He slammed the door when he arrived home after six o’clock that evening. He was exhausted both physically and mentally and went straight to his room to lie down for a while, ignoring Kathy’s questions about Storm’s condition and whether he wanted dinner. Hateful thoughts raced through his mind as if running a marathon. He needed to give his brain a break. Still wearing his shirt stained with Storm’s blood, he went to bed and fell asleep within minutes.
Just after midnight, Michael walked silently to Hillary’s room. She appeared to be asleep, but was actually just pretending. She had been expecting him all night. She peeked over at him as he was undressing. Her heart raced and she grew anxious. She had planned for this moment, but could she go through with it?
Yesssss, the voice reassured her, make him suffer....
Michael was completely naked when he approached Hillary’s bed. He stopped by her bedside to stare down at her. She was so beautiful...why did she have to be so difficult? He knew he’d have to hurt her. She had to be punished. Oddly enough, he had no sexual inclination toward her. He just wanted to cause her as much pain as she had caused him.
Hillary’s heart hammered within her chest. What was he going to do? Could she really stop him?
Yesssss, the voice of reason spoke up, loud and clearly, he won’t touch you ever again....
But he did. Michael reached out and grabbed her right breast so hard that she gasped. He squeezed it within his hand. Hillary bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming. Her eyes began to tear. The more she struggled to pull away from him, the harder he squeezed.
“You nearly killed my dog,” he said savagely.
Hillary didn’t reply. She was busy begging for the voice of reason to tell her what to do, listening intently to hear its raspy whisper.
“Now you’re going to be sorry...you’re going to pay for what you did to me and poor little Storm.”
Michael released Hillary’s breast and grabbed a fistful of her hair from the back of her head. He moved his pelvis closer to her head. Hillary knew what he was planning. He didn’t make her do it very often...it was something she particularly hated to do. Now he was using it as part of her punishment. She could see that he wasn’t quite ready; he was as limp as a wet noodle.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered, pulling on Hillary’s hair.
Hillary wanted to cry out in pain, but she kept her mouth shut. With his left hand, Michael massaged himself until he became erect. Though he had no interest in using Hilary to satisfy his urges, he knew that forcing her to engage in oral sex would upset her. It would be the start of what he had planned for her.
“Open!” he demanded as he yanked Hillary’s head back. He shifted his pelvis closer to her face. Hillary tried to turn her head, but Michael had a firm grip on her hair, clenching the soft clump close to the roots. Her heart raced. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she cursed herself for being weak. This was not supposed to happen. She was supposed to put an end to this nightmare.
You will, the voice said, do what I told you to do....
As if cooed by a lullaby, Hillary relaxed. She reached under her pillow where, earlier, the voice had told her to put the pruning shears. She grabbed on to the handles and slowly brought them to her side. Michael noticed her fidgeting but had no idea what she was up to.
“Open up and eat my flesh,” he taunted, rubbing his hardened member across her lips.
Bite it!
Hillary opened wide, allowing her father’s penis to enter her mouth. Michael moaned as he thrust his hips forward. Hillary opened wider, preparing to bite down with all her might. Sensing something awry, Michael began to pull back, but not fast enough. Hillary gnashed her teeth into the head of his penis just as he was nearly out of her mouth. Michael shrieked in pain before biting down on his own arm to muffle his cries. He grabbed Hillary’s neck and began choking her to make her release his penis from within her teeth.
Use the shears...cut it off...cut it off....
On the verge of opening her mouth to gasp for air, Hillary heeded the voice’s advice. It was the voice of reason and would not lead her astray. She quickly brought her hand back, opened the blades and from the bottom up, snipped off half of her father’s penis. Hillary let the damaged piece dangling from her teeth fall to floor while her father wailed in pain. He was bent over in agony cupping the blood-spurting stump of his newly shortened penis. Blood was spraying everywhere. His erection had only made things worse for him.
Fearing that the noise would attract her mother, Hillary began stabbing the shears into her father’s neck. He tried feebly to ward off her attacks, but between his shock, blood loss and desperate attempt to apply pressure to his gushing manhood, he was unsuccessful. Soon after the shears ruptured his jugular vein, he stopped moving. He was dead.
Hillary watched his body slump down to the floor.
He’s dead...he got what he deserved....
Hillary panicked at first. She had killed her father. It was different from what she had done to the dog. What would she possibly say? She swallowed hard, tasting her father’s blood in her mouth. Despite her natural urge to spit, she savored the sharp coppery taste.
Hillary’s stomach rumbled loudly.
Go ahead, do it....
Without thinking, Hillary’s hung over the edge of her bed as her right hand searched for her father’s amputated penis. When she felt it touch her hand, she pulled it up and brought it to her mouth. It smelled like raw meat. She sunk her teeth in it again, this time biting off and chewing up bits and pieces until she had eaten it entirely. She thought she heard laughter. Was it the voice?
Flesh and blood....
Flesh and blood, she thought, as she curled up on her bed and went to sleep.
~5~
It was before dawn when Hillary awoke the next morning. She had a splitting headache. She slowly started remembering what she had done to her father. It was too dark in her room to see her father’s body but she could smell the sharp, pungent odor it emitted. She panicked. What would her mother say? What would she do? Hillary didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in prison or in a mental hospital. She had to get rid of the body.
Slowly, she crept out of bed and walked silently to the kitchen. She grabbed a large knife from the butcher block and a few garbage bags from a box in a cabinet underneath the sink. She quietly made her way back to her bedroom, shut the door and turned on the light.
With her heart pounding heavily, she stared over at her father’s naked body lying in a pool of darkly-colored congealing blood. The sight was not nearly as bad as the smell. She hated that man lying dead on her floor, the man who used to be her father. He had made her suffer for so long. He had ruined her life. He got what he deserved.
He deserved even worse...he deserved more pain...he deserved more suffering, just like you suffered....
Hillary nodded in agreement. But now his problems were over and hers were just beginning. If her mother walked in now, what could she possibly say? Her life would be over for sure. She had already survived nearly two years of his abuse. Now, with her father dead and gone, she could finally find happiness again. But not if her mother discovered what she had done.
Cut him up into pieces...put them into the bag....
Hillary quickly went to work mutilating her father’s body, cutting and slicing off pieces and placing them into the garbage bag. She worked tirelessly grinding into the bones with the teeth of the knife. Some parts were easier to remove than others. Some bones were easier to cut through than others. The pruning shears came in handy. She disjointed his limbs easily, but left his long femur bones intact, as she did not have the strength and appropriate tools to break them down any smaller.
It was nearly six in the morning when she was done desecrating her father’s body. She filled three garbage bags, which she dragged and hid inside her closet. Blood was everywhere. The smell didn’t help either. She was sure it was coming from his disgusting entrails. Even after spraying half a bot
tle of perfume in her room, she could still smell the gamey scent of dead meat and browning blood. Hillary pulled off her night shirt and threw it to the floor. She walked to her dresser and pulled on a large shirt. She yawned and stretched, tempted to climb back into bed.
Despite her exhaustion, Hillary tiptoed back down to the utility closet just outside the kitchen. She knew her mother would be up soon. She grabbed the carpet cleaner and the long utility scrub brush. She also grabbed the bleach, just in case. She was about to slowly creep back upstairs when a thought occurred to her: her mother would wonder where her father was. He didn’t usually leave for work until seven-thirty. She would see his car in the driveway and know that something was wrong.
Hillary panicked. There was only one thing to do. She had to move the car. She placed the cleaning supplies on the floor by the closet and quickly, but quietly, sprinted to the foyer. She slowly grabbed her father’s keys, encasing them quickly within her hand to prevent them from jangling. She opened the front door and stepped outside. Clad only in the long, oversized tee-shirt, Hillary’s flesh immediately became covered in goose bumps. It was a chilly May morning. Her lips trembled as she unlocked her father’s car, quickly entered and slowly closed the door behind her. She was thankful that her mother’s bedroom window faced the opposite side of the house. She hoped she wouldn’t hear the car start.
Slowly, Hillary placed the key into the ignition and started the car. She was too young for her driver’s license, but she was enrolled in a driver’s education course at her school and had driven enough times to get the gist of it. She slowly backed out of the driveway and drove down the long, winding road. She drove the car down to a clearing in the woods about a third of a mile away. Later, she would pretend to get on the school bus, but would drive the car to school instead.
Hillary quickly turned the car off, got out and ran back to her house. She was so nervous she barely noticed how cold the ground felt on her bare feet. She hoped her mother was still asleep. Slowly, she opened the front door, clutching her father’s keys tightly within her balled fist. It was quiet. There was no sign of her mother. She quietly closed the door behind her and grabbed a plastic shopping bag from a cabinet under the kitchen sink. She then raced to the utility closet where the cleaning supplies were waiting for her. She placed them in a bag and started walking to the stairs. As she got to the foot of the stairs, she saw her mother was slowly descending.
Hillary felt nervous but knew she had to maintain her composure. As they passed in the middle of the stairs, Kathy stopped and faced her.
“What are you doing up so early?”
Hillary hesitated, thinking of a good excuse.
“I didn’t get a chance to finish a project that’s due today,” she said softly, “I figured I’d better try to get it done.”
She shook the bag as if it contained supplies she needed for her assignment. Her mother nodded indifferently. She had other things on her mind.
“Have you seen your father?” she asked uneasily.
“Yep, he just left,” Hillary said and continued her way up the stairs without waiting for her mother to ask her any further questions.
Once within her room, she quietly closed the door and sprayed the carpet cleaner on the heavily soiled areas of the carpet. She used the scrubber to lift as much of the stains as possible. It was apparent that her carpet would be stained indefinitely, but at least it no longer looked like blood, just dark stains. Hillary could leave her clothing on the floor and it wouldn’t be very noticeable. She could say she spilled cranberry juice.
Hillary quickly pulled the blood-spattered sheet off the bed, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it down to the floor, over her night shirt. Her blanket had some splotches of blood but blended in with the pattern so she left it on the bed. She scooped up the sheet and nightshirt and stuffed them into the closest garbage bag.
Still feeling anxious, she quickly walked over to her dresser and gathered a change of clothes. Clutching the clothing within her arms, she exited her room, quietly closing her bedroom behind her. Her room still had a rank odor and she didn’t want any malodorous fumes wafting about the house. She raced to the bathroom to take a much-needed shower.
Hillary washed up in record time and bounded back to her room to make sure nothing had been disturbed. The gamey smell hit her like a punch. She dropped her clothing to the floor over the stained carpet and searched her room for body sprays and perfumes. She sprayed and spilled whatever she found, hoping to mask the stench of death. It was a big improvement, but the mixture of scents smelled awful. She grabbed her backpack, closed her door and walked downstairs.
“I’m getting a ride in with Jax,” she announced to her mother as she grabbed a piece of French toast.
“I thought you and Jax aren’t friends anymore.”
“We still have to work together on this project.”
“And what—”
Hillary held up her cell phone, pretending that she just received a text message.
“Oh, they’re here already...gotta go,” she said hastily as she shoved the last bite of French toast into her mouth and ran from the kitchen without looking back. She slammed the front door behind her and started running toward where she had parked her father’s car. She hoped her mother wouldn’t peek out to make sure it was Jax’s mother driving and not some boy she was sneaking off with.
Then again, she thought sadly, what boy would want me?
Kathy started to call after her daughter but changed her mind. She was still bothered by what Hillary had done to Storm. She turned her attention back to the thick slices of toast within the cinnamon-infused egg batter. Later she would have a good, long talk with her daughter.
Hillary’s heart was racing, but not from fear, from exhilaration. She had spent her entire life being a good, well-mannered girl. Where did it get her? From now on, she would do whatever she felt like doing. No one would stop her. And no one would ever hurt her again. Things would go back to the way they were...minus her father. She knew that her family would be financially burdened by his absence. She would quit school and get a job to take his place.
When Hillary reached the car, she placed her backpack on the hood and fished out her father’s keys. She unlocked the door, grabbed the backpack, climbed in and sped down the winding road toward the school. She was pretty confident that she wouldn’t be spotted by anyone or pulled over by the cops. Maple Trails was one of those unremarkably small towns that went unnoticed by the rest of the world.
There were just a few cars in the lot at the school which Hillary was thankful for. She didn’t want to take any chances misjudging her angle and colliding into another vehicle. She parked at the far end of the lot under the big shady maple tree. She laughed aloud as she turned off the car and lifted her backpack from the front passenger seat. She was proud of all that she had accomplished.
He’s gone for good...he’ll never hurt you again.
Hillary found herself humming as she walked toward the entrance of the school. She was in such a good mood she didn’t even mind the fact that she was nearly an hour too early. She would go to the school’s library and finish her last homework assignment. She always found biology fascinating despite her teacher Mrs. Donovan and her high-pitched rambling. They were learning about the circulatory system. Mrs. Donovan practically had a coronary stressing that the jugular vein is pronounced “JOOG-YOU-LA” not “JUG-YOU-LA” the way the majority of people mispronounced it. Hillary found her enthusiasm annoying. Who really cared anyway...the important thing to know was that once severed, death was just seconds away. Mrs. Donovan was right, she had witnessed it herself. She thought about how she had ravaged her father’s jugular vein with the pruning shears and smiled. If only she had torn open his neck, then she could have seen the vein for herself.
Next time....
Huh? Hillary wondered.
Hillary made an honest effort at completing her homework assignment but could not concentrate. As hard as she tried
to stay focused, her mind kept wandering back to what she did to her father. She thought about how much she had once loved him and a wave of sadness washed over her.
He deserved to die, the voice reminded her, he hurt you....
The voice of reason was right. He did things to her that no one had a right to do...things she shouldn’t even know about, let alone experience with her own father. He didn’t care. Why should she?
“Are you okay?”
Hillary looked up to see the librarian staring down at her. She looked more agitated than concerned.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“Are you feeling okay? You were shaking and muttering something.”
“I was?” she asked quizzically.
“Yes, you were. Why are you here so early?”
“I wanted to finish an assignment.”
“You know we normally don’t open ‘til eight o’clock....”
“You want me to leave?”
“No...no, you’re already here, just...well, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, I was just...singing....”
“Hmph,” the librarian murmured, knowing that Hillary was lying. She suspected that Hillary was on some sort of drug. Still, she was in the library and had her notebook open. She’d let her stay as long as she didn’t continue the odd noises.
Hillary wanted nothing more than to leave school and return home. She knew it was a waste of time being there. This was her last day after all. Did it really matter if she finished her biology homework? She closed her notebook, shoved it aside and rested her head on the table using her arms as cushioning. Visions of her father flooded her mind. His taunting grin, the deranged look in his eyes, his thick erection and the surrounding mass of wiry hairs underneath his distended gut, his dry, rough hands reaching out to touch her....
Hillary twitched as if she could still feel his hands violating her body. She thought about what she had done to him. More visions came to mind, this time bloody images of her father’s blood-gushing penis and neck, the terrorized look in his eyes, the bloody parts of his body that she had shoved into the bags. She could almost smell the stench of death right there in the library.
Hillary_Flesh and Blood Page 9
