8. Nora
Everything has come down to this.
Months of prep work to be able to reach a crescendo as large as this. No matter how many times I ran through it in my head, I never expected the feeling to be so calming. It’s as though my mind finally has a chance to relax since everything came to pass.
Robert Evans.
The animal with perpetual hate for anyone and anything that wasn’t to his high standards. Using his voice for nothing but hate, fuelling the internal rage of fire in men around the world who were consumed with animosity towards women and anyone who didn’t fit the ‘straight’ agenda.
I haven’t taken my eyes off of him from the minute I knocked him out.
Robert is presently tied to a St. Andrews Cross in the middle of the basement.
It took some time—and strength on my part—but I finally got there with sheer determination alone.
When he woke up, his eyes were fixed on me with pure hatred and disgust. A man who not only hates women, but everything we stand for.
The ball gag in his mouth permits him from speaking coherently, his words garbled as thick drool travels from the corners of his mouth and down his chin, but none of that matters.
Not to me, anyway. I’ve been issuing him with tiny cuts all over his naked body for the past hour.
Not deep enough to take his life instantly, no.
What we’re doing here is all about making them suffer in the most painful way possible.
Letting him slowly bleed out slowly using the Chinese art of Lingchi, is what has been keeping me going.
Initially, my anger towards him was filled to the brim, but suffering is the only way forward.
His shrieks of agony only spurred me on to continue his torture in silence.
I didn’t need to explain to him about the why. He knew why.
I didn’t want to interrupt the garbled cries of agony that permeated the four brick walls of this room.
All I needed was for him to understand that no matter how many times I pushed the blade into his skin, no matter how many gashes I gave him, it wouldn’t change the outcome. Robert Evans was going to die.
Paz saunters into the room and pulls out a partially damaged chair, taking a seat. “Next time we go on a killing spree, you’re taking the fucking stairs.”
I let out a brief chuckle, hoisting myself onto Robert’s makeshift computer desk. My sister never was one for exerting herself beyond the necessary. “I thought it’d be good for you.”
“Good for—” She groans. “Bitch, you try walking up fifteen flights of stairs and see how much energy you have to kill someone.”
“Was Sky okay?” I ask, flipping the paring knife in my hand.
My sister shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of her full lips. “In my opinion, she’s enjoying this a lot more than I initially expected.”
Other than Robert’s distorted words, the dilapidated warehouse has been silent for a while now, which can only mean that Sky has finished with Ben.
Delicate footsteps make their way towards the room me and Paz are sitting in, and the moment I look towards the door, there’s Sky.
Her blood-soaked clothing, red flecks of blood splatter adorning her high cheekbones, leading down the column of her neck. She looks beautiful.
“Sorry I’m late.” She smiles sweetly, meeting my gaze before glancing over at the bloody mass that is Robert. “Cool.” Turning back to me, Sky places a chaste kiss to my lips before taking a seat next to my sister. “We’re ready.” She grins widely.
Nodding in her direction, I hop off the desk, swapping the paring knife for a Buck 120. The same knife used in the movie, Scream.
My favourite.
Robert is naked and spread-eagle on the cross before us.
His flesh sliced to pieces. I wrap my left hand around his brown hair and tug his head forward, releasing the clasp at the back of his head and listening as the ball gag falls free and hits the concrete floor.
A cold shiver of excitement runs through me as I check my watch, noticing that only an hour remains of tonight’s Coursing test run.
I want these next screams of anguish to be heard for miles.
I pick up the paper bag of salt, tearing the top open and tossing it at him. It’s almost instant as the pig-squealing shriek releases from Robert’s throat. The granules of salt seeping into the cuts on his body, stinging him and biting against the wounds I inflicted.
“P-please.” Roberts weak expression fills the air. “I’m—”
“Sorry?” I finish for him, thrusting his head back and out of my grasp before tossing the rest of the contents over him, eliciting a further yelp of distress.
He’s lost enough blood to stop him fighting against the restraints wrapped harshly around his wrists and ankles, as well as the creases of his elbows and knees.
“Y-yes.”
“Men like you are always sorry when it comes to receiving your punishment. You call us weak, but it is a sure sign of weakness when one is incapable of controlling themselves around others. You’re not sorry for what you’ve done, you’re just sorry you got caught.
But it’s okay.” I tap his cheek, smiling up at him. “It will all end in a few minutes.”
I crouch down, lifting the litre bottle of household bleach, and twist the cap before tugging it off and tossing it aside.
I move to the space beside him and lift the container above his chest, pouring the thick chemical liquid all over him.
Thick, domestic-grade peroxide gushes over him and then he uses what’s left of his energy to fight the excruciating burn as it falls over his body.
Robert screams with agonising intent, thrashing and fighting, desperately trying to rid himself of this experience and break free. But he never will.
The pungent smell of bleach scorching the raw flesh brings a sharp, acrid smell to the room. The once-white slices adorning his body have now turned a stark white as the bleach scalds and blisters the raw incisions.
“It won’t m-matter,” he snivels, his gaze glaring. “There are… more of us.” In his weakened state, he continues, “It won’t s-stop h-here.”
“Then we will kill as many of you scum-sucking road whores as we can. You won’t stop?
” I question, pressing the tip of the steel blade against his stomach.
“Well, neither will we.” I push further, staring down towards his gut.
Watching as the knife pierces the thick white skin, disappearing inside of him.
“When I was a kid, my father took me hunting, taught me how to gut a dead animal correctly so that there is the least amount of damage to the organs and hide.” I look up at him then.
“And that’s just what you are, Robert, a dead…
fucking… animal. Except this time… I don’t give a fuck. ”
Stabbing forward, I encase the entirety of the knife within his stomach.
Robert releases a bountiful shriek as I begin to carve the steel along his lower abdominal area.
Carving and slicing from one side, all the way to the other.
Cutting through the stomach lining and watching as blood pours from the wound, splashing to the floor and coating the gravel red.
Before his organs cascade to the floor, I reach inside his stomach—the warmth of his insides meeting my skin—and wrap my hand tightly around his intestines, yanking them free.
He deserves pain, he deserves to feel the fear.
Because it’s only a small percentage of what we experience daily.
I bring my hand to his open mouth, stuffing the intestines inside.
As far back as I can before losing my hand.
“Nobody will miss you, and those that do will meet the same fate as you and your friends.” I watch as his eyelids begin to flutter, telling me he’s either about to pass out…
or die. But not before I get in one last hit.
“Death,” I mutter as I lean in closer, “is only the beginning.” When the final word leaves my mouth, I stab up and plunge the hunting knife into the underside of his jaw, and twist, piercing his skull and brain with the blade.
As Robert chokes on his final intakes of air, I step back.
My eyes never wavering from his while I look upon a man who hates the very ground we walk on.
Paz and Sky move to stand beside me, each taking one of my hands as we stand in solidarity within this moment.
His head drops forward, and we finally release a united breath.
“What now?” Sky asks softly.
Unable to answer her question, I simply squeeze her hand tighter. Silently telling her that all we can do… is stand together.
The End.