by Bryan Smith
He raised it again.
And was shoved backward into the room, hard, causing him to stumble over his feet and crash into the nightstand next to Karen’s side of the bed. A lamp tumbled off the nightstand and Karen’s stack of paperback romance novels went flying. Struggling for balance, John lurched away from the nightstand. He turned and raised the knife as the big man in the buckskin jacket came into the room, followed by another man. The second man was less stout than the first, wiry, and also had long, filthy hair, but not straight and fine like the other man’s. It was big and bushy. If anything, he stank even worse than his partner.
Karen awoke with a gasp and sat up straight in bed. “John! What’s going on?” Then she got a glimpse of the intruders and unleashed a shrill scream. “ohmygod! helllllllllp!”
She rolled to the other side of the bed, tried to get up, and got her feet tangled in the twisted bedsheets. She took a tumble off the bed and hit the floor hard, crying out in terror and pain.
The big man chuckled. “Don’t let her get nowhere, Clyde.”
“On it.”
Clyde swaggered past his partner and leered at John. The lean man faked a lunge in his direction and cackled at the girlish shriek this elicited. Then he continued around the bed and scooped Karen up off the floor. She screamed again and flailed against him, battering the sides of his head with her tiny fists. If the blows had any effect on him, it didn’t show. He just grinned and let her hammer away a few seconds longer before cracking her across the face with the back of his hand. The sound was loud. And there was a crunch as the cartilage in her nose snapped. Intense pain made her cry out again. Another punishing blow stifled any additional screams. She mewled and blubbered, pleading for mercy, sounding to John like Nancy sometimes did when he put a good spanking on her for misbehaving.
The sounds of her distress affected him in ways that were ironic given what he’d been about to do to her. Some primal part of him felt anger and an instinct to protect. He made a move toward Clyde, but the bigger man intercepted him, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting the knife out of his hand. Then, before John could even begin to consider defensive tactics, the man stuck the knife in his belly.
And now John screamed, a sound even shriller and louder than what had come out of Karen. His attacker just stood there, grinning, those madman’s eyes conveying an avid fascination. He was studying John, tasting the quality of his pain and terror. John glanced down and saw that only the tip of the blade had penetrated his flesh. No more than an inch of steel was inside him, but it was more than enough to send shock waves of agony cascading through his body. Blood streamed down his belly and soaked his pubic thatch. The man gave the blade a little twist and John screamed again, but the blade penetrated no farther. The sick son of a bitch was toying with him.
John tried to twist the knife out of his hand, but he wasn’t as skilled at the maneuver as the intruder. The man swatted his hand away and delivered a closed-fisted blow that hurt like hell and sent him sprawling backward across the bed. He hit the plush mattress and bounced. His head went up and down a time or two, and a fresh stab of agony at the center of his face told him his nose had been broken.
Karen saw the wound to his belly and cried out in anguish. “John! Don’t hurt him, please!”
The lean one cackled and leaned close to Karen, teasing one of her earlobes with his tongue. “Oh, we’re gonna hurt him, baby, you can count on that. Gonna hurt you, too, you want to know the truth.”
Karen cringed away from him, but he held her close, holding her by the back of the neck as he rubbed his crotch against her bare bottom. His other hand roamed over the front of her body, cupping her breasts and squeezing the big pink nipples. Primitive instinct spurred John to action again as he rolled over and prepared to leap at the man attacking his wife. He was on his hands and knees, readying to launch himself at the filthy bum, when the other man stabbed him between the shoulder blades. John screamed and arched his back, hands clawing at the blade as it sank deeper into his flesh. He felt it scrape bone and screamed again. The big man rode him down to the bed, straddling him and pulling his head back by the hair. He felt the knife against his throat and knew he had only moments to live.
He looked up at Karen through eyes misty with tears and felt something he hadn’t experienced in a long time—shame.
What he’d been about to do…well, it was an abomination.
Unforgivable.
The least he could do was tell her he loved her one last time before he died. It wouldn’t be a total lie, either. He really had loved her once upon a time. With his whole heart and every fiber of his being. He guessed maybe there was some of that feeling left somewhere inside him, after all. Recognizing this deepened his shame and broke his heart. He just wanted this over now. Nothing could be worse than this feeling. Not even death.
Then he heard it.
They all heard it.
That small sound drifting in from the hallway.
“Daddy?” The delicate, fragile voice was thick with tears. “What’s…happening?”
The wiry man cackled yet again. The pressure of the blade against John’s throat ceased as the big man climbed off him and started toward the open bedroom door and the tiny figure just barely visible in the darkness beyond.
John lived a while longer.
Hours, maybe.
And during that time, he learned beyond all dispute that there absolutely are things infinitely worse than death. Worse even than the emotional and spiritual betrayal of his wife. Things that blackened his soul. When death finally came, he greeted it like the embrace of a long-lost love.
CHAPTER SIX
March 22
The girls were sitting at a picnic table at a rest area, talking while they watched the guys toss a football around. Zoe and Emily sat next to each other on the edge of the table, their feet planted on the bench beneath them, while Annalisa sat on the bench on the opposite side and jabbered into her cell phone.
Chuck cocked his arm and flung it forward, sending the football in a high, wobbly semispiral in Joe’s general direction. Joe took off down the gently sloping hill, head up as he tracked the ball’s progress across the bright blue sky. He held his hand up against the glare of the sun and it was obvious to Zoe that he’d lost track of the thing.
Emily sighed. “Shit. Joe fall down, go boom.”
Joe twisted his body and scanned the sky again, but the ball was already coming to the ground some twenty yards ahead of him. He saw it an instant before he got his feet tangled and crashed to the ground with a startled yelp.
Emily shook her head. “Stupid boy. Asshole. That’s what he gets for getting so sloshed this early in the day.”
Zoe laughed. “Your guy takes a fall and you call him an asshole. It must be true love.”
Emily snorted. “I do sort of love him. I guess. But he is an asshole, especially when he drinks so much.”
Zoe sipped from a fresh can of Coke. “Yeah. But he seems like a good guy, deep down. At least when he’s sober.”
“Too bad I can’t say the same for Chuck.”
Zoe tensed, her fingers dimpling the moisture-slick can as she squeezed it harder. “Emily…”
Emily nudged her with an elbow. “Fucking relax. They can’t hear us. Admit the truth to your best friend. You’re about to break up with the prick, aren’t you?”
Zoe’s grip on the can eased some. She sighed. “Yeah.” Then she tensed again as a wave of anxiety surged through her. “But don’t tell Joe! God, he’d blab it to Chuck right away.”
“Right. If I tell him not to do something, he’ll damn well not do it.” She smiled, watching as Joe awkwardly picked himself up and dusted off before limping away to retrieve the fallen ball. “But yeah, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Although…” She looked at Zoe now, mouth curling in a strange expression that was almost a leer. “It could open the door to some interesting possibilities.”
“What do you mean?”
Emily leaned close t
o Zoe and whispered in her ear. “Joe’s always hinting around about how he’d like a threesome with me and another girl.” She laughed. “Typical guy. But I’m thinking maybe it’d be fun if you were the other girl.”
Zoe’s face reddened. “Um…I, uh…”
Emily’s breath was warm against her ear as she laughed softly again. “Just think about it. No pressure.” She patted Zoe’s knee. “If nothing else, you and I could get together at some point over the week.”
Zoe’s blush deepened as she stared at Emily’s hand, which hadn’t moved from her knee. This was pretty weird. She and Emily made out now and then. But it was usually when they were high, and Zoe just thought of it as harmless playing around. Still, given that history, this blatant proposition shouldn’t come as such a shock.
Yet it did.
She made herself swallow and said, “Yeah…I’ll…think about it.”
Emily patted her knee again. “You do that. It’d be fucking fun as hell.” She climbed off the table and stretched. Then she put on her dark sunglasses and smiled at Zoe. “You’re gonna be so much better off without that piece of shit in your life.”
Zoe started to say something, but Emily turned away from her and started back up the hill toward the van.
Annalisa snapped her phone shut and made a shrill sound of frustration. “Motherfucker! Can you believe that fucking motherfucker!”
Zoe turned to face Annalisa. “I can’t believe it. The nerve of that fucker. Um…what are you talking about?”
Annalisa rolled her eyes. “Sean’s fucking mother.”
“Sean’s mother is a motherfucker?”
“Yeah!”
“Okay.”
Annalisa shook her head. “Nothing’s ever good enough for that cunt, I swear. I mean, I’m hot, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“And smart, right?”
“Your GPA is four-point-oh. You’re the smartest foul-mouthed bitch on the planet.”
Annalisa nodded. “No shit, right? So what mother in her right fucking mind wouldn’t want her son dating a girl who looks like me and has a brilliant fucking future ahead of her?”
Zoe squinted at her. “She’s…I don’t know…jealous?”
“Of course she is!” She unleashed a shrill screech of frustration and exhaled heavily. “Okay, change of fucking subject. I saw Emily whispering in your ear. What was that about?”
“Um…it was sort of…private.”
Annalisa lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Too private to tell your best friend?”
“Um…”
Annalisa reached into her purse for a pack of Marlboros and lit one up. “Oh, that’s right. I’m only your second-best friend. Emily is your actual best friend. The one you tell the really important shit. I see how it is.”
Zoe frowned. She hated the idea of Annalisa seeing things that way. But what really sharpened the sting was recognizing that she’d only spoken the truth. “We were talking about me and Chuck.”
“Yeah?”
Zoe nodded. “I’m breaking up with him after this trip is over.”
“Good.”
Zoe laughed. “Good?”
“Yeah. Chuck sucks. Fuck him.”
“Christ, does everybody hate my boyfriend?”
“Everybody with half a brain. Personally, I’d like to throw him off a fucking cliff.”
Zoe laughed again. “I don’t want to kill him. I just want him out of my life.”
“Well, it’s the smartest move you’ve made in a long time. But I think you’re lying to me. Or half-lying. That’s not all you and Emily were talking about. Was it?”
“Christ, you are so suspicious.” Zoe climbed off the table. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom again. And I’m not fucking lying to you.”
She turned and started toward the rest area’s main building.
Annalisa called after her in a singsong voice. “Liar, liar, pants on fire…”
Zoe quickened her pace as her face turned red again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated March 10
There’s this one guy. Talked about his lame ass before. Asshole makes me want to vomit every time I think of him. Swear to fucking God, he needs a lobotomy so bad. I’d love to stick a needle in that frontal lobe of his and give it a good twirl. This guy, though, most people would never know he’d been lobotomized because he’s kind of a drooling vegetable already.
Fucking MORON.
I think about killing him sometimes Seriously. I think about getting him somewhere nice and private. Someplace where he could scream and scream and nobody would ever hear him. Then I’d get him drunk enough to pass the fuck out. He’s a lightweight, so that’d be pretty damn easy. Next I’d restrain him. Tie him to a bed or something. Then the real fun would start. I actually think about this a fuck of a lot because this dude seriously needs to fucking die, and there’s this one funny image I keep thinking of that I’m desperate to make real. This guy tied to a bed. Body spread-eagled. His dick cut off. Not the balls. Just the dick. Every time I think of that, just those useless balls sitting there without a dick attached, I crack the fuck up. I’m cracking the fuck up RIGHT NOW. HAHAHAHA.
Seriously, he’s a douche bag and I want to make him dead.
But I sort of want to fuck him first.
LOL. If I were a guy, it wouldn’t matter what order I did it in. I could kill him and then fuck his corpse with my big, throbbing dick.
OH SHIT! Look at the time! Homework!
3 comments
lord_ruthven: The only way I know you’re not talking about me is the constant references to this guy’s stupidity. But you are one twisted bitch.
Mixedupgirl: Aw…that’s sweet. But I do want to kill you. I want to stick red-hot needles in your eyes and watch them liquefy. I want to cut off your head and FedEx it to your parents. LOL. I totally don’t get why anybody would call me “twisted.” Oh, and thanks for the flowers. Kisses.
darkest_rogue: I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. You are awesome. But you probably know that already.
CHAPTER EIGHT
March 22
Rob kept glancing at the Galaxie’s slightly askew rearview mirror with the expectation of seeing a column of police cruisers with blue lights flashing bearing down on them. They were some forty miles down the road from the scene of the roadside massacre by now, and he couldn’t understand how it was they’d driven away from something as spectacularly horrible as that with, thus far, no repercussions or complications and no hint of pursuit by law enforcement.
Okay, that bit about no repercussions was sort of bullshit. His psyche had been dealt a serious blow. If through some miracle he managed to survive this ordeal and was able to resume his normal life, he was certain he would have to deal with some level of posttraumatic stress the rest of his days. He foresaw years and years of costly therapy just to be able to function.
“Pull off at the next exit.”
Roxie pointed at a blue road sign coming up on their right. It was the kind with icons indicating local motels, restaurants, and gas stations. A green road sign a little farther down the road indicated the exit was one mile away.
Rob frowned as he glanced at the Galaxie’s gas gauge, which showed its tank as still more than three-quarters full. “Um…why?”
She stared at him in silence for a moment, her eyes unreadable behind dark sunglasses. “Because I said so, that’s why.”
Rob nodded. “Right.”
It had been stupid to even ask. He’d already learned the uselessness of arguing with her. She was unpredictable. Unstable. These were understatements of epic proportion. She was dangerously deranged. He had to be careful. A person like Roxie, anything could set her off. A wrong word. A wrong look. Or something he had no control over, some quirk of her fucked-up brain chemistry causing her to lash out for no reason. Rob realized there was no way he—or anyone, for that matter—could successfully navigate this crazy chick’s moods for long.
/> The exit came up fast. He put the Galaxie’s blinker on and applied steady pressure to the brake pedal as they neared the ramp.
“I’m sort of horny.”
The out-of-nowhere comment startled Rob. He didn’t know what to say, but knew she’d expect some sort of response. “Um…yeah?”
“Ever fuck a murderer?”
“Well…no.”
She laughed. “Ever fuck anybody at all?”
“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good. Turn left.”
They’d reached the end of the exit ramp, which intersected with a stretch of faded two-lane blacktop. To the right, maybe a quarter mile distant, lay an array of fast-food joints, gas stations, and a motel. To the left was a stretch of open road curling into a thickening expanse of wilderness. The only business establishment in that direction was a Shell station. It looked kind of grubby compared to the gleaming, gigantic convenience stores to the right, with their dozens of pumps and huge, brightly lit signs. The station to the left had just two double-sided pumps, and the towering old Shell sign in a corner of its nearly vacant parking lot looked like it had been there maybe half a century—and probably had been.
Rob cranked the wheel to the left and started in that direction.
“Pull in at the gas station.”
Rob turned in at the Shell’s lot, angling the Galaxie toward one of the pumps.
Roxie slugged his shoulder. “Not here. Side of the building, toward the rear.”
Rob steered the car away from the pumps and parked where Roxie indicated, in the last slot on the side toward the rear of the building. A metal door marked men stood opposite the front of the car. Roxie took the keys from the ignition and the Galaxie’s engine ground to a rumbling halt. She dropped the keys in her tote bag, pulled the bag up on her lap, and began searching through its contents. She’d slid her sunglasses up over her forehead and her face had a pinched look of concentration. She made little noises of frustration. Whatever she was looking for, she was having a hard time finding it.
