12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Caspian

Iwas two years old the first time I saw a man die. They bludgeoned his head with a hammer because he owed my dad five dollars. That death probably wouldn’t have done much damage, but my dad decided to give me a dead man’s hand to occupy me so he and his henchmen could work in peace. That fucked up shit makes a lasting impression, especially on a two-year-old. Most dads give their sons a train set or a truck. Not my pop. He gave me a severed hand.

I turn up the collar of my black coat with one hand, the other on the handle of the flimsy motel door. I scan the dark parking lot before jogging to my car—an old black Chevy truck. I only drive it when I’m about to get bloody.

I reach into the cab and smirk as I pull out the black medical bag. I might not kill someone for five dollars, but the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. Dad didn’t give me much in life, but he sure passed on the lust for the kill.

I slam the door and stroll back to the room. Peter is tied to the cheap metal bed frame, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He cried like a little bitch. I’m surprised the guy didn’t tucker himself out. I thought most babies passed out after they wailed like lunatics.

I open the bag and place the white towel on the scratched-up thrift store desk. I can use a gun and get the job done with no bells and whistles, but where’s the fun in that? My father would be terribly disappointed if I didn’t take my time and enjoy the art. That’s exactly what killing is, a motherfucking art form.

I turn to Peter and laugh at the shock on his face. He’s spreadeagled on the bed, his legs tied to the footboard and arms to the headboard.

“I should get one of these bed frames for my room. I’m going to kill you, but it can be multi-purpose. The bed frame you can fuck or blow someone’s brains out. Mind you, I’m not so much into blowing brains out. I enjoy taking my time in all extra-curricular activities. Slow and steady for optimum satisfaction. No one likes a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.” I chuckle. “Well, maybe you would right now, but that would make me mediocre, and I’m anything but. You could say I’m a perfectionist.”

Peter doesn’t say a word. I’m sure he wants to. He’d beg, tell me how he’s sorry, he’ll never look at my Sunshine again, and move to a deserted island. I always loved hearing those last words, but it got boring after a while. No one has originality. It’s all the same thing, over and over again. The mundane is trivial and lackluster.

So now I gag and duct tape the fuckers’ mouths and examine their body language instead of torturing my ears with their pathetic pleas.

“Do you know what’s beautiful about serial killers? I don’t know why I’m asking. I’m just gonna tell you. They fucking make it a show. Not a simple slitting of someone’s throat or shooting them in the temple, or poisoning. They make it an extravaganza. I sometimes wonder if Da Vinci had the same buzz when he worked on a piece of art. When he brushed against the canvas to create the Mona Lisa. Do you think it was the same as this?”

A muffled scream erupts as Peter’s body jerks when the scalpel blade traces along his thigh.

“Oh, Peter. How fucking rude of me.’’ I rip off the duct tape, and he screams for help. “Please don’t waste your breath. The room is soundproof. Why do you think we use this spot? You can scream until you pass the fuck out, but no one will hear you.” I rush back to the desk and pull out the mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, and A1 Sauce. “Which one’s your favorite? I want to say you’re a ketchup guy. It’s a juvenile condiment, and you’re a big baby. You couldn’t even handle a little flesh wound.”

Peter bites his bottom lip as he stares at me. I move closer and stab the scalpel in his leg. “Peter, it’s rude not to answer someone when they ask you a question. I know I don’t seem like the type who cares much for manners, but I assure you they’re very important to me.”

I lift my Rubber Soul t-shirt and display the word carved into my abdomen. Ungrateful. “My father did this to me when I was seven after I was impolite to one of his lady friends. She tried to touch my cock, but good ol’ Dad didn’t care. She had something he wanted, and I was the currency. Dad thought I should shut up and let her fuck me. She was the first person I killed. I fucked her with the twelve-inch blade of a hunting knife. Pounded that pedo pussy good and hard until she bled out nice and slow.”

“Mayo. I like mayo the best out of those.”

I smirk and pull out the Carolina Reaper hot sauce. “Mayo. Another generic sauce. That would have been my second choice.” I hold the bottle of hot sauce up to Peter, smirking as I pop the lid. “I like spicy things myself.” I tilt the bottle over his leg and watch as one red drop cascades from the bottle and falls directly on the open wound I made a few moments ago.

Screams of pure agony echo through the room.

“Peter, you need to stop that. It’s making me hard.” Peter’s eyes bulge. “Oh, you can relax. I won’t fuck you. I’ve got standards, and human trash doesn’t cut it.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Peter says through tears. “You’ve got a reputation, Cas. You and Lorne fucking girls while Declan does whatever he does in the corner. You talk about having standards, but the three of you are into some fucked up shit.”

“I was waiting, but it seems you’re eager to start.” I lift the drill out of the bag and rapidly nail his feet to the mattress. His screams are a symphony to my ears, as if Bach himself is in the room with us. “We may be into some fucked up shit, Peter, but the girls we fuck are all willing participants. We don’t have to drug them to bang them.”

I move back to the desk and pull out a paring knife. “Unlike you, we have big fat cocks and know how to use them. How big is that thing, anyway? Four inches, hard? Compared to the three of us, it may as well be a micro penis.” I grip his cock at the base and hold it on the bed. Peter screams in agony as I slice a tiny piece off the head. “It’s three and a half inches now.”

Peter’s shrill screams permeate my ears. “Maybe I should watch horror movies while I get sucked off cause this shit really does it for me.”

I pop the lid of the mayo bottle and let a dollop of the white, creamy substance fall onto the piece of dick. “If you close your eyes and think hard, it will probably taste like a hotdog.”

“You’re fucking nuts. You’re a fucking cannibal.”

I turn to him, presenting the fork. “Oh, no, Peter. I like sucking dick, and cum is one of my favorite flavors, but this little morsel is all for you.”

“You’re a fucking delusional if you think I’m eating that.”

I step toward him. “It’s cute that you think you have an option.”

Peter forms a straight line with his lips, thinking that’ll stop me. I pinch his nostrils between my thumb and index finger and squeeze. Time ticks. Peter struggles for breath while I demonstrate my dominance. Breath play isn’t for the weak. I’ve held my best friend’s face while he thrashed underneath me, and I’ve learned a thing or two. I know exactly when someone’s going to pass out or die.

“Peter, I don’t want you to die right now. I’d be disappointed if my fun was ruined.”

He thrashes until his mouth flings open, and I shove in the fork. “Be a good boy and make sure you chew your food properly. I’d hate for you to swallow it whole.”

Peter gags with each movement of his jaw, and tears fall from his eyes. He convulses with the natural urge to spit out his cock.

I tut. “You should’ve picked ketchup.”

We turn to the door as it opens. My hand is ready at my gun tucked in the back of my jeans.

“Lorne told me to come here,” Declan starts but then his eyes move to Peter. “Jesus Christ, Cas. You have to make a show of this?”

“Taking the lord’s name in vain, Dec? That’s a sin for you, isn’t it? If you want, I can fuck you and beat it away with my belt. I know it’s not the most convenient place, but all this torture is making me hard as fuck. Look at all the blood. It’s so fucking hot. I think he’s bled the most.” I point to Peter’s bloody and mangled cock. “It’s like a never-ending stream.”

“I’m not fucking you here, you lunatic.”

I pout, jutting out my bottom lip. “Fine. You can watch him eat his supper.”

“You’re feeding him?”

“What do you think the blood is from? He’s having his last supper.”

Declan swings the ax by his side as he walks over to Peter.

I jump in front, a barrier between Peter and Declan. “Whoa, whoa. I still have something left to do.”

“You cut off a piece of his dick and made him eat it. What other fucked up shit you got up your sleeve?”

I raise my index finger and walk over to the table, lifting the electric drill. Peter’s eyes bug out as I move next to him and hold the drill over his face. “Remember what I told you would happen if you ever came near our girl again?”

Peter shakes his head as I pull his right eye open and push the drill in. “Please, no!” Peter screams. “Please!”

“I might be a crazy motherfucker, but I’m true to my word.”

Blood spurts from his eye. Once I’m done with the drill, I place it on the bed and dig my fingers into his eye socket, ripping it from the tendons. “Watch with that good eye, Peter.”

I bark out a laugh as I drop the eye on my foot and kick up to keep it in play. “Hmm, it’s harder to play hacky sack with an eye than I thought.”

“God have mercy on your soul, Cas,” Declan says as he raises the ax and steps to Peter.

Peter swallows, tears falling down his face as he stares at Declan. “You’re as crazy as he is.”

“Probably, but unlike him, I have empathy. It’s hard being trapped in the materialistic nature of this world. You can’t think about what comes next. You can only think about what needs to happen now. There’s a plan for us all, Peter, and yours seems to have been to be coerced by the devil.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Peter screams.

“It’s an eye for an eye, Peter. It’s the only way to pay for our earthly sins.”

With those last words, Declan lifts his ax. Peter’s head falls off the bed and rolls to my feet. “You really are a killjoy.”

“He’s not food, Cas. You can’t play with him.”

“I’m gonna tear your ass apart cause something is gonna feel good today.”