The Killing Kind

by Bryan Smith

  Missy was on her feet again.

  Adrenaline and rage could only carry Chuck so far. He was wounded in too many places and was moving slower now. He could almost see that game clock counting down to 0:00. Missy moved far faster than he could and seized the knife.

  He got to his feet.

  His only option now was to run for it and hope to elude them long enough to get free.

  Then Julie hit him from behind and he dropped to his knees.

  Missy jabbed him in the stomach with the knife.

  Game over.

  He fell over and rolled onto his back. Julie was standing over him, a triumphant sneer on her face. She was holding the heavy brass lamp from the end table. She raised it again and slammed it into his face.

  Lights out.

  “We should finish him.”

  “No.”

  “Why, for fuck’s sake?”

  Missy had her gun again. She didn’t like being without it. She finished filling the cylinder with fresh bullets and snapped it shut. “Because I want him to live.”

  Julie was beside herself with rage. Her whole body was shaking in the aftermath of the fight and her close call. “The motherfucker tried to break my fucking neck, Roxie!”

  “Don’t call me that anymore. You know my real name.”

  Julie gaped at her. “What the fuck!? I don’t give a shit about your fucking name. I wanna kill this guy and I’m gonna do it.”

  Missy pointed the gun at her. “No. You’re not.”

  Julie stared at the gun. “Are you seriously pointing that thing at me?” Her voice was quieter now, almost subdued. “I thought we were friends.”

  Missy laughed. “Yeah. I like you. It’s been fun hanging with you these last few days. But there’s something I never told you about myself.”

  Julie scowled. “What?”

  “I don’t like to share.”

  Missy squeezed the .38’s trigger. A bullet ripped through Julie’s shoulder and a spatter of blood arced through the air behind her. Julie hit the floor and squealed in agony. Missy approached her and stood over her, pointed the gun down at her. Julie looked up at her and blubbered, opened her mouth to plead for her life.

  Missy shot her again.

  She stopped moving.

  “Holy shit. Why did you do that?”

  Missy turned and saw that Rob was on his feet again and was at last managing to stay that way. She went to him and gingerly touched his swollen jaw, making him wince. “Does that hurt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Stupid question, huh?”

  “Yeah. Now how about answering mine?”

  Missy shrugged. “No big mystery. Like I told her, I don’t like to share. She should have been satisfied with that one sympathy fuck, but that obviously wasn’t happening. I’m sure you didn’t mind having the little bitch rip your clothes off every few hours. That sort of pisses me off, you want to know the truth.”

  Rob’s face reddened. “I…I’m sorry.”

  Missy touched his jaw again, this time not quite as gently. “I could make you very sorry.”

  He winced again but didn’t look away from her as he said, “I know.”

  “You belong to me.”

  “I know.”

  “And no one else.”

  “I know.”

  She smiled. “I love you, Rob.”

  “I…” Tears welled in his eyes as he struggled to speak. “I…love you…Missy.”

  “I know you do, baby.” She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the mouth. She took one of his hands and curled his fingers around the butt of the gun. “But it’s time you proved yourself to me.”

  His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  She stepped away from him and nodded at the two vacationers still strapped to chairs. “Finish them.”

  Rob looked at them. His face twisted. “Oh God…”

  Rob stared at the gun in his hand. It didn’t look right there. It didn’t fill him with the sick sense of power he imagined Roxie—Missy—derived from it. He knew what it could do, had witnessed its killing power too many times. It was a dangerous, despicable thing and holding it filled him with loathing. He couldn’t imagine putting it to a human being’s head and pulling the trigger. And yet it was what Missy wanted from him. There didn’t seem to be a way out of it. Despite her profession of love, he suspected there was a strong chance she would kill him if he didn’t do as she wished.

  Her expression was hard, devoid of mercy. “No more hanging out on the sidelines letting me do all the work. No more illusions of being better than me just because you haven’t gotten your hands dirty.”

  “I don’t think I’m better than you.”

  “Prove it. Kill them.”

  Rob looked at the woman, grimacing at the sight of her burned face. One side of that face was still beautiful. The sickening contrast made his stomach twist. He was suddenly glad Julie was dead. No one capable of inflicting this level of cruelty deserved to live. But Missy was just as cruel. Didn’t that mean she deserved to die, too?

  He looked at the gun.

  Then looked at the woman again. She watched him through bleary eyes, whimpering softly but otherwise waiting quietly for the end. He detected resignation in her expression. She was at peace with the idea of dying, would probably welcome it by now. So killing her could almost be seen as an act of mercy. But that was just a rationalization. Her wound looked awful, but it was hardly fatal. She could recover, maybe have plastic surgery, and go on with her life. It would be a life forever haunted by this night, but at least she would have a chance.

  So he was at a crossroads. Again.

  He could do what Missy wanted—kill this poor woman and the guy with the mangled hands.

  Or he could do the right thing. Finally. For once.

  He swallowed hard and pointed the gun at Missy. “I’m sorry.”

  She smiled and moved closer. “It’s okay. It’s sort of what I expected.”

  Her fist smashed across his bruised jaw.

  Rob howled and staggered away from her, the gun falling from his hand. He stumbled and fell backward onto his ass. By the time he was able to sit up again, Missy had scooped up the gun and was standing over him. He tensed, waiting for her to point it at him and put a big fucking hole in his head.

  Instead, she cracked the butt of the gun against the crown of his skull.

  Rob wobbled and fell over.

  His vision blurred as he lay on his side and watched her walk away from him. Everything went black for a moment. His eyes fluttered open again and he saw that Missy had set the chair formerly occupied by Chuck in front of the woman with the burned face.

  His vision grew foggy again.

  Blackness was descending.

  But that was okay.

  He didn’t want to see this.

  “He should have shot you. It would’ve been easier for you than this.”

  The woman met her gaze. She didn’t seem afraid now. Missy didn’t like that. Amazingly, the unburned side of her face almost seemed to smile. “It doesn’t matter how I die. God will have mercy on my soul and the souls of my friends.”

  Missy snorted. “God? Really? How ridiculous. Religion is all meaningless bullshit, you know. I’m gonna stick this knife in you.” She gestured with the hunting knife. The gun was back in the tote bag. She didn’t think she’d need it again tonight. “Like, way up inside you. And it is going to hurt, let me tell you. A lot. At some point your heart will stop beating. Brain function will stop shortly after that. And that will be the end of you. Your essence won’t continue in some other place. You’ll be over.”

  The woman’s hideous half smile didn’t falter. “No. I won’t. I wish you could feel what I feel right now. The presence of the eternal. You’d be on your knees and praying with me.”

  “Feel this.”

  Missy pushed the knife in up under the woman’s sternum. Just an inch at first, holding it there and letting her feel it. She wasn’t smiling anymore
. She started breathing faster and looked down at the knife. Her voice emerged as a whine. “It hurts.”

  Missy smiled. “I know. Didn’t I tell you?”

  She pushed the knife in another inch.

  The woman cried louder and began to beg. “Please…”

  Missy laughed. “I’ve been waiting for that. You’d like me to finish it fast, wouldn’t you? That’d be nice, huh?”

  The woman looked her in the eye. “Yes. Please…”

  Missy made a tsk-tsk sound. “Wow, this just isn’t your night.” She twisted the knife a little, increasing the volume of the woman’s whimpering. She laughed. “Nothing’s working out the way you want.”

  She was able to keep it up another fifteen or so minutes, slowly sliding the knife in inch by agonizing inch, savoring the way the woman’s eyes danced in their sockets as her pain and sense of desperation continued to increase.

  Then she was gone.

  She played the same game with the guy with the mangled fingers.

  That just left Chuck.

  He was still sprawled across the space where the sofa had been. She knelt next to him and watched the rise and fall of his chest. He was bleeding from a lot of places, but he’d been lucky. None of the wounds alone would kill him. Loss of blood, however, just might. She’d have to call 911 on her way out.

  She wanted him to live for a couple of reasons. He’d fought hard to survive and had very nearly beat them. He was tough. She was impressed. But he was still the guy who’d insulted her. So living would be his punishment. For the rest of his life, he would feel the crushing weight of guilt.

  She leaned down to kiss him on the mouth. “Good luck, Chuck. You’ll need it.”

  She left him then and retrieved her tote bag. She cast a final, lingering glance around the room.

  Another house full of dead.

  A strong sense of déjà vu made her shiver.

  She wouldn’t be burning this house down, though.

  Her gaze lingered on Rob’s unconscious form a moment longer. A pang of regret flashed through her. She really did care about him. Him, and no one else. But he wasn’t fit for life with her. At least not yet.

  She turned away from him and walked out of the house.

  Epilogue

  Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated July 11

  I can’t believe the bitch fucking shot me. TWICE. Like…how fucked-up is that? It HURT. I mean…holy shit, I can’t even tell you. Imagine a dentist doing drill work without happy gas or anesthetic. It’s like that. Times a million and ten. My advice? Don’t ever get fucking shot, because it fucking SUCKS.

  Anyway…I guess the bitch got sloppy there at the end because she didn’t finish me off. But sometimes I wonder…maybe she didn’t want to kill me. That’s the only thing that keeps me from totally hating her. That, and the fact she was kind of right about me moving in on her territory. I guess I would’ve been pretty pissed, too. But she could’ve just said something, you know? Like, “Hey, that’s my man, bitch, so BACK OFF.” But no, she FUCKING SHOT ME.

  But then she goes and leaves him behind too, so WHAT THE FUCK!!!???

  At least she didn’t shoot me in the head. A kill shot would have been easy. So maybe…

  I guess I’m just lucky to be here. I could be in jail. My bail was set at some ridiculous amount. We’re talking millions. So high I guess they figured I’d be behind bars until my trial. But there’s something I’ve never told you guys. I know, you thought I spewed everything here, but not so. To me, this is more embarrassing than anything I’ve ever talked about. My father is a CEO and is fucking LOADED. So I’m home. And I am not having fun. You would not believe the tension. And I hate this monitoring thing I have to wear around my ankle. But I have to stay focused on the positive. Dad has hired the best fucking lawyers. You wouldn’t believe the schemes and machinations of these guys. Turns out every bad fucking thing you’ve ever heard about lawyers is totally fucking true, man. They’re sharks. Badass fucking SHARKS. At least the ones my dad can afford are. I thought I was doomed before I started talking to these guys, but now I’m totally confident I’ll never spend even one night in jail. If you’ve been reading the news coverage—and I know you have—you know it’s all like “Patty Hearst, Stockholm syndrome, blahblahblah.” I had to Google that shit. So there’s that, and I guess they’re gonna play up the “crazy” angle, too.

  I mean…I guess I am crazy. I don’t know how else to explain Lulu.

  She’s been giving me some pretty weird advice. Things I might want to do after the trial’s over and I’m totally free again. Although “advice” isn’t exactly the right word. It’s more like…instructions. It creeps me out a little, but I’m starting to understand why Zeb was so fucked-up. I guess I’m fucked-up, too. Duh, right?

  I am so hoping for a book or movie deal once this thing is behind me. I don’t think the victim’s-rights laws apply if you’re exonerated, which I will be. Which is the one big reason I hope Emily Sinclair is found guilty and winds upon death fucking row. If she skates and writes a book or something, all the big money people will go to her first. The TV fuckers can’t get enough of her. Pisses me off. “The glamorous femme fatale, blahblahblah.” Okay. I get it. She’s gorgeous (too bad about the hand though, hahah). But I’m pretty fucking hot, too. Oh well. At least my hair’s growing out. I’m looking less like Britney Spears during her meltdown phase, so that’s good.

  I guess I’ve said about all I have to say for now. All five of you still on my friends list should feel pretty up-to-date. LOL. Mommy dearest wanted to cut off my web access altogether after the cops seized my old laptop and found all those autopsy pictures and shit. But I whined to Dad and today he surprised me with a new laptop. Really must resist the urge to visit some favorite sites. Oh well. It’ll be something else to look forward to once this thing is behind me. Ta-ta for now!

  (P.S.: I really hope I see Missy again someday. I miss her. I know, I know. Crazy. No shit. We’ve covered that already.)

  6 comments

  lord_ruthven: You know I’ll do anything for you or help any way I can.

  Mixedupgirl: I know. And forget what I said about never fucking you again. I was just playing hard to get. I’m pretty horny. LOL. I haven’t been laid since March.

  darkest_rogue: I don’t care what you did. You rule.

  Mixedupgirl: I know. No shit.

  Aliciaroxx: Can I come over tonight?

  Mixedupgirl: Hey! I thought you were ignoring me. So we’re still friends? Yay! Yeah, if your parents let you, come over. And bring YOUR laptop!

  The long table and the two chairs at its opposing ends were the only pieces of furniture in the white room. Rob sat at one end of the table. He and the guard posted at the door were the only people in the room. The guard wasn’t talking. The correctional officer’s cold, openly hostile glare made him uncomfortable. The man’s right hand stayed on the collapsible baton clipped to his belt. Rob had the distinct feeling he’d like nothing better than some excuse to whip it out and beat him senseless with it. So Rob stayed quiet and barely moved. Not that he had much choice about the latter. The heavy leg irons and handcuffs made movement difficult. He wouldn’t be any real threat without the restraints, of course, but he was considered “extremely dangerous.” Which was really kind of funny. Here he was, basically rotting in jail, while the really dangerous ones were still out there in the world.

  Funny, but not ha-ha funny.

  It was pretty damn depressing, really.

  The room’s only door opened and another guard walked inside, followed by the person he’d been waiting to see.

  Tears came to his eyes as he started to stand. “Lindsey…”

  The guard who’d been watching him glared. “Sit down.”

  Rob sat but kept on smiling. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Lindsey sat at the opposite end of the table. He’d never seen her looking more beautiful. She looked like a woman dressed for an evening at an expensive restaurant
, wearing a pretty green dress with a hem that ended just above the knees. And high heels. That was amazing. She never wore high heels. She had on more makeup than usual and her hair had been done recently. It hung in thick, lustrous curls to her shoulders. She’d also had a manicure recently. His gaze lingered on her slender hands for a moment. On her ring finger was a cheap plastic ring purchased from a gumball machine a long time ago, back in their high-school days. He’d given it to her as a gag gift. He couldn’t believe she’d kept it all these years. He was so touched. His eyes misted again. She loved him. He knew that now. How could he have been so blind?

  The door clicked shut and both guards stayed in the room, flanking the door.

  Lindsey smiled. “It’s good to see you, Rob. How are you holding up?”

  He forced his smile to stay in place. “I’m doing okay.”

  Lindsey folded her arms on the table and leaned toward him. “You’re in jail, Rob. Don’t lie for my sake. Tell me the truth.”

  He sighed. “I’m fucking miserable.”

  Rob’s eyes flicked to the mean-spirited guard. The smug asshole was smirking.

  Lindsey frowned. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He shrugged. “Did you bring those books from my uncle?”

  “Yeah. I had to surrender them when I came in. They said they’d get them to you.”

  The guard’s smirk deepened.

  Rob had a feeling he’d never see those books. Or if he did, some of the pages would be torn out. They’d done it before. Fucking assholes. One or two of the guards were okay and almost humane, but mostly they were sadistic little dictators, exercising power over the incarcerated just because they could. He doubted he could make Lindsey understand just how miserable prison life was. Or how unfair it was, in his case. He hadn’t killed anybody. Julie had tortured and killed at least a dozen over the course of just a few days, but she got to sleep in her own bed every night. His uncle was helping out as best he could, but he just didn’t have the deep pockets Julie’s father had.