The Killing Games

by Antony J Woodward

  Chris had become smitten, and who’d have thought it.

  Why else would he have murdered that hooded stranger so easily? There had been no thought, there had been no plan. There had just been it, the violence and the kill. The rage that made him strangle the stranger to death. Chris had become part of the chaos.

  Chaos… that was a fitting word for what his life had become. He thought of the cocaine stashed in the bottom of his wardrobe. It was a symbol of the new Le Bont in his life, the one who might’ve been karma incarnated and was fucking his life up just as he had done to Jason. What goes around comes around, or so it seemed.

  “Morning…” Pierre groaned. He winced and squinted, though the bedroom wasn’t particularly light. Chris’ bedroom was a soft grey; with matching black bedroom furniture and a wrought iron double bed. His bedding continued the grey theme with a decadent pattern of white swirls. The window was a door to the little balcony, but Chris had installed long and heavy grey curtains which were drawn nearly all the way across.

  “My head…” he groaned, he pressed his palms to his face and rubbed, “OW!” he caught the nasal wound, “What the hell?”

  “Shh… take these,” Chris was already prepared, he rolled over and returned with a handful of pills and a glass of water.

  “What happened last night?” Pierre’s voice was crackling, he tentatively touched the collection of dried blood and scabs on his nose.

  “You got into a little fight with some dickhead…”

  Pierre’s expression was one of surprise and alarm.

  “I don’t remember…”

  “You were spiked,”

  “I was?”

  “Oh yeah,” Chris agreed with a widening of his eyes. While Chris might’ve been fabricating a story that exonerated Pierre from any knowledge of the true events of the evening, he couldn’t hide the truth that Pierre had been drugged. It had been an eventful taxi ride home, Pierre had talked in a rather nonsensical stream of consciousness till eventually he shut up, before he turned to Chris and told him quite adamantly he wanted to have Chris’ babies. The taxi driver had found it all very amusing, but Chris’ frayed nerves blocked him from finding it humorous. Struggling with Pierre up the stairs was difficult and draining, especially when Chris had been as tired as he was. He was grateful his Aunt was out overnight or she’d have been disturbed by the commotion of navigating the intoxicated Pierre up seventeen steps.

  “I feel like I’ve had the shit kicked out of me…”

  “That might be the drugs, or that might be because you wasn’t exactly Bruce Lee last night…” Chris smirked.

  Pierre necked the tablets and smiled himself. He was trying to picture himself as Bruce Lee.

  “Did I start the fight?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Did I end it…?”

  “Erm…” Chris hadn’t thought enough of this story through.

  “I’ll take that as a no…” Pierre sighed. “Did you have to rescue me?”

  “Yeah… I’m afraid so…” Chris followed his lead.

  “So you really must like me…” and just like that Pierre’s warm smile was beaming upon him again, “obviously that ice cold shell of yours has cracked…”

  Chris exaggerated a withering sigh in response.

  “Coming to my rescue… like a knight in shining armour…” what Pierre didn’t know was that Chris had very much done that, without Chris’ intervention who knows what would’ve happened to Pierre. “The boy’s got feelings…” he leant up and closed on Chris.

  There was a soft plume of morning breath and last night’s alcohol as Pierre closed in, but Chris didn’t mind it.

  “Not quite so mysterious and distant anymore huh?”

  “What have you done to me?” it sounded a little ambiguous, but Pierre wasn’t dissuaded. He reached and pressed his lips to Chris’.

  “For my hero…” he whispered.

  The kiss made his lips tingle again.

  “Am I…naked?” Pierre stopped, he could feel a breeze drifting across the small of his back.

  “Yeah…” Chris answered like it wasn’t such a bad thing.

  “You undressed me?!” Pierre feigned horror and disgust with dramatic flair.

  “I wasn’t letting you into my bed with all that blood everywhere…”

  “Is there a lot of blood?”

  “You got your nose ring ripped out, what do you think?”

  Pierre nodded to himself and gently touched the wound once more.

  In the soft light of morning Chris noticed there was also a bruise appearing on Pierre’s temple too, from when he had fell. It would only further corroborate the work of fiction Chris decided.

  “Is it bad?” Pierre winced.

  “It’ll heal…”

  “Do I need go to the doctors?”

  “Probably…” Chris was just about to explain why they hadn’t attended the hospital but Pierre beat him to it.

  “-I’ll go to the doctors tomorrow, I doubt its bad enough I need to go to the hospital…” even though Pierre had absolutely zero intention of going to his GP. He would probably stitch it back together himself later tonight. Hell, he had done the piercing himself after all. A sterile needle and some thread was all he needed.

  Chris was relieved that he didn’t need to justify himself.

  “So, how can I make it up to my valiant knight?” Pierre kissed him again.

  “Hmm…” Chris smiled, “you could kiss me again…?”

  “A kiss for my fair knight! Rescuing the damsel in distress!”

  The kiss made Chris want him all the more, it was like tasting the slightest tease of a drug and needing more of it.

  “My handsome, heroic, brave knight…” Pierre’s lips travelled down Chris’ chin to his chest. He then proceeded to kiss each nipple gently.

  “A gorgeous, valiant, noble crusader against injustice!” Pierre kissed Chris’ stomach and travelled further south.

  “The courageous, the sexy, the-” he stopped as he reached Chris’ erection, “well endowed!” he remarked in pleasant surprise, “protector of stupid men starting fights while high…” his sentence trailed off and he replaced the words in his mouth with Chris’ dick.

  “Oh…” Chris moaned.

  Pierre’s lips made a strong and firm grip around the tip of his dick, before he plunged down taking his length into his mouth. He let the dick hit the back of his throat and didn’t stop till he had swallowed every inch. It was no easy feat, and as he slid back up the dick he had tears in his eyes from suppressing the gag reflex. He made a fist around Chris’ dick and massaged him gently for a few moments while he caught his breath. Then, with the taste of dick instigating him, he plunged down again. This time he made a soft suction around the shaft and coaxed as much precum as he could manage upon his glide back up the dick.

  Chris laid there, unable to resist the sensation and thrill of Pierre nursing on his cock. The feeling of his lips and warm mouth gliding over his shaft and glands made him moan breathlessly. Again Pierre massaged his dick with his mouth, this time using his tongue to tease and caress him. He pumped the dick, feeling it stiffen and flex in his hand.

  “Shit…” Chris could feel the climax already. There must be some dark magic in the punk boy’s lips because he never came this close this quick.

  Pierre sensed it, he doubled down and worked fast. He used his mouth and his tongue, caressing him until the moment of ejaculation. He felt Chris flex in his hand, heard his gasp and watched his body tense for a second before he felt the semen explode into his mouth.

  He swallowed and used his hand to coax the climax, milking more seed into his mouth.

  Chris writhed on the bed, the orgasm jerking through his nervous system.

  Then, after a moment, he stopped. Pierre smiled but he continued to suck, the last remnants rose to the glands and was consumed.

  “The least I could do for a dark brooding knight like you…” Pierre climbed up the bed and press
ed his lips to Chris’. Chris could taste his spunk in Pierre’s mouth as they rolled tongues together.

  “How’s your headache…?” Chris whispered, he draped his arms around Pierre’s neck.

  “Better now… A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down,” he kissed Chris once more and slid off the bed. Chris reflected on his misappropriation of the popular phrase, unsure whether it was suitable or not. Was it a spoonful of sugar when it tasted salty?

  He watched Pierre pick up last nights clothes, he didn’t seem shocked by the large bloodstain that had ruined the front of his shirt and jeans. “I don’t think I can wear this…” he surmised. He turned to Chris and revealed his full nudity for the first time.

  He was sexier than Chris had fantasised, his body more muscular and defined. He, rather amusingly, had a dragon tattoo on his left pec. A black Celtic style dragon that wasn’t as tacky as dragon tattoos often were. He was completely shaven, or waxed. His dick, while not the largest or widest Chris had ever known, was beautiful. Circumcised and shapely, it was a model penis. It was also erect, but Pierre showed no interest in utilising it.

  “Can I borrow an outfit?” it might be a little difficult as Chris was a size or two smaller than Pierre, but perhaps he’d find something to borrow…?

  “Sure…” Chris answered. He felt a little hazy and warm, the climax of sex had finally opened all its wonders to Chris. He had always enjoyed sex, but now he understood why people really enjoyed it.

  Pierre padded stark naked to Chris’ wardrobe, his pert butt cheeks having a little wobble with each step. Pierre opened the wardrobe and was greeted by a very unimaginative collection of clothes. A lot grey, black and other dark colours.

  “Well…” he remarked. He began rooting through the clothes, he wasn’t surprised to find it was meticulously organised. Chris looked like that kind of boy, but he was encouraged to see that Chris was slowly becoming less rigid and more open to different things. The handsome boy with his strange little ways was opening up…

  “What’s this?” he found a brown package hidden underneath a fallen hooded top.

  “What?” Chris didn’t know what he was referring to, until Pierre turned around with it in his hands. His face dropped.

  “Is this…?” Pierre groped the white powder through the window of clear plastic. “…Is this?”

  “I can explain…” Chris sighed.

  “Explain? Why the fuck have you got cocaine hidden in your wardrobe?” Pierre’s astonishment was a little loud and Chris didn’t like it. He didn’t need his Aunt to accidentally overhear this conversation.

  “It’s not mine…” He hissed quietly, hoping it would encourage Pierre to keep his voice down.

  “Not yours? Who’s is it?… Is it fucking Sam’s?”

  Chris didn’t answer, instead he looked away in angry shame.

  “It’s fucking Sam’s! What the fuck are you doing storing drugs for him?!”

  “I didn’t want to, I had no choice…”

  “You had no choice? I told you not to get involved with him!”

  “I aren’t!” Chris hissed angrily.

  “Fucking looks like it to me..” and with that Pierre tossed the drugs back into the wardrobe. He grabbed a hoodie and a pair of tracksuit bottoms, not caring that they matched. He threw them on, grabbed his mobile phone and keys from the side of Chris’ bed, then collected his bloodstained clothes and left without saying a further word.

  “Pierre?” Chris called after him. What the fuck had just happened? “Shit…!” he punched his pillow angrily. Pierre wasn’t coming back and all because of Sam’s narcotics.

  That blasted Le Bont… Again he had fucked his life up. He was starting to get real sick of this Samuel Le Bont.

  Chris punched his pillow again, but it still didn’t appease his rage.

  It didn’t make him feel better at all…

  -----------------------------------

  Jean popped a piece of gum in his mouth, but he really wanted a cigarette. He stepped out of the metal shack with the silver nose-ring in an evidence bag. All around him various personnel were going about their business, like a swarm of flies around him.

  “Jean?” It was Arron. Jean stepped out the path of a photographer and headed for his car. He was aggravated, very aggravated. He didn’t want to talk to his younger partner, but he wasn’t going to have a choice in the matter it seemed.

  Arron came to stand beside him, “what you thinking?”

  Jean chewed hard on the gum, he didn’t dare look at Arron lest he couldn’t contain the compulsion to head butt him. As satisfying as it might be, Arron actually hadn’t done anything wrong and Jean could only imagine the reams of paperwork such an incident would involve.

  “You tell me what you’re thinking…” Jean reflected it back.

  Arron recoiled a little, perhaps because he’d become so accustomed to just following Jean around and riding on his coattails. Their relationship was a little like Batman and Robin, Arron was delegated to the sidekick status.

  “Erm… Well, judging by the rohypnol we found I’d guess that the victim was drugged.”

  “But we won’t know till the toxicity reports come back…” Jean offered, he didn’t agree with Arron’s theory but he was feeling surprisingly nurturing. Or pissed off and disinterested in dragging the boy through yet another case… It was probably the latter he concluded to himself. “Tell me about the victim…”

  “Mid-twenties Caucasian male, homosexual…”

  “Why homosexual?”

  “Erm…” now Arron felt uncomfortable, “…because he’s a victim of the fairy killer?”

  Jean spat the gum out forcibly, it landed and rolled beneath a nearby car. He glanced around the disused parking lot as he rooted for a cigarette, he spied an officer interviewing the person who found the victim. A jogger, wasn’t it always the joggers? Was their life that vacuous and banal that they had nothing better that to tread tarmac in the early hours of the morning? The witness had seen the abandoned car left with its doors open, curiosity had led him from the car to the open door of the cabin where upon he stumbled across a workshop of horrors. And a dead guy face down on the bloodstained floor.

  As far as crime scenes went this one was pretty mild, despite the various blood-stained tools lining the walls. Jean had seen plenty worse in his time.

  Arron fidgeted nervously as he awaited Jean’s response.

  “Are you sure this is another victim of the fairy killer, and not the fairy killer himself?” Jean suggested breaking the lengthy pause.

  Arron went to shake his head, but the realisation unfolded across his mind.

  “You mean…?” he trailed off.

  Jean let him resume his line of thought, he irritably smoked his cigarette while Arron connected the dots. “So, that’s the Fairy Killer. He took a new victim, but this victim fought back. Killed him…” Arron was surprised, “The rohypnol was how he claimed his victims… How did you figure that out?”

  Jean gave Arron a frustrated glance, “because he had blood on his hands that matches the pliers which were used to pull the body jewellery free. He was the attacker, and the victim fought back… Maybe there was even two of them…”

  Arron took a moment to digest that, he was impressed at how efficiently the old man translated the crime scene.

  Jean nodded, “So we found ourselves the Fairy Killer, but we now need to know who killed him…”

  “We need to find his victim… If he was using rohypnol then he would’ve been targeting clubbers, was there any gay nights last night?”

  “That’s what we need to find out…” Jean concluded. He began to walk towards his car.

  “Shouldn’t we identify who the Fairy Killer is first? That might lead us to the killer…?”

  “We could, but the crew will figure out his identity shortly enough. They’ll run fingerprint checks on all the equipment in there, they’ll also trace the car’s registration plates… So in the meantime we can try and
identify the killer… of the Fairy Killer…”

  “How we going to do that?” and just like that Arron fell right back to sidekick status. Was he dumb, or was it just being lazy?

  “We’ll go to every club in the area and review their CCTV tapes, we might hit lucky and see just who this Fairy Killer left the bar with…”

  “Yes Sir, what about the silver ring? You think it’s the killers?”

  “I do, whoever we’re looking for had a silver nose ring…” and judging by the blood on one edge of the ring Jean suspected it had been removed forcibly. He was curious to figure out what had happened in that little horror-shop, had the killer really fought back? But there didn’t look to be much of a struggle… He kept trying to picture the scene, but there was too many vital elements missing. He would have to wait for the coroners report before he knew how the Fairy Killer died… He suspected strangulation, but he couldn’t be entirely sure just yet. It begged the question who had been strong enough to overpower the serial killer…?

  Jean reached his car, he swung open the door.

  “Crazy isn’t it…?” Arron wondered aloud.

  “What is?”

  “We’ve been hunting this guy for months, and then just we find him dead in his own workshop…”

  Jean agreed it was a little crazy, but with the rate this town was going nothing surprised him anymore. The Fairy Killer’s murder shared a few similarities with the hitman killer, perhaps it was the work of a vigilante? Or was this just random chaos? Was this- he stopped himself. Idle speculation was all it was, even if he knew there was elements of the story that didn’t make sense yet. In time they would come. He dismissed any connection to the hitman killer case, because they couldn’t be connected. His desperation to resolve everything was clouding his judgement.

  He started the car while Arron did his seatbelt.

  He threw his gaze at the shack for a final time and felt that knot of anger tighten in his stomach. He couldn’t wait to get to Samuel Le Bont and find out quite why the Fairy Killer had been operating out of a rarely used Le Bont site. What was Samuel not telling him?

  What connection did Samuel Le Bont have to the Fairy Killer?