How nice it would be to see her father, who passed away so many years before. He would comfort her. He would know what to say. She feels she will see him again soon. She trembles once more. Very soon.Matthew moves gracefully out of the cell and bows deeply as the prison chaplain looks on in wonder. “Ahm readay, yaw highneth!” he drawls in a mocking, bad British accent. The blood on his chin and lips has started to dry, and the warden almost pulls his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the mess. His predisposition for order has prompted this reckless act. His Aryan look is not by accident and is known by some choice friends as ‘the mini Adolph’ for his fastidious and sometimes fanatical want for order. As fast as the impulse comes, it leaves him. He knows if he or anyone else tried that stunt, they would pull back a bloody nub. This is what Matthew wants. Let him have it.“The govna will thay me now!” Matthew snickers, as he stands erect. The warden, well kept and rather v
Denise’s grip on her husband’s hand tightens as she watches death overtake the man who killed her daughter. She is filled with a sick but wonderful joy. It’s hurting him! Oh, God, I hope it hurts him!Matthew jerks and spasms violently, then abruptly stops. There is an eerie stillness in the chamber. The medical technician looks quizzically at the warden. As she steps forward to question the warden as to whether or not she should examine Matthew ’s corpse, a fit of laughter fills the chamber. The medical tech turns quickly to see Matthew , his head raised, laughing. It’s happening! the warden’s mind screams. It made him stronger, and he’ll kill us all!“I goth you! I goth you!” Matthew screams. “It’ll take more than thith bullthit Daiquiri to take me outh, bitch! I’m more than—” He turns his head suddenly to the right, cocking it to the side as he does so. He squints into the corner of the chamber, searching for something. A moment later, his eyes bulge, and he starts to stam
Throwing the burned butt to the ground, he looks back and forth along the busy street. He pulls his leather jacket snugly around his solid frame and leans against the brick wall that is part of Rosie’s Deli.He grew up in this neighborhood and has seen a lot of change since he was a little punk running these streets.Always one for adventure, he honed his street smarts by befriending those whom his mother and father, both Irish and definitely proud of it, found least desirable. When the blacks first started to occupy the buildings a couple of blocks up from his own, he was told by his father, a soft-spoken tough guy from Jersey, to stay clear of the people several blocks north.“There is a lot of bad shit going on over there with them niggers,” his father would say. “They got that crack now, and it’s causing them jigs to go friggin’ bananas.” He wouldn’t call his father a racist per se, but that’s just how they talked back in those days.Moreover, what his father said was the truth.
Dan decided he had nothing to lose and met with Jack Lawson the same evening.The meeting went well, and Dan felt there was a mutual respect between the two. This Jack character seemed to want Dan for something other than running drugs. He appreciated the contacts but was more interested in Dan’s ability to make people do what he wanted them to do or disappear altogether. Given the current situation, he agreed to be in cahoots with Jack as long as he could remain somewhat autonomous in his dealings. Dan did not want to be one of the many goons that followed Jack around at his beck and call. The agreement was that their contact would be extremely limited, mostly just phone calls and instructions. Jack’s only requirement was that one of his own men would accompany Dan on missions, just to keep him honest, Dan supposed. Enter Mike into the picture, and, even though the pairing was more than acrimonious at times, they made an effective team.Soon, Dan’s name was affiliated with Jack Lawso
The damage done was not fatal. It did, however, succeed in awakening something in him that made him feel alive. Made him feel ... special. So much so, that he rather reveled in the cruelty. It gave him reason for the deviously wicked thoughts that had coursed through his brain at an age before the violence really got going. The abuse itself gave him reason for his violent desires. He lived for his revenge fantasies and often planned the murder of classmates for hours behind the closed doors of his stinky, sweat- and fart-filled room. (For years after he moved out, his mother, who died mysteriously when he was twenty-five, swore the stink had penetrated the brick interior.)He was fascinated by the Columbine massacre and even collected newspaper and magazine clippings about the event for years afterward. He wished he had had the balls to do what they had done—minus the offing of himself, of course. He thought that maybe he would have tried something similar if he had had a partner, lik
He likes the notion of shooting Lloyd in the dome and watching it open up like a melon. Lloyd’s cranium made for such a large target and Mike knew it would make a thick, sickening thudding sound. He could imagine the kind of stuff that would fly out of that fat head when the bullet made impact. Maybe candy! Like a piñata!Please run this way.As he moves in closer, he glances in Dan’s direction to make sure the trap is in effect. While doing so, the screeching of tires and the actions of his partner cause him to slow his pace and gape in wonder.Dan begins to yank the gun from inside his jacket when he sees the flash of blond hair and hears the child’s call for...Barney?His head swivels and sees that little pain-in-the-ass girl sprinting across the street toward...Lloyd?Beyond her, a car is barreling down the street at a speed, he knows, will not allow it time to stop before crushing the little pain in the ass like a pigeon. Dan processes this in an instant and starts for her.S
Delano rounds the corner to a deserted and cluttered alley and dry-heaves violently. The thick, weathered skin on his face stretches as he awaits the onslaught of stomach acid to decorate the ground around his boots. Nothing comes, and the retching feeling slowly subsides.Leaning back against a wall, he breathes heavily. The scar on the side of his face begins to throb a bit, and he touches it slightly. It’s warm to the touch, but not uncomfortably so. He looks toward the entrance of the alley hoping that he wasn’t followed in. He wasn’t and is momentarily relieved.What has just occurred? He is at a loss and, for the first time in over a century, is ...scared?No. Not scared. The visions he has to encounter were disconcerting at first, the images varying based on the person. The more vile images are created in the minds of those who are sociopaths and psychotics. There are no limits as to what these minds can conjure. Luckily, for humankind, their corporeal bodies could not possibly
He looked down at his hand and saw that she was tugging at the money in his claw-like grip. He immediately let go and began to apologize. “Oh, I’m sorry, I…”She took the money and as she walked away, counted it. Once satisfied she turned back to him. This time the sultry look was back, and his fear disappeared.“It looks like we are ready to do business,” she said in a soft voice. “Come with me.” He followed his head swimming with anticipation.The encounter was awkward and clumsy, but she told Jack she found him cute and he was taken with her immediately. He found out her name was Ruth and that the rumors had all been true, except that her husband hadn’t died in Korea but in an accident on the job in New York. They had no insurance, and the company he had worked for had no money to pay out, so she took what was left of their life’s savings and moved to Waycross back in the early seventies. She had worked in an illegal brothel on the outskirts of town until the drugs got so bad that
Feeling his back pockets, Alex told him, “Well come with me, we drops down to Bank of Montreal. I needs a bit of air, and a smoke maybe.”The door to Jimi Jak's opened, sound blowing out to the street for a moment or two and then gone, muffled inside. Alex lit his cigarette while he and Staunch went down the steps, which were now soaked in beer, streaks of blood, and littered with smoked down cigarettes butts from a successful, savage night. The Bank of Montreal only across the road from the bar, they crossed over once cars whizzed past.Nobody was inside the bank's ATM lobby. Alex passed Staunch the rest of his smoke before heading up towards the doors.“Not sure which one'll work,” Alex said thumbing through a handful of stolen debit and credit cards. “Might be a few minutes.”Alex went in to the bank machine and Staunch stood alone, drunk, in the dead of night. Occasionally, a car passed, a sound of laughter from the bar flew on the breeze, and a short time Staunch actual
Inside, the wood stove crackled nice and hot. The evening outside, even in summertime, cooled enough to put a chill in the bones. Brian and tom sat at a medium-sized kitchen table; they'd just finished off a good feed of minced moose burgers and deep-fried home fries. Don cooked a lot of things, but the boys loved their late night lunches – usually the same every time, burgers and fries or moose sausage and fries. As they relaxed in their chairs, Don brought them each a glass of ginger-ale, and a good portion of liquor for himself. The boys drank their pop and Don got his kit: one cigarette rolled, and a joint, as well.“Gimme a smoke,” Brian said, hand out.“Yeah, right,” laughed Don. “I ain't that nice, boy.”Brian laughed and Don lit his smoke.“That was wicked grub, Don,” Tommy told him. “Thanks again. Was friggin' starved.”“Today's been a long one,” said Brian.Between puffs of smoke, Don asked, “What'd you two shits get up to all day?”The boys looked nervous at one another, sl
The majority of the poor girl's murder only came back to him by way of time. Once months went by, the nauseating days of his freedom stretching on, and on, he pieced together several images from the night he first made death; him, the craftsman, making death by hand. Her throat bulged under a tight grip of his clenching fists. She tried to grab him, poke at his eyes, but the force of his hands clamping into her skin and taking the breath out of her heaving lungs kept him safe from any real damage, save a couple scratches. He did not actually orgasm; all the same, his penis shot up erect and stiff like a great monolith against her and he pressed it to her, putting the entire weight of his body down on hers, crushing the clutching bits of life from her flailing, pathetic existence still trying to hold to this world.From the start, he made a fine and thorough killer, an efficient machine created for the sole purpose of killing. Her body would never be found; it still sits buried, rotted
He lived on a decent cul-de-sac in Grand Falls, down near the river. Out back of the house sat a spacious garage separate by a large concrete pad, itself leading up into the long driveway. In the garage he had a nice spot for all his woodworking equipment: table saw, bench, racks of drills, hammers, handsaws, wrenches, and plenty of storage space for fresh wood and the like. At the back of the garage stood a door, behind the door, a room, and in that room were secrets. Locked away with only him and the stale air of the garage's workshop, those secrets grew, multiplied like mould in the dark, and he had a place where his wife would not disturb him; she left him to his business, and without her knowledge his rotten secrets, only coming out when he wanted her there. The man even installed a state-of-the-art security system for the entire property, including the garage, which came with intercoms; often, he would simply call his wife on the intercom to let her know it was fine to bring him
Back over under the Canopy and its branchy cover, Tommy and Brian stopped in an inlet of trees and alder bush. They were scared. Still, the boys were beyond determined to be done with the whole situation. Only trouble was neither of them, with all their heart, wanted to relinquish their hold on the money, those pieces of jewelry, all of that. Even as all the trouble of the world might perilously be wavering only inches above their heads, like one of those cartoons were an anvil hangs on a thread about the coyote's head, all Brian or Tom managed to see were the endless possibilities the contents of that bag could provide them; the images of a future path different than their own dominated them, overthrew those young and impressionable minds.“We could just toss the duffel bag in the woods someplace,” Brian remarked; half sure of himself, half kidding himself.The look gave his friend spoke enough on its own.“This is fucked up.”“We can't just get rid of it – not now,” Tom told him.“Y
Then, Staunch saw the wide birch shooting up near the lake's edge. His heart pumped in short bursts, rapid, and then short, slow again; a combination of nervous fear and the traces of meth still beating around in his brain. Alex stepped ahead of Staunch, who straddled behind wanting to stay but needing to follow. The hole sat only feet away now, closer with each and every stumble. Any minute now they would be right upon it. Stopped for a breath, frozen even in the pulsing rays of daylight, Staunch collected his emotions, his swollen and frayed nerves like wounded and exposed electrical wires, and he caught up to Alex . The two men stepped in around the birch alongside one another, with its hollowed middle, and Alex knelt, no words, at the edge of a roughly bore hole in the muggy earth; a hole where once they deposited all their stolen goods, a hole now empty, void.“Why'd you push me in the fuckin' trees like that?”“I just told ya,” Brian said, “there were people comin' and I di
The car parked a few lengths away from them. Two men got out of the driver and passenger sides; they looked normal mostly. One man – tall, tattooed and fairly muscular, the type who spends his free time lifting weights and self-obsessing over the tone of their muscles, bronzed and starved to death – went to the trunk, as the other – smaller, not much, than the other, and with the look of still being in high school due to his teenage way of dressing, but donning a cane in one hand, limping considerably and aching from an obvious back injury – looked to be moving slowly towards Alex and Staunch. They both walked towards the waiting Firebird.Staunch and Alex each got out and greeted the men.The smaller one extended a hand. “You Alex ?” He shook Alex 's hand. Turning to Staunch he asked, “And that must make you – what's it – Stench?”Alex cackled a dry couching laugh. “It's Staunch, actually.”“Shit, sorry.”Staunch looked calm, but underneath a volcano boiled, bubbled fierce in
Brian understood. He knew now, and along really, what Tommy felt wasn't a mental illness, a real delusion making him paranoid and insane; they both felt it, in different ways. It was the yearning for a new and different life instead of the shit existence they'd both experience up until now. While Brian and Tommy tried to create their own identities and shape the future of their lives, no matter how savagely they fought to do so, they were and always would be inhibited by the families which gave them life, shackled to a dirty destiny. Their parents each were destructive and heartless people; more concerned with their own lives and failed expectations and schemes than bothering to worry about the tiny, lonely humans they created from thin air, leaving them to grow into ungardened plants with no discernible paths ahead of them aside from anguish, despair, torment, and days on this wretched earth long and hard as the road to Hell.This gauntlet of living is what truly made Tommy lie and c
Brian decided it best to save his breath for the walk out from the station, especially considering Tommy planned to dig in three different places all around the area. He kept seeing more money, enough to dive into like Scrooge McDuck, and the thought made everything else fade away.But Brian's conscience, the well of his soul, wouldn't let him rest comfortably. He knew letting Tommy's delusion go on was risky; for days on days now, near a week, Tom has talked of nothing aside from the treasure, pirates, and all the like, and it slowly consumed his sanity, each day that passed. He kept on letting Tom pursue the dream of a legend that most likely was not true, in the slightest, and his spying conscience eyed him, judging, and made him feel as if his entire body were slowly being torn into quarters, drawn by horses, his every fibre wrenched in pain. Yet nothing stopped Brian. He certainly made no real efforts to curb Tommy's lust for treasure hunting.He went on watching Tom, who took hi