by Alex Focus
Incy
Wincy
Spider
By Alex Focus
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental and to be honest would be completely mad. The EMP effect used as part of the story line, however, is real.
Copyright ? Alex Focus 2014, but
feel free to share it with friends or enemies alike.
Copyright ? 2012 Alex Focus
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13:
978-1478363552
ISBN-10:
147836355X
Dedication
For Adelise, Jimmy and Johnny.
Prologue
The computer screen was still. Thirteen names. Thirteen addresses. Thirteen men.
His anger, born of unbearable anguish, bloomed like the mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion. The half-empty bottle in his hand sailed across the small room to smash against the opposite wall. Sharp fragments of glass exploded in every direction, while the yellow liquid calmly foamed its way down the wall, to pool onto the polished wood floor.
His anger, his guilt, his pain grew inside him like a forest fire. It scorched his rupturing heart until a guttural, inhuman scream erupted from his lips. As he screamed, he smashed his fists on the hardwood desk until his hands were numb from the pain and his voice was but a scratchy rasp.
When his calm had returned, he sought comfort in lining up the thirteen spiders he had carefully killed and prepared - one for each man. Next to each spider, he carefully placed two 0.22 calibre bullets. He counted them and then counted them again. As he counted, he checked that each one had been scored with eight deep cuts in the tip, like the legs of a spider.
He smiled, pleased with his preparation. Even though one bullet would be enough, two would be better. A few microseconds after entry, each one would break apart into eight messengers of death and destruction. The brain would look like a milk shake from hell.
Nevertheless, he was a careful man. He was going to use two, just to be sure, "bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang ?" he repeated as a mantra.
He would make himself part of their lives and become the instrument of their death, one by one. "Soon, soon ? I will be coming for you, motherfuckers! Very, very soon!" he promised them, screaming in the room filled with sadness and anger, filled with sharp glass and sharper hate.
He waited, immobile, for night to come. He was ready.
"I am coming for you," he murmured to himself, over and over. "I am coming for you motherfuckers, I am coming for you motherfuckers ?"
Then, he was there, in the house. The lovers were upstairs; he could hear their grunts and their sighs. He could hardly contain himself. His heart beat so fast and so loudly in his chest that he was sure that, they would hear him. His hands trembled and his body was covered with cold sweat. Yet, he waited for them to finish. In the dark he waited, and prepared himself. He slowly took cold and ruthless control of his mind and body
He waited for the three lovers to finish their disgusting orgy. When they were finally finished, he waited for two of them to leave. Then his man was all alone?
He entered the bedroom then, without knocking. The man was now standing and was moving toward the sumptuous ensuite. Startled, he turned around saying, "Are you still here, Mark?" Then he realised that it was not one of his lovers, "What are you doing here?" he asked, embarrassed by his nakedness. It was then that he saw the gun. "What are you doing?" he repeated, the first touch of fear in his voice.
"Shut the fuck up, you motherfucking prick." The killer ordered, pointing the gun at his face.
"Why? What is going on?"
"Shut Up!" The killer screamed at him. "Get down on your knees at the end of the bed, face the wall, your face makes me sick."
"But why? What have I done to??"
"DO IT! NOW!" The killer shouted again, placing the gun a few centimetres from the man's forehead.
"Please?if it's money that you want?you can have anything, please?" the man begged.
"I don't want your filthy money, you motherfucker! I want you to remember what you did a year ago? do you remember?" The killer gave the man a hard nudge with the end of his pistol, urging the man to answer. "Well, do you?"
"I?I?we ?never? please," he begged, sounding very afraid. His bladder emptied onto the expensive carpet, marking the onset of his naked, all embracing fear.
"Please?please we did not mean any harm?" the man said, hoping to be believed.
"NO HARM? NO FUCKING HARM? You fucking pervert! I ought to kill you very slowly, shoot you in the guts and watch you squirm for hours? how would you like that, huh, Motherfucking pervert?"
"No, no ? please I am sorry, I am so sorry ... please, I'll never do it again ? please oh please," he begged still, tears of despair forming in his eyes. The killer laughed then; he laughed loudly, but not at all nicely.
"Oh, I know you will never do it again, arsehole," he reassured his victim. "You will never do ANYTHING again. You, you are going to die tonight!"
"Please ? please have mercy ? please."
"Ask mercy from God. I have none. Prepare to die, motherfucker," the killer said and moved his gun to the man's temple, but he paused for a few moments. The man trembled as he waited for death. When it did not come, he turned to the killer hoping that there was to be a reprieve. The killer smiled at him, almost with kindness. "No, no mercy, for you ... die now ? the world is a much better place without you."
Bang, bang.
The little gun had coughed twice and the man was still. The smell of death - blood and released waste - filled the room.
The killer picked up the two spent cartridges and then checked the room for any trace of his presence. He found none. He removed a small jar from inside his pocket, he then transferred the little spider onto the dead-man's back, and then he left as quickly and as quietly as he had come.
The small jumping spider was his only message to the world.
