by Matt Shaw
“What do you want? Money? You want money? Take it. Take it all. Whatever is in the register.”
“I don’t want your money,” Chris shook his head - offended that he’d been mistaken for a common criminal. “What is it with you misjudging people? First you think I’m a sir and then you think I’m a thief.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I promise. Please, my friend, whatever you want… I’ll help you. What do you want?”
Chris smiled, “I want to kill you.”
“Why?” Stephen started to cry, a dark patch spread through the front of his trousers. “What have I done? Please. I have a family.” Chris picked up a frying pan from the side. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why does everything need to be done for a reason? It really annoys me. People do this because of their upbringing, people do this because of past relationships gone wrong, or they do it because they feel it’s their job to do it; a job, more often than not, given to them by the Lord Almighty. It’s rubbish. Sometimes people just do things because they want to. I have no reason to do what I am to do other than a simple case of want. There is nothing more to it than that.” Without another word, Chris swung the frying pan as if it were a bat. It connected with Stephen’s face and he dropped - out cold - like a sack of spuds.
2.
Sara was sitting on the floor, up against one of the steel kitchen units. Her hands were bound together with duct tape. Her mouth gagged shut - also by the tape that Chris had fetched from his lorry before turning the front house lights off to ensure they weren’t disturbed. Sara had tears streaming down her face as she struggled with her emotions. Chris did genuinely feel bad but he had no choice but to do what he was going to do. If he left her, she’d have told the authorities and his game would be over before it had properly begun. She only had herself to blame. She had said ‘yes’ when asked if she wanted her manager killed. Had she said ‘no’, Chris would have finished his omelette and been on his merry way without touching either of them. You can’t though - and this is important when going on a murder spree… You can’t kill someone and leave others to tell of the story. In the real world it didn’t work like that. If you kill one, you have to kill them all, which is what Chris was about to do now although, while he was binding Sara’s ankles and wrists together as she was coming round from being knocked out, he had at least promised to make her death a quick one. The same was not promised for Stephen who’d been taped to the metal work-surface where most food preparation was completed.
Chris tapped Stephen’s face. He’d been unconscious for more than twenty minutes now. With each tap there was a little more of a groan as the manager slowly started to regain consciousness. Chis could only imagine the headache he was to wake up with although - in time - a headache would be the least of his worries.
“Wakey, wakey! Come on. We don’t have all night. There’s no need to make a career out of it.”
Realising where he was, Stephen’s eyes went wide as panic once again set in. Like Sara, he too was gagged with a strong strand of silver duct tape across his mouth. Chris smiled when he saw he was conscious. “I’m glad you’re finally awake,” he said, holding up one of the sharpest kitchen knives he could find. “We have a lot to get through before morning comes.” With his spare hand he grabbed Stephen’s head under the chin and gripped it tight, stopping him from being able to turn away from what he’d planned to do. “I asked your colleague here if she wanted me to kill you…” From beneath the tape on their mouths, both Sara and Stephen started protesting with a series of whimpers and murmurs. “She said yes and listening to the way you spoke to her earlier, I have to be honest, I don’t blame her. There is only one person to be blamed for what is to come and that is you. If you spoke to people with the respect they deserved, if you were less of a fucking idiot - people might not want you dead. I would have asked her, she would have said something like no… he’s okay. I would have finished my omelette which, by the way, was sublime, and I would have gone about my business. But no, you apparently have to be an idiot and so we find ourselves here.” The murmurs and whimpers from Stephen started to sound more and more like apologies. Chris didn’t care though. He didn’t hear them. His mind was set on what needed to be done. “So moving on, apparently you don’t have a nose for business which - to me - means you don’t need this…” Chris flicked Stephen on the end of his nose causing him to flinch. “Which, in my eyes, is a good place to start.” He gave him a wink before putting the serrated edge of the knife on the underside of Chris’s nose, pointing upwards towards his forehead. Stephen tried to shake his head from side to side to get away from the blade but he was held there by Chris’s strong grip. “This might hurt,” Chris warned him. With no further hesitation he started to hack backwards and forwards pushing the blade of the knife up through Stephen’s nose. Stephen screamed through the gag across his mouth, as did Sara who had the luxury of being able to turn away. Chris didn’t stop until the nose literally came away from the night manager’s face in a bloody mess. He let it fall to the floor as he moved the knife to Stephen’s ear. “Apparently,” he said as he lined the knife up between ear and skull, “you don’t listen to people. So it won’t be a problem if I take these away from you!” Again, no further warnings as he started hacking the ear away from the skull with a strong sawing motion with the knife. Both Stephen and Sara continued to scream as tears streamed down both of their faces. As soon as the first ear was pulled away, Chris started on the second - again, letting them fall to the floor as ‘waste’ when they were parted from the head. With each cut his grin got wider and wider and his eyes darker. He held the knife up for Stephen to see, “You’ll be pleased to hear - we’ve finished with this.” He stopped suddenly. “Can you actually hear me?” He mouthed the words to Stephen, “No need knife no more!” He laughed as he tossed the knife casually over his shoulder. It clattered to the floor somewhere behind him. Chris turned away from his project and started searching through the drawers. “Ah ha!” He withdrew a pair of scissors, “This is what we need now!” He turned back to Stephen who was shaking his head from side to side, begging through a muffled voice for Chris to leave him be. Blood pouring from the many wounds suffered. “Apparently - as a manager - you don’t tend to see a lot. A lot of things go unnoticed. Well, this should help with that.” Sadistically he pinched the eyelids away from Stephen’s eyes - starting with the left - with one hand whilst he positioned the sharp blades of the scissors on either side of the flap of skin. With the scissors so close to his face, Stephen didn’t move. He didn’t dare. He just lay there, perfectly still, screaming through the tape. Sara still wasn’t watching. Her own eyes were scrunched shut and her head was turned away from the scene. She wished her hands were free so as to cover her own ears from the sounds coming from what was happening; the sick sound of skin ripping and flesh tearing.
Snip
Stephen screamed louder. Chris laughed.
Snip
Another scream from Stephen as Chris cut away his second eye-lid. Blood trickled onto Stephen’s eyes both blinding and stinging him in the process. Chris tossed the scissors over his shoulder and ripped the tape from Stephen’s mouth before he went back to the kitchen drawers to search for more tools.
“Please stop,” the manager begged between pained sobs.
“And - whilst talking about your managing skills - I think it’s fair to say you don’t speak to people in a professional manner. Not just your staff but customers too. That whole conversation with you earlier? That was cringe worthy. You’re an embarrassment to this company. In fact, the only reason you’re probably here is because no one else wants to work what is - technically - a dead end job, especially through the night. No. They needed someone with no friends, no life to speak of. Some sad sap who wouldn’t mind being here during the unsociable hours. Hence they ended up with a clueless twerp such as you. But even so - no excuse to talk to people the way you do. Ooh. Here we go.” He stopped his search
and turned back to Stephen - a handheld mallet in his hands usually reserved for tenderising meat. Stephen was crying. His face was now a bloody mess. Eye-lids, nose, and ears scattered in bloody splatters across the floor. Chris rushed towards him with the mallet high in the air. As he neared he brought it crashing down onto Stephen’s mouth. A crack splintered the air as teeth snapped away from ripped gums in a gory spray of red and white. Chris didn’t stop there. He raised the mallet again and again, repeatedly bringing it down on the night manager’s head until his body was limp. Only then did he drop the mallet to the floor and wipe the sweat from his forehead. He slowly turned to Sara who still had her eyes shut tight.
“There you go,” he said to her. “It’s done, just as I promised.”
Sara refused to look. She’d heard everything. She didn’t need to see it as well. Hearing it was bad enough; bone cracking, crunching, and splintering.
“I’m sorry I have to do this,” Chris said - a hint of sincerity in his voice. “I genuinely liked you. Not quite as much as that omelette but… Yeah… You’re a good girl. I can see that.” He walked over to her and forcibly turned her head to look at him. It annoyed him that she wasn’t giving him the eye contact he felt he deserved whilst he was talking to her. It was a sign of bad manners. “Look at me!” he ordered her. She slowly opened her eyes. Fear was evident, just as it should be. “You’re so pretty,” he said. He ripped the tape from her mouth giving her the unexpected opportunity to speak.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“I didn’t want to,” he reassured her. “Honestly. I didn’t want to. But I have to. I can’t leave you, can I? You’ll tell people what I did.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“You will. Don’t worry, I don’t blame you. It’s human nature. If I were in your position, I’d tell someone what I had seen.”
“I promise. I won’t say a word.”
“Honestly, I wish I could believe you.”
“You can.”
“Can’t.”
“I’ll do anything.”
Chris hesitated a moment as he seemed to weigh up whether he could believe her or not. “Wait there,” he said. He turned around and cast his eyes around the blood splattered floor of the kitchen. “Where are you?” he said to himself. “Ah ha.” He walked back over near to where Stephen’s body lay and picked the scissors up from where he’d earlier thrown them. Safely in his hand, he turned back to the worried waitress. “Do you want to live?” he asked her.
She nodded, as she began to weep once more.
“Stop crying. I’m not hurting you. We’re having a conversation. Does it usually hurt when you talk to people? No. I don’t think so. Stop being silly.”
“I’m scared.”
“There’s no reason to be scared now. You’re going to show me that I can trust you and then I’m going to be on my way. As much as it pains me to say it, I doubt our paths will cross again.”
“What do I have to do?” she asked, a little light at the end of her dark, dark tunnel.
“I can’t have you talking to people about me so you’re going to show me you won’t by cutting out your tongue.”
“What?”
“Did you misunderstand me, or did you not hear me? I can understand your confusion if you didn’t hear me correctly but, with regards to what I want, I’m sure it was pretty clear. I want you… to cut out your tongue. In fact,” Chris turned back to the deep fat-fryer which was plugged into the wall on the other side of the room. He flicked the switch which, in turn, illuminated the red light informing him the oil was too cold to cook anything yet. He turned back to Sara, with a smile on his face. “After you’ve cut your tongue out, we’re going to deep fat fry it.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
Chris shook his head, “You made me do it. I’m doing what you asked me to do. Had you told me to leave him well alone, I would have left and that would have been the end of the story. But you told me to kill him so, being a good Samaritan, I decided to help you out.” Chris leaned down and - with the scissors - cut away the tape binding Sara’s arms to her side. He left the tape on her legs to keep her from having any ideas about running. He dropped the scissors down beside her and took a step back. “Pick them up,” he said. She didn’t move. “I said pick them up. Unless - of course - I can’t trust you?”
“Please don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? I’m not doing anything. You are. Come on, I don’t have all night. Show me I can trust you.”
“I can’t.”
“If you can’t do it, then I can’t trust you.”
“Please…”
“No matter how much you beg.” He sighed and fetched the knife he’d used earlier from the floor. He turned back to Sara, pleased to see that she was - at least - now holding the scissors in her shaking hand. “That’s right,” he said, “just one little snip and you’re done.” Sara opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Tears streamed down her face as she slid it between the open scissors blade. Chris smiled, curious to see if she’d go through with it, yet initially positive that she wouldn’t. Sara closed her eyes tight. The red light flicked from red to green; the oil ready to cook whatever was thrown into it. “Come on,” he said, “the more you think about it, the worse it will be. It can be over in seconds.” He licked his lips in anticipation; a strong desire to see more blood spilled for a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied. Sara screamed as best she could considering her tongue was wedged in some scissors. She pushed the handles together slightly, forcing the blades to close a little more; enough to draw a little blood. She pulled her tongue back into her mouth as the two blades violently closed together. She screamed again as she threw the unwanted scissors across the room where they crashed against the side of the wall. Chris shook his head. He was disappointed.
“I’m sorry,” Sara said over and over again, “I couldn’t do it. Please…”
“I thought we were friends but clearly you’re interested in telling people about me. You can’t wait to gossip…”
“No, really…”
“I expected more. It really is a shame because you’re so pretty. I think I even fancy you.”
Sara spotted an opportunity, “I think I fancy you too,” she said - despite both the expression on her face and the tone in her voice giving her away.
“Really?” Chris raised an eyebrow. “That’s interesting.”
“It’s why I started talking to you,” Sara continued, unaware she was digging her own grave. “I thought you were attractive.”
“You thought I was attractive?”
“Yes.”
He smiled at her, set the knife to one side, and extended his hands towards her to help her up from the floor, “Come here.” She hesitated a moment before taking his hands. He pulled her up onto her feet and stared into her blue eyes; the open windows to her frightened soul. She - in turn - got to stare into the black abyss where many demons dwelled. With one hand on her back, he pulled her close and started to kiss her passionately. She didn’t fight him. She knew she couldn’t - and not just because her legs were bound. If she resisted, he’d know she didn’t really like him as she’d made out. He pulled away and stared into her eyes once more; the open windows letting so much detail slip from within a place she’d hoped was most guarded and secretive. “That was nice,” he said.
“I could come with you?” she offered. She didn’t want to but she thought that, if he did take her, it would give her plenty of chances to later make her get away from him. Maybe someone would find her? Maybe someone would be able to stop him? Whatever. The chances of getting away from him later, compared to making a getaway now were surely better odds.
“A tempting proposition, I must confess, but unfortunately I do not have the room for you. The lorry is pretty full.”
“Think of the fun we could have,” she continued to tease him as best as she could given the situation she found herself in.
“No reason we can’t h
ave some fun now,” he smiled. He put his arms around her and dragged her towards the kitchen surface along the back wall. She let out a yelp as he forced her, face down, next to the boiling deep fat fryer with her pert arse pointed into the air, temporarily hidden beneath the tight skirt of the waitress outfit. Without a word, he pulled the skirt up around her waist revealing a pair of white cotton knickers. Again, no words as he pulled them as far down as the tape around her legs permitted, exposing her naked arse to the cool air-conditioned air circulating the room. “You really are amazing. I wish I could have taken you with me. I wish we could have met under different circumstances,” he said as he put his face close to her arse and breathed in her scent. “I think we could have gone far together.”
“We can. I won’t be in the way,” she said, fighting back the tears.
“And I believe you, really I do, but you’re too late. I’ve met someone else.”
“I can share,” a desperation to stay alive.
“That’s not fair of me to ask of you.”
Chris moved away momentarily. He collected the knife once more and a pair of oven gloves he’d spotted resting over a peg sticking from the side of the kitchen table in the centre of the room; the one where the manager still lay as he slowly started to both fester and rot; the first stage being the musty aroma of death.
“You look amazing,” Chris said, unable to take his eyes from Sara’s rear. He moved back over to behind her and set the oven glove on the side, next to her. He licked his lips as he started running the knife handle down the crack of her arse before gently twisting it against her puckered arsehole. She flinched, further giving away her fear of him. “I’d give anything to be inside of you right now,” he said. Unseen, beneath the dark blue jeans he wore, his erect penis was straining against his shorts. The temptation to withdraw it and push it into either orifice on offer was great but he knew it was neither the time nor the place to do such things. Chris wasn’t stupid enough to realise there was no chance of leaving D.N.A around the crime scene but it didn’t mean he had to spray it around the room in the form of his ejaculate.
