Torment

A man is driven to the brink by a child molester

9:37am. Saturday, July 11
Malcolm Drive,
Willow Grove,
Pennsylvania

I made my way into the kitchen, shuffling and stumbling. My eyes only half open and my vision blurry.
I could smell the coffee dripping into the pot.
Timers are one of mans greatest achievements, even more so when some genius figured how to put one into a coffee maker.
I bumbled my way to a kitchen cabinet and retrieved a oversized mug.
Then made my way to the coffee machine and poured myself a full cup, savoring the hazelnut aroma that swirled around me like beautiful storm clouds.
I opened the fridge, pulled out the plain creamer and poured about two tablespoons worth into the mug as well, then stirred with the spoon I had left out from the previous morning, tapped the it on the top edge of the mug and set it back down in the grey marble counter.
I took my first sip and felt my eyes widen just a bit as I became more conscious.
I took another.
Walking perfectly fine at this point, I made my way over to my small, round breakfast table and sat down.
I stared out the window in front of me, listening to the birds chirping and admiring the sun glistening off of my freshly cut back lawn. Squirrels were chasing each other, doing the strange interpretive dance of a beautiful summer morning.
"It's going to be a great Saturday" I though to myself, smiling.

I had bought my house about five years before, with my now ex wife. I had delusions of the white picket fence, two car garage, and a couple of kids playing in the yard. Everyday coming home from work in my sedan to my smiling wife.
The American dream.

Sadly, a dream is all it was.

She left me ten months after buying our house, choosing to shack up with a coworker instead of chasing the beautiful goal that we once shared.
So four years and two months later, I was doing a much better, mostly due to the twice a week sessions with Dr. Kennedy and monthly pill refills.
I initially tried to deal with the split alone, as I assume most people do, but violent dreams became a nightly occurrence, and after a month or two, daytime thoughts of the same violence came flooding into me, compromising my data-entry vocation.
I would snap at the drop of a hat, literally poisoning my workplace.
I was fortunate enough to catch on to what was happening to me and began therapy almost immediately.
So now when I feel the anger building I can reach into my pocket and take a wonder pill that magically makes it all go away, making my emotional roller coaster straighten out into a road through the Midwest.
Wide and flat.
It was mind boggling to me how a thing like divorce can take you down such a dark path. I had never had a problem with anger growing up. In high school my friends used to call me "Zen", because of my apparent inability to get worked up. My senior year, the year book committee even made up a "Most Likely To Not Care" title just for me.
Sure, I got upset from time to time, but I was always a strong believer that anger would never solve anything.
To this day, anger issues aside, I have still never been in a fist fight.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.
Who could be knocking this early? I thought.
I sighed and slowly lifted myself from my comfortable perch.

I made my way to the door, grumbling about people's ethics and wondering why I was so upset about someone at my front door.

Out of the kitchen I made a left down the hall past the stairs and over to the entry, under a cheap chandelier.
I tightened the belt on my bathrobe and hesitantly opened the door.
As it swung wide, I saw a scraggy man on my stoop. Ripped, stained jeans, long greasy shoulder length hair and a fragmented beard. Definitely not a person normally seen in this particular neighborhood.
Just behind him was a shorter, more stout man wearing a white shirtsleeve button up and tan pleated pants. He held a clipboard and was writing furiously, intermittently glancing up at me, then to the man-rat in front of me then back down to his writing.

I shifted nervously in my slippers, suddenly becoming super self aware.
I cleared my throat "Can I help you guys?" I said, with a bit of squeak in my voice.
Ratty just stared at me, up from my oversized slippers and down again, obviously nervous about something.
The stout fellow straightened his back "Well?"
Ratty jumped a bit at the sound of his voice, looked back at Stouty, then back to me.
"Uh...my...my name is Liam Scott. I just moved in a block from here and I have to go door to door..."
I leaned against the door frame "You have to go door to door? Why?" I demanded. I was getting impatient, and felt the anger beginning to swell in the pit of my stomach. I tried to ignore it, but this Liam-Ratty person was having such a hard time saying what he had to say.
Stouty held up his writing hand, in a 'lets take it easy' way, still gripping his pen with his thumb, holding it against his palm.
"Please sir, let Mr. Scott finish."
I breathed in to protest, but let it back out and slumped deeper into the door jamb, wanting to slam the door and go about my business, but amid the impatience and annoyance there was a curiosity about this odd couple as to what had brought them to my door, ruining my perfect Saturday morning.
"Mr. Scott, please finish your statement."
Liam-Ratty grunted and feigned clearing his throat, wasting all of our times.
Finally he vomited out his speech. "Like I said, I was just placed a block away from here and..."
"Placed?" I interjected, suspicion and more anger welling up in me like Old Faithful.

"Ye...yes," Ratty-Liam stammered on, "Placed. I am a convicted pedophile, I did five years and am out early for good behavior. I was placed by the state in this neighborhood on house arrest, and will be for the next twelve to eighteen months, depending on how well I do."

I was horrified.
"Can you two wait just a second?" I choked out.
I turned and ran as quickly as I could toward my bathroom where I knew my wonder pills were waiting for a situation just like this one.

I let the door swing partially closed as I raced toward the back of my house to retrieve my salvation.
I burst through the bathroom door in a frenzy, frantically searching with my eyes for the little orange bottle.
There!
I spotted it on the toilet tank.
I snatched it up, pulling the cap off with my teeth, spilling a few white orbs on the white tile floor, they bounced like tiny softballs.
I ate one immediately and felt the placebo effect work it’s magic long before the pill would ever hit my stomach, break down and spread to my veins.
Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes and lifted my head toward the ceiling breathing a deep, relaxing sigh.

I turned and exited, back toward the perpetrators of this violent swelling of hellfire in my belly, keeping the pill bottle with me, just in case.
As I approached my partially open door, I heard the men talking on my stoop.
Ratty-Liam was asking if everybody was going to react like I had.
Stouty assured him that most of my neighbors would have similar reactions, and to expect a gun or two and a multitude of threats.

“Great...” I heard Liam-Ratty lament.
“It’s not like I killed anyone” He then defended, like anyone would take that as a valid argument, the sick f**k.
Stouty was silent for just a second thinking of how to retort to a statement so ridiculous, I imagined.
As I waited for Stouty’s response I shifted my weight, creaking the door.
Stouty cleared his throat, “Sir?’
I was caught.
I waited a second, as to seem like I was down the hall then reentered the doorway, feeling a little embarrassed. That is, until Liam-Ratty looked up at me. The embarrassment turned to disgust.
I instantly wanted this awkward meeting over
“Is there anything else I should know? Are you finished with what you need to tell me?”
Stouty gazed at me for a brief moment then said “Do you understand what we came here to tell you?”

“You mean, do I understand that this sicko-f**k is moving into a house within walking distance of mine? Yes. Do you two understand that if this piece of excrement comes near my kids I will kill his a*s and gladly go to jail with a smile on my face?”

Ratty-Liam let a look of surprise wash over his face as Stouty consulted the notes on his clipboard.
I looked Liam-Rat square in the eye, “Come on, you didn’t really think that people would be happy that the state chose a neighborhood for you to move into, did you? You are a demented, backward piece of s**t hillbilly that f***s little chi...”
“Excuse me” Stouty cut in, like an unwanted dance partner at the prom. “But I think the Department of Corrections can take care of his punishment better than you can, and sir, it says here that you don’t have any children.”

“W..well no, I don’t, but if he gets near my dog I...”

“It also says here that you have no pets, sir.”

“Jesus Christ, what is it with you? Ok, no children, no pets, ok? But he is not coming anywhere near my property, understood? I have nieces and nephews, and I don’t want them violated or killed or whatever. So if I see him even walking past my house, I will come after him.”

I reached into my pocket and fumbled with my meds, thumbing the lid off and letting them spill out into my bathrobe. I pulled one out and ate it, even though the first one had just kicked in. I could tell by the tiny lightening bolt that shoots from my left temple to the right side of my forehead every time one of them finally hits my brain.
The last said bolt had shot during my heroic speech to Ratty and Stouty.

Both of my morning intruders stared blankly, looking as if they expected me to continue.
I had nothing else to say.

“Ok, sir” Stouty offered finally, “I believe that we have taken up enough of your time. If there is nothing else, we will be on our way, we have to get through this by one o’clock.
Thank you for your time, and we apologize for any disturbance we may have caused you this morning.”

“It’s been a f*****g disturbance all right” I mumbled as I took a step backward into my doorway.
I didn’t dare turn my back on Liam-Rat, for fear of some unseemly action from behind, completely ruining my entire weekend. How was I to know how deep his sickness crept?

I closed my front door slightly as I stepped backward away from the breadth of the swing, watching the two men make their way down my walkway, to the sidewalk, then make a right toward my neighbors, the left being only trees, as my home was perched on the edge of a state forest. In fact, the only thing that really was to the left of my house was a cul-de-sac.

I wondered how the Tomasellis, my neighbors, would handle the news, they had a little boy who rode his bike like the devil up and down the neighborhood, the connecting roads, and back again. I imagined that he would probably get that privilege revoked and not understand why.
Not to mention all of the other children in the area, suddenly forced to have a curfew in a sleepy, peaceful place like this.
This Liam Scott character sure was going to ruin a lot of things for a lot of people.
I jingled the pills in my bathrobe pocket as I thought, absentmindedly listening to them clink against the orange bottle and white cap bouncing around with them.
Both ingested pills had taken effect by this point, as I lost my hand rhythm in my pocket as the second lightening bold passed through the front of my cranium.

“Oh, hello Inner Peace” I said aloud as I made out for my cold coffee still waiting for me on my breakfast table, sans flies hopefully.





7:55am Monday, July 13.
Louis Drive,
Warminster
Pennsylvania

Officer Mike Lyndon entered the Bucks County Parole office through the white framed glass doors reading a CC’d email from the deputy chief about one Liam Scott, one of Lyndon’s clients, being officially placed on Henry Avenue down in Willow Grove.

Nodding at the secretary who was obviously just getting settled in for the day, he frowned, thinking about how many children lived in that area, and how close proximity Henry Ave was to Fitzwater Elementary school.

It seemed as though the state would put these guys in situations like a steak just out of reach of a hungry dog just to see how they would do.
He could never tell how willing they were to sacrifice a child or two just to see if their penal system had worked or not.
It just didn’t seem right, but he had no control over where they put him.
He did, however have some control over what Scott did. He resolved in his mind to try and protect the children in that neighborhood as well as possible.
Lyndon, being fairly new, had a case load that was relatively small, so he figured he would have time to pay extra attention to Scott.

If Lyndon had been present during the introduction process, he may have been able to fight against that particular area, but he had been up in Albany, New York since that past wednesday, visiting his wife Sarah’s family.

He thought about his own little girl, and how he would react if a pedophile was placed in his own neighborhood in Lansdale.

As he sat down at his desk, he placed his phone next to his computer, putting it on ‘vibrate’. He jiggled his mouse and the screen came to life. He pulled Liam Scott’s case file up. He stared at Scott’s mugshot intently until his eyes blurred, clearing a path for his thoughts to flow easily.
He would check up on Scott that afternoon unannounced, just to comfort himself.
Maybe take a walk around the surrounding streets to get a better idea of what he was dealing with.
Lyndon also wanted to talk with caseworker who has escorted Scott on the door to door, see what kind of reactions people had.
What as his name?

Lyndon uncrossed his eyes and scrolled down through the file, still on his screen, until he saw the caseworker's name.
Steve Langdon.
Apparently Langdon hadn't filed the paperwork from the door to door yet. Not that it mattered too much, there was always information left to be desired when they did these neighborhood introductions.
No worries, he’d put a call into Langdon’s department after lunch.

After making a note in Liam Scott’s file about his intended visit, Lyndon ran his mouse across his desk horizontally to the left, moving the cursor to the ‘refresh’ button so as to update the file. He then moved the cursor to the red ‘X’ circle to close out of the file window as soon as the page loaded again fully. He pressured the mouse button just as he saw a red banner pop up on the screen.
He pulled his finger from the mouse button then scrolled down a bit.
Apparently Scott had already put in a request for a pet.
He’s lived in the house for two f*****g days and he already wants a dog? Lyndon thought to himself.
Lyndon did not see any real harm in it, considering Scott’s problem was with children and not animals, but just to be sure he would bring it up to Scott when he stopped in on him later that day.

He closed out the window and sighed.

He looked around the office at the other parole officers, most of them talking to one another about various sports or television serials that had aired the previous night. These guys were like a fraternity, like cops or firemen. You had to earn their respect before you really got in with them.

This could be the case, he smiled. The one they begin to respect me for.





5:15am Monday, August 4.
Willow Grove
Pennsylvania



I felt my chest tighten as I headed southeast down Woodland Road, the connection between my house and the rest of Willow Grove.
Huffing and puffing, I jogged past the rows of houses on either side of the street.
As I passed Karl Avenue, my breathing became ragged, I was not, nor was I ever a sporty type of person.
In all actuality I loathed jogging, and most other things sports-oriented. Sure, a rousing game of Bocci never killed me, but that was about the extent of my interest on the topic.
Sports = exercise. Neither of them saw eye to eye with me. Not that I was particularly unhealthy, or even overweight at that. That much movement just made me vomitous.

I had decided to begin a jogging routine because of Liam-Ratty.
I felt that this way I could essentially kill two birds with one stone: I could keep an eye on the sicko, and whilst doing so, I could get into a little better shape just in case.
I had made myself the neighborhood watchdog.
So, about a week after our pedo-friend moved in, I began jogging every morning before work, usually trying to start at around five. I would run west down Malcolm Drive, make a left down Woodland, past Karl Avenue, then make a left down Henry.
I would jog as far as Rat-Liam’s house, then stop and jog in place pretending to check my pulse, staring at my watch acting like I knew what I was doing.
I would then run home, shower, go to work, get out, come home and do it again just after dinner.
I know it seems a little obsessive, but I was alone with nothing else really to do, aside from infrequent visits from relatives, or my sparse group of friends.

Every day I had repeated this regimen for almost a month now.
I had grown accustomed to the physical activity by this point, and was very capable of running the short distance without breaking into a body-bathing sweat like when I first began.
But, every time I passed Karl Ave my adrenaline would kick in.
I would get nervous about what I would find when I rounded the corner onto Henry.
Constantly alert and at attention, ready for anything that demented b*****d may throw my way, be it dragging some poor hapless child through his front door kicking and screaming or coming after me with a shiv, or whatever weapon it is that they use in prison.

I made it to Henry and made the left that would bring me to the sickfuck's house.
As I jogged closer to the white modular home I heard a whining sound.
My muscles tightened and the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end, the adrenaline that was already pumping through my heart doubled.
Was that a child? I prayed to Buddha, Allah, and Jesus that it wasn't.
I suddenly felt helpless, everything that I had planned while laying in bed and blankly staring at the ceiling seemed futile.
If he's psychotic, how can I possible best him? My mind screamed.
He's not that big of a guy, but insanity can do amazing things to the will.
Each step slowed as if I were running at 1/8th speed, my white running shoes hitting the pavement made reverb-soaked sounds that likened to bombs detonating miles away through a tube.
I felt like I was running on the moon.
The only thing that didn't slow was my heart.
I felt sick.
I finally reached the corner of the last house before his, squeezing my eyes shut for fear of what I might see, only slightly opening my left one, like a child during a horror movie.
I wanted to turn back, I didn't want to see whatever was making that awful whimpering noise, but my legs kept pushing on, forcing me to arrive in front of PervBoy's home.
Directly front and center my legs finally came to a halt, as if by muscle memory.
I was certainly not in control of them any longer.
I turned to face his house, blurry through the eyelashes of my left eye.
Against every screaming red flag in my mind, I pried them both open.

A puppy.

A f*****g puppy was chained up to the front railing of his barren postage-stamp of a lawn.

I stood dumbfounded. Almost disappointed, yet relieved at the same time.
You've got to be kidding me. A dog? I felt like a fool. I worked myself up so much over the past month I had allowed my mind run away and make love with my imagination, birthing horrible expectations.
Ugh...
As I began to reprimand myself for being too hasty I heard the front door click.
I reacted fast, diving behind a bush on the edge of his neighbor's lawn.
As I peered through the branches I saw Ratty step out on his small porch.
The puppy, which looked to me to be a Chocolate Labrador, was going nuts by this point, thinking I was playing with it.
It was pulling with all it's puppy might trying desperately to expose my hiding place.
Liam-Rat yelled something intelligible at the pup, then lit a cigarette, his head swiveling side to side obviously looking for something.

Me.

He took about three drags of his smoke, then flicked it into the road. He then reached down and grabbed the young dogs chain and yanked it, hard, flipping the puppy over backward.
He yelled another command that I could not decipher and pulled the chain again, apparently wanting the dog to come inside.
The pup did not respond, instead running back again toward my shrub, yapping loudly.
Ratty-Liam pulled the chain harder this time, flipping the puppy again, this time making it yelp in pain.
He then proceeded to pull the little guy up onto the porch by its chain, the pup scrambling all the way. When it reached the top step, PervBoy reached down and picked the puppy up by the scruff of its neck and brought it inside, yelling into its face as the pup whimpered responses.
The door slammed.
Silence.
My heart was beating so hard I could barely hear, for the rhythmic thumping in my ears.
As my adrenaline subsided, so did my fear, which then began melting into rage. My heart rate raised again.
Oh s**t!
I reached into the pocket of my sweat pants and pulled out one of the three loose wonder pills I had stuffed in there earlier.
I shoved it into my mouth and swallowed.
Placebo effect.
My heart slowed almost instantly.
How the f**k did the state let have something to take care of?
The thought reiterated itself time and time again.



8:00am
Monday, August 4
Warminster
Pennsylvania

Mike Lyndon had just sat down at his desk with a cup of piping hot coffee when the phone rang on line two.
The land line on his desk didn't actually make any noise, there was a small red light that blinked with every tone of the ring.
It was the secretary's job to screen calls, then pass them along to whomever was best qualified to deal with the persons particular request.

Jeez, someone thinks something's urgent Lyndon said aloud just before touching his mouth to the brim of his coffee mug, searing the lower half of his upper lip.
"S**t! Goddamn it!" He yelled in pain.
As he was licking his top lip to soothe the pain the intercom on his phone honked, "Mike Lyndon, line two" it blared at him.
He sighed, licked his lip once more then picked up the receiver and pressed the LINE 2 button.
"This is Mike Lyndon"

"Officer Lyndon? You are the parole officer for Liam Scott, right?"

"Yes I am, may I ask who this is?"

"You can ask all you want. I prefer to stay anonymous."

"Ok, sir, to what is this anonymous call regarding?"

"It's regarding that piece of holy f*****g s**t you people placed in my neighborhood. The kid-diddler, Liam Scott."

"Ok, what can I do for you?"

"Well, you could put him back in f*****g prison, that's what you could do for me"

No kidding. Lyndon though to himself.

"Well sir, I apologize I can't just throw him in prison for no reason, has something occurred? Has someone been hurt?"

"Has someone been hurt?! Of course someone has been hurt!"

Lyndon caught his breath, excitement sprouting in his chest.

"Who has been hurt sir?" He almost yelled.

"Who has been hurt?! ME! I can't sleep a f*****g wink knowing this sick f**k is two blocks away from my home! There are so many children that live here, not to mention the school..."

Lyndon broke in to Anonymous' sentence, a bit disappointed there wasn't a reason for him to arrest Scott.
"Sir, as far as I know it is not unlawful for someone to cause another person insomnia. If it were a crime, my mother-in-law would have been in a federal penitentiary years ago. Are you one hundred percent positive he hasn't done anything illegal?"

"Well, there's the dog. How the hell could you people allow someone like him to care for a defenseless animal? He's obviously going to f**k the poor thing!"

"Sir, I allowed him to have the dog, it teaches people responsibility. The tendency to regress is greater when people do not have something to care for, something to put their energy into. Did you see him harm the dog, sir?"

"He yelled and screamed at it this morning. I watched him, that poor dog.

"Again, sir, as far as I know yelling at a dog is not unlawful either. If it will put you at ease, I will personally go to his house and check everything out. Is that sufficient?"

"No, but I suppose it'll have to do."

This anonymous guy was really starting to get in Lyndon's nerves. He wished he could just tell the guy how he really felt about Scott, but that would be incredibly unprofessional.

"Ok then sir, I will get there probably around lunch time, thank you for your concern, but we will take care of everything and make sure nothing happens."

There was a brief silence from the other end, then the man spoke again, only this time his voice seemed to be an octave lower than it had just been. Lyndon wasn't even fully sure it was the same person for a few syllables.
"How often do you visit him?"

"As much as needed, sir. You needn't be concerned with how many times I drop in on him."
"I just want to know how seriously you take this threat of a person." Anonymous hissed, voice still an octave down, and almost hushed.

"Sir, I can assure you that I am giving this matter the proper amount of attention that it needs."

"I guess we'll see, won't we?"

With that the line went dead.
I knew putting that guy in a neighborhood was a bad idea, Lyndon thought.
Anonymous was the sixth or seventh call he had gotten about Scott.
Once again Lyndon decided to take an even harder look around Scott's property and see what he could see. Although the last time he was at the residence it was mostly innocuous and mundane. Nothing out of the ordinary, just messy and unkempt.

Lyndon took in a deep breath and held it for a second then let it out slowly.
He woke up his computer to start his day, but something about the conversation he had just had bothered him.
It wasn't like the other calls he had taken about Scott, the way the guy's voice lowered...Lyndon had never heard a vocal change like that. It was so....ominous.
He took another sip of his coffee, which had cooled substantially by that point, and he leaned back in his computer chair considering the possibilities.
He tried to shake the feeling of dread and concentrate.

I'll head over to Scott's place as soon as possible. He thought.






8:11am
Monday, August 4
Willow Grove
Pennsylvania

I pressed the END button on my phone and laid it on the counter.
The Mike Lyndon guy I had just talked to seemed like a real first class jagoff.

Just another state slave who are always way too calm. I hate the way they talk down to you in their firm, parent-like tone. Always so f*****g calm. WHAT IF IT WAS YOUR KID GETTING FUCKED? Bet he wouldn't be so goddamn f*****g calm then.

"F*****g b*****d" I said out loud.

I had eaten two wonder pills during my seven minute conversation with Officer Lyndon, and for some reason they didn't seem to work.
This was the first time that that had happened.
I wondered what it meant.
Did I need an upped dosage?
I stared at the pill bottle, hoping to find some explanation of why the rage still burned inside of me like a rumbling, unfed stomach, turning the small orange container over and over, listening to the pills spill around like a half-filled maraca.

My thoughts drifted to Liam-Rat Scott-F**k and how badly I wanted to hurt him for all the hurt he had obviously caused. I didn't know even one of the victims, if there was even victim"s" plural, but I felt an overwhelming conviction to a avenge their pain and suffering. I instantly knew that it was my condition telling me this, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't shake the feeling. It ate at me, and ate at me, worsening by the second.
I slowly looked around my kitchen, down at my phone, then glanced at the clock on the wall above my sink.

"F**k!" I was twenty minutes late for work.
Not again! My mind screamed F**k f**k f**k f**k f**k!

I hurriedly picked up my phone and called the office and told them that I was on my way, to which the secretary told me to "Please hold"

"Oh that's not good" I mumbled.

After a short time of listening to horrible warbly muzak, the manager, Matthew Billings' voice broke through the hellish hold sounds.

"Late again." He slimed out like a used car salesman. "Look, I understand that you have had a tough time in the past, and I commiserate, I really do. But this is the third time this month. And when you do decide you want to grace us with your presence, you are so far disconnected that you barely accomplish your daily quotas. We like to think we employ achievers here, not breed mediocrity. I have not forgotten what you have done for the corporation in the past, so that's why I'm prepared to give you a generous severance package. I'm sorry, but as it stands I cannot have an under performer such as yourself mucking up everything that we are trying to build here.
Take the week, clear your head then come in Monday-a-week and clean out your desk and hand in your credentials. Ok?”

I hadn't even had a chance to explain, and I told him so, hate building and burrowing within me.

"Just stop" Billings cut me off, "Excuses are useless. I've let this go on long enough, I like you. I've always liked you, but this is not how we run our business here. I'm through talking with you, and the more you protest, the less of a severance package you get. Do you understand?"

Without another word he hung up.

I lost it.

"YOU KNOW WHAT MATT?!" I screamed into the dead line, holding my phone out in front of me. "F**K YOU! F**K YOU AND YOUR W***E OF A F*****G S**T WIFE! TAKE YOUR F*****G S****Y COMPANY AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR DANDY F****T A*S!
F**K F**K F**K F**K!"
With every 'f**k' I smashed my phone on the table, shattering the screen and bloodying my fingers.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, no syllables, no words, just guttural rage and hate spewing up from my soul and out of my mouth, painting the walls in my kitchen the color of pain. I threw the phone against the back window that looked out onto my lawn. It bounced off the glass and landed on the floor, shards of the touchscreen bouncing around the crippled device.
This angered me further.
I just wanted to hurt something so badly.
I marched over and picked it up and threw it even harder at the window, this time making a small crack in the pane, scaring the squirrels frolicking outside, making them scatter. When the phone landed it was in pieces, so I grabbed the nearest object I could reach, being my stainless steel coffee pot. I let out another demonic scream and hurled the full pot through the window, making the glass explode into millions of tiny diamonds, showering the tile floor as the pot bounced on the grass, covered in sparkling shards and spilling the coffee on the lawn.

Silence.

The only audible noise was my ragged breathing and the sound of birds tweeting off in the distance, through my now open window.
I stood listening to them with my eyes closed, my burning fingers clenched into white-knuckle fists.

I felt good.
I'd felt elation before, but not like this.

I mean, I felt good.

As clarity washed over my inner sanctum like sunshine, a smile crept onto my face.
I basked in the glory, standing in my ruined kitchen until it slowly started to dissipate.

"No, no don't go away" I begged it. "Don't leave me just yet, I haven't gotten my fill" as I pleaded, the sunshine slowly slid behind the cloud of pain.
It was then that I noticed the tapping sound, intermittently in between the chirping birds.
I unballed my fists, and opened my eyes looking down.
My fingers were sliced open, and dropping blood onto the floor, and onto my jogging shoes.
I stared at the small pools of blood, studying them. I then lifted my hands and examined the blood on my fingers.
I had never realized just how beautiful it was.
The longer I stared at the crimson, the more the inner sunshine reappeared from behind the cloud of hate.
The smile that had crept onto my face earlier began to widen as my breathing became a slower normal rhythm.
My heart rate eased and the calm that I was desperately grasping onto amassed and became what felt like a permanent part of me.

How have I never felt so real?

I felt more alive in that moment than in all of my thirty some-odd years, it was like I had taken the greatest drug known to man.

I wanted more.




11:55am
Monday, August 8
Henry Ave,
Willow Grove
Pennsylvania


Mike Lyndon put in the right blinker to turn off of Woodland Drive onto Henry Ave.
Every time he made this trip, his heart would flipflop in his chest at that turn, and his stomach would tie itself into a knot the closer he got to Liam Scott's residence.
Scott wasn't a violent offender necessarily, so Lyndon was relatively sure he was in not danger, but there was just something about this case that really rubbed him the wrong way.
It was as if a sixth sense he had never noticed before was throwing up caution signs for some reason.
Lyndon mostly disregarded it, writing it off as jitters due to the high profile this case had, in comparison to his others. Scott had been on the cover of almost every newspaper in Pennsylvania, New York, and Jersey too.
Essentially the entire tri-state area knew this guy existed, and if something somehow went wrong, Lyndon would be the one to take the blame.

But today was different. The caution signs seemed to become danger signs and he could not seem to rid himself of the seemingly intuitive feeling.
He just wished he could understand why.

Lyndon turned his car left into the driveway of Scott's white, rundown modular home.
As he put in park, Lyndon inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth until he felt his jaw muscles tighten under his ears and let the breath out through his nose.

"Ok" He mustered, and exited the car.

Lyndon approached the porch, inside he could hear the puppy yapping away, alerting his presence.
He stepped up and knocked loudly on the door.
Nothing.
Lyndon knocked louder.
Still nothing.
Lyndon, becoming irritated, pounded on the door with the bottom of his fist, making the pup go haywire on the other side of the door.

"Scott! Get your f****n' a*s out here!" Lyndon bellowed.

He heard a voice yell above the din the dog was making, then the puppy squeal and go silent. Some minor scuffling and what sounded like a metal cage door shut.
Momentarily the doorknob twisted, and Scott yanked the door open.
Lyndon looked him up and down. Scott was clad in a ratty wife beater and greyed boxer shorts, greasy mop on his head all snarled and flat on one side.

"Officer Lyndon, always a pleasure to see you" Scott snarled. "What is it I can do for you?"

"You could put on some f*****g pants for one" Lyndon snapped back as he started into the house, pushing past Scott.
Pushed aside, Scott grunted and closed the door behind him.
"Yeah, hang on a second" Scott said sleepily.
He shuffled past Lyndon into the living room where there was a pile of what looked like dirty laundry. He sifted through them for a moment then produced a pair of pants and put them on unsteadily.

Lyndon looked around at the piles of mess everywhere then said, "You sleeping? It's almost lunchtime. Aren't you supposed to be out looking for a job?"

"Yeah, I did this mornin', there's nuttin' out there, man. I got tired, so I came home and took a nap"

Lyndon looked at him sideways, "No jobs, huh? As far as I know McDonalds is always in need of an experienced f**k-up like you. Want me to get an application for you? That way I’ll know which on to never go to."

Scott lit a cigarette, inhaled the smoke and said "Ha ha. F****n' funny guy, huh?" Smoke pouring out of his mouth as he spoke.
"So to what pleasure do I owe this visit, anyways?"

Lyndon opened his mouth to answer just as his cellphone rang. Lyndon let the speech breath out and held up his left hand with the index finger up, signaling Scott to wait.
With his right hand he pulled out his phone and pressed the SEND button with his thumb.

"Lyndon"

Scott watched as Lyndon listened, his expression changing from annoyance to helplessness.

"S**t" Lyndon whispered.

Scott shifted his weight, impatient.

Lyndon looked up at Scott, pain and sadness in his eyes as he slowly hung up the phone. "I have to go" Lyndon said softly. "My wife and daughter were just in an accident"
With that he took two bounds toward the door, flew it open and ran out slamming it behind him as he went.

Breathless and dizzy Lyndon raced toward his car, jumped in, turned the key and slammed the column shifter to R and stomped the gas pedal through the floor, digging deep into Scott's dirt driveway, shooting rocks and dirt high into the air, then cut the wheel hard.
The front end of the car swung wide, skidding into the lane and coming to a halt facing back down the road, the way he had come in.
Slamming into DRIVE, Lyndon matted the pedal once more, lighting the tires up as the car tried to switch momentum from backward to forward.
The tires finally caught, pulling the vehicle away from Scott's house, every inch getting him closer to Doylestown Hospital, where his wife and baby daughter were both in the ER, which was still a half an hour away, over routes 611 and 202. It seemed like the only two things he loved in the whole world were a lifetime away.
Lyndon tried to calm himself, drive and be careful.
As he neared the corner of Henry Ave a figure was just rounding the corner from his right.

Lyndon's heart went from panic to complete dead silence.

The man rounding the corner was wearing some sort of jogging clothes, and looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties.
He made instant eye contact with Lyndon.
It was at that moment that everything went slow and silent. The two men watched each other pass, never breaking eye contact, almost daring one another to make a move. Like two lions circling, waiting for the first advance so they could strike.
Lyndon momentarily forgot all about his wife and daughter. All he could see, think, or breathe was this man walking towards Scott's direction. The scowl on his face filled Lyndon with the apprehensive/sixth sense feeling he had been trying to ignore for the last hour. Lyndon knew instantly that this was the reason for his sick feeling about this case. He didn't know how, but it was this man.
As the car got further past, the world sped back up again and Lyndon looked in his rear view mirror as the other man turned his head forward again and continued in his way. It was then that Lyndon noticed a roll of duct tape in his hand, and what appeared to be dried blood on his fingers. He couldn't be sure, as the distance between them continued to grow.

Lyndon slammed on the brakes and for a split second considered reversing, but his wife and daughter's faces pushed past his policing instinct and replaced it with fatherly instinct. He took one last look at the man fading in his mirror, then stomped on the gas once again and made a left, away from Scott, away from the mysterious man and toward his family.




12:18pm
Monday, August 8
Henry Ave,
Willow Grove
Pennsylvania


Just give me one reason. Give me one good reason, you sick f**k.
My brain kept repeating these words over and over, like a record only allowed one revolution in the same groove. The skipping needle sticking my mind and injecting poison.
I felt strange.
I felt good, but strange.
Almost like the only thing understandable and clear in the entire universe was my current mission, everything else was confusion.
My thoughts could flow freely as long as I concentrated on the task at hand. As soon as my concentration wandered I became lost, literally wandering inside my own mind searching for the place I had just been, where my thoughts made sense. I would begin to feel panicky until I remembered my course, my mission.

I had left my kitchen hurriedly, grabbing duct tape from a junk drawer in the lower portion of my cabinets, no recognizable thoughts going through my mind.
My brain hadn't even told my body to open the drawer and pull out the roll of tape, I just did it without thinking.
The only thing on my mind was Liam Scott.

My mission now clear, I marched out of my house and down the street heading for Henry Ave.

After walking about thirty paces I noticed a shaking sound emanating from the left pocket in my jogging pants.

My wonder pills.

I pulled the bottle from my pocket and looked at it as I walked, squinting in the noontime sun.
I stopped over a sewer drain and pulled the cap off of the orange pill bottle with my teeth and spit it onto the sidewalk. I then aimed the bottle directly above the drain and slowly turned my hand upside down, watching those little white orbs begin to spill out and fall to the grate covering the drain, where they bounced off the iron bars then down into the water below making tiny "plunk" sounds as all sixty or so fell into the runoff and dissolved five feet below the street.
I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of the last few pills dropping into the water.
I then dropped the bottle onto the grate and smashed it between the iron bars with the bloody jogging shoe on my right foot.
The bottle cracked and broke until it as well fell through and landed in the sewer below.
I stared down between the bars on the grate making sure the broken bottle was fully out of sight before continuing on.

As I came to the corner of Henry Ave, I made a left, feeling excitement building in my chest.

Come on, give me just one reason. Just one.

At my first step onto Henry Ave I noticed what looked like an unmarked police car of some type speeding down the street, coming in the opposite direction.
I looked into the windshield and instantly recognized the driver.

Lyndon.

I had looked up Liam Scott on the Internet and found his parole officer, and sure enough he was coming right at me at an insane speed.
I made eye contact with him without meaning to, but I could not look away. He was a potential threat to my mission. I wanted to let him know that I had no problem with dealing with him if he came between my target and me.
He stared right back, almost seeming to recognize something about me, which was impossible.
As he passed I just turned my head forward again and kept walking.
Lyndon, it seemed had not figured me for a threat, as he didn't stop. Thankfully.

This was the first time I could remember since Rat-F**k moved in that I didn’t feel sick making my way down this street. In fact, I felt elation the closer I got to Scott’s residence.
I could almost taste the blood.
A rush of euphoria scurried up my spine, engulfing me in an almost seizure-like shiver, every hair on my body standing at attention.
Like an orgasm.

I finally came upon Liam-Ratty’s house, ducking behind the bush I had hidden behind previously, the roll of duct tape shaking in my hand.

I eyed his house for a bit, to what end, I’m not sure, then slunk out from behind the hedge and snuck over to one of the three side windows on the ground level.

I stopped with my back up against the peeling siding, just under the frontmost window, excitement growing in the pit of my stomach.

I carefully turned, putting the tips of my fingers on the window ledge and pulling myself up from my crouching position.
I couldn’t just barge in and deliver my justice without having some sort of reason. Some sort of ammunition, because however badly I wanted to hurt this man, I couldn’t, in good conscience just hurt him because I wanted to. I was reasonably sure I wouldn’t be disappointed, hence the excitement.
But still, I needed something. Anything.
I raised myself so just my eyes were looking through the window, with total disregard for whatever neighbors may be watching me.
They probably hated him too, so essentially I was doing them a service.

I peered through the window, looking into what appeared to be the foyer. The front door to my right, directly across from me was what I guessed was the living room, which was piled with clothes. To my left was a staircase with a hall next to it going god knows where.

Just then Liam appeared in the living room doorway smoking a cigarette and looking down. I dropped from view in terror, wanting desperately not to be seen, my heart pounding seemingly twice as hard as before. It felt as if it would jump out from my ribs at any second.
I had to see what he was up to, so I slowly lifted myself back up to the sill, putting just my eyes over the bottom of the window once again.

Liam was still smoking and staring at the floor, every now and again shifting his weight and turning his head like he was watching something by his feet.
I saw him say something and shake his left leg.
His face then grew twisted in anger, he bent down at the waist and shouted something then made a sharp kicking motion with his right leg.
I heard the distinctive yelp of a puppy.

He just kicked that f*****g puppy I thought.

That was it, that was all I needed.

I shot up to a standing position and turned to my immediate right. I hoisted myself up over the railing of his porch with surprising ease. Enough ease for me to actually notice, was it the constant jogging? The adrenaline?
The thoughts cleared as quickly as they arose once I turned left on the badly decayed porch.

The front door.

My heart stopped. This is what I had been dreaming of for months, the Moment. I had desperately clung to the possibility of this very second happening for what seemed like forever and now there I was. Behind that door was my destiny. That peeling, run down door held my legacy, the one good thing that I would ever do with my life, my lasting mark on humanity.

I stiffened up, straightened my rumpled shirt and cleared my throat.
I knocked.
I knocked again.
Nothing.
Where the f**k is he? My mind screamed. He was right there in the hallway just a second ago.

I pounded on the door with my fists until I thought the door may collapse from the beating.
I heard a yell from inside.
I turned my attention to the door handle, aching to see it twist.
It finally turned half way around and the door shuttered as Liam-Rat pulled from the inside.
I caught my breath and tensed my muscles just as the door popped open about an inch. once I saw the space between the door jamb and the door itself I reared back and kicked it in with every ounce of strength I could muster.

The door shot open another four inches before coming to an abrupt halt, making a horrible thud and vibrating then staying put.
I heard Rat-F**k collapse on the other side letting out a low sound of surprise and pain. I kicked the door again and all at once was standing in the foyer of my dream house.
The very thing that my feverish night terrors had repeated over and over every single night for weeks upon weeks until the feeling had turned sexual in power and nature.

I basked in the glow for a second, gripping my roll of duct tape evermore hard. Once I had had my fill of orgasmic stimulation, I gazed down at Liam-Ratty lying on the floor, who was beginning to come to, moaning softly as he tested each of his limbs to see if he was indeed still alive.
I turned and slammed the door closed behind me and set the deadbolt and turned to face Liam once again.
He looked up at me still too stunned to speak syllables.

“Here, let me help you” I said in the kindest sounding voice I could muster.
Confused, Liam let his hands drop from his bleeding, broken nose and gushing forehead as if to let me know my offer of help was appreciated.
I walked a few steps forward, pulled back my right foot and kicked him in the side of his head as hard as I could, blood spattered the wall across the hall as his body jumped and his head shot to the left.
He was instantly silent.

I stood over him for a time, feeling like a conquering hero. My enemy bested with ease. I felt like f*****g Super Man. I balled my hands into fists and placed them on my hips, chest puffed.
Then something struck me.
“Oh f**k, oh f**k!” I almost screamed as I bent down to him.
Had I broken his neck? Had I just killed him?
“Oh jesus no! Oh god no!” I leaned closer to his face, my hands shaking as I dropped the duct tape and let it roll a few feet away, coming to rest against the stairwell after circling tighter and tighter as it leaned then finally fell over.
I could feel helplessness welling up inside the bottom of my throat as tears fought against my resolve.
My plan had just gone awry.
“NOT YET!” I screamed just inched from his face as I slapped it back and forth.
“Oh f*****g god, no, no, no, no!” I wailed.
I beat his chest and cried, yelling ‘no’ over and over again.
I had just lost the love of my life by my own fault.

It was right then that I noticed his left eyelid flutter.

Alive!

My god, I let out a burst of happy tears as I bent lower and hugged him then cradled his bleeding head in my hands, my tears dropping intermittently on his cheeks, mixing with his blood and running down into his ears.

I instantly set to work, fumbling for the duct tape, hyper extending my right arm to pick up the roll, sticky with my own dried blood as not to take a hand off of Liam’s chest like I was holding the life inside him.

I rolled him onto his side once I had retrieved the duct tape and began wrapping his hands together, palms in. I wrapped the outside of his wrists, then a figure eight between his hands, the tape slick in my blood, sweat, and tears.
Once I was satisfied with his hands I moved to his feet, taping them together in the crossed position so as to keep him from being able to hop away if a ‘situation’ were to arise, god forbid.

I merrily sang children’s songs to myself aloud while I worked, my smile could not be chiseled off my face.

“Three, six, nine, the goose drank wine, the monkey chewed tobacco on the streetcar line. The line broke, the monkey got choked and they all went to heaven in a little rowboat..”




12:56pm
Monday, August 8
595 West State Street,
Doylestown,
Pennsylvania



Mike Lyndon sat in one of the many waiting rooms at Doylestown Hospital drumming his fingers on his knees and bouncing his legs on the balls of his feet.
He hadn’t been able to see his family yet, but was assured by a seemingly incompetent, Dansko wearing man nurse that the only two things that mattered in his life were “in good hands” and that “everything in their power” was being done to keep the blood flowing through their veins.
He was helpless.
He didn’t even know what had happened exactly.
There was a car accident, that was the extent of his knowledge of this nightmarish situation.
He had so many questions:
Would his beautiful wife ever walk again?
Would his beautiful daughter recognize him?
Would he have to spend the rest of his life trying to sustain either girl’s life through a feeding tube?
Would either be horribly disfigured?
Were any other people involved in the accident?
If so, were they alive?
And if yes, in what condition?

He desperately wanted to grab any doctor that looked vaguely familiar and shake them until he had the answers that he needed.

Having this much time alone with his thoughts during a time of crisis was making him crazy.

Through the haze of hurt and worry the image of Liam Scott’s face slowly pushed its way to the forefront.
He considered the encounter they had just had 40 minutes before.
Something did not sit well with Lyndon still.
He then drifted to the guy walking down the street with the duct tape in his hand.
Then to that one phone call that was different from the rest.
Something was very amiss, of that much Lyndon was sure.
He couldn’t shake the feeling of sickness from his stomach which was compounded by the potential loss of 2/3 of his family.
Something needed to be done, but what?
All he could do was wait. Wait for the prognosis of his wife and daughter, and wait to see what, if anything, was going to explode on Henry Ave.


1:22pm
Monday, August 8
Henry Ave,
Willow Grove
Pennsylvania



I stood over the coffee maker and took in the aroma. This Rat-F**k guy was a human piece of garbage, but he had quite a good taste in java.
The aromatics filled the room like a swelling penis fills a vagina just before the explosion.
I pondered on this thought for a minute and realized with surprise that I was becoming aroused. Not form the mental imagery necessarily, but from the situation at hand. The orgasm thought was just the catalyst.
I felt in a way that I shouldn’t be so surprised.
I had been fantasizing about this forever, so much so that it had become a sexual goal to me.
I turned to look at my prisoner who was in and out of consciousness.
I had duct taped him to a kitchen chair, wrapping the silver tape around and around chest, securing him to the chair back.
His eyes were partially open but I couldn’t tell if he was actually aware of his surroundings.
I reached my right hand down to the from of my pants and started massaging my erection.
I kept as much eye contact with Liam-Ratty as possible, dipping and weaving with his unpredictable head movements.
I wanted him to see what I was doing.
I took three steps forward toward, then pulled down the front of my running pants to reveal my erection. I began stroking it faster and faster as I shuffled clumsily toward Ratty, drunk on erotic passion.
As i approached Rat-F**k began to squirm.
He was definitely awake now.
The closer I got, the more he began to whimper and writhe, trying desperately to remove himself from the situation.
His cries through the tape on his mouth made my penis flare more, so much so that I could barely contain myself.
I finally got to him, my chest heaving. He stared up at me with terrified eyes, bulging out of his head like a horse that just heard a gunshot for the first time.
I reached out my left hand and grabbed his stringy hair. I yanked his head down to the left making him yelp in pain.
I tightened my grip, he squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in his breath the best he could through the duct tape.
I could feel individual hairs being popped from their roots.
Watching the very obvious pain and fear in his face got me almost to climax.
I reached my thumb down his forehead and pried open his left eyelid.
His eyeball rolled around then up, trying so hard not to see what was happening to him. he began jumping and kicking his duct taped feet.
his muffled screams put me over the edge. I put the tip of my penis into his eye just as i felt my testicles tighten and my c**k swell.
“Hold the f**k still” I shouted as i felt the semen begin to shoot out and fill his eye socket.
Liam-Rat screamed a high pitched, painful scream as his eye burned beyond compare and the humiliation became real in his mind.

“How does it feel you f**k?” I growled as I convulsed again and again shooting the last few spurts of my seed onto his unprotected eyeball.

He shook violently, trying to get oxygen.

I stood for a second basking in the post orgasm glow, still holding the tip of mh softening penis in his eye.
I then hurriedly stuffed it back into my pants and backed up to look at my handiwork.

“You look like a f*****g cinnamon bun” I laughed

He blinked over and over, shaking his head and softly crying.
Snot ran out of his nose and down the duct tape and mixed with the semen running down his left cheek.

It was a beautiful thing to gaze upon.
I bounded toward the bathroom looking for a hand mirror. I searched high and low but to no avail.
I stopped in front of the sink and looked into the wall mirror. I caught for a second and leaned in, studying my face.
I broke into an enormous smile.
I reached up and pulled on the mirror. It was steadfast, but i pulled harder, tugging and tugging on it until i felt it begin to come loose from the sheetrock.
I gave it one more heroic yank and it came free, flinging white chunks of drywall all over the floor and bouncing in the sink.

Mirror in tow, i skipped back into the kitchen whistling the same kid’s song that had been stuck in my head since I entered Liam-F**k’s house:
“Three, Six, Nine, The goose drank wine…”

I set the mirror up in front of my soggy friend, then ran behind him, giggling.
I bent down and put my chin on his shoulder.

“Look at yourself, you disgusting piece of s**t” I spoke lightly, putting my lips gently on his ear, making sure my breath was hot on his ear canal.
He whimpered and shook his head.
I snaked my hand around him and gripped his chin, taking his head toward the mirror.
“Look!” I bellowed deep. “Look or I will cut your worthless eyeballs out”

He opened his right eye, and tried to open the left, but it was still full of my seed, swollen and red.

He winced at the sight of the blood, snot and semen on his face.

“Do you recognize yourself? Do you know who you are looking at? You are looking at the very same piece of s**t that did this to children. How do you like it? How does it feel you f**k? How does it feel?” I reiterated over and over with building volume. He was crying harder now, sobbing.
I stood up and walked back around him, coming to a stop between him and the mirror.
I leaned close to his face and squinted my eyes at him.
I then straightened up and swiftly back handed him across the face. Not hard enough to do anything to him serious, just enough to make it hurt and remind him who was in control.

I made my way back over to the coffee machine which had long since finished and pored myself a cup. I sipped it and closed my eyes, savoring the hot liquid going down my throat.
I looked down at the counter and noticed a drawer directly in front of my crotch. Curious, i opened it slightly and peered in.
Cutlery.
Knives and a pair of scissors.
My thoughts ran wild as i slowly slid the drawer open farther.
Another grin slid across my face as i pulled out a paring knife, the scissors and a peeler.
I gripped them together in my free hand and slid the drawer of goodies closed with my hip feeling it thunk against the counter before turning completely to face my nemesis.
He was looking down, head hanging like the tops of wheat in the summer breeze.

Beautiful, I thought. Like a work of art. He is my inner Monet.

I watched the red, white, and clear running together and dripping off of his chin and down into his lap, bubbles forming on his nostrils as he struggled to breathe.

My smile widened until i thought my cheeks would burst. I took another sip of the piping hot coffee, slightly burning my lips.
i shuffled over to my pet, who slowly looked up, and quickly shot his head up noticing the utensils I gripped tightly.

He began to fight even harder than before, screaming as best he could and convulsing violently, trying to break free, but the chair stayed upright and there duct tape held.
i lifted my coffee above his head and poured the burning hot liquid onto his scalp, scorching him badly. he shook his head back and forth, emitting the same high pitched scream as when i came into his eye.

“That hot?” i inquired in a friendly tone.
When the last of the coffee dripped from the cup i dropped the mug onto his head. I bounced off, hit his shoulder, then landed on the floor, shattering.

I knelt down in front of Liam and put my hands on his knees.
I looked into his soaked, wild eyes. I stared deeply until i was satisfied that he could see the hatred inside my skull.
Silently i set the utensils down by his feet, one next to another and studied them.

Which first?

After some time debating with myself i finally chose the scissors.
i stood up and put my right tumb and forefinger on the top right corner of the duct tape covering Liam’s mouth. I slowly peeled it off, the side of his mouth forming a small ‘O’ as it was slowly revealed. He breathed deeper and deeper the farther there tape came off.
He looked at me almost with gratitude but said nothing for a moment, we both just let silence do it thing and basked in the wonderful glow of this work of art that i had orchestrated.

Then came the deluge.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this? What the f**k?”

He slurred out his words like a drunk, it was disgusting. droplets of cum and blood and snot flying off his lips as he tried to get the words out.

He had ruined a beautiful moment that we were sharing and it angered me to no end.

Without a word i grabbed his chin with my left, and put my arm up the side of his face, cradling the top of his head near my armpit, as i stood by his side. He tried to struggle, but my grip was iron.

i put my thumb and forefinger on his bottom lip, pulling it out and squashing it between my fingers.

“I hope for your sake these are sharp” i said down to him.

He wailed as i brought the scissors up with my right hand and set them on the side of his lip.
I squeezes and with a *snip* two and a half inches of red dangled from his face.
Blood spurted everywhere.
Liam”s scream was unearthly. Demonic even.
It made my spine vibrate with ecstasy and i got goose bumps.
I felt the erection starting again, but i ignored it. I was too busy creating a masterpiece to be bothered with it.
There would be plenty of time for reliving it later.

With another quick snip the lips fell onto Liam’s lap like a bloody red slug.
He freaked out when he saw it and started convulsing and struggling again, letting out a guttural howl that was akin to a wounded wolf.
My erection grew.

A few more precise cuts later his upper lip was lying next to the lower on his right leg, blood furiously pouring off of his face.

I finally let him go and stepped back to take a gander of his exposed, bloody teeth.

Finally I said “Goddman, they really were sharp, weren't they?” as i examined the crimson blades in the scissors, turning them over in my hands.
I dropped them on the floor and knelt to pick up the peeler.
I held it against his forehead and pushed down, dragging it across just above his eyebrows, holding his hair so he wouldn’t move too much and f**k up my work.
A long pink ribbon of skin came through between the blades and flopped down, sticking to his face. His screaming had stopped by this point and some sort of mental breakdown was beginning to occur.
His mind was taking him away, into some happy place.
I noticed this and began slapping his face, the ribbon of skin sawing back and forth with each contact i made.

“You are here, Liam” I said loudly into his face. “This is really happening. Wake up you piece of s**t! Wake up!”

i side stepped away from the mirror, and made him look into it again.

“You see? You see what is happening? This is real. This is what your life has become, you pathetic f**k!”

I shook his head violently, jarring him awake.
Then i bent and grabbed the paring knife and without hesitation plunged the tip of the blade into his right eye, popping the eyeball.
He had squeezed his eyes shut again as to not see his reflection, but the blade slid easily through his eyelid.
Puss and gel seeped out of the slit and out from under the closed lid.
He jumped and made a silent scream, then passed out.

i stared in shock at him, not exactly sure what to do. How could he be properly punished if he couldn’t feel the flagellation and see the consequences of his actions?

I thought about it for a minute.

With a shrug i stabbed the skin at the bottom edge of where the peeler had left its mark and began to cut slowly around the outside edge of his face, pulling the skin back with each tender cut.


3:17pm
Monday, August 8
Henry Ave,
Willow Grove
Pennsylvania




Mike Lyndon raced his car down 611 South.
His speedometer read 93 MPH, his heart much faster than that.

His wife and daughter were fine, after some close watching from the doctors, they both awoke from unconsciousness without harm and were expected to make a full recovery quickly. He still hadn’t found out what happened with the accident, but he didn't care anymore. They were ok, and that was all that mattered.
He saw them, and kissed them both, shed grateful tears and solidified hid love for both. In the back of his mind he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that was pulsing like a beacon from back in Willow Grove.
He was being beckoned back.
He felt a sense of urgency so great he had left his loved ones in the hospital after only a brief moment of visitation.
He felt guilty about leaving, but his spider senses were tingling a bit too hard for him to shove them away.


As he turned right onto Fitzwatertown Rd and immediately left onto Woodland, he began to feel sick to his stomach. He thought he felt tunnel vision coming on.
Admittedly, he was scared and he didn't know why.
That fear mixed with uncertainty spooked him even more.

Once on Henry Ave he tore down to the end and slammed his car in park out in front of the house
He got out and ran as fast as his legs would carry him up to the front door. He knocked sharply, hand on his gun.

No answer.

Another knock.

He heard a scuffling, a little movement. He could hear the floor creaking under someone’s weight on the other side.

“Scott?” Lyndon shouted. “Scott, open the f*****g door, NOW”
The doorknob twisted, then hesitated. Lyndon twisted it the rest of the way and pushed. The door pushed back.
“Scott, goddammit! What the f**k is going on in there?”
He punched the door once.

Suddenly the door opened a crack, and an unfamiliar set of eyes peered out at him.

“Liam’s not here” the disembodied eyes said flatly.

Lyndon thought he recognized the voice, but from where he couldn't place.

“Sir, i need to know who you are, why you are in Liam Scott’s house, and why he is not here”

The door opened just a bit more and Lyndon could see part of a face.

It’s the guy with the f*****g duct tape his mind screamed at him. He winced at the realization. The sickness in his stomach for worse and he could feel his chest getting heavy.

Lyndon began looking past the face into what little he could see of the entry.
He needed an excuse to enter, a mysterious face at a door was not probable cause.
all at once he found what he was looking for: blood.

Why the f**k is there blood in the front hallway? He caught his breath.

“I am coming in, sir” Lyndon shouted louder than he had expected, surprising the stranger and himself.

The stranger stammered.

Without another word, Lyndon threw his body weight into the door. Surprised, the man behind it lost his balance and fell to the floor.

Lyndon drew his gun quickly and let the door swing wide as the stranger flailed a bit, apparently dazed.

Lyndon noticed the rest of the blood spatter on the wall and floor, obviously from an impact of some kind. he pointed his gun at the stranger and made him get up.
The stranger did so, with his hands raised, wobbling a bit on one knee before straightening up completely.

It was the duct tape guy, and he was covered in blood from head to toe.

“ Where is Mr. Scott?” Lyndon demanded. 
Duct Tape man nodded toward the kitchen.
“Show me” Lyndon flicked the barrel of his gun in the direction down the hall.
Duct Tape started shuffling sleepily toward the kitchen, Lyndon close behind.
As they neared the corner, Lyndon thought he could hear wheezing. A raspy, ragged drawing of breath in-between what sounded like a quiet dog howl.

Duct Tape turned the corner and went left into the kitchen. With a wince, Lyndon forced himself to follow.

What he saw made him sick.

Pools and pools of blood, fingers and toes in small piles on the floor, what looked like most of a face hung up on a cabinet knob by an eye hole, the smell of raw meat and coagulated blood…

Then he saw Scott.

He was missing most of his skin, and breathing deeply desperately to cling to life. He had his back to Lyndon, but he could see his exposed muscle face in the reflection of a mirror placed conveniently in from of his chair.

Lyndon vomited. He wasn't sure if what he was seeing was real. His head was spiraling out of control. He heard the Duct Tape man speaking, but could only make out bits and pieces.

“Won’t……you ruin….masterpiece…”

The last word made Lyndon look up again in time to see Duct Tape bearing down on him with what looked to be a paring knife.

Lyndon didn’t think, he shot.

The Duct Tape man crumpled in a heap on the floor.

Lyndon held his gun in the firing position for what seemed like forever, his slight breaths warming his lips in the deafening concussion of the fired round. He began to shake violently and let his arm drop down at his side and dangle there.

He felt empty.

Lyndon then gingerly stepped around the bloodied heap of death in front of him and made his way to Scott who was taped to a chair, head hanging. The rasps had stopped, there was no heaving chest.
Lyndon called out his name.

No response.

He then gently put his fore and middle fingers against Scott’s neck and felt no pulse. He studied the grotesque, dismembered form and noticed a small hole in the back of his upper cranial area.
Lyndon then turned his head in the general trajectory direction and caught his breath yet again.

He had shot Duct Tape at such point blank range that the bullet had exited his skull and embedded itself into the back of Scott’s. In one one hundredth of a second he had taken two lives.

Mike Lyndon dropped to the floor amid the blood, feces, and body parts and began to sob.










END.

Reviews

[Brandon Wernke]

Grotesque end and a twisted plot. However, I loved it. The change in the protagonist was steady and the display of his irrationality and insanity was well played. There were a few grammar and spelling issues. For example, many of the 'I's toward the end were not capitalized. Mh, instead of my. I enjoyed the read, and it creeped me out all at once.