"Wow!"
The kitchen was huge. Every surface was made of steel or black marble granite and everything sparkled. The oven, a six-hob machine, sat boldly at the back of the room, parallel to a huge, central island counter topped with black marble. Various utensils hung above it, within an extended hand’s reach. The double fridge was black and clean, so clean he could see a distorted reflection of himself in it. Every worktop was spotless and immaculate, bordered by smaller appliances like toasters, coffee machines and various foods like bread, cookies and spices. A knife rack sat angled in a corner.
Emma stepped over to two grease-darkened sacks that sat on the central island. A puff of steam rose from within. She took out two cheeseburgers, three portions of fries and a bag of onion rings. Emma laughed. "I thought you said you didn’t like burgers?"
"I said no such thing. I simply prefer fine dining to burgers. There's a difference."
"Don’t tell me there's an enema in here too?"
They laughed in unison.
Emma took two plates from a slot in the counter below her. She organized the food on the plates. "Want some bread?"
"Because a burger doesn’t have enough?" Jack smiled.
"No, for the fries. Or a chip butty as the English call it?"
"Chips? They're fries."
"The English call them chips. Pie and chips, guvnor!"
"That’s either informative or blatantly racist."
"Do you want some bread or not?" Emma leered, leaning on the counter, looking back over her shoulder. Jack ran his eyes over her form, the curve of her breasts, leaning over the food they were about to consume. The arch in her back, her thighs—hardly contained in a pair of red jean shorts—and her toned, slender arms. She looked heavenly. Her hair cascaded down her back. His eyes met hers.
"I can eat it cold," he said.
Emma smiled. "At least something will be cold." She turned and walked towards him, her leg left gave way and she winced.
"You okay?" Jack asked.
"Yeah, I'm…fine."
Jack stepped forward. "Why are you limping? It looks like it hurts."
"Nothing really. Popped a kneecap a few days back. No biggie."
"Did you get a doctor to check it? You look too young and hot to have arthritis but, hey, you never know."
Emma placed her hands on Jack's shoulders and kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her skin was smooth and cool and smelt of strawberries. Her lips were moist and soft, her tongue urgent and probing. Her hands moved to his back and lowered to his belt buckle. With a few swift swipes, his belt was loose and his trousers clattered on the black tiles below. Emma was breathing hard. "Do you want me?"
"What do you think?"
Emma knelt down and took him in her mouth, his penis entered a warm, moist cavern. Her tongue flicked over his manhood, teasing the tip. Jack arched his back and groaned, placing his hand in her hair. Then it was over as she stood up and kissed him again. "Hmmmm, that's going to feel amazing when it’s in my cunt."
Jack moaned. "What's stopping you?"
"In due course. There's no point in rushing it. We have all night."
Emma took Jack's hand and slid it in her jean shorts. His fingers touched the soft, velvety flesh of her thighs before being forced higher. His fingers caressed a slick wetness and Emma moaned, closing her legs on his slippery fingertips. She took his fingers out and placed them in her mouth. She sucked them and slid them out slowly. "God, I taste amazing."
Jack's eyes were wide. "I bet you do."
Emma smiled, licking her lips. She cupped his balls in her palm and squeezed gently. Jack gasped and moaned, surprised and aroused at the same time. Her hand closed around his penis and she started to stroke up and down.
Her eyes met his, watching him. He saw a darkness materialize, fill her eyes, possess her. The smile on her amazing lips arched into a grin, then a grimace and finally a scowl. He heard her teeth clamp down, clattering against each other. The eyes were dark, but not with arousal.
They were dark with hatred and pain.
He didn’t see her pull the knife out of her waistband.
She placed it under his erect penis and leant in close. "I wouldn’t move if I were you."
Jack froze, lost in the sensation of her hand masturbating him to an erection. He looked at her face, which no longer glowed with joy or lust. Hard lines had formed under her eyes and mouth. Lines born from pain and neglect and suffering.
Her eyes were dark and void like in the fluorescent lights.
What the fuck?
Her warm palm released him and his penis sagged a little, lowering across the cool, unforgiving blade. The cold shock made him shudder. He gasped. All warmth and arousal seeped from his body within seconds. He felt his penis become flaccid and hoped the knife wasn’t too sharp.
Emma placed her mouth by his ear. "Stand still. Very, very still."
Jack did as instructed. "Why…"
Emma chuckled. The laugh oozed with evil, brimmed with vehemence. "Why? Oh, that's the important question. Luckily for you, Jack, you're the last one, so I have no qualms about telling you. Shift to the right a little, will you?"
Jack, on tiptoes, at the behest of the twitching blade on his genitals, shuffled right. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. He staggered to breathe, trying to keep calm.
Emma placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Right, before we do this, one warning. I got my limp because the last fucker I dealt with, the last fucker who decided to fight and deny his fate, got clever. He busted my knee, but I cut his head off and left his body to the vermin in the basement. Are you going to attack me if I take this knife away?"
Jack said nothing. Emma raised the knife, lifting his now limp penis an inch with the blade. He breathed in sharply. "No, no, no, no!"
Emma narrowed her eyes. "You sure?"
"For fuck sake, yes!"
Emma removed the blade and held it to Jack's face. "You have fair warning. Now, pull your fucking pants up. Your cock is disgusting." As if to emphasize the point, Emma spat on the ground beside her. Jack bent down and hooked his belt with his hands, pulling his trousers up. He buckled his belt, zipped his fly and brushed himself down. Emma stared at him, leaned in and opened a door beside him. "In you go."
Jack hesitated. His eyes were glued to Emma. He didn’t move.
"What're you waiting for?"
"You first." Jack cursed himself silently for saying it. She has a knife, you fucktard!
"You think you're in charge here? Get!"
Jack flinched and stepped through the doorway. Emma shoved him in the back and walked in behind him. She closed the door. Blackness swallowed them. A plastic click and a light turned on overhead, dim, yellow.
Emma stepped past Jack and picked up a battered and blood-soaked dining chair. She placed it on the floor before him. "Sit."
Jack ambled to the chair and lowered his rump onto it. Emma nodded and stepped in front of him. She said nothing.
"What do you want?" Jack placed his hands on his thighs. Keep calm; don't antagonize her. There might be a way out.
Emma stroked her chin, waving the knife by her side. "Me? I have everything I've ever wanted…now. It took me some time, but I finally have it. My life mission is now complete."
"You're twenty three…"
"Wrong. I'm thirty-five. Fooled you once." Jack's eyes widened. He didn’t say anything. Emma chuckled. "Not bad, huh? I get by on my looks and my ways. I mean, look at you. You were a lovesick puppy with a literal bone when you turned up here tonight. Bet you couldn’t wait to dive into my cunt. By the way, none of that make-up and beauty treatment shit works. Just water is fine, works wonders. Keeps my skin looking young. Mind you, that could be all the blood too…" Emma trailed off.
Jack didn’t want to ask, but he had no choice. Keep the conversation going. "Blood?"
"Yes, I bathe in the blood of my victims. It's quite liberating. Feeling the warm, crimson fluids washing away the sweat and toi
l of the kill. I don’t recommend it for hemophobics though."
Jack licked his lips. The bitch is insane. "So you're a serial killer?"
Emma laughed, hard. Jack flinched a little. After a moment, Emma settled. "My, my, Jack. You know nothing. Nothing personal, people in general are born stupid nowadays."
Jack remained silent. He let his eyes roam the darkness, looking for a possible way out. Beyond the dim bulb that burned above his head, he saw just shadow and shapes. Nothing that resembled a door or window.
"You're looking for a way out? Don’t bother. I've seen that look a hundred times. Well, five times to be exact. A hundred? I'm not a monster. I can control my urges…sometimes. But, people are predictable. Normally takes them a few minutes to start looking."
Jack moved his eyes back to Emma. She hobbled in close and leaned down in front of him. "There's nothing like a kill and there's nothing like soaking in the blood of someone who's spent their last moments on earth running from you, petrified or otherwise."
She leaned in closer.
Jack could see down her top, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Before, this would have been arousing. Now, Jack felt sick to his stomach. Emma had her lips beside his ear. He could feel her warm breath on his neck. "Have you ever masturbated in a blood bath? I'm telling you, there's nothing like it. I'm a squirter too so that's always fun. Writhing in the hot blood of your victims and ejaculating into it. Heaven! I would recommend it, but hey, look where you are."
Emma stood up and hobbled away. "Besides, men wanking in the bath is fucking disgusting." She laughed.
"Why are you doing this?" Cliché, thought Jack. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He squirmed in his seat, sweaty and uncomfortable. With her back turned, he swiped at his forehead, wiping away the sweat.
Emma turned. "Is this the bit in the movies where the bad guy tells his whole plan so it buys the good guy some time?"
Jack said nothing. Cliché indeed.
"It is, isn't it? Very well, so be it. You know the difference between me and the people in the movies, Jack?"
"You have better tits?"
Emma howled. "You're a funny guy. I was thinking that when I drove away after our date. If I were a normal woman, I would fuck you five ways from Sunday, every day. What's the abbreviation? G.S.O.H? That word they put in the personal ads? Apparently, it gets women all wet and slutty. I can understand why, dropping our inhibitions and shit. We all love a funny fucker."
Jack remained silent. He continued staring at Emma. Don’t show your fear. Put her off and catch her out.
"The difference is simple. I don’t give a shit. I don’t care about getting caught and I'm not going to leave you here in a burning building or a trap or whatever people use in the movies nowadays. Nope, I'm going to watch you squirm and kill you myself. Then, I'm going to fess up and display my masterpiece to everyone in the world." Emma walked over to Jack and cupped his chin in her sweaty palm. "So I don’t give a fuck about you. Whatever happens tonight, I will be killing you. You got that?" Emma released him.
"What if I try to escape?"
"You said you wouldn’t?"
"What if I lied?"
"Then you're a fucking moron. Couldn’t give a fucking shit either way. You ain't going anywhere. Besides, something tells me you'll want to stay for the show."
"What show?"
"I'm glad you asked. Shall we get started?"
Jack resisted answering and looked behind Emma.
"Once upon a time…there was a woman called Grace. That’s me, by the way, Emma, pffft what a fucking pathetic name. Fooled you twice. Anyway, I had two parents. Loving, doting, caring. My parents were the fucking world to me. However, when I was fifteen, just blossoming into a woman, my parents died in a car accident. A semi-truck hit them head on and killed them. My life changed. On my eighteenth birthday, after a couple of hellish years in foster homes, the will and testament transferred over to me…and I received six million dollars."
Jack shuffled in his seat. Emma smiled. "By the way, my parents were filthy fucking rich. But, you read books and have a modicum of intelligence, that might seem obvious from my previous statement. So, I was rich and no longer needed care. I moved out and bought this house. It’s been mine ever since."
"I thought you got it in the will?"
"Jack, what are you, retarded? Have you not figured out that I lied to you yet? You should dismiss most of the stuff I told you before I sucked your cock. It was pillow talk…so to speak. I was playing you. Now, where were we? Oh yes…so Grace is rich and lonely and a bit pissed off. After all, her folks were taken from her and, as a result, she went into a foster home with a pervert and a whore. They treated Grace as such too…it wasn't pleasant."
"I'm sorry," Jack said, meaning it.
"Are you really? Well, excuse me if I don’t believe you. Deception is a common trait in my life. Keep it hushed. All of the 'it'll be alright' as he slipped his cigarette-tinged fingers under my nightgown and 'he doesn't mean any harm' as my foster mother touched me up and tried to pimp me to her drug pushers. You know what that can do to a kid?"
"Well, I meant it. I'm sorry."
"Fuck you."
Jack said nothing.
"Anyway, I had money to burn. Therefore, I hired a private investigator. Turns out, the police investigation into my parents’ death was left unsolved. The guy got away with it. The police just couldn’t be bothered to investigate. Therefore, he walked away. Turns out my parents’ killer was fond of the bottle. So, I not only suffered at the hands of my foster parents, but the person who put me there—and probably didn’t even know—was walking around, guzzling the hooch and shooting the breeze. Tell me, Jack, do you think that's fucking fair?"
Jack shook his head. He said nothing again. Poor woman, he thought.
"So, that was three people on my shit list. But, it gets worse. As well as the incompetence of the police, apparently the lawyers were bent too. So not only did they fail my parents and take their money from my trust fund, but apparently they thought we had it coming. Actual words from someone I spoke to about it. 'Rich people deserve what they get', I think was the correct expression. Obviously, the lawyer didn’t know who I was. The state put a rookie on the case too, all those years ago. A rookie who sold out to the money in my account and stitched my dead parents up because no one could defend them. No evidence, apparently. Traitorous cunts. Tell me, Jack, do you think that's fair?"
"I already said no. I'm on your side."
"Ha, nice try. You're sweet…shame. Anyway, that's when I decided to do something about it. I started with the hit and run driver. I found him drunk in a bar, out of his face. He wasn't hard to track down. I turned up, showed him some cleavage and within minutes we were due to fuck in the cab of his truck. I slipped a pill in his beer, he fell asleep on my tits and I brought him back here. I chopped his head off and danced in the blood."
Jack felt bile rising in his throat. He held back, looking at the ground. Emma danced around him. "That make you feel queasy? Sheesh, I haven’t even gotten started yet."
Jack nodded. Emma turned her back to him. He risked a glance again, looking for a way out. He wondered if he could escape through the door behind them. The way they'd come in.
Possibly.
It was a short run to the front door, out onto the drive and into his car.
Emma turned back around. "It didn’t stop there. You're not wearing a wire, are you?"
A confused look crossed Jack's face. "Huh?"
"Just kidding. They say it in the movies all the time. I've always wanted to say that. Like jumping in a cab and asking them to follow that car. Epic. Anyway, next up was the police."
Jack balked in his chair, his eyes widened and he sagged. Emma noticed. "What?" Her prisoner said nothing, simply looking away in disgust. Emma smiled slyly. "They had it coming, did you not hear my story?"
"You killed a police officer?" Jack opened and closed his mouth, gasping for air.
"No,
I killed two. I butchered them. They were so much fun. You know how much testosterone flies back and forth between two cops? My God, I thought I was going to grow a pair of balls just listening to them. I'll tell you, their descriptions of women? Puts porn to shame. Mind you, that just made my job easier."
Jack said nothing.
"Ever walk up to two cops, beer and chips flowing, and show a bit of leg? I thought they were going to bend me over right there in the bar. But, I managed to keep them hooked enough to get them back here. That's when the fun started. No, I didn’t fuck them. I did make one of them fuck his partner in the ass with a strap on though. Over and over, until his anus bled and his squeals faded to nothing. Massive internal trauma…mind you, the dildo was a cactus so…"
"You're fucking sick."
"No, I'm fine, I got myself checked out. Call me curious...yeah, that's a better description. Anyway, one of the cops run away, into the basement, funnily enough. That’s the fucker who popped my knee. I hunted him down and slaughtered him. Then I returned to the cop with a pain in his ass. He tried blocking an axe swing with his arm. I never saw a forearm slice so easily. His arm bounced off the wall like a newspaper smacking the porch. Hilarious. He fell into the bathtub too. That’s when I discovered blood baths.”
“Emma…”
“Grace, Emma is such a disgusting name.”
“Then why use…never mind, this is getting us…”
“Am I boring you? Is the weird little rich kid annoying you with her stories? Well, fuck you, Jack. Fuck you and your righteous values. You don’t know me.”
Emma stepped forward and punched Jack in the face. The sound of the strike filled the room. Jack groaned as a glob of blood spewed from his lip, spattering his chest. Emma stepped back, waving her hand, shaking off the pain. “Fuck me, you have a strong jawline. It’s going to be a shame to waste you.”
Jack spat blood on the floor. “Why the fuck am I here?”
“Well, that’s the important question. But first, let me tell you about my foster father. Now, my foster mother, she was a drug addict. She didn’t know what she was doing half of the time; heroin does that to you. My foster father, however…he was teetotal. He knew every single sick fucking thing he did to me." Emma shuddered at the thought. "So, he went next. Not before I lopped his penis off with a pair of garden shears though."
Whispers - Volume 1: A Collection Page 11
