Chapter Forty-Four #2
Because of her size, I brought a heavy-duty folding trolley with us. I wasn’t expecting her to be unconscious, just a bit more malleable. Turns out the universe wants me to sweat through this one. Fucking cunt.
By the time I get her onto the bridge and near the edge, I’m basically showering in my own perspiration. I slap her hard on both sides of her face. “Wake up, bitch.”
X stands off to the side, keeping watch, laughing.
We told Rhiannon to stay in the van. She’s still new to the group, and although X is adamant she can be trusted, certain details need to be kept on a need-to-know basis.
A friend of ours is quietly cruising around the lake to pick up her body after she’s jumped, so there are no secret surprises.
She stirs on the trolley, her eyes opening slowly. “Ugh. Where am I?”
“The end of life as you know it.”
She spots me again. Something akin to rage flutters over her face, but it’s gone as fast as it appears. “Who the fuck are you? What do you want from me?”
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare, and I won’t be happy until your life is over, and Quinn is free to live hers.”
“The fat little bitch is a liar,” she spits.
“Well that’s a bit of a contradiction,” I say. “She’s either fat, or she’s
little. Which one is it?”
“She’s never fucking happy. Never has been! That doctor told me she had Munchausen's syndrome and that she lies about all of this stuff for attention.”
Ooooo. She’s good. I’ll give her that.
I’ve tied her hands to the handle of the trolley so she can’t move, and there’s a gag wrapped around her mouth to limit the sounds coming out of her.
She’s muffled, but you can hear what she’s saying.
At least I can, but that could be because I’ve had some practice.
“You see, I’ve read Quinn’s medical records.
I’ve even done blood tests and read those results too,” I say, pointedly.
“You’d be shocked to know what I found out through those. Shall I tell you?”
“It’s all lies!”
“The fact she had no medication other than vitamins in her system despite her prescriptions is a lie? Weren’t you in charge of her medication?”
“She must have broken into the cupboard and switched them all out. She’s trying to frame me!”
“Okay, okay. We’ll go with that. Trying to frame you for what?”
“Huh?” She looks puzzled.
I pull her gag out of her mouth. “What. Is. She. Trying. To. Frame. You. For?” I speak slowly and clearly just to make sure there’s no confusion.
“This. She clearly wants me dead.”
“Honey, you were dying before she even mentioned you. I’d decided on that.”
“And who the fuck are you to decide that?”
“I already told you, my name is Lulu, but you can call me The Hunter.”
“The Hunter of what?” she asks, her eyes bulging.
“Usually predators. But today it’s abusive mothers.”
“What have you done to my son?!” she screams, a little bit of spittle hitting me in the face.
I reach my hand up to wipe it off. The disgust evident on my face. “If you would please refrain from dousing me in your bodily fluids, I’d appreciate it. It’s fucking minging and not the kind of fluids I like to bathe in.”
“Please. Tell me what you’ve done to Eric…”
“Eric is fine—for now—as long as you do what I tell you to do.”
“I will,” she nods eagerly. “I promise. I’ll do anything to keep him safe.”
“And what about Quinn?”
“I don’t care about her. She could drop dead tomorrow, and I wouldn’t care less.
She was a mistake. Like my body gave birth to an alien that didn’t belong.
If I didn’t know she had come out of me, I would swear she wasn’t mine.
It sounds harsh, but I just never loved her like I did Eric.
” I find it comical that in this moment she should be trying to convince me that she’s telling the truth, yet her disdain for her own daughter trumps everything.
Her words burn a desire to slash her open in my gut. I want to chop her tits off and hang the saggy sacks on my shop wall, with an ‘in memorial’ picture next to it. What an evil cunt.
I grab at the pocket hanging from my belt—made out of one of my previous acquisitions—and pull out my knuckle dusters.
Each knuckle has a different design on it.
I have a skull, a reaper, some teeth and a penis.
They don’t call me The Taxipenist for nothing, you know.
It’s one of my prized possessions because for every hit, you leave a different imprint.
My favourites are when you hit hard enough the first time that all four are embedded in the skin of the predator I’m hunting.
I pull back my arm and punch her in the face.
You should always punch through your own face to land the perfect hit.
Knuckle dusters are technically illegal here, but when you have friends in high places, you can get away with a lot more things than you would expect.
Blood comes flying out of the side of her mouth, and her skin flings around in slow motion as I watch in awe.
That never gets old.
She screams, and I step forward to survey the damage. Damn it. Only two of them are picture perfect.
“Oops. Second time’s a charm, I hope.” I aim for the other cheek and feel giddy at the prospect of shattering her cheekbone.
The sound that comes out of her is bloodcurdling. I jump up and down on the spot singing, “When the working day is done, oh girls, just wanna have fu-un. Ohhhh, girls just wanna have fun!”
“You’re utterly fucked, you know that?” X asks.
“Would you have me any other way?” I shrug my shoulders in question.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
Quinn’s incubator is slumped on the trolley moaning like her life depends on it—which it doesn’t.
It’s almost time. I pull out my pocket-sized bleach spray and spray my dusters—because ewww, blood—and then spray it with the ethanol I keep in the pocket next to it.
I don’t want her blood contaminating my belongings any longer than it has to.