Devour (Twisted Metamorphosis #1)

Chapter Fourteen

“Focus,” my darkness hissed from the passenger seat as I drove away from Camden’s apartment.

“I am focused—even more focused now,” I chuckled.

I still had that worthless cunt, Trish, in my trunk.

“Well, now you have to take care of your mess in the trunk.” My darkness glared at me, silently warning me how bad of an idea this was.

“That’s what I’m doing. I’m going to return to the sanctuary and harvest her lungs. I found a lovely recipe to try, and a nice set of lungs would do nicely,” I said smugly.

“So, tell me, then. When and where are you dumping her body? You’re deviating from mimicking the Butcher’s crime scenes? Are you fucking insane?”

“Oh, I plan on returning her to the trash, where she fucking belongs,” I said nonchalantly. “The alley next to the burger bar doesn’t have working cameras. I’ll dump her there.”

Driving up my long driveway, I parked at my usual spot on the grass and took a moment to lean back into the headrest, trying to center myself and relax. My anger and disgust were rising, spreading through my veins like a virus invading my body. Normally, I could fight it off, but this was different. It was personal.

“And you still don’t fucking see that making it personal will be the end of us,” my darkness scoffed, leaning against the outside of the driver’s side door. She was picking at her nails like she was bored.

Stepping out of my car, I circled around toward the trunk and opened it. Trish was still unconscious and the images of her disgusting hands touching my perfect Camden—my Camden—replayed over and over in my mind.

Grabbing her by her hair, I yanked her hard, pulling her from the trunk and to the ground. Her body fell harshly to the grass and her head bounced off the ground, causing her to stir.

“Wh-what? Where…where am I?” she mumbled, trying to sit up, bringing a hand to her head where it bounced off the ground. She already had a bruise and lump forming on her forehead near her hairline.

“There are two ways we can do this, Trish,” I said, slamming my trunk closed and leaning on my car. “You can keep quiet, or I force you to keep quiet.”

Even though my darkness was screaming in my mind that this was a bad idea, I knew she couldn’t resist the thrill of this kill. I felt her descend upon me, and I welcomed her. Closing my eyes, and taking a deep inhale, I breathed her in, allowing us to become one. Opening my eyes, I glared at Trish, slowly stalking toward her. She flinched with every step I made.

“What the fuck, lady? My purse.” Trish pointed a shaky finger toward my car and tried to hide the nervous shake in her voice.

“Do I need to force you to be quiet?” I hissed, gripping a handful of her hair with my free hand, pulling her violently to the side. “Stand up,” I commanded.

She whimpered and started to cry as she weakly got to her feet. Her cheap mascara started to run down her face, forcing me to roll my eyes.

“Come on.” Shifting to grip the back of her upper arm, I pulled her behind me toward the door leading to my sanctuary.

Standing in front of the locked door, I grabbed my keys out of my coat pocket. The heavy, reinforced door opened after unlocking the third deadbolt, the loud sound causing Trish to jump. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I pushed Trish inside before closing and locking the door behind us.

“Move. It’s only six steps.” I pulled her arm, forcing her to walk in front of me.

“Wh-where?”

“I said, move.” Losing my patience, I kicked her behind her knees, forcing her to fall forwards down the stairs. She landed harshly at the bottom of the stairs with a thud and a crack.

Crying out in pain, she cradled her arm; her wrist was obviously broken, and a grin tugged at my lips. Dragging her back to her feet by her upper arm, I pulled her into my sanctuary. The cool air felt like home, and I let the chill calm my mind.

“Oh, don’t mind my friend here,” I said, releasing Trish’s arm and motioning toward the dead senator on one of my tables. “He won’t be staying long.”

Trish shrieked a loud, shrill of a scream and backed away toward the stairs. Ignoring her dramatics and continuing to walk further into my sanctuary, I trailed my fingertips along the mattress of a vacant gurney as I moved to sit on a stool in front of my workbench. “Sit,” I commanded, nudging my chin toward the gurney. “We have things to discuss.”

“P-please, my…my arm,” she whimpered. “It’s t-too c-cold in here.” Trish stood behind the gurney as if it was a shield.

“I said, sit. We have things to discuss,” I repeated through clenched teeth, turning away from her and opening up a long black box on my workbench.

I smiled, seeing my eight little vials neatly in a row, resting in their own little compartments, cut into foam. Dragging a fingernail across each bottle, I stopped on the second to last one. In my periphery, I saw Trish slowly circle around the gurney and take a very hesitant seat on the edge of the mattress, shivering and cradling her wrist.

“We have a problem, Patricia,” I said with a scoff as I uncapped a sterile syringe, pressing the needle into the lid of my vial. Turning the little jar upside down, I dosed out a little more than I needed.

“A p-problem? I don’t even know you,” she said with a sniffle.

“Well, you touched Camden,” I forced out through clenched teeth again as I replaced my vial in its place in my box and closed it. “No one touches what’s mine,” I stalked toward her, and she protected her wrist, trying to curl up into a ball.

“I-I-I…”

“Shhh…” I shushed, motioning for her to stay still, holding up the syringe so she could see it. Her eyes went wide with fear, and she whipped her head toward the exit, then back to me.

“N-no, p-please. It was an accident,” she stammered, holding up her good arm as if she was blocking me.

“Don’t you want me to numb that wrist of yours? We can splint it to make it more comfortable,” I lied.

Her frightened eyes met mine, and I could see the war waging in her mind over whether to trust me. Slowly, she lifted her shaking, broken wrist toward me, and I laughed.

“Sorry, Patricia,” I hissed as I stabbed the syringe into her neck, emptying the medication into her system. “Oops,” I said, feigning innocence. “Looks like I missed.”

With a groan, Trish tried to fight the effects of the medication to no avail. Her body went limp, and I guided her onto her back. She looked around with fear in her eyes, squinting her eyes shut as she tried to move. Looking back at me, she tried to speak, but nothing. Unlocking the casters of the gurney, I rolled her toward my workbench.

“I’ve been wanting to try out this particular concoction I mixed up,” I said, wiggling the syringe so she could see it again before placing it down on the workbench. “It completely paralyzes your body. Your arms, legs, mouth, hands, feet, you get the idea. But…” A ruthless grin found my lips as I reached for her broken wrist, forcing it to bend the opposite direction. The sound of her bones crunching and seeing her lay here helplessly… My darkness purred in approval. “You can still feel every little thing I do to you, Trish, and you can’t do a fucking thing about it.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as I tossed her arm back down, turning toward my workbench. Picking up a scalpel, I pointed the tip at her as I continued my little speech.

“You shouldn't have touched him,” I growled, stabbing the scalpel into the pillow next to her head. “Oh, don't worry, I'll get back to that. I just need to start with…” I pivoted around to reach for my trauma shears and showed her. “These.”

Starting at the bottom of her shirt, I began cutting up toward her neck, the flimsy fabric quickly shredding apart with the shears. Cutting through her push-up bra caused her large, fake DD breasts to fall to either side of her body.

Once her shirt was off, I turned back to my workbench and placed my shears down on the tabletop. Taking my phone out of my coat pocket, I checked the time: eleven thirty.

It's going to be a long night. I don't have much time, so I'll have to make do.

Placing my phone down, I removed my peacoat and folded it neatly before placing it on my workbench. Unbuttoning my long sleeve blouse, I folded it in half and placed it with my coat. The cold, refrigerated air of my sanctuary met my hot skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

Reaching to my lower back, I unzipped and removed my skirt, laying it on top of the rest of my clothes.

“Don’t worry over there. I’ll be quick,” I said to Trish as I stalked back toward her in nothing but my cami tank top and heels. “Come now, no tears. It’ll all be over soon,” I cooed, wiping her tears away with my thumb, and bringing my tongue to my lips. “Nothing sweeter than the taste of pure fear.” I winked at her as I walked toward a supply closet on the opposite wall.

From the supply closet, I pulled out a packaged, fresh pair of scrubs and a pair of theater shoes. Carefully opening the plastic covered scrubs, I discarded the plastic in a nearby trash can and pulled on the top. As I stepped out of my heels onto the cold, refrigerated floor, I pulled the pants on. As I pulled each leg on, I stepped each cold foot into the theater shoes.

“You know, Patricia, this reminds me of my residency at the hospital. Every time I put scrubs on, it takes me back to a better day.” I reminisced as I pulled on a surgical gown from the cabinet. Before closing the closet door, I grabbed a surgical cap, gloves, face mask, and shield.

She could only move her eyes, and when she saw me approach her, they went wide in fear again.

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear. I’m one of the best surgeons in the country. You have nothing to worry about. Well, you have a zero percent chance of surviving, but, you know,” I drifted off as I snapped each glove on and reached for my surgical cap and face mask.

I paused, my gloved hand hovering over them.

What are you doing? Just end her. I heard my darkness whisper in my mind.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t just end her quickly—it was too easy. She touched Camden, and he was mine. No one touches what’s mine, no one.

Hopping up onto the gurney, I straddled Trish and lifted my surgical gown to allow my knees to rest on either side of her hips. Taking a brief moment, I looked up toward the ceiling and cracked my neck before looking down on her like the insect she was.

My hand gripped her throat hard, forcing her eyes to find mine. As I forced her head to face forward, a thick trail of drool fell from the corner of her slightly parted lips.

“I might have used too much of my little serum; the poor dear can’t even keep her saliva in her mouth,” I hissed, gripping her neck tighter. Her breathing was starting to get more labored, so I eased up on her neck.

“You’re never going to touch another man again, Trish. Especially my man,” I growled through clenched teeth as my grip on her neck tightened again. Pulling her neck toward me, I threw a punch down at the same time, connecting with her jaw.

Her head tossed to the side violently, her temple bouncing off the railing of the gurney with a loud thud. All I could see was red, the image of her disgusting fucking finger dragging down Camden’s arm replaying. I was overcome with rage, and I succumbed to it, letting my darkness take over. I punched her over and over, pulling her by her neck to meet my fist.

Once I hit punch number six, I could hear bones crunching as my knuckles made contact with various parts of her face. I didn’t know if they were hers or mine, but I couldn’t stop. After punch twelve, I stopped, my now bloody fist raised up to my chest height.

Trish was a bloody, bruised mess. Her eye was completely swollen shut, she had four teeth missing, and multiple cuts open on her cheek and eyebrow. Her still open eye began to roll back, and I quickly hopped off of her and the gurney, rushed to my workbench, and grabbed my favorite knife.

Returning to her side, I forced her to look at me again.

“I didn’t say you could die yet,” I said, dragging the tip of the knife down her cheek, opening up a cut. Her sad, worthless tears began to fall as I continued dragging the knife toward the side of her neck and stopping at her jugular.

I wanted the last thing this bitch heard to be my voice.

“Goodbye, Trish.”

With all my strength, I forced the knife through Trish’s neck until it emerged on the opposite side, severing both jugulars—just like Connor. The wet, sloppy sound of my knife withdrawing from her neck sent a jolt of electricity through me. The thrill of the kill…

All my stress I’ve been carrying seemed to melt away as my eyes studied her fresh blood dripping from my knife and soaking the front of my surgical gown. I could hear her blood dripping off the gurney to the floor, and this time, I didn’t care; It would be worth the hassle of the cleanup.

With a satisfied sigh, I returned to my workbench to gather a few supplies. Grabbing an extra scalpel, a pair of rib shears, and a surgical stapler, I turned back toward Trish, ready to harvest. Leaning over her body, I placed my tools on the gurney mattress next to her side and put my face shield in place.

“Too bad you’re dead now, Trish. This would have hurt. A lot.” Pulling the scalpel out of the pillow next to her head, I started near one shoulder and began slicing agonizingly slowly into her skin, starting my “Y” incision. I stared into her dull, lifeless eye as my scalpel dragged along her skin; paths of crimson trailed down her body, slowly pooling underneath her on the gurney.

Once I reached her sternum, her now lifeless eye continued to stare off over my shoulder. My darkness hummed in approval as I reached for her other shoulder, continuing my slicing. Meeting my previous cut, I removed my scalpel and repositioned it to slice straight down her chest and stomach.

At random points of my incision, I tugged her skin gently to make sure I sliced deep enough. In the areas with greater resistance, cut more with the scalpel, until Trish was ready to be opened up for me.

Placing my bloody scalpel down, I peeled her skin open to expose her chest cavity. Reaching across her body for my rib shears, I held them firmly in my hand as I examined the areas I would be cutting. With both hands, I cut down both sides of her chest cavity along the outside, keeping her ribs connected to her breastbone. Once complete, I lifted it away as one large piece so I could see her organs.

I gently placed her breastbone on her legs while getting a good look at her. Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could use. I could see very obvious cirrhosis of the liver: it was discolored and looked to have a rougher texture. Seeing the state of her liver made me uneasy about harvesting from her. Feeling deflated, I sighed and laid her breastbone back in place, not bothering to secure it.

Pulling her skin closed, I held the incision closed with one hand, and reached for the surgical stapler with the other.

Fuck, I'm tired, I thought as I forced my body to continue, stapling her incision closed from her stomach to her sternum. After stapling the incisions leading to her shoulders, I stopped and leaned on the gurney to take a deep breath. My hand was killing me.

“All this work and I can’t even get any decent meat—useless bitch.”

With a sigh, I unlocked the casters of the gurney, and pushed Trish toward the back wall, toward the only other exit in my sanctuary. This exit had a ramp instead of stairs, making it easier to transport my scraps to be dumped.

Taking a deep breath, I used all my strength to push the gurney up the slightly elevated ramp and toward my car. My trunk was still open, and I was grateful I didn’t close it. Taking a quick moment to double check the plastic lining was in place, I stopped again to take another deep breath.

Lowering the gurney to match the height of my car’s trunk, I guided her head and torso into the plastic-lined space. Circling to the other side of the gurney, I scooped up her legs and tossed them inside.

You’re never this fucking sloppy, Helena. She’s getting DNA all over the fucking car. My darkness hissed in my mind.

Looking down toward the bumper, I saw that she was right. Trish’s blood was smeared across the bumper. With a sigh, I continued. With her body, shoes, and purse in the trunk with the plastic, I removed each corner that was tacked up and tied them together, mimicking a trash bag.

Slamming the trunk closed, I pushed the bloody gurney back the way I came and through the back door of my sanctuary. I was so blinded by rage that I didn’t even notice the mess I made. Trish’s blood was everywhere. It pooled near where I killed her, and a trail of blood led out the back door, up the ramp, and across the cement of my backyard.

“Fuck!” I slammed the gurney into a nearby pillar, and more blood sprayed against the stone.

Tilting my head back to the ceiling in frustration, I took a moment to take a deep, grounding breath and began making a mental checklist.

Dump Trish at the bar.

Clean the gurney.

Clean the floor of the sanctuary. I can pressure wash the blood down the drain since this room used to be a slaughterhouse for pigs.

Powerwash the cement outside.

Clean the blood off the bumper of my car.

Get rid of these scrubs

Shower.

With a yawn, I peeled off my gloves and bloody scrubs, leaving everything in a pile on the already bloody floor. Reaching over to my workbench, I unlocked the screen of my phone to check the time: it was already half-past one in the morning.

I still had so much to do before I picked Camden up for work. It’s going to be a long night.