Crossing the Line

by Bobe, Jordan

  After a moment he began itching all over. He scratched at the phantom itches for a moment and got to his feet. By the time he got back to the others he would be in control of his high. He had wandered far enough away so that he could do just that.

  He had only taken a few steps when he heard the crunch behind him again. He turned around quickly and still saw nothing. His heart beat began thumping so hard that it was painful. His eyes lost focus for a moment.

  “Come on, guys, don’t fuck with me. You know I have a problem, right? There is no reason to rub it in,” he said.

  A louder crunch and a snap came from behind him. He turned around quickly. Vertigo came over him and he dropped to a knee. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to shake away the dizziness. His stomach did a flip-flop.

  He removed his hands from his eyes and groaned. He had taken too much. He was overdosing and he knew it. There was no way that what he was seeing was real.

  Standing just a few feet from him was a man that exceeded seven feet tall. He was covered in homemade clothes made of the fur of animals. A mask made from the skull of a wolf or coyote, or maybe even a dog, covered the top half of the man’s face. A long beard covered his chin. Beneath the hair a dog collar was visible with the single word “Brute” etched into the leather. Long, matted hair fell all the way down to the middle of the man’s back. In his hands the mountain man was holding what looked like a hybrid of a pick-axe and a scythe.

  “Sweet Jesus, I really need to kick this shit,” Tommy groaned. He got to his feet and shook his head, willing the hallucination to go away.

  Rather than vanishing the man took a slow step toward Tommy. His massive hands clenched the weapon tightly, making the solid wooden handle groan. Tommy took a step toward the imaginary monster and reached out a hand in wonder.

  With a quick swipe of the weapon all four of Tommy’s fingers were sliced from his extended hand. They flew off into the thick underbrush. Tommy stumbled back and raised the hand. He expected the fingers to still be there, but instead there were four bloody stumps. Blood pulsed from the severed digits and ran down his forearm toward the tracks in his elbow.

  He considered screaming, but was still partially convinced that he was hallucinating. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of the damage his hand had suffered. If it was a trip it was definitely a bad one.

  Pain came to his drug fogged mind. He stumbled back and gasped at the sharpness of it. The blood pumping from the stumps was warm running up his arm. Despite the intoxicating effects of the heroin his mind was capable of pulling together just enough logic to realize that he was honestly in danger and pain.

  “Hey, man,” he said. He tried to think of some kind of technique for calming down a potential threat and came up with nothing. Instead he decided begging was his best option. “I don’t know what I did to upset you, but I’m sorry. Please just let me go and I won’t tell anyone what happened. I’ll say a bear bit my hand or something.”

  The big man rushed him. Tommy’s throat constricted as a huge hand wrapped around it. He was lifted off of the ground a full foot and held suspended, his legs kicking. He felt like his eyes were preparing to explode from their sockets as pressure filled his head.

  The killer raised his unique tool with his free hand and slowly dragged the hooked tip of the scythe blade down the center of Tommy’s face. The skin split and unfolded on either side of the rusted metal. The gash ran from the top of his forehead all the way down to the tip of his nose. Hot blood poured down into his eyes and despite the fact that they felt like they were bulging out of his head he managed to close his eyelids against the sting of the blood.

  Then he was being tossed through the air. The world spun around him as he seemed to fly. The brief instant seemed to span an eternity. He went end over end. He could hear the rushing of the air. He imagined he was traveling the globe, flying far away from whatever horrible end was awaiting him in reality.

  He connected with the tree he had used as back support while shooting up. His shoulder blade was crushed by the force of the blow and his arm popped out of the socket. Upon crumpling to the unforgiving forest floor his jaw shattered and one of his cheek bones cracked.

  He let out a whimper of pain. It was meant to be a scream, but the tissue around his esophagus was inflamed from the crushing force of the enormous hand that had just held it. He opened his eyes as far as he could manage and looked around, but saw no sign of his attacker.

  “Please,” he whispered. He felt as if his throat would come apart in chunks with the simple utterance. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He tried to position himself so that he could crawl, but pain announced itself in all of his joints. He collapsed completely on the forest floor and sobs racked his back. Dirt filled his mouth and he didn’t bother to spit it out. He surmised it would only make his throat and broken mouth hurt to try.

  Moments passed and he began wondering if his attack was over. He wished he had taken a bit more heroin, perhaps then he would not have felt so many of his injuries. He wondered how long it would be before the others came looking for him. Surely they would not make their move toward the girls without him there to help. He didn’t know what time it was, but it had yet to begin getting dark so it could be quite some time before they made their move to exact their revenge on the thieves.

  All of his thoughts of salvation ended when he felt the grasp fall on the back of his neck. He was lifted from the ground and turned to face his attacker. The skull of the canine stared back at him. It seemed to transform before his eyes. No longer was it the skull of a wolf, but now it was that of a ram. The connection with the devil was not lost on him. He was a theology major, after all.

  The killer had set aside the scythe pick axe and produced a large bowie knife. Tommy’s bladder released when the knife was plunged into his solar plexus. He felt the thick blade push through the muscle and flesh of his body. Then a splendid numbness filled him directly after it crashed through his spinal cord.

  Blood rushed up into his throat and spilled out from between his lips. His body convulsed without any control. The knife slid out of his chest and he was gently set down on the forest floor, propped with his back against the tree. Despite the creeping approaching of death he was able to see just long enough to know what the final blow would be.

  The killer raised the blood streaked blade of the bowie high and brought it down on the center of Tommy’s head. The heavy blade and the massive strength of the madman made quick work of the skull. The blade dug deep through the tissue of the brain and came out the bottom of Tommy’s jaw.

  The corpse’s bowels released, but the psycho did not pay the stench any attention. He pulled the knife free and began the busy work of carving away the front of Tommy’s skull.

  6

  Chandra refused to be the first to pass out. She knew what would happen if she gave in to the swimming darkness that was fogging her mind. The girls were all friends, but it was party rules that if you were the first to fall asleep you would be stripped naked and set out on the porch for the night.

  She was boisterous enough— at least outwardly— to make it seem like she didn’t notice that all of the other young women had better bodies than her. Inside, though, there was no way in Hell that she wanted them to see her rolls of fat. They never said anything about her size, but she knew that they thought less of her because she was not slim and beautiful like the rest of them. She was the friend that they kept around so they could feel better about being the hot girls on campus. It was necessary as it was no longer high school. Once the popularity contests of teen years ran down women felt compelled to have a homely friend to pretend that they were no longer pretentious bitches.

  To ensure that she was not the one to suffer the consequences of passing out she stopped drinking as soon as she passed the thin veil between being buzzed and outright drunk. The others were so absorbed in conversation that they didn’t notice she had discontinued spiking her Diet Coke with rum.

 
; The conversation didn’t exclude her like it would have a few years before. Though they were all discussing sexual exploits Chandra had just as many, if not a few more, stories as the rest of them. College had opened doorways to men that were no longer afraid to expose their fetishes. And even in Southern California there were plenty of men that thought a woman with a full figure was sexy.

  The only girl that had fallen silent during the conversation was Gabby. While she was no virgin she did not “get around” as much as her friends. In fact, she had been in a committed relationship with her boyfriend Eldritch since her senior year in high school. They had plans to get married as soon as he finished his law degree. Gabby would be in school for two years longer than him, planning to pursue a PhD in chemistry.

  She was a very smart girl with a perfect GPA and an instant ability to learn. Anything that she heard was immediately deposited in her memory. She spent most of her free time researching, even if the subject had nothing to do with her major.

  Coming in second to Gabby’s good girl nature was Marcy. While she had ended her relationship with Miguel a year before she had not gone sex crazy. She had only dated two men and neither of them had been fortunate enough to experience her idolized body.

  From the looks of things the loser of the contest would be Ivy. She was leaning over heavily on the floor and had already committed two party fouls. First she spilled a half glass of sex on the beach and only a moment later she had forgotten which direction to pass the bong. Her eyelids were closed nearly to slits. She continued to play with her hair absently, barely able to focus on the conversation.

  The story time had fallen on Lynne and while she seemed to be able to out-do just about all of the others most of her lurid tales were fictional. She was an English major, a degree that ensured she would be nothing with her bachelors unless she intended to teach. Her master plan was to usurp the throne of Stephanie Meyers and make a name for herself as a young adult novel author. Judging by the stories she kept coming up with, though, it was much more likely that she would find herself writing mass market paperback romance novels— or perhaps becoming a staff writer for Penthouse.

  “I met Mitch in the grocery store. I know it’s probably not a good place to go looking for guys, especially if they’re running the cash registers, but he is absolutely gorgeous. Imagine if Terry Crews and Bob Marley had a kid, that’s what he looks like. He’s got this real hippy vibe about him, too. I told him the first time I saw him I wanted to eat whipped crème off of his back.”

  “Gross!” Tracy exclaimed. Her pretty face went flush for a moment before she let out a loud belly roll.

  “You would have to see it, Trace. The dude looks like he could break a bowling ball between his shoulders. He’s absolutely enormous. And I’m not talking about just muscles, either. His dick is like the length of my forearm and probably just as thick. I didn’t even know how the hell he was going to get it inside me.”

  “I know how. You’ve had plenty of practice,” Anna said. Everyone, including Lynne, laughed at this.

  “Well unfortunately for him we never got a chance to figure out if it would fit or not. We’re getting all hot and heavy, right? And, oh my God, could that boy eat some good pussy. But then, just as he’s getting ready to stick me, he spit in his palm and rubbed it up and down his shit.”

  A loud ‘eww’ was shared by everyone in the room.

  “I know, right? I don’t know when these guys started thinking that it’s cool to treat women like we’re all hookers or porn stars, but that shit is nasty. I mean, there was a bottle of KY right there on the nightstand and instead of using it he decided he would spit on his dick. It was one of the sickest things a guy has ever done in front of me.”

  “The porn industry has completely ruined sex,” Anna said. “Men all think that women like doggy style better than any other position. And I don’t care if you’re an a-cup your tits don’t look good if you’re on all fours. And what the fuck is up with them thinking that it’s cool to shove a finger up your ass? I don’t think they realize that women in the industry give themselves enemas so they won’t shit all over the dick.”

  “And with that I think we’ve all had too much to drink,” Tracy said. “I don’t have any desire to think about a shit covered dick.”

  “Translation: Tracy likes anal,” Gabby said. An uproar of drunken laughter passed through the room when Tracy flipped Gabby the bird.

  “No way, this conversation is not over. I want to know about Gabby’s sex life,” Ivy said. “What’s it like with Eldritch? Is he a gentle lover or an S and M freak?”

  Gabby blushed and brushed one of her dreads out of her face. “He’s a gentleman all around.”

  “Bullshit!” Tracy said. “Tell them about his foot thing.”

  “Oh, ew! He’s not one of those guys, is he?” Chandra asked. “I was getting freaky with this second string football player a couple of months back. He wasn’t half bad, either. I mean the dude knew how to hit the G-spot every time he went forward. Just when I thought it was going to be the best sex of my life he pulls out, yanks off his condom and jerked off on my feet. That was weird, but when he asked me to lick his shit off my toes I about puked, Needless to say I never answered my phone when he tried to call me.”

  Gabby’s blush only grew brighter. “Ritch does have a thing for feet, but it’s not that bad. He likes to suck my toes while we’re doing it. And sometimes, as foreplay, he asks me for a foot job.”

  “What’s that?” Tracy asked. She already knew the answer, but she liked to watch Gabby squirm.

  “It’s like giving a guy a hand job only you do it with your feet. Believe it or not, it’s actually kind of sexy for me, too. He rubs my feet after and he knows all these little pressure points that can get you like instantly wet.”

  “Okay, okay, enough of the foot talk. What’s his dick like? He’s from Australia, right? Do they circumcise down there or does he have a sea cucumber?”

  “He has foreskin.”

  “Is his shit big or small?”

  “I would say it’s about average. Like six and a half, seven inches. Look at me, do you really think I could take a huge cock?”

  “Point taken,” Anna said. “Besides, I don’t know about the rest of you, but huge cocks aren’t all that great in my opinion. I was with this dude that was like nine or ten inches, he kept trying to get it all the way in, but my vagina just isn’t built for that kind of thing. I felt bad for him, it was like just the tip could fit in me.”

  “I doubt Gabby could even have taken the tip. She’s built like a third grader!” Chandra laughed.

  “Fucking right I am,” Gabby grinned. “If I could go back in time and change my answer to what I want to be when I grow up I would say ‘I just want to keep growing after thirteen.’ I can’t even ride roller coasters half of the time.”

  “Aw, poor baby,” Tracy said. She gave Gabby a little shove and the girl exaggerated the effect, acting as if she was thrown four feet.

  “Okay, this is getting lame now. Why don’t we put on a movie or something?” Marcy suggested.

  The others all agreed and began shifting positions so that they were all surrounding the television. While they looked through the assortment of DVDs that had been brought for the trip they all seemed to become instant film critics. Finally they decided on a romantic comedy with Adam Sandler.

  “Okay, new drinking game. Every time someone calls that ugly dude hot or implies that he’s good looking we all take a shot,” Tracy suggested.

  “I think Adam Sandler’s kind of cute,” Marcy frowned.

  “Of course you do, he’s a Jew!” Lynne laughed.

  “Hey, I don’t think every Jewish guy is cute. There’s no way in hell I would ever date Jonah Hill.”

  “Yeah, let’s be real about this, Adam Sandler’s kind of like the modern version of Robin Williams. He’s getting older, but he’s aging well. And he’s funny enough that you can overlook the fact that he’s not, like, hot,” Anna
said.

  “Fine! What should we drink to then?” Tracy conceded.

  They sat in silence for a moment, considering what kind of game they could play to the movie. If not for the liquor and pot already in their systems they might have been able to come up with something sooner.

  “How about we take a shot every time they do an obvious ‘sex appeal’ shot on an extra? Like a close up on a girl’s ass while she walks through the shot?” Marcy suggested.

  “Oh, that’s a good one. Let’s up the ante, though. The person that calls it first takes one shot, everyone else takes two!” Anna suggested.

  And so began a drinking game that, ultimately, would bring about the events that would unfold throughout the next twenty-four hours.

  7

  Thad and Fritz had separated from the rest of the group. They made their way slowly around the lake, sticking to the forest in case one of the girls happened to the look out the window. Once they were sure that they were a safe distance from the other men Thad set his backpack down and withdrew his .357 from it. He unlocked the bolt in the finger guard and began loading the revolver’s chambers.

  Fritz sat Indian style with his back to a tree and began loading rounds into the clips for his .22. Neither of the men spoke as they prepared their weapons. They kept an ear out for anyone approaching. There was no way the others were going to go along with their plan if they knew all of the details.

  After they had loaded the guns and ensured that the safeties were on they tucked them into their ankle holsters. The night sounds around them made the scene seem surreal. Thad had never killed anyone, but he was fairly confident that it wouldn’t make him squeamish. Fritz, on the other hand, had experience in the field of murder. He came from a long line of thugs. His life in Gary, Indiana had been full of fights and the occasional murder had never bothered him.