin, with a pleasure-filled sigh. Freddie moved back in and devoured her lips. His hand jumped from her leg to her stomach and then moved up, grasping at her breasts under the gown.
Mara whimpered and a tear slivered down her cheek. Dalton shook as the sound broke his heart and he burnt with rage. He went to move, but Skull-face stepped closer with his knife held ready. His attention diverted momentarily from Mara, Dalton noticed that Bullet was staring at him. He had his head cocked to the side, propped up against Mara’s ear. His knife was still held precariously below her neck. Even when Dalton met his gaze, the boy did not look away, instead he shook his head calmly and shimmied the blade in warning.
“Stop!” Lenore began to yell. “Stop! Dalton, make them stop!”
Eyes locked with Bullet, Dalton’s heart tore. Lenore’s screams, begging him to do something, to do anything, felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest. What could he do? What option did he have that did not end with Mara’s body laying lifeless beside Nathan’s? Maybe if he moved, maybe they wouldn't kill her. Maybe. But they had already proven their willingness to end a life. He couldn't take the chance. It hurt, and it pained him beyond his understanding, but if he remained still maybe she would come out of this alive, bruised but living.
Lenore continued to scream but dared not take any physical action against their captors.
“Would you shut your mouth?” Skull-face yelled. She continued to scream.
“Close your mouth, bitch, or I might slip,” Bullet warned.
In mid-scream, the noise ceased to exit Lenore’s lips. A new fear, one that brimmed with the realization that there was nothing she could do, etched her high cheekbones and soiled her eyes. Before Dalton could comfort her with a meaningless but well-intended smile, Mara yelped again.
Dalton looked to find Freddie yanking the glove from his hand, revealing five black digits. His lips still working lustfully, Freddie placed his naked hand on Mara’s bare leg. He caressed her soft skin, moving further north,
twisting down around her inner thigh. Dalton wanted to look away, to imagine this was all a bad nightmare, but he was afraid that if he looked away something worse might happen.
“Now you can’t turn me down like before,” Freddy said, but no one dared to respond.
Inch by tormenting inch, Freddie’s hand disappeared between Mara’s thick legs, shielded from view by the contours of her thighs and useless gown. Suddenly Mara gasped. Dalton gritted his teeth. She whimpered between restrained and fitful groans.
Mere feet from Dalton, Skull-face chortled in a darker tone than had previously exited his lips. Dalton’s face burned hot, his body shaking with anger-filled need. His eyes shot to Bullet who was still staring at him. As if reading his mind, he shook his head again in warning. A tear escaped Dalton’s eye as he watched his daughter convulse. She whimpered, begging him to do something, anything.
Within that brief moment, a world of shame and horror overtook Dalton. His heart felt leaden. Each beat of that sinuous mass in his chest felt like some foreign beast pummeling his fist, unhindered by any defense, in rapid succession into Dalton’s ribcage. The rage running through his veins was equaled only by the ignominy that flooded over him, the uselessness he felt. If he moved, if he made any action in defense of his family, to stop this maniacal and savage scene before him, the only outcome he could imagine ended with him slouched over a body in tears.
“Do you like that?” Freddie teased, looking Mara dead in the eyes. A grin formed on his lips barely in view under the curled mask. Mara turned her face and closed her eyes. Her body shook again as Freddie thrust and withdrew his arm.
“Stop. Please stop,” Dalton begged in little more than a whisper. “Please, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
To Watch You Bleed Page 11
