Chapter 34 #2
The bedroom is dark, dusty, and simple. The mattress is bare, only topped with a thin blanket, and on the bottom corner is a tiny slit that’s poorly sewn back together.
It doesn’t take much effort to slice it open and force my hand inside, instantly feeling the cold phone on my fingertips.
When I pull it out, I’m pleased to see the exact model that DeLuca had.
Finally, this work feels simple again, and there’s a quaintness to it that I haven’t experienced in a long time.
It’s almost too easy.
I slip it into my pocket and make my way back, nodding rhythmically to the sounds of Saconne’s screams as they get louder.
The air in the room is easier to breathe now that it’s coated in his pain.
My father has his back to me, and he’s bent over, blocking most of my view, but I can still see Saconne’s face.
He’s stuffed something in his mouth, and his screaming almost sounds like heaving or retching.
“What is that?” I tilt my head and lean over my father to look, but then back away when a putrid smell hits my nose. The scent streamlines right to my stomach, churning it violently.
“It’s a wad of paper towels.” My father says without looking up from whatever he’s doing to Saconne’s arm.
“Then why the fuck does it smell like that?” I hold my hand to my nose, praying to God that I can make it go away. My father just shrugs, as if the smell doesn’t bother him at all.
Crazy old man.
“Not sure. He must’ve used it to collect meat grease or something a few days ago.”
I almost fucking gag.
“Oh, that’s horrid.”
“He deserves it.” My father finally stands and unveils the handy work that he’s somehow accomplished in the five minutes I stepped away.
Saconne’s arms and legs are taped to the chair, and the space between his wrist and elbow is covered in blood.
The gash is deep and rigid enough that I almost assume my father ripped him open with his bare hands.
It isn’t until I dare to step closer again that I see the splinters poking out of the wound.
“What the hell did you use?” I turn to my dad just as he holds up a wooden stick that’s clearly broken on one end, and a chunk of skin hangs from the spikey edge.
“I tried to beat him with it, but it broke. So, I improvised.”
“Jesus Christ, Dad.” I yank my knife back out. “You have a knife.”
“This hurt worse.” I roll my eyes at him and move to start my turn, when a glint of dull light catches my stare.
On the far wall is a small, rickety table that has an assortment of older, dusty, almost porcelain set of nick-nacks.
There are a couple of small angel statues, but most of it is fruit.
I lop my head to the side, wondering which one was smooth enough to catch the light. “What is it, Damien?” my father asks.
“Do those look a little out of place to you?” I slam my knife down on Saconne’s leg, lodging it in his thigh for safe keeping, and step over to the table.
A yelp snaps my attention back, but it’s quickly silenced when my father shoves the shred of skin into Saconne’s mouth and puts the wad of paper towel back to stop him up.
“I suppose they are like sore thumbs,” my father replies casually, like he didn’t just force a man to swallow a piece of his own flesh.
I pick up the closest object and hold it in my hand.
This lime is made of thick glass, but it’s cloudy, so I can’t see through it.
Were these here before Saconne moved in?
Is this some type of heirloom? I turn my head to ask him, but he snaps his head in the other direction before I can make eye contact, and that tells me all I need to know.
“Oh? Do these mean something to you?” I drop the lime on the floor, grinning when it shatters. “Whoops.”
My father grabs the glass set of grapes and snaps, throwing his arm out and smashing them against Saconne’s head. He grunts and cries as he spits out the paper towels, making my dad smile.
“Brucia all'inferno, figlio di puttana!” he yells. I pick up the glass grapefruit, planning on slamming it into his eye, when a tiny clink inside stops me. It rattles even more when I shake it a few times, and then it all clicks into place.
“You almost had me,” I taunt and drop the grapefruit, letting it explode against the floor.
The shards still trickle along the floor, but a much heftier thump echoes through the space.
A third phone clatters, exactly like the one I found in the mattress, and that’s when Saconne pales.
“That was a very good attempt, and hilariously enough, we found it by accident.” I pick it up and slip it in the same pocket as the other two. I grin smugly at him.
“You’ll never be able to get into it—”
“Why not? Because you think we don’t have DeLuca’s?” I interrupt, and any light in his eyes dies instantly. “Don’t worry about that.”
I step back over to him and yank my knife out, swallowing down the squelching noise it makes.
He hasn’t suffered nearly enough. I want his screams to haunt this little village, but we have to keep it as quiet as possible to avoid getting caught.
And most importantly, I’m ready to get back.
He’ll receive his punishment in hell, and stopping everything he was involved in will be revenge enough.
“We don’t have much time left, but I promised my wife that I would do what she asked.” I stand languidly and psych him out before I raise my blade another time and drive it down, right into his dick.
He screams, but it’s only for about a second before my father shoves what looks like a washcloth into his mouth. If he were as strong as he looked a few months ago, I would say he had a good chance of ripping away from his restraints. But now? There’s no way.
“You know, I thought it was rather strange when my wife asked me to castrate you, but I’m not capable of telling her no.
” I jerk my hand to the right, keeping my strength until the tension releases and the blade lands in his thigh instead.
“She even said that she didn’t care how I did it, just as long as your cock and balls were separated from your body before you died.
” I stab at it again, and by the slight resistance, then release, I imagine I did exactly what I needed to.
“Two stabs is all it took? That’s a little pathetic, don’t you think? ”
I slide my fingers into the fresh hole at his crotch and rip the fabric apart, grimacing as his genitals fall to the floor.
He’s gagging on the fabric in his mouth, and as tears stream down his face, I have half a mind to dart my tongue out and taste them.
His screams would be sweeter if they were loud enough for me to consume, but those in the afterlife can hear him, and that’s all that matters to me.
Those women, those kids, they’re free now.
A part of me will always be haunted by them, but at least now, they can be at peace.
I’ll remember them for the human beings they were, not as faces on a piece of paper or just another task…
another assignment. I may not know their names or anything about them, but they’ll always mean more to me than they ever did to this piece of shit, and the horror of their last moments will die with us.
Starting with him.
Despite his continued screaming, I move onto the last half of my wife’s request. I saw off his right hand first, since he used that one the most, and then his left.
They’re a little more difficult to detach compared to his dick, but the thump once they smack the floor hits even harder.
I lie them on top of his cock and balls, keeping them together and piled at his feet, just as she asked, then I force his head down to make him stare at it.
“My wife wanted to make sure you knew that was from her.” I shove his head back and stand tall again, almost ready to leave. “Finish him so we can get the fuck out of here, Dad.”
He jerks the knife from my hands, forces Saconne’s head back, and yanks the cloth from his mouth. He whimpers and gasps, somehow still conscious. His teeth chatter as his body fights to fend off the pain, and the sight is magnificent. My father leans in close and presses his lips to his ear.
“Say her name,” he demands with a tense jaw and spit flying from his mouth. Saconne continues to tremble, and I can tell by the fogginess in his gaze that we’re losing him. Dad draws the knife up to his throat, pressing it in with barely contained rage as he speaks again. “Say. Her. Name.”
“Lea—” Before Saconne can finish reciting my mother’s name, Dad jerks his hand backward, slicing his throat open in one fell swoop. Blood begins to pour down his chest in rivers, and the life in Saconne’s eyes fades in the blink of an eye.
We stand in comfortable silence, taking in the freedom that now permeates through the air.
The iron seeps in with every breath I take, releasing one ghost at a time.
One left. There’s only one of them left, and every voice in my head tells me we have what we need to finish this now.
After months of torture and agony, and years for my father, we can finally move forward.
We’re in the home stretch now, and there’s no one left to stand in our way.