Mr. Snuff

by Jon Athan

  Over the man's obnoxious prattle, Russell aimed the handgun at Ron's bare crotch, then he pulled the trigger. The thunderous gunshot echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls. Ron bellowed and rolled into the fetal position as he gripped his mutilated genitals. Blood oozed past his hands, jetting from his partially severed penis.

  Russell kicked Ron's hands away, then he stomped on the man's crotch with his steel-toe boot. The sound of shredding skin was unnerving – like paper being torn. The deviant psychopath was castrated in the most brutal fashion. With the detached penis under his foot, the vengeful father twirled his foot like if he were trying to remove gum from the bottom of his boot. The bloodied, limp piece of meat, like a slug crawling out of a crimson river, was permanently detached.

  As Ron writhed in agony on the ground, Russell said, “Stop moving, Ron. I'm not done with you.”

  Struggling to breathe, Ron stammered, “N–N–N–No...”

  Before he could utter another word, Russell fired six rounds. One bullet hit Ron's left kneecap, two hit his right shin, and the other three hit the ground. With the hail of blazing bullets, Ron was successfully immobilized. Russell strolled towards the doorway, then he glanced back at the young woman's corpse.

  Over Ron's bawling, Russell murmured, “I'll kill them for you, too...”

  Russell slowly shut the door behind him. The sound of Ron's cries seeped into the hall, but the business was not disturbed. The employees and customers were seemingly too busy to notice Russell's invasion. A bellow of agony was not out of the ordinary anyway.

  ***

  Russell breathed heavily as he sauntered down the dreadful hall. Reluctance clung to the back of his mind like lint in a wallet. Yet, he could not stop himself from moving forward. He had passed the point of no return, he marched towards the end of the maze. Vengeance tossed him into an inescapable tailspin of violence.

  As he walked up to the next door in the hallway, Russell peered into the neighboring chamber. To his utter relief, the torture room was empty. There was fresh blood spattered on the floor, but the captors and captives had already vanished. Russell thought, I have to keep pushing forward, I have to find Mr. Wu.

  He walked at a faster pace, trying to reach the finish line before the race ended. Although Andy Wu was his target, Russell felt compelled to help the captives he stumbled upon. He couldn't save everyone, but he refused to abandon a victim in his path. As he reached the next door, Russell peeked inside through the cracked vision window.

  The room was dark, a single bulb illuminated a circle towards the center. A hulking man stood within the circle of illumination, veiled in a large black cloak. The powerful man gripped the neck of a voluptuous blonde woman, strangling her with his large hands. The woman croaked and groaned as she kicked and convulsed. Her throat was black and blue – she had been choked for hours.

  With fury glistering in his eyes, Russell muttered, “You sick bastards...”

  Like the previous occupied room, the chamber was open for Russell's visit – practically welcoming him with open arms. Russell violently shoved the door open with all of his strength. Disregarding the ominous darkness swallowing the room, he walked up to the illuminated area. With his hands wrapped around the woman's bruised throat, the man glanced over his shoulder.

  Before he could utter a word, Russell lifted the pistol and fired at the man's dome at point-blank range. The disrobed woman staggered to her knees as she gasped for air and coughed. She sobbed as she swiped at the blood splattered on her right cheek. As she stared into Russell's austere eyes, the woman trembled and squirmed a meter in reverse.

  Russell returned the gaze, staring into her bloodshot eyes. He said, “Get out of here. The exit's to the left down the hall. There might be some clothing in the lockers for you, too. Find something warm, then leave.” The woman was hesitant – was one killer better than the other? Upon spotting the doubt in her eyes, Russell sighed, then he softly said, “Get out of here, sweetheart. Go get help for the rest of them. I can't save them all on my own.”

  The woman frantically nodded and stuttered, “Th–Thank you...”

  Russell watched at the nude woman scurried down the hall. He watched the surrounding doors, ensuring her safe departure before continuing his journey for vengeance. As the woman vanished into the locker room without a peep of trouble, Russell turned and jogged in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Daughter Slayer

  Russell jogged down the hall, trying his damnedest to ignore the pleas for help. With an escaped prisoner and Stephen's phone on the loose, he had a limited time to exact his revenge before the authorities arrived. His limited ammunition further hindered his ability to aid the helpless. As he jogged down the right side of the hall, Russell was relieved to see the following chambers were empty.

  He stopped at a fork in the hall. He glanced to his left, then towards his right – there were symmetrical routes at each side. The warehouse of torture began to splinter into a maze of uncertainty. The crying and shouting was louder from the hall to the right. He decided to use the agony as a guide. With hurried steps, Russell walked down the hall and followed the cries.

  There were four doors at each side, separated by eight meters. Russell briskly walked by the wall to the left. With each passing door, he glanced into the dreary chambers. The rooms were larger than those in the first hallway and each chamber was empty. He was pained by the anguish echoing from the rooms on the opposite side of the hall – he couldn't spare the time or the bullets.

  The end of the hall splintered into another hallway to Russell's left. He grimaced from the emotional exhaustion as he staggered to the wall. He planted his moist forehead on the filthy concrete and groaned. The constant death and torture had taken a toll on him. His resolve was crippled with each step taken towards the finish line.

  Russell shook his head and muttered, “What am I doing here? What the hell am I doing?”

  He teetered away from the wall, then he lurched down the center of the newfound hallway. The hallway was wider and longer than the previous corridors. There were eight doors at each side, each door separated by ten meters of concrete. The chambers continued to grow as Russell continued to delve into the lunacy. He grunted and groaned as he staggered down the hall, hopelessly trying to ignore the sorrowful cries for help. The shrill mewling, like the cries of a group of babies, perturbed him.

  As he grimaced in anger and disgust, Russell said, “I'll come back for you... I'll come back for all of you. I'll–I'll rip them into little pieces for you, I swear. I'll come back when I finish him... I'll kill Wu, then I'll kill the rest. I promise, you'll be avenged...”

  Russell stopped his muttering and tottering. He stood between the two final doors in the hall. He could see the next corridor directly ahead – another left turn, another hall of horror. The door to his left, however, snatched his attention. The peculiar iron door did not have a window. Instead, the center of the door was scrawled with an ominous message. Written in red, the smeared message read: Mr. Homicide.

  Eyes full of tears, Russell trudged towards the door and murmured, “I... I found you, bastard... I actually found you.”

  Much like the rest of the unsecured building, Mr. Homicide's room was open for business – locks did not seem popular in the torture house. As the door slowly swung open, the hinges squealed like a rat in an empty auditorium. The shrill sound was unusually unnerving, echoing through the chamber and the hallway.

  Russell shambled to the doorway, dragging his feet. The anxiety slowed his momentum, but his anger only grew larger with the anticipation. He examined the room he had sought for so long. The doorway was swallowed by a wave of impenetrable darkness. Only the wall parallel to the entrance was illuminated by dingy bulbs – the incandescent bulbs washed the grimy walls with a yellow tint.

  There was a large rectangular dining table hugging the wall; the moldering wood groaned from the weight it carried. The skinned body of a petite woman
laid atop the table. Only a few strands of hair protruded from her dome – the remaining bits of a savage scalping. Her face remained unscathed while the rest of her body was skinned. Most of her skin was peeled, revealing her tender, muscular flesh. Her leg twitched and her head swayed. She was miraculously alive.

  In front of the woman, there was a white ceramic plate with a chunk of bloody meat on top. There was a bloody fork and knife on the right side. Russell's bottom lip quivered from the shocking sight – a woman reduced to a slab of bloodied flesh for a man's sick appetite. He was utterly appalled by the discovery. The descent was never-ending. He was being led to the pits of hell – torture, rape, murder, incest, necrophilia, and cannibalism.

  Russell's legs wobbled as he staggered into the room. He walked slowly, each step calculated and methodical. He could see a tall, brawny man standing by the corner to the left of the table. The man wore a black mask over his head, a black cloak down to his ankles, and black dress shoes. He gazed at his reflection on a mirror as he wiped his hands with a white towel. The man was unaware of Russell's presence.

  As he crept through the torture chamber, Russell spotted a camera on a tripod towards the center of the room. The device was obscured by the eerie shadows. The camera was aimed directly at the dining table, perfectly capturing the skinned woman and the plate of human flesh. Every dastardly act in the facility was recorded for the sick audience around the state. The fact enraged Russell. He shoved the pistol into his waistband, then he retrieved his framing hammer from the back of his belt.

  ***

  As he slowly approached, Russell said, “This is for my daughter, you rat bastard.”

  As he turned, the unaware man asked, “What?”

  Before he could receive a response or utter another word, Russell struck Mr. Homicide with the face of his sturdy hammer. The thud of steel clashing with his skull echoed through the room. The man muttered indistinctly as he staggered away from Russell, weaving and bobbing his head to dodge the next blow.

  Russell grunted and swung downward, trying to use all of his body weight to deliver a fatal strike. To his utter dismay, the hammer hit the dining table. Due to the force of the attack, the hammer was jammed into the splintered tabletop. The man stumbled towards the plate of human flesh, then he grabbed the bloodied knife.

  Still dazed by the thump to the head, Mr. Homicide held the knife away from his body and pointed the sharp tip at his attacker. His vision was blurred. He couldn't identify the man frantically trying to remove the hammer from the table. He saw double, then triple.

  Mr. Homicide asked, “Who are you? What the hell are you doing?”

  There was no time for questions and answers. The wood cracked and snapped as Russell pulled the hammer from the table. He swung the tool at the savage man, missing by a meter. Upon noticing the knife, Russell held both of his hands up – his left palm open, the hammer clenched in his right. He was ready to brawl.

  Mr. Homicide shook his head, then he said, “Wait a second... I know you...”

  Russell lunged forward and swung the hammer. The savage killer dodged the attack, then he swung his knife. The blade easily sliced Russell's left palm, like a knife cutting through butter. Russell grimaced from the pain as he held his injured hand to his stomach. He gritted his teeth, then he struck the man in the head with the hammer.

  Mr. Homicide fell to his buttocks, then he rolled on the ground as he gripped his forehead and groaned. The knife clanked as it landed on the ground nearby. Breathing heavily from the attack, Russell stood over the man. He scowled as he yanked the mask from his head.

  The man was tall and muscular. His brown hair was tousled and damp. His crystal blue eyes were weary and bloodshot. The black bags beneath his eyes were like dark voids. Russell did not recognize the man. He could not recognize a man he never met – homicide detective Sam Goodman. Goodman's eyes widened as his vision focused.

  Awed, he shouted, “Shit! It is you!”

  Russell said, “You... You're the bastard that killed my daughter. You're the bastard that slaughtered Carrie. I'm going to make this very painful for you...”

  Goodman wrapped his arms around his head and shouted, “Wait! Wait! You don't know what you're doing! You don't know who I am, you stupid fuck! You'll regret it!” Russell glowered as he dug his hand into his pocket, never taking his eyes off his daughter's slayer. Goodman pleaded, “Please, don't do this! I have connections! I can make this right! Please...”

  Russell pulled out a black box cutter from his pocket. The box cutter rapidly clicked as the blade extended from the black handle. Without saying a single word, Russell leaned down and grabbed Goodman's face. As he wildly sobbed, Goodman turned over on all-fours and attempted to scurry away – a frightened animal.

  Russell hit the back of Goodman's head with his elbow three times. Goodman was dazed by the pummeling. Russell mounted his back, then he pulled on Goodman's right eyelid. He clenched his jaw as he sawed into the top half of Goodman's eyelid. He had never participated in acts of such savagery, but he could not stop. Goodman shrieked from the excruciating pain. The blade easily ripped through the thin skin. His hands soaked in blood, Russell tossed the flap of skin aside.

  As he groaned, slobber and blood plopping on the floor beneath him, Goodman shouted, “You stupid fuck! You stupid fuck!”

  Russell pulled Goodman's head back and sternly said, “I'm not done yet, motherfucker.”

  Despite the squirming and flailing, Russell pulled on Goodman's left eyelid, then he sliced through the skin. During the vicious process, the blade slipped and cut into the detective's eye. Russell tumbled back as Goodman violently convulsed from the pain. He bellowed as he flung his limbs every which way.

  Russell shouted, “Where's Andy Wu?! Where's your boss?!” Goodman continued to weep. Russell pulled on Goodman's hair and barked, “Tell me!”

  Gasping for air, Goodman said, “He's... He's... He's down the... down the hall to the left. The–The second door to the right. Let me live... Please... I'm a det–”

  “Shut up. Shut your fucking mouth. My daughter begged you for mercy, she begged for her father. I wasn't given the opportunity to save her. Well, I'll give your boss the same opportunity to save you.”

  Goodman held his hands to his vulnerable, stinging eyes. A stream of bloody tears coursed down his cheeks. His grimace was barely recognizable through the blood staining his face. Yet, he couldn't help but give off a wry smile. Goodman knew the facility like the back of his hand. An opportunity to walk out of those doors blind but alive was welcome.

  Russell walked towards the table, then he knelt down. He said, “You might live... if you don't bleed out before Wu gets to you, at least.”

  Goodman stuttered, “Wha–What?”

  Russell returned with the bloodied knife in his hand. Goodman grunted as he turned on his stomach and attempted to wiggle away. Russell knelt down on top of the psychopath, then he pulled Goodman's right leg up to his chest – a Boston crab wrestling position. With the knife, he sawed into Goodman's ankle.

  As veins bulged on his brow, Goodman shouted, “No! No! Please!”

  Russell sawed until he mangled Goodman's Achilles tendon. Goodman abruptly stopped fidgeting. He wheezed, struggling to breathe. The pain sent him into shock. Russell didn't care for Goodman's well-being. With blood splattered on his face, he proceeded to the next leg. He gritted his teeth as he cut into the tender flesh, shredding through the remaining heel cord.

  Upon completion, Russell stood and absently stared at the mutilated ankles. He was shocked and disturbed by his depraved actions. The knife clanked as the eating utensil clashed with the floor. Russell bit his bottom lip, then he walked towards the doorway. He stepped over Goodman's twitching body, seeking to escape the nightmare.

  As he approached the door, the woman on the table said, “Kill me...”

  Russell stopped in place and shut his eyes. His conscience was befuddled by the disturbing experience. The line between right and wron
g was wiped, scrubbed with gallons of blood and lingering pieces of flesh. The woman's plea for death was sincere and necessary, but Russell's addled mind prolonged the inevitable. He held his trembling hand to his face and sobbed.

  Russell tilted his head towards the ceiling and shouted, “Goddammit! Why?! Why me? Why Carrie?”

  With a grimace of emotional agony, Russell turned towards the massacre. He ran his fingers through his hair as he approached the woman. Looking into her hollow eyes, he could see a reflection of Carrie's torture.

  In a cracking voice, the woman said, “Kill... Kill me...”

  Russell sniffled, then he said, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...”

  The woman smiled as she shut her eyes and bowed her head – a motion of acceptance. Russell held his breath as he aimed the firearm at the woman's dome. Although she sought escape from her torment, Russell couldn't help but feel like he was putting his own daughter down. After the harrowing violence and madness, the murder of an innocent woman was difficult to justify.

  Russell bit his bottom, then he whispered, “Mercy... Mercy for the helpless...”

  The woman whispered, “Mercy...”

  Russell closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. With a bullet to the head, the woman's misery ended in an instant. Although perceived as an act of kindness, mercy was not always a beautiful sight to behold. Stony-faced, Russell departed the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Confrontation

  “The second door to the right...” Russell whispered as he walked down the dimly-lit corridor.

  The disquieting groans continued to echo down the hallway, reverberating from every grim room. Agony and melancholy dominated the renovated warehouse, smothering the virtuous souls with unprecedented wickedness. Russell shoved the door open, then he peered inside. He was surprised by his discovery, but he was no longer haunted. He was desensitized by his trek.