The Killing Kind

by Bryan Smith

  She realized it was her own voice.

  The girl placed the blade flat across one of her cheeks. Annalisa screamed as she felt her flesh blister and sizzle. The girl tightened her grip on her hair and managed to keep her head relatively still while continuing to press the blade into her flesh. Her cheek melted and a scent of cooked meat filled her nostrils. She sucked in a deep breath and unleashed another ear-shredding scream. Her lungs felt ragged, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t about to stop screaming. Maybe if they all screamed loud enough someone who could help would hear.

  The girl at last relinquished her grip on Annalisa’s hair. The hot blade came away from her face as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. She looked pleased. “There. Now you’re not so pretty.”

  She giggled.

  Annalisa’s cheek throbbed and burned. It was near unbearable. She wished they would just kill her and be done with it, but she knew they were just getting started.

  A crushing guilt assailed Chuck as he watched Missy go out to the balcony and return with another chair. This was all his fault. It was undeniable. This wouldn’t be happening if he hadn’t unleashed his inner asshole at the coffee shop that day. The truth was more complicated than that, another voice in his head argued. This was really all down to Emily. She had steered Missy Wallace here. And while that was true, it did nothing to lessen his guilt.

  Missy set the chair in front of him and sat down.

  She smiled. “Hello, Chuck.”

  He glared at her, didn’t say anything.

  She held out a hand and said, “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Missy Wallace. I’m a famous murderer.” She glanced at her hand and lowered it, her smile becoming a smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re hands are kind of tied at the moment.”

  The comment elicited a giggle from the bald girl.

  Missy leaned toward him. “So…Chuck. What happened to you, man? You look like someone used you for a punching bag.”

  “They did.”

  “When did this happen?”

  He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She slapped him. “Tell me.”

  The slap wasn’t a hard one, but he was still tender from the abuse Emily had dished out and it hurt like a bitch. “It happened in the early morning hours the day after…I insulted you. I…went off by myself. The others weren’t there. I drank all night in a bar across the street from the motel where we were staying. A place called Big Sam’s.”

  “Where was this?”

  “Little town just inside the North Carolina border. I was there after closing time. Some people who worked at the bar dragged me into a back room and beat the shit out of me. Guy named Joe Bob, he was the bartender, and a couple of his friends. I was too busy getting stomped to get their names.”

  “What?” Zoe was looking up at him from the floor. “That’s not what you told us at all.”

  “I know. This is the truth. What I told you was a lie.”

  “But…why?”

  Missy twisted around in her chair and glared at Zoe. “Shut up! You don’t have permission to speak. I hear your voice again, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

  She turned to face Chuck again. She flashed a smile of false sweetness. “So why did you lie to your friends, Chuck? Is it because you’re a fucking dirtbag not fit to lick the shit off a bum’s shoes?”

  “They threatened me. I could’ve gone to the cops, but I was afraid of them.”

  Missy laughed. “So you’re really a big fuckin’ pussy?”

  “I was that night, yeah.”

  Missy pursed her lips and looked away from him, staring at some vague middle point behind him. She was thinking seriously about something and that worried him. The situation was already awful and hopeless. But he didn’t kid himself. This girl was a monster, but she was also smart and creative. She could—and probably would—devise ways to deepen and prolong their misery.

  She focused on him again. Her smile this time was smaller and more mischievous. “That girl on the floor is your girlfriend?”

  Chuck’s eyes misted. “Yes. Don’t hurt her. Please.”

  Missy’s expression turned serious. “What if I told you I’ll let her live if you help us torture and kill the rest of these fucks? Would you do that?”

  “No.”

  He heard Zoe sniffle and he frowned. Would she want him to do that? He didn’t believe the Zoe he knew would want her own life spared as part of some twisted bargain. But maybe he was wrong. You never really knew the ugliest truths residing in any person’s soul until you placed them in a situation like this.

  Zoe’s sniffle gave way to a whimper. “Chuck…I don’t wanna die.”

  Missy’s nostrils flared as anger lit up her face. She stood up and kicked the chair aside. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your fucking mouth shut?”

  Zoe whimpered again.

  It was barely audible over the moans of agony from Joe and Annalisa, but Chuck heard it and it tore at his heart.

  Missy kicked Emily and sent her scurrying away across the floor. “Turn over, bitch.”

  Zoe whimpered and didn’t move.

  Missy kicked her.

  Zoe cried out.

  Missy kicked her again.

  And again.

  Zoe turned over with a great groan of exertion. Her whole face was wet from her tears. Missy took the hunting knife from the bald girl, then knelt and straddled Zoe. “This should be fun, if a little messy. I haven’t cut out a tongue in a while.”

  She squeezed Zoe’s mouth open and lowered the blade to her face.

  “I’ll do it.”

  The words surprised him as they came out of his mouth. The bargain remained a loathsome, sickening thing, but with the prospect of Zoe’s mutilation and death right on the cusp of happening, it was suddenly much more palatable. And now he was seeing very clearly into the ugliest side of his own soul. Yes, he really could murder innocent people if it meant saving the life of the woman he loved. She wanted him to do it, after all.

  She’d voiced the darkest wish imaginable.

  And he was the only one who could grant it.

  Missy let go of Zoe’s jaw and stood up. Her smile as she approached him had a hideous knowing quality to it. She moved behind him and started slicing through the layers of duct tape binding his wrists. The blade was still warm and moved through the tape with ease. “Julie, get the gun and keep it on him. You’re not gonna try to play hero are you, Chuck? Tell me you’re not that stupid.”

  “I’m not. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  She stood up and patted the top of his head. “Good boy.”

  Chuck brought his newly freed hands around to his lap and began the process of peeling the tape away from his wrists, wincing as the adhesive pulled out hairs.

  Emily was on her feet again and she looked pissed. “What the fuck is up with this?” She looked like a spoiled child on the edge of a serious tantrum. Chuck expected her to start stamping her feet any moment. “You can’t let her live. She knows I’m part of this and she’ll fucking talk. You have to kill her.”

  Missy stepped back into view and approached Emily. “Really? That’s interesting. Because I’m pretty sure I don’t have to do anything I don’t fucking wanna do.”

  Chuck saw it coming before it happened, but he guessed Emily never did. It was part of her bottomless arrogance. She saw herself as a real, integral part of Missy’s little gang, but she was dead wrong.

  Missy stabbed her in the stomach.

  Then yanked the blade out and stuck it in again.

  Emily gasped and her eyes widened in disbelief. She staggered backward and clasped her hands over stomach, blood jetting between her fingers and staining the front of her black dress. Missy stalked her as she continued to stumble backward, moving slowly, in no hurry at all to finish the job. Zoe sat up and watched. They were all watching. The bald girl, Julie, had turned away from him and was tracking their progress toward the kitchen.

 
“Yo, Missy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That burner’s still on.”

  Missy laughed. “Cool.”

  Missy caught up to Emily, seized her by an arm, and dragged her into the kitchen. Chuck craned his head and caught a glimpse of the red-hot burner coil. His stomach twisted in anticipation of what was coming. Missy pushed the wounded girl up against the stove, turned her around, and took one of her hands by the wrist, guiding it toward the burner. Emily struggled, tried to twist her hand away even as blood from her wounds fell and patted on the kitchen tiles. Missy poked the tip of the knife into her side, making Emily scream and lose focus on the struggle with her hand. Missy seized the opportunity and pressed her hand to the burner.

  Emily’s wail of agony scorched Chuck’s ear drums and he looked away.

  Looked right at Zoe.

  Who was free. And unwatched and unguarded. She had a chance. A very, very slim one, but she had to take it. He whispered her name and she looked at him. He nodded at the open balcony door. “Go.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She got up and started running and was all the way to the door before the one called Rob shouted a warning. “She’s getting away!”

  Julie whirled around and saw her disappear through the door.

  Missy screamed at her. “Get that bitch!”

  Julie took off after Zoe, disappearing through the door seconds later.

  Chuck heard footsteps pounding down the balcony staircase and prayed his girl could outrun the other one. But the other one had a gun. Zoe was pretty athletic, but she was wounded. And she couldn’t outrun bullets.

  Missy stabbed Emily again and let go of her to join the chase. She vanished through the balcony door as Emily moaned and crawled back into the living room, dripping a trail of blood across the hardwood floor. She came to within a few feet of Chuck and raised a shaking hand toward him. The underside of the hand was visible, and his stomach twisted at the sight of the ruined, blistered flesh. The reaction was purely physical reflex. He felt no real sympathy for her.

  “Please…help…me…”

  “No.”

  He balled his right hand into a fist and punched her dead center in the face. He heard a very satisfying crack of bone as she pitched onto her side. She moaned softly and didn’t move. Chuck started working at the layers of tape binding his legs to the chair. His heart was pounding. Maybe they all still had a chance after all. If Zoe could outrun the girls long enough, he could get loose and get to a phone, get the cops out here.

  Footsteps, someone in motion.

  Rob.

  He went into the kitchen and started opening drawers. Chuck heard a clatter of silverware and his struggles with the tape became more frantic. He cursed. If only he could make his hands stop shaking. The fuckers had used so much tape. It was taking forever.

  Rob came back into the living room.

  He had a big carving knife in his right hand, the kind you’d use to slice up a Thanksgiving turkey. He waved it at Chuck. “Stop.”

  Chuck kept unwrapping the tape. He didn’t have a choice. Maybe he could talk some sense into the guy before the girls came back. If he was ever going to exploit this dude’s obvious conflicted feelings, now was the time. “I can’t. I’m not gonna sit here and do nothing. Stab me if you want. I don’t give a shit.” Chuck continued unwinding the tape from his right leg. It was coming off faster and faster now. “You should help me. I’ll tell the cops. And I’ll tell them you didn’t do any of the really bad shit. Maybe they’ll go easy on you.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  Chuck screamed as the knife slashed across his face.

  He didn’t feel what the girls felt when he did it. He watched the blood pump from the guy’s wound and felt no surge of adrenaline. He felt revulsion and a renewed sense of self-loathing. This wasn’t for kicks. It never could be for him. He was just doing what needed to be done.

  The girl with the burned face screamed at him, “You son of a bitch! Why are you doing this?”

  Rob told the truth. “I don’t know. Not really.”

  She called him a son of a bitch one more time and went back to sobbing.

  A distant but sharp sound snapped Rob’s gaze toward the balcony door. The sound came again and this time he recognized it for what it was—gunshots. Julie was out there blazing away on the beach. The beach was probably pretty empty this time of night, but someone from one of the neighboring beach houses might hear the shots and call the cops. Or maybe not, this late at night. Rob put the odds at maybe fifty-fifty. Strangely, his anxiety level stayed about the same.

  “ZOE!”

  Rob flinched.

  The one he’d cut—Chuck—was also staring at the open balcony door. The guy was beyond agitated. Rob couldn’t blame him. That was his girl dodging lead out there. He was a well-built guy. A workout addict. Every muscle in his body was bulging. It looked like a nest of snakes was trying to pop out of his skin. Blood poured down his face from the gash in his cheek, spilling past his lips and down his chin. He let loose a cry of rage at the sound of another distant pop. Then he kicked his right leg free of the remaining layer of tape, got his foot planted solidly on the floor, and drove himself headlong at Rob.

  Rob shrieked and tried to backpedal, but the guy’s rage-driven momentum made it impossible to get out of the way in time. The top of his head slammed into his gut, blasting the air from his lungs. They both hit the floor hard, Rob falling flat on his back and his attacker landing awkwardly with the chair still attached to his left leg. The rest of them were screaming and cheering Chuck on, urging him to kill the son of a bitch. It was a surreal moment for Rob. How had he arrived at this point in his existence? He knew how, of course, had been there for the whole ride, but it still didn’t seem possible. He’d always thought of himself as basically a nice guy, yet now he’d become something others wanted to see dead.

  It was fucked-up. Seriously.

  Chuck had rolled onto his back and was working to remove the last of the tape from his left leg. Rob realized he’d somehow held onto the carving knife after taking the hit from the human missile.

  And he realized something else.

  He’d never stand a chance in a fair fight against this guy.

  He sat up and jabbed the knife at Chuck.

  Zoe fled down the beach in the dark, her long and toned runner’s legs allowing her to put some distance between her and her pursuers. She was somewhat hampered by the sliced-up soles of her feet or it would have been no contest at all. She would simply have run until they could run no more. And then kept on running, until she was far, far away from that house and the horrors inside. But the places where the glass had chewed up her feet were sizzling slashes of white agony. Tears streamed down her face as she focused all her will on the task of keeping her legs pumping in spite of the pain. And it seemed to be working. She glanced over her shoulder and saw them falling farther back, becoming pale, dreamlike figures sliding through the gloom. She began to hope again. She was going to make it. She wouldn’t die. Not tonight. A fierce, exultant joy rippled through her, overriding the pain, and she glanced backward again. She heard a pop and glimpsed a small spark in the darkness.

  A gun!

  They’re shooting at me!

  The knowledge triggered a rush of primal terror. She imagined a piece of flying lead penetrating her body at unbelievable velocity. They weren’t likely to hit a moving target in the dark, especially from this distance, but they might get off a lucky shot.

  But it wasn’t a bullet that brought her down.

  She hit the sand castle and let out a gasp as she went sprawling in the sand.

  Get up! Get up! Get up!

  Zoe obeyed the voice in her head. The fall had amped up the pain in her feet, but she ignored it and clawed her way to her feet again. The pale figures behind her had drawn a little closer, gotten a bit more distinct. She saw another spark in the darkness and got moving again. This time her right foot landed square on t
he metal arm of a folded-up beach chair. She screamed as the pain staggered her and made her fall again.

  Get up! Get up! Get up!

  She tried, but she just couldn’t. She made it to her knees, but her right foot throbbed mercilessly, as if someone had poured battery acid inside the gashes. The pain was too much. She could go no farther.

  And then they were on her.

  The bald girl tackled her and drove her to the ground. She cried out in triumph and straddled Zoe, shoving the barrel of the gun into her open mouth. The gun’s sight scraped the roof of her mouth and drew blood. The salty tang stung the back of her throat. The feeling reminded her of having strep as a child. She wished she could be a kid again, safe within the sheltering embrace of her family.

  Mommy…

  The bald girl, Julie, grinned and leaned close. “End of the line, bitch. I’m gonna watch your brains blow out the top of your head. That’ll be fun. For me. Not so much for you.” She giggled. “You just get to die.”

  Missy caught up to them then and stood panting near where the back of Zoe’s head rested in the sand. “Don’t…do…that.”

  Julie frowned and glanced up at her. “Why not?”

  “Because you’ve damn near emptied that thing. Too much noise.” Missy dropped to her knees and stared down at Zoe. The girl’s smile was weirdly serene. “Boy, you sure fucked yourself there, girl. I was really gonna do it, you know. Let you live if Chuck helped me do the rest of them.”

  Zoe swallowed more blood as she struggled to talk around the gun in her mouth…“I…couldn’t let him do that.”

  Missy laughed. “Oh, sure.”

  Julie eased the gun’s barrel out of her mouth. “Yeah. You’re all noble and shit now. You were singing a different tune a few minutes ago.”

  Still smiling, Missy shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now. I’m rescinding the offer. You’re gonna die, just like the rest of them.”

  Zoe’s eyes filled with tears as a bleak hopelessness overtook her. “Please…”

  Missy leaned closer, her expression more intent now. “Say that again.”