Chapter Seven #2
A chain link fence lines the perimeter of the backyard.
The gate creaks as I push it open and slip through.
I step into the yard, and my eyes scan the back of the house.
Everything is dark and quiet. To my left, stands a single-car garage that mirrors the house's state of disrepair.
I move quietly towards the garage and test the doorknob, and it swings open with no resistance, a welcome invitation.
Stepping inside the dim interior of the garage, the musty smell of disuse fills my nostrils.
I might have a shot at finding what I need here.
I sweep the flashlight of my phone across the dark interior, searching its contents.
And then I see it. A red gas can tucked away in the back corner.
I pray to anyone listening that there is gas inside of that can.
It's covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, and I start to doubt there is any gas inside.
Lifting the can, I smile when I feel the weight of its contents—five full gallons of fuck around and find out.
Exiting the garage, I spot a pair of old, rusted gardening shears hanging on a nail by the door.
Looking at their dull blades, I can't help but think of all the potential uses for them.
I grab them and toss them into my tool bag.
With the gas can in hand, I move swiftly across the overgrown backyard, my boots crunching through the dry, dead grass.
Dropping my tool bag and the gas can by the backdoor, I circle the house, scanning the windows, trying to get an idea of what I'm walking into. If I rush in blindly and get myself killed, there is no one to get Charlotte out of this. She's depending on me.
I keep to the shadows, peering through one grimy window after another. Room after room, all I see is filth and decay. There is trash everywhere, half-eaten food, discarded pill bottles, empty beer cans, and used needles litter the floor and lie scattered across any available surface.
This place is a fucking dump.
The last window I peer into—I SEE FUCKING RED. All of my careful planning, my meticulous control, it’s all hanging by a thread. The monster inside me is raging, and I almost break through the glass panes of the window right then and there.
There she is, on her knees in the center of the room. That filthy bastard she pointed out earlier, Corey, has a tight grip on her hair. He forces her head back, baring her throat. The thumb of his free hand is hooked in her mouth, prying her bottom jaw open, as he shoves his cock inside.
Fuck my rules.
I take off, anger propelling me forward in a dead sprint.
Rounding the house, I kick the back door in.
The door flies open with one kick, the wood splintering under the force.
I charge through the house until my eyes land on my target.
I move with such speed that the son of a bitch doesn't even have a chance to react to the sound of my intrusion.
I grab him by his greasy hair, throwing him away from Charlotte and into the wall behind me.
I faintly hear her sobs, but my sole focus is on this piece of shit in front of me.
He fucked up. Laying his hands on her will be his final mistake.
He’s coaxed the monster out of his cage, and now it's time to play.
I don’t waste a damn second. I'm across the room and on him in an instant.
My fists connect with his face, landing blow after blow.
I feel the satisfying crunch of bone under my knuckles with each punch.
His warm blood splattering across my skin.
My hand wraps around his neck, fingers digging into his flesh, and I squeeze with every ounce of strength I have in me.
I smile when I feel his windpipe give under the pressure.
I want to crush it, to rip it out of his throat with my bare fucking hands.
I want to see the light leave his eyes as his last breath leaves his body.
Out of the corner of my eye, a glass ashtray catches my attention. It's sitting on the floor next to a ratty, worn-out green recliner straight out of 1973. It calls to me, and I know exactly what I'm going to do with it.
I jump up, my eyes fixed on the ashtray, thoughts of what I'm about to do already playing out in my mind.
Corey barely has time to register what's happening as I grab him by his hair, dragging his limp body across the floor behind me.
I'm fueled by a rage that goes beyond my usual desire for justice. This time, it's for Charlotte.
I stomp on the ashtray with the heel of my boot, grinding it into the floor until it shatters into sharp, jagged shards and chunks of glass, mixed with the cigarette butts and ashes. The sound of breaking glass echoes through the room, and excitement rushes through me. I want to hear him beg.
I tighten my grip on his hair, using it to pull his head back, exposing his face.
“Have you ever heard the saying, play stupid games and win stupid prizes? Congratulations fucker, you’ve won the grand prize.
” Then, I slam his face into the broken glass.
Once, twice, three times. Grabbing his head with both hands, I press his face into the shards, grinding his face into the broken glass.
I feel the glass embedded in his flesh catching on the wooden floor. The scent of iron fills the air as I watch the blood spread across the wood planks, mixing with the gritty shards of glass and ashes.
Usually, the screams of my victims are enough to satisfy the monster inside.
The begging, the cries of pain and terror, it all feeds me to satiate the beast. But this is different and it only hungers for more.
I want to see the fear in his eyes, to watch him plead for his miserable life.
This pathetic excuse of a man, deserves every ounce of pain I give him.
And I intend to give him a lot more. The monster demands it.
"Stop! Please!" Corey cries, his body curled up on the floor, trying to make himself small, but it's not enough. I need him completely broken.
"How many times has she told you to stop?” He begins to shake his head. I pull his head back forcing him to look me in the eyes. “Ah, ah, ah, you should rethink that answer. I don’t like liars. I won’t be nice to you anymore if you lie to me. Now, how many times did she beg you to stop?"
"I don't know, man. I don't know. A lot. Please, just let me go. I won't do it again, I swear." He's sobbing now, pathetic. Snot and tears running down his face. It makes me fucking sick .
"Her mom owes me money," he snivels, trying to justify his actions. "I was just going to have some fun with her and then pass her around a bit. Get some of my money back. I'm strapped for cash."
I chuckle, but there is no humor behind it. "Well, it's your lucky fucking day then. Because death is free, and it just so happens I'm the man dealing it out."
I kick him onto his back with the toe of my boot.
Kneeling on his chest with one knee, I pin him to the ground with my weight.
This secures one of his arms to his side but leaves the other free.
I'm not worried about it though. His weak struggles are laughable compared to my strength. With one hand I hold his head so he doesn’t jerk away.
With my free hand, I hook my thumb onto his mouth, prying down on his lower jaw and forcing his mouth open, just as he had done to Charlotte.
I grab a handful of the broken glass and cigarette butts from the floor. "You seem to enjoy forcing things into people's mouths that don’t belong there.” I smile coldly, my eyes locking with his. “I think it's only fair you get to experience it for yourself."
I shove the shards of broken glass inside his mouth, stuffing it inside with my gloved fingers. He begins to cough, choking, and shaking his head frantically back and forth. I force his mouth closed and hold it, making sure he eats every fucking bit.
"Chew." He tries to shake his head more forcefully, resisting. "You either chew or I'll shove it down your throat whole. Then I’ll shove what’s left up your ass and pack that shit in real good with a fucking broom handle. Your choice."
Corey whimpers, and squeezes his eyes shut. Slowly, he begins to chew. His cries of pain are muffled by my hand. I feel the bloody mess of his jaw working against my palm, the sound of glass crunching between his teeth fills me with a perverse pleasure.
Look, I know what I do is messed up. The little fact that I enjoy it?
There is no way to sugar coat that, it's fucked up.
But Corey and every other worthless fucks just like him, they deserve every second of it.
They think they can get away with doing whatever they want to whoever they want, and then walk free?
Not a chance in hell. And I will not stop. I can’t stop until every last one of them gets what's coming to them.
"Now swallow," I growl and Corey obeys. Doing as he is told like the little bitch he is.
I see the pain and agony on his face as the glass he swallows moves down his throat.
The shards slicing and tearing at his insides the entire way down.
Blood mixed with ash and cigarette remnants spill from between his lips and I smile at the sight.
Finally, the monster is getting some satisfaction.
I turn my head and notice Charlotte, still frozen in place. She remains on her knees in the same spot on the floor, her eyes wide, watching in shock as the scene unfolds in front of her. Despite the shock, the look on her face isn’t the look of horror I expected to see. It’s fascination.
I keep my eyes locked on hers, daring her to look away. But she doesn't back down, not for a second.