To Watch You Bleed

by Jordon Greene

  CHAPTER 13

  She jammed to a stop at the bottom stair, cocked her head to the side and listened. Tamieka had heard something. A scream. She swore it was a scream from inside the house.

  Between her and the dented golden Camry she had driven the past ten years, the frigid October air was dark. The expansive manicured lawn nearly disappeared into the blackness of night as did the weaving driveway about sixty yards out behind a setting of trees. Behind her, bordered by white stone columns in varying shades of slate, brown and red rock, the entrance door sat ominously in place. A set of black wrought iron chairs were to either side, accompanied by matching tables. The dual fans that normally circulated the air on hot summer nights sat dormant overhead. An old lantern was perched on a small wrought iron table just by the door, a gentle flame flickering to and fro inside with no apparent rhythm. Amorphous shadows flashed over the house and porch.

  Tamieka turned and faced the house. Her ears were piqued, listening. She stepped cautiously back up the stairs and planted her feet on the edge of the porch. There was nothing, no noise. Just quiet except for the usual chirping of crickets out amongst the grass and bordering forest.

  Despite the quiet, Tamieka couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, that something was not right. She pulled her jacket closer to her chest and inched closer to the entrance door. Her eyes darted across the porch and then back to singular glass door.

  “Lenore?” She raised her voice just above a subtle whisper. Her mind told her to be silent, don't speak, just walk away. At the same time it told her to investigate, find the source of that noise, the scream. With caution she let the need to know take her feet closer. “Are you there, Lenore?”

  She stepped a foot closer, waited. More of the same. Crickets, the shuffle of her own feet on the roughly-textured concrete. She pursed her lips and shifted to try a peek through the windows. Stepping lightly the last few feet, Tamieka reached the window by the entrance door to the right and searched for a breach in the concealing curtains on the other side of the glass.

  There was light on inside the house, that much was clear the moment the house had come into view from the driveway. That was about all she could tell even squinting inches away from the glass. The thick curtains were impossible to see through. Softly she moved past the door to the window on the opposite side. More of the same.

  She sighed, biting her lip gently. Her mind told her to leave again, to get off the porch and get the hell out of there. Her heart was worried, though. And winning.

  A subtle commotion inside suddenly grabbed Tamieka’s attention. She stood upright, stiff. Her eyes darted to the entrance. Fighting the cold chill in her spine, she spoke again.

  “Lenore?” she called. Silence occupied the space again. Tamieka looked down, trying to make a decision. Stay or leave? Stay or leave? She shook her head and opened her mouth again. “Lenore, if you’re okay, please say something.”

  She paused, waited. More silence. A full minute passed. “Lenore? Mara?”

  His index finger held erect to the opening in his white mask, Bullet faced the women, expecting Dalton to know better than to speak up. The sharp edge of Freddie’s blade still rested precariously against Mara’s neck and Skull-face kept the point of his curved blade within striking distance of Lenore.

  Dalton sat submissively. But inside he raged, his mind a flurry of anger. He watched as the unexpected rocked their captor’s plans. Even in that moment, though, he found himself helpless, anesthetized to any reliable course of action.

  Just leave, Tamieka! Dalton begged.

  “Man, we can’t have the police coming out here,” Skull-face complained in hushed syllables. His confidence had dwindled, a fear of his own taking root.

  “I know.” Bullet jumped back but kept his voice to a subtle whisper.

  The woman’s shadow flickered on the frosted entrance door. Bullet redirected his attention to that shadow. Dalton watched him, the intensity of thought behind the holes in his mask, the black and white orbs working overtime. Abruptly the boy looked back to Lenore and then back to the door and grunted.

  “Guys,” Bullet began in a whisper. “I’m going to answer the door.”

  “What?” Freddie almost forgot to whisper, bringing his tone down quickly. “Are you crazy?”

  “Huh?” Skull-face cocked his head sideways. Dalton wished he could see the expression behind the red skull plastered on his mask. He wished he could see the fear.

  “I’m going to tell her I’m Aiden, that Mom’s busy,” he said, feigning air quotes at the word mom. “Tell her to come back tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?” Freddie asked. “I don’t know, it seems like a bad idea to me.”

  “She’s one woman,” Bullet responded. “I can deal with one woman, more than a shit load of cops.”

  Both Skull-face and Freddie nodded as if their approval was somehow needed. Dalton knew better. This boy would do whatever he wanted, no one was getting in the way of that.

  “All right, here we go,” Bullet whispered before raising his voice to a slight yell and stepping off toward the foyer landing. “I’m coming.”

  The form on the other side of the door remained still, only the shadow moved ghostly along the window. Dalton scooted in his seat to watch the boy go to the door. He bounded up the single step to the foyer platform and reached the door in a few long steps. He hid the long curved blade behind his back in his right hand.

  “Who is it?” he called, leaning up against the door frame, looking back at his audience. He was playing a part now. Dalton thought he could see one of the boy's signature grin escaping from the thin mouth slit.

  “Tamieka Dula. Who am I speaking to?” she asked, an edge of doubt seeping through door frame.

  “Aiden, Lenore’s son,” Bullet lied.

  After a long pause, probably sizing up the response she received, Tamieka spoke, “Are you going to let me in?”

  “No, I don’t know who you are,” Bullet said.

  “Tamieka Dula,” she repeated. “I’m your mom’s hairdresser. She told me to come by tonight to pick up one of her books.”

  Bullet craned his neck around and looked at Lenore with a smile and a fake congratulatory nod.

  “Can you come back tomorrow?” Bullet started, trying to build an excuse to keep the woman away. “Le—, Mom’s in bed already. Rough night.”

  He shook his head. Dalton grimaced at the misstep. Bullet waited for the woman’s reply on the other side of the glass.

  “I thought I heard someone say help,” Tamieka said after a pause. Her voice came through the wall with a careful, wary air. “Is everything okay in there?”

  “Everything is fine,” Bullet said.

  “I’d really feel better about it if you’d just let me in so I can be sure,” Tamieka tried.

  Bullet bit his lip, contemplating whether or not to open the door. He looked back to his confidants. Both were shaking their heads adamantly in obvious opposition, screaming at him to not let the woman in. He looked back to the silhouette and sighed. With his free hand, he reached for the doorknob. He stepped behind the door itself and brought the knife out from hiding behind his back.

  No! Dalton screamed inside, but he could not form the simple words on his lips before it happened.

  The door wrenched open with blinding speed and Bullet swung forward. He brought the curved blade around, pulled by his body’s momentum. The silvery metal disappeared with a disconcerting squishing sound as it gored its victim. Tamieka gasped. Her eyes blinked spasmodically, her breath becoming short gasps.

  “No!” Lenore screamed, daring to move before Skull-face’s blade reminded her of her place. Mara remained still, shock convulsing through her body.

  Bullet wrenched the knife side-to-side, mutilating whatever organs were in the blade’s path. Tamieka screamed and groaned as new pain surged through her body. Blood began to spurt between her lips and dribble down her chin.

  “Stop!” Dalton yelled. Begged. Plead
ed.

  His eyes met Tamieka’s as she began to slip away. He wanted to say something, anything to absolve himself of the viscous act, but there was nothing he could say, nothing of value.

  Bullet yanked the knife back and took a step backward. The woman dropped to her knees. Her body jerked with each labored breath, blood pouring down her grey Duke t-shirt behind a thin cloth jacket. The look on her face transformed from fear and pain to a blank stare. Dalton watched, mouth hung wide, as Tamieka abdicated her place on this Earth with a loud thud on the tile floor.

  Why? Dalton wanted ask so badly, but he had learned the question was unwise.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate,” Bullet commented apathetically, a hint of contradiction in his tone. His attention drifted sluggishly back to his captives. He grinned and crouched down by the corpse. He reached down with two thin fingers and slid them through the growing puddle of crimson around Tamieka’s body.

  He stood erect again and made his way back down by Skull-face. Looking at Lenore, he snickered. It almost sounded like the boy was excited.

  “How does it feel to know you brought her to such an unfortunate end?” Bullet chided her.

  Tears streaming down Lenore's face, her eyes were glued to Tamieka's inanimate body. She refused to look at the mask as she began to cry again. Her body shook with each sob.

  Bullet passed his knife to Skull-face and bore his eyes into Lenore. His eyes narrowed and then he wrapped his clean palm around her chin.

  “Look at me!” he demanded. Lenore's eyes met Bullet's. A terror brimmed up behind them. Satisfied, he took his right hand and smeared a swath of Tamieka’s blood down her cheek. “Good job.”

  He released her and stepped around Skull-face, nearly straddling the arm of the couch as he leaned over Mara. Just as he had done to Lenore, he wrenched Mara’s face toward him with a firm grip under her chin. His hand gripped just an inch above the knife Freddie held to her neck.

  “You know, really it’s your fault she died, though,” Bullet began.

  “No, stop!” Dalton begged him, trying to spare his daughter. “It’s my fault.”

  “No, really, Dalton, it is her fault,” Bullet said matter-of-factly before fixing his eyes back on Mara. “It’s all your fault. If you hadn’t screamed, she might have left. But no, you had to be a little bitch and call for help. You practically begged me to cut her open. To gut her.”

  He let go of her chin and stepped away, turning to face away from them for a moment. “Not that I mind, though.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “Jo—,” Bullet started before abruptly silencing himself. Freddie’s attention shot to Bullet. His hand still held the blade steadily at Mara’s neck. He cocked his head as if to say, Be careful, man!

  Joe, or Joseph, Dalton thought. The horror on his face made it easy to conceal his thoughts. The boy had slipped up. He had said Freddie’s name, or at least part of it. That much was evident from the immediate reaction from the boy with the Freddie Krueger mask on.

  “Get the body and move it over by Nathan,” Bullet finished, nodding in the new corpse's general direction. A large pool of blood surrounded the body. It veined along the symmetrical lines of the foyer tile and dripped off the landing's edge, splashing onto more tile.

  Freddie, or Joe, let his knife break contact with Mara’s skin and slid the short blade between his belt and the waist of his pants. He huffed, and then walked to the body and took hold of Tamieka’s feet. He hauled her backwards, dragging the body away from the door. Blood marred the path in a wide swath of crimson. The lifeless skull cracked against the tile floor as it dropped from the foyer landing to the main floor. Dalton looked away and grimaced. Freddie did not stop, he continued to pull the body across the living room until it laid precariously beside Nathan’s lifeless body. Satisfied, he left the bodies to themselves and took up his place behind Mara again. He produced the blade again and pressed it against the red mark along Mara’s neck.

  “Where were we?” Bullet’s voice had regained the authority and calm that had dominated the room since its arrival a few hours ago. “Ah, yes. Your incessant question. Why? Why us?”

  Dalton moved uneasily in the recliner. He longed for an answer. Why them? What had drove these psychos, these kids, to his doorstep? Why were they so bent on hurting his family in front of him?

  “I’ve been...we’ve been watching you and your family for a least a year now. Studied your habits, your schedule.” Bullet paused for a moment, looking at Lenore and then back to Dalton. “Your love interests. It’s how we knew about Jenna. How we know that Lenore is an author who stays at home most of the day, and when she does go out it’s either alone or with Mara or Aiden. He’s at a party tonight, right?”

  Dalton did not answer, neither did Lenore. If his heart could drop anymore, it would have. Instead he stared back at the boy, trying to find some recollection of those black eyes in his memory. If they had really scouted out his family for so long, surely he had seen the boy at some point. Nothing. The boy's eyes were unusual, dark abysses like the pits of hell the boy would one day surely occupy. Dalton thought for sure he would remember them. But he could not recall. There was nothing of use in the recesses of his memory, at least nothing that came to mind.

  “But why? Why did you choose us? What have we done to...to deserve this?” Dalton begged quietly, refusing to answer Bullet’s question.

  Bullet grinned. It confounded Dalton. It was an almost kind grin, like he was happy to answer the question. Then he pursed his lips and huffed, “Let’s just say we didn’t randomly select your family."

  There was a pause. A long silence. "You did.”

  Mara and Lenore shot their heads toward Dalton. He curled back in the recliner, eyes wide, brow crinkled in confusion. What? How?

  “What do you mean, I did?” Dalton asked, suddenly more aggressive, but still aware of the fear in his bowels.

  The boy thought about the question for a moment. He raised his free hand and pointed up with his index finger. He started to speak but stopped. Bullet sighed, then looked away from the Dalton and everyone else in the room as if searching among the red speckled tiles for an answer.

  “That will have to wait,” Bullet finally decided. “Before that, I have something else in store for your wife. I’d prefer to do it to you, but I think you’ll appreciate it more if she gets to experience it herself.”

  “What? No! What are you going to do?” Dalton asked. Fear shot into Lenore’s still bloodshot eyes.

  “Be patient, my friend,” Bullet answered him.

  Friend, Dalton thought. Anger sprouted to his hands. He balled his fists tightly but caught himself. He expanded his fingers and sighed. How can he even say that?

  The boy turned and retrieved one of the small trick-or-treat bags they had brought along. He reached inside and rummaged around, searching for something. Moments later, a grin stretched across his lips behind the thin slit in the white mask. Slowly he retracted his hand and revealed a small curved piece of metal. There was an almost invisible strand of what appeared to be fishing string attached to one end and a sharp point at the other. A needle.

  “I’m going to shut the bitch up permanently for you, Dalton,” Bullet growled. His gravelly tone seemed more menacing. “You won’t have to hear her complain anymore.”

  As Bullet moved toward Lenore, he dropped the trick-or-treat bag to the floor. Dalton jumped to his feet. The knives against Mara and Lenore’s necks tightened. Dalton almost failed to stop, but he steeled his feet. It was all he could do to stop. He needed to stop them, he needed to intervene. But he couldn't, not without putting them in more danger. Or should I?

  He battled his own mind. How much longer could he sit still while they hurt the two most important women in his life, even though he had not realized that until a few hours ago? How would he know when to act? Could he deal with the consequences?

  “Don’t, Dalton. Just sit back and watch,” Bullet directed. “You so much as make me feel uncomforta
ble and I won’t hesitate to have my friend here slit Mara’s throat while I stab your wife straight through the chest.”

  Dalton felt the blood run from his face. He looked to Mara and saw the fear in her eyes, the dark tear-stained circles under them. His baby was scared to death. Still on his feet, he moved his gaze to Lenore and saw the same fear. He longed to do something, to prevent any more pain, any more suffering, but what could he do? He could not just sit by and watch. He couldn’t. But if he made one false move, one of them would pay for his mistake. Completely.

  As he stared into Lenore’s saddened but beautiful green eyes, she shook her head, silently pleading with him to sit down. His mind raced. She was pleading not for her own life, but Mara's, her daughter's. If he sat down, if he just let it happen, he could only faintly imagine the pain Lenore would be forced to endure. If he refused to sit or moved into action and attacked, at least one of them would die, maybe both.

  Maybe he could intervene. Act quick and put himself between them and these psychotic monsters. Maybe he could gain control of one of the knives, or maybe even the pistol stashed at Bullet’s back. But the best he could do was fight off one monster at a time. The other two would be free to attack, to kill. Lenore was right, it was logical to sit back down. It didn't seem logical to let Lenore suffer, but what was logical about tonight?

  Finally, he sat. A tear of shame streamed down his face as he locked eyes with Lenore. “I love you. I’m so sorry.”

  “I…it’s okay,” Lenore stuttered as she tried to steel herself to the coming pain.

  “All right, enough of that shit. Let’s get to the real fun.” Bullet stepped around the couch and took up Skull-face’s place behind Lenore. The skinny boy moved to the arm of the couch beside her. Carelessly, Skull-face grasped Lenore’s chin with his left hand and wrenched her head back before placing his right hand on her forehead. He forced her to look up into the ceiling. Then Bullet hovered over her and grinned behind his mask.