In Dreams (part 3)

2:55 PM Short Stories 0 Comments

WARNING - The following story contains both physical and sexual violence. Potential trigger warning. Proceed with caution if you are easily disturbed.

---

  He dreams of sharpened knives and meat hooks with chains. He felt the coarseness of the rope slide through his hands like sandpaper. The smell of kerosene invaded his nostrils as he looked at his handiwork. A pile of kerosene purchased from different stores over time rested on the far back wall. To the left of the door was a table on which all manor of tools sat longingly, waiting for their purpose to be fulfilled. Above him were hooks - hard points he drilled into the ceiling days before connected to chains that held his prize upright. Sean's hands were held above his head and his feet were bound together with coarse rope. She was treated like a piece of meat. It was only fitting that he do that same.
      He had stripped Sean of his clothes and was beginning to get bored. He wanted his prey to be awake for what was about to happen. Impatiently he paced back and forth holding a knife sharpened to perfection. He fiddled with the point pressed firmly into his thumb, twisting back and forth. Instinctively he withdrew his hand to his mouth. The taste of blood attacked his tongue, filling him with near madness. It wasn't the only blood that would be spilled that night.
     Nearly an hour passed before Sean began to wake.
     "You're awake," he said simply.
     "Wh...where am I?"
     He smiled, walked across the small cabin room and punched Sean in the stomach. "Does that jog your memory?"
     "I just wanted some E..." Another blow to the stomach. "Shit man, what the hell is this?!" he asked, coughing and panting all the while.
     "This," he pondered his answer for a long moment. He walked over to the table, picked up a hatchet, and turned around. "This is justice."
     "Justice? What the fuck does that even mean?"
     He walked slowly towards Sean, hatchet in hand. Sean visibly panicked. He shook his hands as if just now noticing the situation in which he had found himself. This was the part he was most looking forward to - the look of fear and the realization that this was the end.
     "You can't do this. You're fucking crazy man."
     "Maybe," he said. He brought his face directly in front of Sean's. "Or maybe the really crazy thing would be to let a scumbag like you roam free." He kissed Sean on the cheek gently. Sean spit in his face.
     He wiped the spit slowly from his eyes, backing away a few steps. "That wasn't very nice."
     "If I'm going to go its not going to do it like a pussy! You call what you are doing nice?!" Sean screamed aloud for help.
     He laughed to himself, waiting for the scream to leave his victim's voice. He screamed along, quickly losing patience. He walked to Sean, raised his hand high above his head , twisted the hatchet around and struck a hard blow to his face. Sean stopped screaming and looked around as if waking from a deep sleep. Blood flowed freely now from his lips. A few of his teeth were visibly broken. The remaining shards were spewed from his mouth in a small cough.
     He picked up the tooth fragment and got very close to his face. He held up the tooth so that his victim could clearly see it, a peak of enamel and bone on a mountain of blood.
     "One warning...that is all you get."
     "Why me? Why are you doing all of this?
     "As if you don't remember," his voice rose in anger. "Jessica Wise! Do you remember her?"
     "Jessica who? I don't know any Jessica I swear. Please you have to..."
     "Two years ago. A woman. Dark hair, no taller than 5'6". You..." he paused in an effort to contain his madness. "You kidnapped her. You raped her...again and again. You blindfolded her, you...tortured her. You..." Sean started to laugh. "This is funny to you?"
     "I remember her. She was a hottie. How is she by the way?"
     "What a shame, I wanted to hear you scream," he said calmly. "It is clear to me you have no remorse. No guilt for the night terrors, for the trauma you caused an innocent woman."
     He walked to his table, put the hatchet back in its place and picked up a curved knife with a leather handle. The dull side of the blade was twisted like a snake, the blade razor sharp. He nearly leapt the two or three steps from the table to his prize.
     "Hold still," he said with a smile. He hummed to himself while he grabbed his victim's tongue and sliced it clean off in one elegant action. Sean screamed as though he had never screamed before. Blood filled his mouth and gushed down his chin. He wiped the blood with one finger and tasted in. It tasted like vengeance and just a little bit of iron. 
     Two days passed. He looked on at his project with pleasure. There was blood everywhere - on the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling somehow. He had packed away all of his knives only to have a different kind of fun. On the table in front of him was a macabre game of Jenga - a torso with all limbs removed. One arm was piled up next to the remains, while the other was submerged down to the wrist inside of Sean's anus. His penis and testicles had been removed and shoved inside of his mouth, then covered with duct tape. Both legs had long cuts running down the length, done before being removed. Amazing, Sean had survived up to that point. His eyelids had been completely removed in an effort to force him to watch the angel of death do his work.
     He was no doctor, but he was pretty sure that Sean had died of asphyxiation from having his own genitals shoved down his throat. There was glass everywhere, shards of a wine bottle once whole but now broken. In an effort to give Sean a taste of his own medicine, he had shoved the bottle into his anus and broken it while inside. That one got a lovely reaction.
     Now that his playtime was over, it was time to clean up. Using the kerosene bottle, he coated the cabin and everything in it. He wanted to be sure nothing was found but the remains of a life that had ended two years before. He made a small path of kerosene out the door and to a safe distance away. It was nearly midnight.
     He lit a match he had pulled from his pants pocket.The path of fuel lit, slowly at first but soon ran rampant. It flowed to the cabin and, after a brief pause, exploded. Passion is a fire that is dangerously close to conflagration. This had taken so much of his life. He had no idea what to do now. He would make life decisions later, he knew. Right now he stood motionless and awestruck as he watched it all burn away, taking with it the weight he carried on his shoulders every day of his life.