by Steven King
Jeffery only mumbled at the whispered words of Henry, fear and pain now rampant throughout every inch of his pathetically tortured stump. Chris had ensured that no single part of him remained untouched throughout the night, and it had only been through the persistent patch work of Doctor Peterson, that the limbless sufferer remained alive.
Andre was also conscious, missing a face, and had long since lost his mind to the nails, the rat, the blow torch, the pliers and the pincers. Andre drooled and stared ahead vacantly, no longer caring who he was, where he was or what he had become.
Peter, having succumbed to his injuries, was now little more than a rotting corpse, smothered in a thousand cigarette burns, and lying in the trunk, its stench only barely muted by the preserving cold. The blood stained head of Murial lay next to it, bouncing around like some hideous ping pong ball, tapping every so often off the trunk roof each time Chris bounced over a bump or a pot hole.
“You better not be thinking of double crossing me,” spat out Chris, still unsure of the doctors agenda. “Don’t think that once we get the money, you can slip me
cyanide instead of pain killers or medicine. If I catch you trying to do it, you’ll end up like stumpy over here.”
“I’m not greedy,” assured the good doc. “Ten mil each is more than enough for either of us. Besides, I have a sickness. Just like all the others that love to see people tortured, I also enjoy watching that so very ,very, very much. You’re just so damn good and making people suffer that it would be crazy to let you die. I’m keeping you alive for as long as possible, and you can take that to the bank along with your ten million, once we get it of course.”
“Oh we’ll get it, don’t you worry about that. Andre’s rat is starting to lose weight and squealing like a pig to be fed off the fat of the land. And Mr. Billionaire Felder is a very fat man, with a plump, pudding like face. A few nibbles and he’ll get money.”
“That’s what I like about you Chris, always thinking ahead, always thinking about ways to make me happy.”
The second swig of whiskey tasted even sweeter, swishing around in his mouth like liquid gold until he finally let it slide down his throat.
“We can’t keep carrying your friends here around forever. We gotta get rid of them. There could be police pulling us over, especially if you keep doing twenty over the speed limit.”
“I’m not worried about police,” chuckled Chris, abandoning his serious tone for a level of joviality that seemed oddly out of place for him. “I’ve got these.”
Peterson supposed that Chris tapping on the gun and taser lodged his belt implied
that any cop pulling him over would be a dead man.
Still, Peterson felt oddly safe. Chris was not one to surrender and not one to give up without fighting to the very death. Such sordid scenarios boded well for giving himself a chance to slip away in all the fuss, should a cop or two be foolish enough to confront Chris.
Darkness was finally starting to take hold, shutting out the remnants of dissipating sun rays like a frantic madman stamping out a tiny fire with both feet.
Peterson sighed with rabid relief. Under the perfect cover of darkness at last! The car was full of persons missing faces and limbs and various other body parts, not to mention a hidden corpse or two rattling around in the trunk. Attracting stares of other passing drivers or gawking roadside pedestrians had not been wise, but at least it was now a thing of the past. The roads were dimly lit at best, and the car windows at least partially tinted to obscure a view inside.
“How much further?”
His words seemed suddenly panicked, displaying a lack of patience that was no doubt connected to his now totally insane mind.
Peterson consulted the map. The drive from Toronto to Montreal had been underway since morning and it was now eight in the evening.
“I’m no expert, but I think we should have arrived by now.”
“Well I’ve never driven there before so I may have taken a wrong turn here and
there.”
“Here, this is it. You take this turnoff, and go north.”
Chris did as he suggested, steering the car onto the off ramp and driving a little further up the road until he came to a fork.
“When are these fuckin’ frogs going to learn how to spell. ‘Nord’ and ‘Sud.’
“That’s French you idiot and you’re supposed to be coming to a stop now, brake!”
“I don’t see a stop sign anywhere,” offered Chris, suddenly slamming on the brakes.”
“You just past it you idiot. The sign which said ‘arret.’”
“Fuckin’ frogs. When are they gonna start speakin’ English like the rest of us.”
“Take the left road here. Nord means north.”
“Well duh, now you tell me.”
Chris turned left as he had been asked to, and the bright city lights of Montreal suddenly accosted them, as did a whirling flashing of yellow and amber in the rear view mirror.
“Shit! It’s the cops.”
“They might have seen you pass the stop sign. Pull over.”
Chris started slowing down but the police cruiser whizzed past them, escalating
in speed to catch some other car up ahead.
“Thank goodness,” managed Peterson, breathing a sigh of relief as he realized the cop was actually after some other driver whom had been doing over ninety in a fifty zone.
The streets of Montreal seemed strangely quiet, with store fronts boasting last chance sales and deep discounts of up to fifty percent off, in a bid to stave off bankruptcy in the midst of a faltering global economy.
“We’ll have to figure out what to do with Andre, Henry and Stumpy here, not to mention the dead folk in the trunk. We can’t just leave them in the car while we trot off to confront Felder for the twenty mil.”
At first Chris didn’t answer, his one good eye still peering inquisitively and attentively at all that was before him.
“Turn left here as well,” again instructed Peterson, clearly miffed that Chris seemed to be in his own little world, bereft of reality.
“I ain’t leavin’ them. I’m taking them with me. I’m not finished with them yet.”
He paused and then added, “we’ll find a small hotel off on some small side street somewhere, then slip them in. I can spend the night working on them some more.”
“As much as I relish watching you chop them up, you have to get some meaningful sleep at some point. You’ve been going at them nonstop for days now, and you need some sleep.”
“I can’t sleep much doc, not with the nightmares these bastards here gave me. An hour of shut eye here an hour there. But as long as you keep pumping me full of speed to keep me going, I’ll be fine. Tonight I want to work on Henry.”
“You mean what’s left of Henry, don’t you?”
Chris was surprised that Henry was talking and listening in to the conversation.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, frog man. This city is French, just like you and I hate this city, just like you, so shut the fuck up. I already cut up your penis and I’m gonna do the same to your balls tonight frog man, just like you did to mine. Then I’m gonna remove that mouthy tongue of yours so you can’t talk back to me anymore. And then, and then…”
The castle turrets again, floating into his mind, just like how he remembered them from pictures Peterson had shown him.
“Tell me about the castle again and the yearly competition on the grounds. The hammer throw and the whatchamacallit throw, you know, where they toss tree
stumps to see who can toss them the furthest.”
“I told you about it twice today already and at least ten times yesterday!”
“So you did, doc, so you did. You suppose I could enter that contest and toss poor stumpy here? What do you think Jeffery, how far could I toss you?”
Mumbles and muffled screams were all that Jeffery could manage as the car pulled into ‘Triple A motel. Low daily rates. A phone and T.V. in ev
ery room.’
The motel itself was very secluded, at the end of a quiet side street with only one other car in the motel parking lot. Chris waited while Peterson trotted off to the motel office to check in and obtain a key.
“You know,” taunted Chris. “In a way I’m glad the good doc rescued me that night I tried to end it all by jumping off the balcony. Now I have much more time to spend with you guys, to get to know you better and to get you better acquainted to all the pain and misery you have caused me. When I’m through with you guys tonight, you shall truly know the real meaning of the word suffering. You shall truly know what it feels like to want to end one’s own life. Isn’t that right Andre? Andre! I’m talking to you? Is that all you can do, is stare off into space and drool? Well, Henry and stump man, you’ll have to forgive poor Andre here, he seems to be about five and a half bricks short of a six pack, a little dopey actually. I think he’s lost his mind is what it is. You can snap your fingers in front of his face like this and you get no reaction. I’m not sure if that’s because he has no face left, or because he has no mind left.”
Chapter Nine
Tick tock, tick tock somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock.
On top of old smokey, all covered in cheese, I lost my poor meatball when somebody sneezed. The voice of his father, drunk as a skunk once, singing with friends as the four year old Chris watched on.
“The trouble with one losing their balls, Henry, is that it all happens so fast you hardly notice. But tonight we’ll chop them up ever so slowly, a sliver of a slice at a time, just to keep Andre’s rat from starvation. We still want him alive and hungry for fat faced Felder.”
Suzy sells seashells by the seashore. His mother’s voice again, teaching Chris tongue twisters at the tender age of five. “Suzy sells seashells by the seashore, Suzy sells seashells by the seashore. Betcha can’t say it fast without tripping over your own tongue, frog man. What’s that? You can’t say it at all cause you ain’t got no tongue no more, to trip over. Well, not to worry, at least the rat will be happy.”
“Now listen Chris, for future reference, the trick with whacking one’s feet bottoms with hickory, is to work the soft, tender portions first, making them black and blue and then morbidly purple. Soon, if one continues, you can see colors of the rainbow emerge in the battered flesh, but to accomplish those colors takes a whole lotta effort and a whole lotta whacking.”
“Thanks for the advice frog man, we shall see what colors emerge after…after…”
And God smelt a sweet smelling savor. And God said unto Noah, ‘behold, I do set my bow in the cloud and it shall be for an everlasting covenant betwixt me and thee.’ His mother’s voice again, teaching him about the origins of rainbow colors and how God gave man forgiveness after flooding the earth.
“Does this mean you forgive me mom, for hurting a woman? For hurting Murial?”
Yes son, I forgive you. And all is as it was before. Just as how God forgave man and set his bow in the cloud and just as how God became friends with Noah both before and after the flood, so do I too forgive you, my son and so do I too become friends with you once more.
“So should I forgive Henry mother?”
“Yes…for God’s sake yes…forgive me! Forgive me! Or kill me dammit…just don’t whack me no more…you bastard! Listen to your mother you bastard! You crazy fuck…stop damn you stop or kill me…it hurts…oh fuck it hurts.”
You can forgive the weeping Henry my son, but only after the flood consumes the land, only after every living thing is wiped out, only after the wrath of God is fully appeased, and only after the rainbow is fully reached. Henry’s feet are at purple but if you continue hard, very hard, in a few days, in just a few miraculous days, you shall see the colors emerge in the flesh, the rainbow colors. But until then, until then…
“Sorry Henry, not until I see the rainbow in your feet not until…not until…”
Dawn came quickly for Chris, but meticulously and brutally slowly for Henry.
Peterson had stayed up for the first four hours of hard work done upon Henry, but had dozed off for the last four.
“Shit, Chris, be careful next time with your blood spatter, you got some on my face and glasses.”
“Sorry doc, but this little shit Henry just wouldn’t sit still for the whole night long, just squirmin’ and a moanin’ and moanin’ and a squirmin’ and…and…I forgot what it was I was going to say.”
“Not to worry Chris. But you lay down and get some shut eye. I would like you to be fresh when we introduce ourselves to Mr. Billionaire Felder.”
“The fuck with that! I wanna go now. I always do my best worked when I’m pooped.”
“Suit yourself. Sooooo, whatayawanna do with this sorry lot. Andre’s covered in his own drool, Henry’s feet are all but gone and poor stumpy here ain’t got no feet to walk. Not to mention the stench coming from your trunk. Someone’s bound to notice either them or the stench. If we leave them here the motel maid or owner might find them before we get back. We can’t just take them with us or the corpses in your trunk. We gotta get rid of them.”
“I ain’t getting rid of nothing or nobody. Mother talked to me last night, about Noah and the rainbow, about getting Henry’s feet to be rainbow colored. I can’t stopnow, not when my mom has finally found it in her loving heart to forgive me. These fuckers stay put, all of them, including Peter in the trunk. And my mom’s not mad at me for Murial no more so her head stays put too.”
“Suit yourself Chris.”
“I always do doc, I always do.”
“We’ll just gag them and tie them up really good and give the motel clerk a few hundred extra, telling him we don’t want to be disturbed and to stay the fuck out of our room.”
“Hey, if that’s how you want to do it, that’s fine with me.”
“It better be doc, it better be.”
Peterson move quickly to tie and gag the teary eyed lot, then scrambled off to the motel office to press the extra money into the hotel clerks hand.
“Wasn’t planning to go to your room none anyhow,” the clerk informed him in a lazy drawl. “But I will put the money to good use, rest assured. I’ve been wanting to visit the liquor store for some time now.”
When Peterson got back to the room Chris seemed focused and back in a jovial mood, checking to make sure his tools and rat were properly packed and ready.
They headed out immediately and within the hour were parking in front of the Felder building in the postal truck Chris had hijacked.
“This is an absolutely fantastic idea you had,” chuckled Peterson enthusiastically, stripping the uniform off the dead postal worker so he could put it on himself. “I guess it is true after all, what they say about crazy people being geniuses.”
“Stop jabbering away and help me get inside this mail bag.”
“How’s that?”
“Good, real fuckin’ good, except that I can’t breathe you idiot, loosen the string a bit, to let some air in at the mouth of the bag, so I won’t suffocate. Yeah, that’s better. Now all you have to do is stretch the steel tracks down to the pavement and push the trolley down to the sidewalk.”
Once inside the first set of doors, Peterson waited as a security guard opened the second set of doors for him.
Once past the inner doors, Peterson made a beeline for the elevator.
The guard stopped him and pointed to a second guard seated at a desk.
“You’ll have to sign in at the desk,” he informed him, matter of factly. “Company policy, even for the post office. I’m surprised you don’t know that. What happened to Andy, the usual delivery guy?”
“Oh, he’s off with the flu.”
“Alright, but you’ll have to stop first at the desk and sign in.”
Peterson walked over casually, pushing the mail cart slowly while whistling a tune.
Peterson signed in quickly.
“I heard you mention to Phil that you were subbing for Andy. You do know the mail room’s on the fifth
floor?”
“Oh no, this cart of mail is for Mr. Felder himself.”
“Mr. Felder is on the eighth floor but he doesn’t take visitors and he don’t take no mail either.”
“Can’t release this bag of mail unless he signs for it in person. I’m told it is full of checks from his car parts dealerships. They all had to send in a special check this month. That’s over two hundred checks. If I drop it off on the fifth floor and any go missing, there will be hell to pay. I gotta get his signature. There could be a million bucks or more in checks in here. You don’t wanna be responsible for that kind of dough, do ya?”
“Well, I suppose not. You better go up to the eighth then. I’ll notify them you’re on your way up with a special delivery.”
Chapter Ten
He turned the key slowly, and as quietly as he could. He was convinced the missing car in the parking lot meant Peterson was gone, and yet, his instincts told him there might be a guest or two of some sort inside. The hundreds of dollars Peterson had placed in his hand had got him thinking and made him extremely curious. The four belts of whiskey he had just purchased with a part of that money, gave him the courage to want to peek inside. What the hell were they hiding?
He opened the door tentatively, trying not to make it creak on its rusty hinges. Once inside, he found the room void of any people, although it did have a peculiar odor that made him sick to his stomach. As he looked more closely, he saw red stains on the carpet and coffee table. It looked like blood but he could not be sure. Then suddenly he heard it, muffled sounds coming from the bedroom. He opened the door carefully, full of fear. Once opened, he gasped at the horrific sight of Henry, Andre and Jeffery lying on the bed, chained together, and gagged and bound with bed sheets. Andre and Jeffery were heavily sedated but Henry was wide awake, his eyes fixed upon the motel clerk and his voice straining to be heard through the thick sock shoved in his mouth. The sight of a hideously disfigured Andre and Henry, along with the mutilated stump of Jeffery, was more than he could stomach. He vomited at once, slamming the bedroom door shut and taking off like a bat out of hell. His hands shook violently as he locked the outer door, almost hyperventilating as the remnants of such a nightmarish sight remained lodged like acid in his mind.
