Crossing the Line

by Bobe, Jordan

  Aaron let the microphone fall limply, not setting it back into the cradle. He looked in Ivy’s direction. She offered him a smile that she didn’t feel. He reached out and flipped the safety back on the shotgun. After a moment’s thought he put the bolt back on the gun.

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” he said.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Ivy said.

  Aaron ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “It won’t be long. Once your friends are with the paramedics we will get the men that did this to you, okay?”

  “Those guys on the porch didn’t do anything to me.”

  “Don’t you find it odd that all of your friends came outside first and the men followed them with guns? It’s obvious that they were doing something wrong.”

  Ivy merely nodded her head. She no longer felt safe around Aaron or the other police officers. There was something going on. She wasn’t sure what exactly she had stepped into, but she knew it was much worse than just running down the street naked would have been.

  Ivy watched as her friends came across to where the six paramedics were standing. The men ushered them into the ambulances without so much as looking them over. One by one they vanished from view.

  Aaron sighed deeply as the last of the girls came across. He turned off the spotlight and closed his door. He pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it with an old fashioned Zippo lighter.

  “That’s a nice lighter,” Ivy commented.

  “It’s a family heirloom of sorts. My father gave it to me. His father gave it to him. Believe it or not, I am the first one to use it for tobacco,” Aaron said. He turned the Zippo around a few times in his hand. The antique was in pretty good condition considering its proclaimed age.

  “Are you going to call out the men now?”

  “They’ll be taken care of.”

  The answer was very unsettling, but Ivy was not sure why. It might have been the gloomy tone of voice that he used, but it seemed like a menacing statement rather than something that a police officer would normally say. Aaron drummed his hands on the steering wheel again as he watched the vehicles pulling away in his rearview mirror.

  “Those weren’t all of my friends,” Ivy said.

  “Yeah, well, those boys probably snuffed them. The other police officers will go inside once your friends are on their way to the hospital. I’m going to drive you to the hospital, too. You’re pretty banged up. By this time tomorrow I bet you all of you will be ready to go home and sleep the rest of your summer way.”

  “I doubt I’ll be doing any sleeping any time soon,” Ivy said.

  “I’m fairly confident that you will be getting plenty of sleep soon.” Again the words sounded threatening. Ivy wished she had never gotten into the car with Aaron. He had changed dramatically since talking to the other police officers. Not only in the way he was approaching her story, but in his total demeanor. Even a brief sentence sounded like a threat coming from the man.

  After the ambulances had turned around and were headed back toward the road Aaron turned over the engine and pulled up into the yard to turn around and follow them. Ivy looked in her side mirror at the house one last time. She was confident that whatever was going to happen to the men it didn’t involve any trial or incarceration.

  21

  Tracy watched as the ambulances and the police vehicle pulled away. She was crouched down low behind the tree, observing from what she assumed to be a safe distance. She had seen enough to know that she didn’t want to be “rescued” by the men. The way they had roughly pushed her friends into the back of the ambulances had told her plenty about the way they were approaching the situation.

  She had witnessed things her mind could not comprehend since fleeing from the house. First she had dashed into the “safety” of the forest only to find several mutilated corpses. Then as she approached the house again she had seen some sort of ghoulish creature climbing about on the roof. She wanted to believe the thing to be a human, but in her fear riddled mind she could not convince herself of it. He hadn’t moved like a human. Nor did he look much like one. His face was covered with a skull and he looked like a professional weight lifter or boxer. He was covered in thick muscle and almost a foot taller than the average human.

  She had watched the police vehicle pull up and thought she saw Ivy sitting in the passenger seat. A lot of time passed before the showdown on the house’s porch. Tracy had almost cried out in fear when the gunshot rang out in the middle of the night, but she managed to keep herself from yelling by biting her arm.

  The cop that had been with Ivy was adamantly against something the other officers were saying to him. Though she had been too far away to understand what they were saying she had noticed that he kept pointing to his vehicle and the house. Maybe he had seen the monster on the roof? Tracy didn’t think so. She had lost sight of the monster a few moments before the cop had pulled up.

  If it wasn’t the monster then why did he seem to despair over what was being said. She felt the way that he walked away defeated and gave the orders over the loudspeaker made it seem even more like he had witnessed the beast marching about on the roof of the house.

  There was definitely something big happening. She could feel it in her bones. She thought about trying to race after the emergency vehicles to see where they were taking her friends, but knew that with their lights flashing they would move far too fast for her to keep up with them. She was still in a good deal of pain, too. There wasn’t any way she was going to be able to keep up.

  She resolved in keeping her seemingly genius hiding place until she knew that everything had calmed down. After that she would go inside, get dressed and take the first set of car keys she could find. She would drive around for days if she had to, but she was going to find out where her friends had been taken.

  She leaned heavily against the tree and allowed her butt to rest on the ground. After a moment she caught wind of a conversation between the two officers that was not nearly as hushed as the first. She still couldn’t make out all of the words, but from what she could gather she surmised that they had no intention of seizing the men.

  “Which one was it?” one of the officers asked the other.

  “Brute. Damnedest thing, though. He’s usually the best in the field. He’ll tear anyone apart, but this time he’s only attacking the men. Something must be going on in his idiot head.”

  “Fucking dog is getting old anyway, we should put him down. We’ve got plenty of good ones out at the ranch. Ain’t no point in keeping a fucking mutt alive if he isn’t going to do what he was made to do.”

  The next few exchanges were garbled. She guessed that they had walked further away from her hiding spot.

  “Well, we’ve got to get this shit done with quick. There won’t be enough time for clean up if it doesn’t all go down tonight.”

  “Don’t worry you’re pretty little head about it, brother. We’ll get everything taken care of. If Brute doesn’t have the balls to kill the women one of the other dogs will do it for us. As for the men, they’re probably already dead in there.”

  “What do you think crawled up Aaron’s ass and died?”

  “Most likely the fact that there were so many survivors. I think he wants a piece of ass from that girl he had in the car, too. I can’t blame him, she looked like she would have a tight little pussy and those lips were made for sucking dick.”

  “Deloris ain’t going to be happy if he fucks her. He knows she hates it when he fools around with one of the renters.”

  “Yeah, but he’s her favorite so he’ll only get a slap on the wrist. That’s why he does the stupid shit that he does, because he knows he’ll be able to get away with it.”

  “That’s fucking bullshit, man. He shouldn’t get special treatment just because he is her favorite. We all bust our asses to keep this operation up and running, don’t we?”

  “Why don’t you cry about it some more, sissy? He’s the oldest and most experienced. Not
to mention he’s her kin. You knew all of that before you signed up for the job.”

  “I hope Brute just hurries up in there so we can start cleaning shit up.”

  “Be patient. You know he likes to take time with his victims. He’s an artist.”

  “He’s a fucking lunatic. Why does he always have to wear those creepy ass skulls when he’s out on a hunting trip for Deloris? It’s just goddamn spooky.”

  “Maybe he knows how ugly he is.”

  “Still creepy.”

  “That’s what makes him a good dog.”

  22

  When the attack came it was so sudden that neither Quentin nor Marty could react before blood was shed. The men were looking around for weapons when Brute leapt from the second floor landing inches away from Marty. The man barely had a chance to yell out in shock before the axe had chopped his arm off at the bicep.

  The lower portion of Marty’s arm remained attached only by the thinnest knot of muscle and skin. Blood ran freely down to the floor. The axe blade struck again, this time a few inches above the last. The second blow severed Marty’s arm just beneath the shoulder joint. Brute kicked Marty in the chest, sending him off of his feet. He crashed into a wall and fell to the floor unconscious.

  Quentin had found the fire poker and wielded it as best as he could. He dodged the first blow from the axe and leapt onto the massive man’s back. Holding on with a single arm wrapped around Brute’s throat Quentin began stabbing at the flesh of Brute’s shoulders with the pointed end of the poker.

  The killer did not scream like a man would, rather he whined like a hurt dog. He shook furiously trying his best to loosen the grasp Quentin had around his neck to no avail. Quentin reached over Brute’s shoulder and stabbed the enormous man directly in the center of his sternum. Brute howled with agony and launched himself backwards. He slammed Quentin into the wall. The blow crushed Quentin and made him loosen his grasp.

  Brute stepped away from Quentin and he fell to the ground. He coughed and blood came up from his damaged diaphragm. Brute turned to face him and stomped on his chest twice. The world swam out of focus, but Quentin was still able to see the huge man pulling the fire poker free of his barrel chest. A length of muscle came away with the fire poker. It snapped free of the iron after a moment and dangled down to the top of the killer’s belly.

  Quentin tried to sit up, but was kicked in the head for his efforts. The world grew darker around him, but he still didn’t lose consciousness. He said a silent prayer that Brute would simply drop the fire poker so he could once again arm himself. Brute did no such thing, though.

  Brute stabbed him through the shoulder with the bloody piece of iron. Pain sounded like a fog horn as Quentin was lifted from the ground by the iron. Brute slammed him against the wall and shoved the poker in deeper. There was a loud pop as the poker stabbed through his shoulder blade. Brute pressed harder against the piece of iron. It drove into the drywall and stabbed deeply into the plywood behind it.

  When Brute moved away from him Quentin was suspended by the poker. The big man slugged him across the face again. He ebbed ever closer to unconsciousness, but still wasn’t knocked out by the blow. Frustrated Brute snarled and spread his arms wide. He slammed his palms into either of Quentin’s temples. The crushing blow knocked the dangling man out instantly.

  Brute turned to where he had left Marty and saw that the man was missing. A trail of blood was easily detected, though. He followed the trail into the kitchen and found that it simply ended a few feet beyond the door. He snorted with confusion and turned back toward the living room. Perhaps a second trail would lead him to the man.

  A loud twang sounded in his head. He fell to his knees as the blow caused the world to turn gray. He moved to stand and twang another sharp blow landed at the base of his skull. The gray world turned fuzzy. He was going to be knocked out if he wasn’t careful.

  Twang, twang, TWANG!!!

  Three better placed blows landed on his head. He tried to shake the pain and loss of focus off, but it was no use. He knew what weapon was being used against him. It wasn’t the first time he had been hit in the head with a cast iron skillet. From his past experience it only took one blow landing in the perfect spot to knock him out cold.

  The next time he was struck he fell forward and purposely slowed his breath. He didn’t so much as flinch when he was kicked roughly in the ribs a half dozen times. The one armed man wanted to make damn sure he was not conscious.

  After another slap with the skillet— this time to side of his head— came quickly. After the final blow he heard Marty limping away toward the living room. As quietly as he could Brute stood and grabbed the man by the shoulder above the stump. Marty yelped in terror. Brute flung him backwards through the kitchen. He slammed roughly into the island in the center of the room, denting the door of the dish washer.

  Brute marched over to him and kicked the skillet out of his hand. He picked Marty up by the collar and slammed him into the island again. The lacquered counter top struck him in the small of the back. Brute lifted him higher and slammed him down on the countertop. He forced the young man to lie down with a single hand.

  Marty surprised Brute by quickly wrapping his legs around the killer’s elbow. He twisted his thighs deliberately, shattering Brute’s elbow. He whined in agony and then snarled with fury. Brute lifted Marty up from the counter top and slammed him back down, causing the crack to widen. Marty’s legs grew limp around his arm and Brute pulled it free with ease.

  He snapped his elbow back into place. He slugged Marty across the face four times, knocking the man out after the second but not feeling content. He bent down and picked up the skillet after he was sure Marty was incapacitated.

  Marty’s eyes snapped open as soon as Brute slapped him across the lips with the heavy pan. He felt a dozen of his teeth snap off at the gums. Blood filled his mouth. He spat it out and realized that he had spat out his teeth, too. A second slam with the heavy pan caused him to lose another half dozen teeth.

  Brute forced Marty’s mouth open and shoved the skillet between his bleeding gums. He slammed his palm onto the other side of the skillet. Marty heard his jawbone crunch. It echoed through his head. The last of his teeth were crushed to pieces and ran down his throat along with a warm spill of blood.

  Brute pulled the skillet out of Marty’s mouth and tossed it over his shoulder. The killer dragged him over to the end of the countertop and dangled his head over the edge. He punched Marty in the face, breaking his nose and causing his neck to strain. Marty howled in agony and his bladder let loose.

  Brute crossed the kitchen and pulled a meat cleaver out of the knife block sitting next to the fridge. He gently placed Marty’s remaining arm a few inches away from his torso. He raised the cleaver up and brought it down on the cusp of his arm and shoulder. The semi-dull blade made a deep gouge in the flesh. Marty was already half dead from blood loss from the loss of his first arm.

  Brute pulled the blade free and chopped the arm again. The second blow made blood spray in multiple directions. The cleaver chinked off of the countertop. Brute picked up the severed arm and carried it around the island. Marty’s head still dangled as if his neck was broken. He used the severed appendage to slap Marty across the face a half dozen times.

  Marty sobbed in a series of loud whines. Brute shoved Marty’s arm into his open mouth. The sobs were suddenly muffled. Brute punched him on the chin again. There was a loud, moist snap as Marty’s neck broke. His bowels loosened then, filling the room with a god awful stench.

  Brute marched over to where the skillet had fallen and picked it up off of the floor. He marched back to Marty and reared the skillet back as far as his arm would reach. He slammed the flat bottom of the pan against the hand at the end of Marty’s severed arm. Marty gagged loudly around the thick appendage. He shook his head from side to side, trying to make it impossible for the next blow to land as desired.

  Brute swung the pan again and the bloody stump hit the back
of Marty’s throat. He felt the thin fabric of his throat and tonsils burst open. Blood rushed up toward the stump, but had nowhere to go past the obstruction. He soon felt the disheartening reality that he was choking to death on his own blood.

  The killer walked over to counter and picked up the meat cleaver again. He appraised Marty’s torso for a moment before deciding where to place the blow. With a quick downward swing he tore a deep gouge out of Marty’s midriff. A second blow shattered three ribs and drove deep into the tissue of the lungs. The third and final blow sliced deep into the bottom of his belly and cut into his bowels.

  Brute left the man to drown, dropping the cleaver just as he was pushing open the door leading back to the living room.

  He snarled with fury when he saw that Quentin was no longer hanging from the wall. There was no path of blood to follow this time. He moved cautiously forward, snarling again when he saw that the fire poker had replaced his axe.

  Knowing the young man hadn’t fled out the front door only gave him a couple of options. He either exited out into the night through the back door or he went upstairs. Brute rushed up the stairs and found no sign of Quentin in any of the bedrooms. He flipped the beds with ease and tore the doors off of every closet. Still, he found no sign of where his last target had gone.

  He knew that meant that the man had fled outside. He leapt from the landing again and ran to the back door. The sliding glass had been left open a crack. He pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped out onto the deck. He hadn’t even stepped outside before the axe head struck him in the abdomen. He growled with pain and fell to his knees, but took a strong hold on the handle of the weapon at the same time.

  Quentin tried to free his grasp on the axe and when he realized he couldn’t out power the madman he drop kicked him in the skull-covered face. The skull shattered, driving pieces of broken bone deep into Brute’s face. The remaining pieces of bone fell away and made a small pile between Brute’s legs.