Skeleton King (The Dirty Heroes Collection Book 9)

by Charity B.

  “John! Welcome, welcome! Come over here!” Mayor Greer holds his hands up in greeting.

  I never know what I’m going to get with him. There are times he’s so joyful it’s contagious, and others when he’ll rip your throat out for blinking in his direction.

  He pats me on the back as he leads me over to Ogier, holding one of his whores on a leash as the triplets taunt her with a slingshot. Members of the town council and other local political officials mingle alongside Madame Emerald’s fortune telling booth.

  I lift my hand in greeting to Ogier as he grins at me. “Ah, Skeleton King! Now the night can officially begin.” He yanks on the leash causing the girl at the end of it to choke. “The kids told me you acquired a new lady friend this morning. Congratulations.”

  My arrogance wishes I would have taken a Polaroid of her before I left so I could show off her loveliness. A proud smile crawls up my face. “Her name is Natasha. She’s quite the beauty.”

  Ogier doesn’t have time to respond before Mayor Greer snaps, “It’s time to take the fucking pictures. Stand in a row and smile, for Christ’s sake.” Frowning, he positions us for the local photographer. It isn’t long before town residents start pouring in, lining up for their personal photo with me in front of the dripping blood backdrop.

  I really don’t know why they worship me as much as they do. Part of me is grateful for their acceptance, while the other part just wishes they’d leave me to my own devices. It can be draining. Thankfully, tonight is when their gushing reaches its peak. It started because I used to bring a body to the games, performing the first few stages of taxidermy for their enjoyment. It was a lot of work, though, and eventually became something I preferred to do privately. Now, I think I’ve become more of a symbol than anything else.

  Finally, after what feels like I’ve posed for hundreds of pictures, the crowd expands to enjoy the festivities of the evening. My eyes travel through the game players, looking for Fink. It’s odd that he isn’t here. Since he’s a descendant of one of the founding families, it’s assumed he’ll attend the biggest event of the year.

  I win a couple hundred dollars playing blackjack and watch Kline trying his hand at the knife throwing competition. We play that a little differently here. The point is to get as close to the target as possible without actually hitting it. The target this year is a man I’ve never seen before, and I’m assuming he’s one of the whores Ogier bought for the evening. The Bognar family has always dealt in the sex trade, giving Ogier easy access to what he sees as disposable bodies.

  The man is fastened to a large, spinning wheel and appears high out of his mind, barely reacting when the knife Kline throws lands in his arm.

  “Damn it,” Kline squeals in the high-pitched voice he takes on whenever he’s in his clown persona.

  I’m nearly knocked over as a group of kids run toward the movie room. It’s actually a pretty neat set up. Horror films are played on a large, white wall via a projector that Ogier purchased last year from a theater in the Mundane World that was going out of business. I follow them and lean against the wall to watch for a few minutes. From what I can tell, the film currently showing is about a freaky, red-haired, apparently possessed doll, who’s running around with a knife, tormenting a little boy and his mom. On my way out, I snatch up one of the little pumpkin buckets of popcorn before returning to the games.

  While stopping to chat with the Zeldamine sisters at their booth, I admire a lampshade made of skin that came from at least four different bodies. The swirled needlepoint designs are so intricate and stunning, I consider purchasing it for myself.

  A high-pitched laugh catches my attention, causing me to glance toward the whore lounge. The curtains are cracked open wide enough that if I got closer, I would be able to clearly see inside.

  Waving to the sisters, I make my way to the lounge, stopping before crossing the threshold.

  I wrap my fingers around the velvet curtain, my eyes landing on a young woman, adorning a collar and chains. She gags while police chief, Baron Vendire, violently shoves his cock down her throat. Her hips rock back to meet the thrusts of the other Vendire brother, Lestar. I can’t help imagining what her pussy feels like as I watch the brothers use her for their pleasure.

  Ogier walks up next to me, slapping my back. “Want to try your hand at a girl that can actually suck your dick? No trick, it’s my treat.”

  She doesn’t look like she’s suffering, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to be here. A lot of things about this town shocked and even repulsed me at first, and I suppose they still do, I’ve just become used to them. That doesn’t mean I have to involve myself any more than required. I’m not a rapist. If I were, I wouldn’t need the dead girls. Regardless of that, I’m not stupid enough to accept anything Ogier offers. I don’t trust him and never will.

  “That’s generous, but I must humbly decline.” I turn away from his hand on my back and walk toward the bar. “Enjoy the games.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugs before stepping behind the curtain.

  When the night is more than half over and the excitement begins to die down, Mayor Greer announces the raffle and auction winners over the speaker.

  “First up, is this massive gift basket from Zeldamine Apothecary.”

  With everyone’s attention on the raffle, I pat my leg for Nothing to follow me, slipping out the back doors before the fireworks start.

  The nip in the air is revitalizing as I walk down the empty street. I want to go home, so I can’t explain why I continue farther into town. Natasha is waiting for me, so why am I walking away from her?

  Although Hallows Grove cemetery hasn’t had a new body buried in it in years, it’s a peaceful place to me. Graveyards are my playground, my safe place. Nothing runs between the aging plots as I sit in front of the largest headstone, the one belonging to Mayor Greer’s great-great grandfather. Flipping open my Zippo, I pull a joint from my pocket, watching the end glow orange once it’s lit.

  The smoke is gray in the moonlight as I rest my head against the hard granite. Nothing sniffs his way around and I enjoy the silence. Suddenly, his attention is drawn to a certain gravestone causing him to bark into the darkness.

  “Whatcha messin’ with, boy?”

  He doesn’t acknowledge me, so I take a long drag while standing to see what has him so interested.

  I hear a soft, “Shush, buddy,” before I see her. Cute, little, redheaded Sarah Stein. What exactly is she doing? I know Fink would never let her out, tonight of all nights. Her irises, that are abnormally small, lift to mine, her eyes wide with what I think is fear.

  “I-I um…” She won’t meet my gaze, and I instantly wonder if she’s hurt.

  Kneeling in front of her, I ask, “Are you all right?”

  Her hair falls in her face as she looks to the ground.

  “I just…” Shifting her eyes back up to meet my stare, she shakes her head. “I don’t want to go home yet. Fink is already…mad.” She reaches out to me before snapping her hand back. “Please don’t tell him I’m here.”

  The sound of desperation in her voice makes my ribcage feel like it’s being crushed together. I’ll admit, I have a special relationship with Franklin ‘Fink’ Stein. He’s the reason I even live here. When I was sixteen, I met a mortician that allowed me ‘privacy’ with the cadavers for a certain price. That bastard was a crook. At the time, Fink was paying him for organs to use in his experiments. We met in passing one day, and after an awkward conversation along with a cup of coffee, I found myself getting a tour of the place I now call home.

  Fink was actually the first person I’d ever felt a real human connection with. Because of that, I’ve turned a blind eye to what he’s doing with Sarah. I’ve forced myself to ignore it because it’s less uncomfortable than confronting him. Not to mention, it’s illegal here to put any type of shame or judgement on a Hallows Grove resident. That doesn’t make it feel any less wrong, though. I may have a pit in my soul, but it isn�
�t hollowed out completely.

  “Your secret’s safe with me. I promise.” Reaching out, I take her hand, feeling the bumps of scars that I know tatter her youthful flesh. The warmth radiating from her is so jarring I almost jerk my hand away. I’m so used to the cold. I help her to her feet as a sweet smile lifts her full lips. Quickly separating our hands, I hold the joint out to her. “You want some?”

  She shrugs and takes it. “Sure.” My eyebrow quirks at the huge hit she inhales. Almost instantly, she doubles over in a coughing fit. “What is that?” The words fight to come out in between her hacking.

  “It’s only weed,” I laugh, earning me a frown.

  Shoving it in my face, she coughs one more time. “Thanks, but I don’t want this.”

  I bring it to my lips, taking a drag of my own. “Fair enough. Would you like to walk with me?” Nothing makes his way deeper into the cemetery while sniffing everything in his path.

  The big smile lifting her cheeks transforms her features, somehow making her even more beautiful. “Okay.” The wind blows her hair across her face as we pass more worn headstones. “Why are you out here anyway? Shouldn’t Skeleton King be inside at the games?”

  This is probably the longest conversation we’ve ever had. It’s also the most pleasant I’ve ever felt in the presence of a breathing woman. I’m shocked at myself when the words I’ve only spoken to Nothing and the dead pour from my lips.

  “Sometimes it can be so…unfulfilling.” It’s invigorating yet terrifying to confess this to someone with the ability to repeat it. “Everyone sees me as this,” I gesture to my painted face, “but I just want to be John.”

  “Do you…do you ever think about leaving?” Her voice takes on a higher octave, breaking on the last word.

  Tilting my head back and forth, I consider how to respond. It’s more complicated than that. Skeleton King is part of who I am.

  “Occasionally, but to where? You know who I am. I wouldn’t be welcome in the Mundane World.”

  She sighs in what feels like relief. As she turns to face me, the moonlight shines across her soft features, creating a tingle beneath my skin. When she meets my eyes, her heated hand wraps around mine, and I suck in a breath at the sensation. “Maybe you could just stop?” Shaking her head, she stutters, “B-being Skeleton King, I mean.”

  Her words are kind, however impossible. The only thing I can think about is her touching me. I can’t tear my stare away from our hands. Right as I open my mouth to try to speak, Fink’s pained voice carries through the graveyard.

  “Sarah! Sarah! I know you’re out here! Get your fucking ass home right now!”

  The whistle of the first firework being shot off shrieks in the distance. Orange lights explode in the sky above us as her eyes widen. “I gotta go,” she whispers, dropping my hand and running away, taking her heat with her.

  Smile

  Sarah Stein

  October 31st ~ Night

  My heart thrashes in my chest while my smile sits permanently on my face. He was so nice, and we touched hands! Twice! Whatever Fink does to me will be worth the last few minutes. I take the long way, which means he’ll beat me home, but at least it will delay the inevitable.

  Vince is sprawled on the doorstep when I arrive. “Hi, kitty,” I whisper. “Is Fink back yet?”

  He meows, and I sigh, bracing myself to go inside. Fink is standing in the entryway, glaring at me when I step through the door. I don’t even get it closed before Ingvar grabs my shoulders, squeezing me tight with my back against his chest. I grunt, failing at my attempt to push against his arms.

  Fink stalks toward us, his cane knocking against the floor with each step as he seethes, “Do you want me dead? Is that it?”

  I push my shoulders against Ingvar’s chest and stop fighting. “Of course not. You’re being silly.”

  “Silly?!” he yells. “You know how lethal Belladonna is! You’re lucky it hasn’t killed me already!”

  ‘Lucky’ isn’t the word that comes to mind. “Then maybe you should make your own food,” I snap.

  He straightens against his cane with narrowed eyes. “Bring her to the lab, Ingvar.”

  Tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Ingvar carries me upstairs where he straps me to a table in Fink’s laboratory.

  “Still,” he orders.

  I can hear Fink’s cane tap, tap, tapping as he makes his way into the lab. He chooses his implements as Ingvar cleans my cheeks. I know what that means. My face is going to be cut.

  “Do you know your importance, Sarah? Really?” Fink shuffles around for the implements he’ll need, his back to me as he speaks. “I left Hallows Grove when I began attending college. There, I met my ex-wife, and we started a family, living a peaceful, mundane life. But when our daughter died, I couldn’t fathom a life without my child.”

  Ingvar tilts the table, leaving me at a forty-five-degree angle and giving me a better view of Fink.

  “I was working at a prestigious university at the time, researching the possibilities of cloning. The moment my daughter took her last breath, I knew exactly what I needed to do. Though her body was difficult to acquire, once I had it, I used the school’s funding and equipment in an attempt to bring her back. Unfortunately, before I was successful, I was caught, losing my wife and my career in the process.” The implements clank on the surgical table as Fink lays them out in a row. “Shortly after that, my father passed away, and with nowhere else to go, I came back here to take my rightful place on the town council.”

  His chilled fingers brush the hair from my cheeks before cupping my chin. The blue irises in his eyes move back and forth as he examines my face. “A few years later, I saw you for the first time. In that moment, I knew you were worthy to serve as the representation of her. Having you with me is a passable substitute for the daughter I lost.” Sliding the needle into a glass bottle, he fills it with the clear liquid. The lidocaine syringe drips as he taps the barrel and asks, “Are you happy here?”

  I snort as Ingvar breathes so heavily next to me that I can smell the dog biscuits he eats all the time. “I’m absolutely blissful.”

  Fink frowns, leaning down to inject me with the numbing agent. “Sarcasm is unbecoming on a woman. As is the lack of a smile.” The needle slides out of my left cheek before it’s inserted into my right. “I miss your smile, Sarah.”

  Once the lidocaine kicks in, I don’t know if I’ll be able to speak. It’s only been recently that he’s opened up to me about his past, so I want to ask my question before I’m unable to.

  “Why do you do this to me? Cut me up? Why wouldn’t you want me whole?”

  A small smile curves his lips. “You are many things to me. A daughter, a lover—but you’re also a symbol and a reminder. My pumpkin’s name was Sarah, and she loved dolls… Rag dolls specifically.”

  His words sink in, allowing me to process what he said. Sarah…that isn’t my real name. It’s hers. The revelation has me shuffling through my brain, trying to remember what I might have been called before coming here.

  The lower part of my face tingles, like my jaw is being dissolved, taking away my ability to speak.

  “You encompass all of that, and I will work on you until I believe you’re complete. You are my ultimate experiment. The problem is, my pumpkin was always a happy girl, yet you’ve become so sour. Maybe if you look like you’re smiling, someday you’ll feel it again for real.”

  These procedures and amputations used to terrify me. Now I’ve grown fairly accustomed to them and have accepted that this is my fate. He picks up a Sharpie to mark my face. Remaining silent, he soon trades the marker for a scalpel.

  Thick pressure pushes against my cheek as Fink gives me the smile he spoke of. Bright red soaks the gauze cloth once he lifts it from the wound and takes the large needle threaded with polyester suture from Ingvar.

  “Is clean.” Ingvar says as he holds up a rectangular mirror.

  Having to actually look at the mutilation always m
akes it worse. Considering I’ve seen my detached limbs next to me on a table before, I don’t understand why this is making my heartrate speed up so fast.

  Leaning over me, Fink holds the side of my mouth as he punctures the split flesh with the needle. Although I can’t feel any real pain, there’s a definite sensation of tugging as he ties off the first stitch. He works his way up, snipping the thread each time, leaving little black strings sticking out of my face.

  “You hurt me tonight, Sarah. I’m not only physically ill, but my heart is broken over the fact that you could do that to me. I saved you, done nothing besides love you and care for you, yet you repay me with disobedience and violence.”

  He repeats the process with my other cheek, and I wish he’d go a little faster. As ugly as the stitching is, seeing the gaping gash in my face is much worse. After administering morphine through an IV, he softly rubs his hand over my hair. It’s always intrigued me that he tries to make this as comfortable as possible, even when he’s angry at me.

  He unbuckles me from the table, following Ingvar as he carries me down to my room. Once I’m in my bed and Ingvar leaves, he says, “You know I’m trying to protect you, don’t you? There are people that could hurt you, or take you from me. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

  Even knowing his words are sincere, they don’t really make sense considering he does what he does to me. His broken mind blurs his obsession with his true emotions. I hate him so much sometimes, yet other times, I think he’s just trying to stop the pain.

  My skin starts to feel fuzzy as my body loosens and relaxes. “Hmmm.” This is the only good part of these surgeries. When the meds kick in. For a few minutes, I feel too amazing to care about much of anything.

  “You need to rest tonight, so we’ll complete your punishment tomorrow. Sleep well, my little rag doll.”