The Girl Who Didn't Die--A Suspense Novel

by Tim Kizer

  “They wanted to stay close to the mountains,” said Kelly. “It’s a fine place, Dad.”

  Yes, this farmhouse was a great find. Josephine had spent half September looking for a secure venue for their final encounter with George. The ideal place was supposed to meet two requirements: first, it had to offer a spacious garage or a barn, and second, the nearest neighbor had to be at least a mile away.

  “We’re having a family reunion,” she told the prospective lessors on the phone. “And we need a really quiet location.”

  In this farmhouse, which was located five miles west of the gorgeous Allegheny State Park, they could be confident that no one would hear George's screams, which were unavoidable since they were not going to drug the man up. Josephine’s place, on the other hand, didn’t provide such peace of mind. By the way, they hoped the old man would squeal like a stuck pig because that would mean they were not going too easy on him.

  “It’s been a while since I stretched my legs,” said George, getting out of the Blazer. “I’m so glad you dragged me out of the city.”

  Her forehead glistening with sweat, Josephine took George by the elbow, and they headed for the farmhouse. For the hundredth time, she thought about Tony’s brother and that stupid stunt of his. Nico was a real idiot, there could be no denying it. Bats are so damn small; they don't stand a chance against a beast like a three ton Dodge Ram truck moving at seventy miles an hour.

  Dumb show-off. There’s a lesson for you, kids: vanity gets you burned.

  “Do you remember your friend Earl Bayley from Jamestown?” asked Josephine when they were halfway to the house.

  “It doesn’t look like a hotel,” commented George, looking at the building. “Earl Bayley?” He turned his face to Josephine. “How do you know him? Of course I remember Earl. I’m not that senile.” He snickered.

  “You saw him a couple of months ago, right?” said Josephine. “Do you remember that?”

  Visibly puzzled, George knitted his brows and nodded.

  “Yeah, I went to Jamestown to visit him in August,” he answered. “He is an old friend of mine. We had a great time. Do you know him?”

  Josephine noted to herself with relish that George had absolutely no idea what a nightmare was awaiting him. There he was, an old gullible fool thinking they were about to go hiking in the mountains, picturing himself eating, telling jokes, and enjoying the fresh air. Expecting to be back in Buffalo tomorrow morning, happy and rejuvenated. The old man was calm and carefree. Dumb fuck.

  ‘It's a bat. It’s just a damn bat. Leave it there, George. Let's go.’

  Josephine shivered, hit by a sudden gust of cold wind. The autumn had been getting a firmer grip of the weather, bringing lower temperatures and cloudy skies.

  “You drove to Jamestown in your Dodge Ram truck, didn’t you?” said Josephine, climbing up the porch.

  “Yes, I did. I love my truck. It goes everywhere.”

  George was old. Josephine heaved a sigh. He was old and fragile. He would die too quickly. Had he been in his forties, they would have had a lot more fun with him. They would have let their imaginations go wild with this fucker.

  “Is it your friend’s place?” George asked, observing Josephine open the front door. “Come on, somebody tell me. I can honestly say I’m intrigued.”

  “Excellent guess, Dad,” said Kelly. “So you remember visiting Earl two months ago? Great!”

  “Is it some kind of surprise party?” said George. “Is Earl here? Come on, girls, tell me already.”

  They went inside the house, and Josephine locked the front door. Albert and Ron had already taken care of the windows: they had shut them all and had also lowered the shades.

  “Do you remember going on joy rides with Earl two months ago?” asked Josephine. “There was at least one joy ride. Do you remember that, George?”

  George nodded.

  “I sure do. As I said, I love my truck. Earl and I drove all over the place last summer. Why do you ask?”

  He glanced around in search of Graham and Albert.

  “Do you remember going to Chautauqua Lake with Earl?” asked Josephine.

  “Yeah, we went there fishing. I love that place. It’s got walleye, bass, perch, musky, you name it.”

  “Do you remember taking Route 394 on the way back from the lake?”

  “I don’t remember every road we took, but one of them could very well have been Route 394. I hardly use maps anymore. I just go wherever my GPS tells me to go.”

  “You have a great memory, Dad,” remarked Kelly. “I almost forgot you went to visit Earl.”

  “So what are we doing here?” asked George. “Where’s everybody?”

  Josephine put her hand on his right shoulder and said, “We have a little surprise for you, George. Let's go to the garage.”

  She was looking George in the eye. Those pigment spots scattered all over his face were revolting. He must have a rotten breath, too. Pitiful man. Pathetic murderer. He didn’t seem to be physically fit to last the thirty minutes that they required to do all the things they had planned for him.

  He had taken so easy that collision with a bat. Fucking moron.

  “Graham and Al are waiting for us in the garage, Dad,” said Kelly. “They have a very spacious garage here.”

  “Garage? Okay.” George stared at his daughter with curiosity. “Are we going to grab something to eat before leaving? What’s the plan?”

  “Our plan for today is to have fun, George.” Josephine smiled. “I'll explain everything to you in a minute.”

  George shrugged his shoulders and followed Josephine to the garage.

  “What is this for?” he asked with a chuckle when he saw a six-foot long folding utility table that sat in an inflatable kiddie pool in the middle of the garage. “In the mood for swimming today?” He gave Josephine an inquiring look.

  He didn’t ask any questions about the plastic sheet they had thrown on the garage floor in order to keep things clean and leave no evidence that could hang them.

  “Calm down, George,” said Albert, stepping behind George and pressing a chloroform-soaked linen napkin to his face. “It's vengeance.”

  He winked at Josephine, grabbed a tight hold of George, and carried him to the table.

  “He should wake up in fifteen minutes,” said Josephine, watching Albert lay the old man on the table.

  Graham rose from the wicker chair and said, “I wonder how much torture he can take before croaking. I hope he doesn’t die in the first ten minutes.”

  “He seems to be in an okay shape,” Albert remarked. “I’d say he’ll last at least fifteen minutes.”

  “A sixty seven year old guy can have a heart attack even from a minor stress,” Josephine said in a disappointed voice. “I'm afraid he won’t last five minutes if we’re too hard on him.” She frowned.

  Kelly picked up a Craftsman electric drill from the counter, switched it on, and poked the table with the whirring drill bit, spraying a pinch of sawdust into the air. Then she rubbed the shallow hole bored by the Craftsman with her finger and said, “I like this drill. I’m going to play with it.”

  “We’ve got three more drills here.” Graham brandished another drill over his shoulder. “Everyone can have a drill.”

  “I’d like to work on him with this.” Albert gently stroked the glass bottle with sulphuric acid he was clutching in his hand. “I’ll do his legs first.”

  “Keep the acid from dripping into the pool. I don’t want any holes in it.” Josephine warned him. “And please don’t burn his eyes. I want George to see what’s happening to him.”

  “You want him to watch his own daughter killing him?” asked Graham. “That’s so sick, Josie.”

  Josephine flashed a broad grin.

  “We have to make sure to keep him alive until he understands why we’re killing him,” said Graham. “I’m afraid it will take him a while to understand that.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Kelly agreed. “He must be r
eally confused right now.”

  “We'll explain it to him properly.” Josephine cracked a smile. “He remembers his trip to Jamestown, he remembers going to the lake. He’ll remember what he did. He’ll understand.”

  “Josie, I doubt he remembers hitting a bat,” said Albert. “There are tons of roadkill every year; people take it like it’s nothing.” He opened the laptop he had brought from Buffalo and clicked on the Skype icon.

  “We’ll see,” Josephine replied with an air of nonchalance. “Maybe it’s not that important after all. We'll have a great time regardless whether he remembers the bat, or not, right?” She exchanged glances with Albert, Kelly, and Graham.

  “Oh yeah.” Albert rubbed his hands together. A moment later he announced, “They are on.” He pointed at the webcam window where they could see Ron and Tony sitting next to each other and patiently waiting for the show to start. “Hi, Tony!”

  “Hi, Al.” Tony waved to him and made the okay sign. “Hi, everyone.”

  Then George woke up. Eight minutes before he came to consciousness, they had undressed him to his underwear and tied him to the table with nylon ropes so that he wouldn't be able to either push, or kick, or jump off the table.

  “Wakey wakey, Dad,” said Kelly, bringing the buzzing drill to his chest. “How are you doing? Sleep well?” She burst out laughing and turned to the rest of the gang. “Let's cut off his dick. It’s got to be very painful, I reckon.”

  “He’s going to pass out or even die right away,” Graham objected. “Let Al sprinkle some acid on him first. It will hurt him like hell, but he’ll stay conscious. Get to work, Al.” He pointed to George’s legs.

  “All right,” Albert said cheerfully and started pouring the acid on the old man’s hips. George uttered a piercing cry, his arms twitching wildly, his leg muscles tensed. The skin affected by the acid was blistering and growing dark brown.

  “Maybe we should have tied him to a chair,” Kelly said, pushing the drill bit into George’s left heel. “He might choke on his own vomit, you know.”

  “Let’s watch his mouth then.” Albert poured some acid around George's navel.

  “What are you—,” the old man screamed, making an incredible effort to free his arms and legs, thin white smoke wafting up from his acid-burned skin.

  “Damn, it’s working so fast,” said Graham. “It looks awesome. Give him a little more, Al.” He thrust the drill bit into George's right shoulder, narrowing his eyes as blood began to leak out of the wound. He relaxed his eyelids when he realized there was not enough pressure for the blood to splatter on his face. George was wriggling like a caterpillar dropped into a crowd of hungry ants.

  “Don't burn the ropes, please,” Josephine warned Albert, drilling a hole in George's left knee. “That acid is strong shit.”

  “Take a knitting needle, Al. Make a few holes in this fucker,” said Kelly, who had just finished boring through her father’s right foot.

  “Kelly, please—” George failed to finish the phrase, overwhelmed by a coughing fit, after which he resumed bawling.

  “Are you sure we won’t have any unexpected guests here?” Graham asked Josephine. “This fellow’s so fucking loud.”

  Josephine shook her head and said, “It's a really quiet place. The nearest house is two miles away. But just in case, go outside and stand on the lookout, will you?”

  “Sure thing.” Graham put his drill on the counter and left the garage.

  “You’re doing an excellent job there, guys,” Tony’s voice came out the laptop speakers. “Keep it up.”

  “Thanks, Tony,” replied Josephine.

  She bent over George's face, her lips puckered. The old man's howling had begun to nauseate her.

  “George, do you remember what happened when you and Earl were driving home from the lake?” she asked. When she saw George’s lips move, she raised her right hand, saying, “Guys, let's take a quick break. I want to listen to what George has to say.”

  “You think he finally remembered Nico?” said Albert, pulling the knitting needle out of George's thigh.

  When all the drills had been taken out of the old man’s body, Josephine asked, “Do you remember what happened on Route 394?”

  “What is this all about?” George cried out. “Please stop it!”

  He resumed shrieking with pain; his attempts to break free from the ties had gotten weaker: he put every bit of energy he had into straining his muscles, but the vigor was gone from his movements. His limbs were shivering, his body was glistening with sweat, whose musky smell was noticeable now.

  “Seems like he's going to croak soon,” remarked Ron. “Hurry up, guys.”

  “George, do you remember that bat on Route 394?” Josephine handed her drill to Albert. “After fishing at the lake, you and Earl took Route 394 to get to the highway. Do you remember it?”

  “Please stop, Josephine. Kelly, please ask them to stop,” moaned George.

  “Are you fucking deaf?” shouted Josephine. “George, I asked you a question. I don’t want to repeat it again. Do you remember driving on Route 394 two months ago?”

  “Yes,” the old man blared. “Yes, I remember.”

  “I bet he’s got a bad heart,” said Albert. “He could die any minute now, right, Kelly? Has he ever had a heart attack?” He gave Kelly an inquiring look. She shook her head and replied, “No, not yet.”

  “Well, he’s definitely going to have one tonight,” commented Albert.

  “Let’s cut off his dick before he dies,” suggested Tony.

  “Do you remember the bat you hit with your truck on the way back from the lake?” Josephine smoothed George's hair, wiped his forehead with her handkerchief. “Do you?”

  “Josephine,” the old man muttered and opened his swollen eyes. “Kelly, please. Josephine.” He was not making sense anymore.

  “He can't hear you, Josie,” said Albert. “I think it’s a pain shock.”

  “Josie, I'm going to chop off his dick.” Kelly waved her knife enthusiastically. “I’ll do it now.” She began to cut the elastic band of George's underpants.

  “Kelly, wait a second, I want him to know what he is being killed for,” said Josephine. She wiped the old man's face and blew on his forehead to assuage the heat. “He committed murder and he must know that.” She looked at her hands and legs splashed with blood and grimaced with revulsion. “George, do you remember the bat you killed in August? Do you remember it, you fucking asshole?”

  “Pain shock,” Albert said with a thoughtful air, “Maybe it’s time to cut his dick off.”

  “It's such a pity he is so old,” said Josephine. “He won’t last even fifteen minutes.”

  “He’s already dying.” Kelly opened the old man's ripped underpants to reveal his groin. “Look at this old dick. I’ve never seen my dad’s dick before. I’m not impressed, to tell you the truth.”

  “Maybe he’s a grower, not a shower,” said Albert. “He might be nine inches when hard.”

  Kelly turned to Josephine. “Should I cut it off?”

  “If he doesn't answer me now, you can cut it off.” Josephine shut George's lower jaw forcefully to lower the noise he was making. “Looks like your father can’t take pain.”

  Once Josephine let go of George’s jaw, he opened his mouth again, continuing to scream at the top of his lungs. Josephine slapped the old man on the cheek as hard as she could, but it did nothing to silence him. She whacked George in the face a few more times, now just for fun; it had become clear to her that the man wasn’t going to keep quiet.

  “He’d about to die,” declared Kelly exclaimed. “Hurry up, Josephine.”

  “George, do you remember the bat?” Josephine shouted. “Do you remember killing a bat? Do you remember, you motherfucker?”

  “No, no, I don’t remember the bat!” George yelled out. “Please let me go!”

  “This moron’s going to make me deaf.” Albert thrust his drill into George’s left shin. “Josephine, it seems like he’s
not thinking straight anymore.” He turned to the laptop to see if Tony or Ron had anything to say; both men kept silent.

  “Okay.” Josephine nodded and punctured George's eyes with the knitting needle. “Kelly, get ready to cut his dick off. It’s time to wrap things up.”

  “Tell me when,” said Kelly, grabbing the tip of George’s penis.

  “Is it going to kill him?” asked Ron.

  “Who knows,” said Kelly. “He might survive.”

  Josephine took two linen napkins from the counter and stuffed one of them into the old man's mouth. Then she added another napkin for a tighter gag and said, “Cut it now.”

  “Yeah, cut it,” hollered Tony.

  “What if he chokes?” said Albert. “He’s barely alive as it is.”

  Josephine stuck a knitting needle through George’s right biceps and replied, “He might, but I'm sick of his screams.” She stabbed the needle into the old man’s left biceps. “If he chokes, he chokes.”

  “Look!” Kelly yelled, swinging George’s severed penis in front of the web camera. “I cut his dick off! Let's fry it and feed it to this fucker.”

  “That must be the most surreal thing I’ve seen in my life,” said Ron.

  “Let me feed it to my neighbors.” Albert burst out laughing. “That would be one hell of a joke, wouldn’t it?”

  “Are we going to fry it or not?” Kelly turned to Josephine. Grinning, Josephine shrugged her shoulders.

  “Put it in the bag.” Albert opened a Ziploc plastic bag and brought it in front of Kelly.

  “How does it feel to hold your dad’s dick in your hand?” asked Albert.

  Kelly dropped the penis in the bag, and Kelly zipped the bag up and put it on the counter.

  “I’m serious, guys,” Albert went on. “There’s enough meat in this dick for a burger. I’ll cook it next time my wife has a barbecue.”

  “Please remind me to skip your next barbecue, Al,” said Kelly.

  Nine minutes later George died. But before it happened, they had chopped off his hands, ripped his stomach open, and drilled seven holes in his chest.

  They placed George’s body into an eighty-gallon wooden barrel, which they were going to bring onto Ron’s gorgeous fifty-foot powerboat later tonight: a dead body was the last thing that crossed people’s minds when they saw an innocently looking wooden barrel being loaded on a boat. They had no desire to get involved with acid for their corpse disposal needs—can you imagine how much acid you would need to get rid of four to six stiffs a month?—so they stuck with the basics and simply dumped their victims in Lake Erie several miles offshore. To prevent the bodies from floating up, they tied one-hundred-pound concrete blocks to their legs. It was an easy, reliable, and eco-friendly way of covering their tracks: in a few months, there was nothing left of a person but a skeleton thanks to the fish and crabs.