Killing Room

by Shawn Raiford

  I was still looking for that damn knife but I hadn't seen it. Maybe Edward picked it when I wasn't looking. No telling where it scampered off to.

  Wobbly, Henry stood up.

  Edward grabbed Henry's arm and slammed it on the edge of the desk. At about the midpoint of Henry's forearm, it bent to the side. From what I remembered about human anatomy, forearms weren't supposed to bend. Henry cried out in pain. Both of his knees buckled; he dropped to the floor faster than a sinner in a Pentecostal church.

  “Oh, that’s it. Scream for me, pig!” Edward demanded.

  Henry looked up and said, "Fuck you, you dickless coward!"

  My chest swelled. Even with Edward in his face, and a broken arm, my brother did not back down. The psycho punched him, and my brother reluctantly dropped. Henry tried to get back up, but collapsed, and did not move from his spot.

  The psychopath pointed at me. ”I will make some room for one of your boys here on my table. I’ll let you choose which goes first.”

  We were running out of time. If I had to pick, it would Mitch. Obvious choice, Mitch would agree with me. Am I about to hear his blood-curdling scream while being tortured? My brother? Before any of that shit happened, I'd to my best to kill Mitch and my brother; I couldn't let them die like that.

  Edward began unstrapping Kathleen's headless corpse. The ankles were first. "You know, little girl, the camera has been recording all this time. Barry will have fun editing the video. There will be enough footage to make a long movie. It will be my best ever!”

  I ignored him.

  The impact with the wall took a lot out of me. Another minute or two and I'd be ready. I couldn't trade punches with him. Brass knuckles would have evened things up. But I cleaned out my car, and like an idiot I didn't put any of the weapons back.

  Over the years, I had fought dozens of men, and most of them were bigger, faster, and always stronger than me. But, I had always been prepared. Prepared to fight; prepared to kill. Entering this warehouse unprepared was one of my biggest mistakes. And it cist Kathleen her life. Next would be Mitch and my brother, but we weren't done yet—I was still breathing.

  Edward looked at me and frowned. "Do you still think you're getting out of here, little girl?"

  The tone of his question: arrogance. Pissed me off. My hands balled. ”Yes, but I'll kill you before walking out that door.” I sincerely believed those words.

  He chuckled, bringing his attention to the stubborn strap. After a minute, he finished unstrapping the wrists and tossed the torso to the side, on the other side of Henry.

  Edward glanced at me, and held his hands out. "Who'll it be?"

  "Fuck you! Your mama's next!"

  "She's dead, my dad killed her with a hammer," he said.

  "You come from such a loving family, Eddie?"

  “Since you chose this one, I'll start with him,” he said, walking over to Mitch and picking him up by the shirt.

  "I haven't picked anyone!" I yelled.

  He shrugged.

  Was this it? I couldn't believe it. We were going to die at the hands of this psycho. I didn't mind dying, but Henry needed to keep living, make me some more nieces and nephews.

  My body hurt, but I needed to do something. I rocked forward onto my hands and knees. All my joint ached. Then, in front of me, I saw something directly in the spot Mitch laid a few seconds before.

  Just a couple feet away: the knife! It glistened in the low light. After Mitch kicked him, and Edward brought him over here, Edwards must've covered the knife when he threw Mitch.

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins. My head was clearing. Death wasn’t coming for us.

  Then Edward plopped Mitch down onto the table, not paying any attention to me. As he strapped his ankles down, Mitch woke and began fighting back. He was able to get in a couple of licks in before Edward punched him and he fell quiet again.

  Quietly, the knife went in my back pocket. While strapping Mitch's arms down, I said, “Edward!”

  As he turned, I sent a lazy kick towards him, but he caught my bare foot with both hands. My legs were at a one-hundred-twenty degree angle from one another. If needed, I could stretch my legs more than one hundred eighty degrees. Being limber was great for a girl's sex life. Also it came in handy when fighting a psycho serial killer who made snuff films.

  I hoped on one foot—the one with the boot.

  "Oh! I caught your foot, little girl! What you going to do now?” he said, laughing.

  He didn't know, but I had him exactly where I wanted him. Even big men, such as Edward, tended to use both hands when they caught a foot like this, it was a human reflex. But it made their faces vulnerable.

  My move was quick. I jumped, bringing up the leg I was standing on—I torqued my hips. Physics took over—my booted foot arced, and smacked his face hard.

  His head whipped to the side, and he released my foot. "Ouch, fuck!"

  My arms and legs spread out catlike; I landed in a four-point stance. He turned away, grabbing his jaw.

  Pushing myself up, I stood upright. It hurt to step. I aggravated my hip, the one Edward landed on when we tumbled down the stairs, but now I had renewed sense of purpose.

  Pushing the pain aside, I asked, "Did that hurt, Eddie?"

  He turned around. Whenever you kick someone with a spiked boot, you were going to leave a mark. Blood trickled out of the wound on Edward’s face. He moved his jaw from side to side; a filling might have been knocked loose.

  His hands dropped down to his sides. Edward took a step backward, leaning against a section of the wall next to the door. He spit a bloody glob onto the floor.

  "You tagged him good!" Mitch said. "Kick his ass!"

  ”You alright, Eddie?" Every second that passed, brought me more confidence. He was visibly dazed, and I didn't want to give him any time to catch his snap, so I moved in.

  Pulling the knife from my back pocket, I moved in close. Swung the blade at his neck. Surprisingly, he blocked it. The back of his hand blocking the knife, but also catching me on the side of the head. Losing the grip of the knife and dropping it, I stumbled backwards a couple of steps.

  "Fuck you," Edward mumbled, shutting his eyes.

  He did not see me drop the knife. Taking in a couple of deep breaths, I picked it. He swung a meaty fist at me, but I saw it coming. Over reacting a little, I dropped onto the floor, landing on my back too hard, slightly hitting the back of my head. "Shit!"

  Three feet away from me, he saw me and probably thought I was in defenseless position—not the case. He slowly brought up his right leg. He wanted to squash me.

  Before he did any squashing, I rotated my body and pushed my weight up onto my left elbow, raising my knife hand. I stabbed him through his jeans, twisting the blade into the meat of his inner thigh near his crotch.

  "FUCK!" Edward bellowed.

  Immediately, I saw blood. Lots of it.

  He lowered his foot, stomping on my shoulder.

  "Fuck!" I yelled, rolling away from him.

  Positive of his victory, Edward glared down at me. "I told you that—” he stopped talking.

  By the amount of blood coming out, the blade cut deep enough; his pant leg was drenched. He didn't know it, but it was only a matter of seconds now: I killed him.

  Falling to his knees, he winced, he asked, "You cut my—"

  "Yes, Edward, I severed your femoral artery. You are bleeding to death."

  “But—"

  "You don't have much time left."

  Edward tried getting up, but he fell backward, slamming against the floor. Blood kept leaking out of his inner thigh. With every heartbeat, Edward got closer to death.

  Still holding the knife, I knelt down next to him. I got close to his ear. “Edward."

  His eyes stared straight up. “You bi—“

  "My name is Chloe Creed. And I wanted you to know that a woman killed you." Just before I plunged the knife's blade into his throat, he eyes focused and he stared into my eyes.

&
nbsp; To make sure he was dead, I sawed upward through his Adam's apple. By the time my blade was free, Edward stopped breathing. I rose to my feet, flipped him off, and walked over to help my brother.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  One less

  "I WONDER HOW MANY he killed in all," Mitch said.

  Henry mumbled, "Probably dozens." He told me that he watched what I did.

  Mitch and I nodded our heads in silence. I found my wig and put back on, didn't want to leave it here. I liked it

  The police might be able to come up with a total number of victims, eventually, but I doubted it. This animal had been brutalized women for years; no telling how many he killed before he started recording. Mitch mentioned they would turn over any and all records of financial transactions over to the FBI. They had the resources to find the men who bought the snuff films in other states and around the world.

  At the moment, all I cared about was the bottle Mitch and I were sharing. The dizzying affect of the alcohol was nice. Sitting in the corner, I took another swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels. Mitch found it, unopened, in a box, under the table. The drink helped with the stink of death in the room. No telling how many blood types and DNA samples would be found in here when the crime scene techs got to work.

  Mitch held a hand out, wanting the bottle. I handed it over. He grabbed it and took a pull. I patted his knee. “Hey, I’m not the kind of bitch to tell anyone to stop drinking, but you know the paramedics will want to give pain meds?"

  He shrugged. "And?"

  "Meds don't work well with booze in your bloodstream. Or so I've been told.”

  Handing the bottle back to me, Mitch said, “Okay, I'll stop drinking."

  "Guess it hurts pretty bad." I took a swig.

  He sighed. "Everything feels broken on the inside.”

  I smiled.

  Raising a hand, he grinned. "But I'll live."

  His bloodied face looked like it hurt. I made a fuss until he let me look at his wounds. He had several little cuts covering the left side of his face. After he healed, Mitch might have a scar or two.

  No way to cover all this up; couldn't just make Edward's body disappear. My brother and Mitch had to call it in. Medical treatment was required; both were in bad shape. But they were not beyond saving—my guys were too stubborn to die. Henry, who's eye was darkening and swelling by the minute, said he wanted to make another baby or two with Julie and Mitch said he still hadn't met his next ex-wife.

  For me, I was healthy. No big gaping wounds, or cuts on my body or broken bodies. Sure, I had some bruises, but I'd heal. All I needed was some rest; not necessary for me to go to the hospital.

  Henry called Julie and told her what happened, and she yelled at him for not calling in backup. Henry even held out his phone so Mitch and I could hear Julie yelling at him. My sister-in-law loved him, and did not want anything to happen to Henry, and was only yelling at him because she was scared. After Julie had time to calm down, she would learn who and what Edward Rawlings was and what he did to all those women. It did not make sense for Henry to inform his lovely wife of my presence in the warehouse. Too complicated.

  Glancing up at the table, I spotted her arm. Kathleen died in my place, but I did not feel bad about it. Her stupidity saved my life. What could I do about it now? Nothing. Mitch sat about five feet away from me, and held out his hand, wanting the bottle. I handed it to him, and he took it. He held the bottle up to his lips and took a big swig.

  Henry moved slowly, but he moved. Besides his arm being broken, his leg was hurt too, but he wouldn’t tell me. Men were genetically predisposed to not inform females how much pain they were in. Dummies, they didn’t even tell their sisters.

  Before calling this shit storm in, Mitch wanted Henry to search the place first, and secure the video that Edward recorded when he grabbed me and Kathleen. He did not want it logged into evidence. Henry retrieved the video and destroyed it.

  “You never came here, all right?” Henry told me.

  Mitch nodded. "Yes, you never showed up here, Chloe. It would only make our jobs harder to explain your presence. It's just easier if me and your brother were here alone with fucknuts there," Mitch said, staring at Edward's dead body.

  I had zero problems with that. "Do not worry, guys. I don't want to have to explain any of this shit to anybody."

  Henry had taken off his shirt and I helped him to fashion it as a sling for his broken arm. At the moment he was busy searching the desk. When he found a screwdriver, occupied the bottom drawer, I silently chided myself for not even thinking of looking in there. Not that I give myself a pass on any of this, but I was way out of my element tonight. I am always in charge. Moments, only a few, where I was scared shitless. Not that I am afraid of dying, hell there are days when I welcome it, but tonight I was scared at being tortured. In a place like this, made it worse.

  Henry, nor Mitch, didn't ask me why I didn't search the drawer. The were being nice about everything. Since the giant psycho was dead, no one was trying to find blame or fault. Whatever. Life goes on, I guess.

  “Nothing?” Mitch asked.

  Henry shrugged.

  Mitch waved him off. “Come on, we did good, guys. You convinced me to go check out Edward, here in his shop of horrors, after speaking with Janice.” That would be the story.

  Both would be in the hospital for a while not working cases. Which Mitch looked forward to, he wanted to catch up on some Netflix shows, and Henry only wanted to catch up on sleep and read J.A. Konrath novel he had be meaning to read for the last six months. My job for the next day or two would be to play some violent video games, and eat cheeseburgers and tacos—might throw in a pizza and a bottle of scotch.

  Henry poked his head up. “Found something!” He pulled out a few thumb drives. “Hidden under a false bottom in the drawer.” He pulled everything out, including a Hewlett Packard laptop and its power cord. Henry tried turning it on, but the laptop was dead. He found a power outlet behind the desk and plugged the laptop in and turned it on. The power cord was long enough and allowed Henry some distance, so he sat Indian style next to me and Mitch. Then he inserted the first thumb drive into the USB port. He used his index finger on the small touchpad and clicked on the thumb drive icon.

  Several files popped up on the screen. Video files. Each one was labeled with a brief description like, "Brown, skinny, light brown hair." Or, "White, thick, blonde hair." Some had "Corner whore" or "Drug user". One of the descriptions even had, "Glasses." Edward definitely did not discriminate. All descriptions followed with six digits.

  Henry winced. "What do the numbers mean? Dates?"

  Mitch said, "Yes, those are the dates they made each movie."

  I nodded. "Sounds right."

  Henry sighed, and clicked on a file labeled, "White corner whore, drug user, skinny." It was dated a little over a year ago. A video program that I was not familiar with, popped up. I reached over and pushed the volume button, all the way up. Henry pushed play and the first thing we heard were horrifying screams. A woman's screams, then words appear in a creepy font moving across the screen. "The Whore Gets What She Deserves!"

  "This is Barry's part of the business. He told me he only edited the movies," I said.

  Mitch scoffed, taking a swig.

  The words scrolled up and a blonde, thin woman lay on the table (the table in this room) came into view. She was on her back and had a swollen left eye, and screaming. Edward's face turned away from the camera.

  I looked over at his corpse in front of us; I smiled jubilantly. Over the years, he got away with a lot, but not anymore. Worm food now.

  In the video, a thin strip of red ran down the length of her left leg. He had removed a thin strip of skin. A phantom pain ran up my leg. Loud and boisterous, Edward's laughter was audible under the screams. His shoulders shook like a battle ship on rough water, as he laughed.

  He used one arm to hold down her right leg and proceeded to cut and remove the skin above her kneecap. H
e tossed the skin to the side like he did with Kathleen's foot. In the next eleven minutes and eighteen-seconds he removed three other strips of skin along her leg. Then he flipped her over. We watched the entire movie. In the end, Edward killed the woman by using the power drill on her neck. Finally, she bled out.

  "Who was this guy?" Mitch asked. "Seriously! How evil was his man?"

  Monster, I thought.

  Henry checked the other thumb drives. All of them had been full of video files. Rawlings tortured women dozens of women. Over a period of years.

  I sighed. “How many video files are there in all?”

  He scratched his chin. “I count thirty-seven separate video files. But we'll have to let the computer techs look at this and they'll let us know.”

  The blood left my my face and traveled elsewhere in my body. “Thirty-seven?”

  He nodded.

  Mitch gazed into my eyes. For a moment, I was lost in them. But I found my way back. I needed to find my boyfriend and have him ravish me three straight days. I needed to get away from Mitch, he represented too much temptation. At the moment, I felt weak. Maybe Mitch knew that. Sexy fucker.

  “Glad he didn’t hurt you, Chloe,” Mitch said. He tried to raise his bad arm, but winced and gave up.

  Smirking, I hit him on his good arm. Taking another swig, I hiked up my shoulders. “Yeah, me too.” Killing Edward was a good thing, hell, a great thing, but it felt like using a teaspoon to empty a sinking boat.

  Mitch winced and said, “I guess it's time we check on Janice.” He fidgeted about and tried to stand. "Damn it!"

  I put both hands on his shoulders, holding him down. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt? Henry's going to call this in a minute, then the ambulance will be here shortly after that to give you pain meds. You'll be feeling no pain soon. Henry and I will go check on her."

  Mitch nodded and grabbed the bottle.