by Ryan Horvath
“Okay… Thank you,” she said, taking his menu. She turned and hurried away.
Art waited for his order and gazed around the restaurant. His focus settled on an overweight man shaking his fist and hollering at the television nearby. In the fist not shaking at the TV the man held a mug of tap beer and it was sloshing on the floor. The man’s back was to Art. Art closed his eyes and fantasized. Art would approach the man and grab the man’s wrist with his left hand and the beer stein with his right simultaneously. Then, with his new strength, before the man could pull away Art would squeeze his left hand, pulverizing the metacarpal bones with a swift and audible crunch and when the man opened his mouth to scream, Art would use the beer mug to shatter the man’s teeth. Next, Art would drive his knee into the man’s groin, effectively ending any chance of him having children, or more children if he was already a father. The man would be down on the floor at this point and Art would break both of the man’s arms backward at the elbows. Finally, Art would hope the man would still be conscious as the last of his life was snubbed out by Art’s heavy, boot clad, stomping foot.
Art opened his eyes and was again looking at the man he had just brutally assaulted and murdered in his mind. There were obviously too many witnesses in this crowded establishment for him to enact his savagery.
The server returned with his drinks and mozzarella sticks. He hungrily dove into the appetizer and set his focus on a young and demure brunette woman who had just walked in with a male companion. He fantasized again; this time with his eyes open.
He would snatch her and pull her into a dark alley. His large and powerful left hand would easily cover her mouth and muffle her cries. With his right hand, he would tear away her pants and underwear. Art would use his knee to easily part her legs in spite of all her efforts to keep them together. Also, with his right hand, Art would undo his trousers and remove his erection, which had gone from a very respectable eight inches to a gargantuan ten. Then he would ravage her. Along with the sensations of the barbaric sexual act, Art would feel the woman’s tears on his left hand and he would hear her unheeded cries, both of which would turn him on even more. When he climaxed and was through, he would shove the woman into the wall he had just raped her against hard enough to knock her unconscious. Then he would take the woman with him, hide her somewhere unpleasant to her but arousing for him and strap her to a mattress in a sexually prone position. And he would use her again and again when she woke up, trying to and succeeding at coming up with more and more degrading things to do to her and when he was bored with her, he suspected that would take the usual two or three days, he would finally end her life by chopping off her head.
Back in reality, Art looked at the demure woman, who had no idea she was the subject of such a ghastly mirage. Art’s pants bulged as his erection throbbed underneath. Art wished like mad that he could just grab the woman and execute his every whim on her right here and right now but again, too many witnesses.
“Damn witnesses,” Art muttered.
Art tried to distract himself with something else so he decided to go to the restaurant’s entrance and pick up a newspaper. As he walked, the demure woman was being escorted to a table with her dining companion and Art noticed as she passed him, her eyes happened to fall on Art’s groin and when they did, Art saw them widen with surprise. How he wished he could have her immediately! Just snap her male friend’s neck like a twig and tear into her!
Art finally secured his newspaper, returned to his booth and began to read. It was nothing interesting but he just needed the distraction from the other patrons and thoughts of brutally and heinously ending their lives. Moments later, he felt his erection begin to soften as the blood slowly flowed back into his body.
“I’ll probably regret that,” he muttered to himself. He’d fallen victim to the male phenomena known as “blue balls” more than once because of no sexual release after fleeing the scene of an arousing kill.
A moment later, the server brought over two very large plates containing his calzones. They were huge and Art looked pleased about that. The mozzarella sticks had done nothing to curb his appetite.
The server set the platters down in front of Art and said with jubilance, “We have kind of a bet going on in the kitchen as to whether or not you’ll be able to finish these. The chef said that’s over three pounds of food!”
“And which way did you bet?” Art asked her.
“You’re a big strong looking guy. I’m betting you can do it,” she answered.
“Then you’re betting right!” Art said and added, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat it while it’s still hot.”
“Of course. Let me know if you need anything,” the server said and turned and left Art to his dinner.
Art did indeed finish both calzones in their entireties. The pair took him just over twenty minutes and the server applauded him when she saw the empty plates.
“It wasn’t a problem,” Art said. “How much did you win?”
“Just forty dollars,” she replied.
Art smiled his discomfort inducing smile and said “Well, let me sweeten that then.” He produced his wallet and removed a hundred dollar bill which he handed to the server. “Here you go,” he said. “Keep the change that’s left from my meal.”
The server didn’t look uncomfortable anymore. She looked like she was ready to pounce on him and ravish him with kisses. Art resisted the urge to slap her in the face.
She didn’t jump him. She steadied herself and simply said, “Thank you, sir.”
And with that, Art left the server standing there half stunned. Neither of them knew that in a few days, money wasn’t going to mean shit anymore. He exited the restaurant feeling good. The calzones had been just what he had needed, well almost all he needed. A dull ache was forming in his testicles and he knew there was one more thing that needed to be taken care of before the night was over and masturbating alone wasn’t going to cut it.
Art decided to find somewhere loud and crowded with beautiful young people and lots of flashing lights. It didn’t take him long to find a nightclub that suited his needs. At the door to the nightclub, Art was stopped by the bouncer.
“Whoa, young man. ID please. This is a twenty one plus establishment,” the bouncer iterated.
A flash of anger hit Art but it was quickly replaced by amusement. He hadn’t been carded in years and now this bouncer thought he was underage.
Art smiled. “Sure, sure,” he said producing his wallet and fake ID.
The bouncer eyed the identification card suspiciously and then looked back at Art. “Man,” he said flabbergasted. “I would’ve thought you weren’t more than a day out of high school.”
“I’ve had a little work done,” Art lied amusingly.
“It’s amazing.” The bouncer stepped aside and allowed Art to enter.
Inside, Art headed straight for the bar where he ordered a double single malt Scotch on the rocks. With drink in hand, he stood with his back against the bar. This place was exactly what he had been looking for. The DJ’s music was shaking the room and Art could feel the floor vibrating beneath his feet. Lights hung from the ceiling sent an array of images around the room. Even though it was a Monday night, Art assessed there were one hundred and eleven people in the club with the majority of them, around sixty-five percent, were female. That helped Art’s chances greatly. Art noted that he was one of the tallest of the men that were standing and he was certainly the most broad shouldered of any of them. And of course, Art was the youngest looking man of the lot of them.
It didn’t take long, about ten minutes and half his drink, before Art noticed two women looking his way and smiling. He finished his drink and ordered another. With his second drink in hand, the women were now approaching him. One was blonde and one was a red head. Both were around Art’s age and both were very sexy, although Art preferred the appeal of the red head woman over the blonde as was his usual tendency.
And luckily, as the red head wom
an stopped before him, her blonde friend passed Art and stopped by a man who had been standing a few feet next to Art.
The red head spoke, “Hi, I’m Celia,” she said smiling.
“Ethan,” Art lied and extended a hand to shake hers, being careful not to crush her fragile bones. “Can I buy you a drink?” Art offered.
“A Cosmopolitan would be lovely,” Celia stated.
Art turned to order the drink and noticed that Celia’s friend had had similar success with the man she had approached. Art ordered and received the drink and handed it to Celia.
“Shall we find a table?” Celia suggested.
“Lead the way,” Art responded.
Celia expertly led them through the crowd to a corner table. They sat and began the part that Art hated but knew was necessary for this type of sexual encounter. He sat and listened to her talk about herself and made up nonsense about himself. He pretended to be interested in her stupid life and pretended to enjoy regaling her with the details of his wonder-filled life. He endured this long enough for her to have an additional three Cosmopolitans and himself to have an additional three Scotches as well. He endured this too, because he needed this one to be willing to let him achieve the quench he needed for his fiery carnal desires.
And willing she was! After all the cocktails, Celia was giving all the signs that she was ready to have sex with Art. She moved closer to him. She touched his shoulder, then his hand, than his thigh. She batted her eyelashes and tossed her hair. She summed up her intent by moving even closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulders, in doing so rubbing her breasts on his arm, and gently kissed his ear. She used her other hand and cupped the crotch of his trousers. Art used a ridiculous line and easily convinced Celia to return with him to his residence which was just a few blocks away.
They hurriedly walked to Art’s place and once inside, Celia immediately peeled her dress off and let it slip to the floor. “This is expensive. Will it be all right here?” she said, using her foot to pick up the dress and place it on the arm of a chair.
“No pets,” Art assured her.
“I had a cat but she got out a few days ago or something and I haven’t seen her since,” Celia said.
Art didn’t give a shit about the woman’s pet but he wanted to keep her interested and said, “I’m sorry. C’mere.” He waved her toward him.
Celia licked her lips from where she stood in nothing but her high heels. She had not been wearing a bra or panties beneath her small dress. She moved to Art and began to strip his clothes from him.
Good. Willing Art deduced to himself. No doubt about that.
Art felt substantial relief when she pulled down his briefs and his erection burst free.
“Oh, my!” she said eyeing his manhood. She looked up at Art and said, “This is going to be fun!” And with that, Art and Celia began a session of sexual positions and acts that would put the Kama Sutra to shame. The session lasted just over four hours and Art took energy from it and relished every second of it. The woman was not only willing, she was incredibly eager, allowing Art to do things to her like administering hard pinches to her nipples, slaps to her bottom, and verbal degradation in which Art called her a “filthy whore,” and “cock taking bitch,” among other nasty things, and she loved every minute of it.
After, in the wee hours of the morning, they lay on Art’s bed in spoons position, Art’s arm was wrapped around the woman and they were both panting with sexual exhaustion. Celia turned to face Art and before she could say anything Art grabbed her by the neck.
She looked startled at first, then, she thought he was initiating another session, prefacing it with erotic asphyxiation, but then she saw the murderous look in his eyes and started to struggle against his hold. Her eyes looked at his, beseeching, horrified.
Art easily stood up from the bed still holding the woman by her neck. He was being very careful not to squeeze too hard. Art carried the flailing woman into his kitchen. She was easily at least six inches off the floor in his one-handed grasp. Once in the kitchen, Art looked around. After a moment, he knew what he wanted to do. He moved the thick rug that was on the floor at the sink. It would absorb most of the mess. Art relocated the rug using his foot to slide it over to the side of his oven. He then shifted the woman so that he was holding her by the back of the neck. He’d squeezed her hard enough before that she had no hope of crying out. With her neck in hand, Art began to beat the woman’s head against the side of his stove. Blood and gore ran down the stove and collected on the rug. The woman quit moving after Art smashed her head the third time but he gave her three more smashes for good measure. The woman was barely recognizable anymore.
After, Art dropped the woman’s body onto the rug which had done a remarkable job containing her blood and brain matter. He went and got a tarp and bound the woman’s dead body in it along with the towels he’d used to clean up the mess that the rug didn’t catch. He dressed himself and placed the woman’s body in his traveling suitcase, which he then carried down to his car. He drove the short distance to the Potomac River and pulled his car off the road. Once there, Art got out of the car, removed the wrapped woman’s body from the suitcase, carried it down to the river bank and tossed the corpse in the water below.
He returned home and stripped to the nude, admired his strong and powerful form in the full length mirror, showered, and fell into bed.
When Art awoke Tuesday, late morning, his stomach felt satisfied, his libido felt satisfied. His need to murder, however, was not satisfied.
23
AMANDA, KAREN, AND BLAZE
Once inside the Thomas residence, Amanda set her single bag and purse down next to the front door. Karen headed down the hall away from the door and entered the kitchen at the rear of the house. Amanda watched as Blaze kept pace with her sister.
The younger of the two sisters joined her sibling in the kitchen where Karen was already opening a bottle on white wine. Amanda knew where her sister kept the hard liquor so while Karen poured herself a very large glass of the wine, Amanda got a glass for herself, put some ice in it and grabbed the bottle of Crown Royal from the liquor cabinet. She then joined her sister who was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from her glass. Amanda poured some of the amber liquid into her glass and then set the bottle on the table.
“So,” Karen began. “You going to tell me what’s going on? Why did you react like that when you saw Blaze?” She waved her hand down in the direction of Blaze, who was sitting on his haunches beside her.
Blaze, too, looked expectantly at Amanda, awaiting her response.
“Well,” Amanda started slowly. She wasn’t really sure where to begin. She didn’t want to alarm her sister but she knew the presence of Blaze meant that whatever she had seen on the plane wasn’t just some dream.
“On the flight over here, something happened,” Amanda continued. “I don’t really know how to explain it. At first I thought it was just a strange nightmare… but I was sure I was awake… and then I saw Blaze standing behind you… I don’t know, Karen, I think maybe it was some kind of vision.”
Hearing her sister use the word “vision” drew a concerned look across Karen’s face and she knew at once that these were not just visions but visions of the future. “What did you see?” she asked Amanda.
“You. Me. Blaze, who I’ve never even met. We were being chased.” Amanda wasn’t sure she wanted to tell who was pursuing them but she decided to just go ahead and do it, like ripping off a bandage. “I don’t know if you want to hear this or not, but I think the man chasing us is the same man who killed your husband.”
Blaze whimpered. The bad smelling man.
Karen looked incredulously back and forth between her sister and Blaze before finally stopping on Blaze. “Blaze,” she said, “do you understand Amanda?”
Blaze woofed, “Yes, Master Karen.”
“Wait.” Amanda said. “What do you mean does Blaze understand me?” She looked perplexed.
Karen l
ooked at her sister. “Well, when Blaze barks, it sounds like English to me. And, well, I guess Blaze understands what we are saying too.”
Blaze barked, “That’s right.” His tail swished lightly across the floor.
Amanda stared at her sister and Blaze.
“Do you understand him?” Karen prodded.
“No, I don’t,” Amanda answered bluntly.
Blazed chuffed, “Oh, darn.”
Karen chuckled. Amanda looked at her expectantly.
“He says ‘Oh, darn,’” Karen translated. “Now, let’s go back to your vision. Tell me everything.”
Amanda told Karen everything and when she was through Karen thought for a moment. Then she asked, “Why do you think this green eyed man was Jack’s killer?”
“I’ve seen his face a couple other times today. First was at home when we were on the phone earlier. I saw him in my TV and just knew. I can’t explain it any more than that,” Amanda answered.
Karen took a long drink from her wine glass. She finally confessed, “I’ve been seeing stuff too.” She told Amanda about the younger version of Jack and the cat.
“I also,” she choked up a little. “I also saw Jack’s death just seconds before it happened yesterday morning.”
Amanda took her sister’s hand in hers and squeezed. Karen’s eyes watered with tears. Blaze rested his head on Karen’s thigh.
“And I saw you,” Karen said. She told Amanda about seeing her half naked, bruised and in chains.
Amanda shuddered. She hadn’t told Karen about the way she looked during her vision. If this was the future, it certainly did not look good. Amanda wondered whether she would be in chains before or after being pursued by the green eyed man. She poured herself some more whisky and drank.
“What does it all mean? Visions? A talking dog?” Amanda queried.
“I don’t know. You know what else I can’t figure out? My vision of Jack. He was younger than before we met,” Karen said. “If these visions you and I are having are of the future, why would I have a vision of Jack when he was young? I mean, he’s dead after all.”
