Episodes of Violence Page 15

  Daemon hit the gas and took off.

  Sage slid back into the car and handed Bobby her weapon and hockey mask. “That was fucking awesome,” she said, feeling as if she’d orgasmed ten times.

  “Nice kill, but you needed two shots to finish him,” Bobby said.

  “I wanted it that way moron,” Sage spat. “Wanted him to know he was going to die and see that I was the one who was going to end his ass.

  “Damn, babe,” Daemon said. “You’re one evil woman.”

  “Thank you, darling,” she said and planted a kiss on his cheek while she rubbed his crotch. “I could fuck the hell out of you right now.”

  “Unless I’m allowed to watch and whack my meat, you two lovebirds can wait. Daemon’s up next and then it’s my turn.”

  “I’d love an audience,” Sage said as she sat back in her seat.

  “Oh, you’d consider it would you?” Bobby asked.

  “Hell yeah, but not if you were part of the crowd, perv,” Sage said.

  They drove to the opposite side of the town limits, making sure to avoid the busiest roads and going nowhere near the actual town. Bobby was constantly reminding Sage not to speed, the woman a demon behind the wheel. The scanner made getting pulled over virtually impossible, but there was always the chance a cop could be sitting somewhere and hadn’t reported his position. There could also be the chance they got into an accident, and having a car full of weapons would surely garner attention.

  “Stop worrying so much, man,” Sage said as the tires screeched around a corner.

  “If I don’t, who the hell will?” Bobby asked.

  “Shit, up ahead,” Daemon said, pointing at the elderly man walking to his mailbox.

  “Babe, you’re finally going to pop your cherry,” Sage said and rubbed his thigh.

  The man stood in front of the mailbox and pulled the door open.

  Most of the houses along the road were set back and had driveways that disappeared behind lush forest, making the area a perfect hunting ground.

  Daemon pulled on the hockey mask and leather gloves. He had Bobby hand him the sledgehammer. The smashing tool’s handle had been cut down to make it more manageable during their game.

  The Camry drew closer to his target.

  Daemon climbed halfway out the window, using the seatbelt to keep him supported in the event he should fall out. He brought the sledgehammer out next. The wind made it feel like he was dragging it through water.

  The man had his arm inside the mailbox.

  The car drew nearer and Daemon felt his pulse quicken.

  The man pulled out pieces of mail, then bent his legs and peered into the box, making sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  Using both arms, Daemon raised the sledgehammer.

  The man closed the mailbox lid and was busy glancing through his mail.

  Daemon was amazed how people took their safety for granted. Joggers, bikers and everyone else who walked along the road put their lives in driver’s hands. What did people really know about their fellow drivers, those neighbors they knew so well? Small town security and neighborly politeness was bullshit. There were plenty of crazy and drunk drivers. Old people who could barely see, and young kids who cared more how they appeared in a car and what music cranked out the speakers, or if they dropped their phone and took their eyes off the road to pick it up, or read a text, or the hundred other distractions that led to death. A vehicle was a death machine in waiting, and how a man could stand on a part of the road and not even look at who was approaching was beyond Daemon—one of the least give-a-shit people in the world.

  Daemon was on him now.

  The man looked up as the sledgehammer sailed toward him, his expression of surprise priceless. Sage was right in wanting to see the prey’s final state of being.

  Preparing for impact like a Major League Baseball player preparing to hit a home run, Daemon squeezed the handle as the hammer smashed into the man’s head. The man’s nose vanished first, crumbling the glasses that had been hanging on the end of his bulbous nose. His head caved in like a freshly baked cherry pie and then exploded in blood and gore. The hammer-head caught in the man’s skull and was yanked out of Daemon’s hands. The corpse’s legs were taken out from under, and then it crashed back down to the asphalt, mail scattered around the body like memories knocked free.

  “Stop the car, I lost the sledgehammer,” Daemon said.

  Sage hit the breaks.

  “No leave it,” Bobby said. “We can’t ever risk going back to a crime scene. The tool has no prints on it.”

  Sage looked at Daemon who had crawled back onto his seat.

  “You heard the man. Go,” he said. “We ain’t paying him for his looks.”

  Sage laughed and sped off. “Damn, this shit is so much fucking fun.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Amber was relieved she hadn’t hurt those kids. She easily could have. Sitting just inside the tree line that ran alongside the park, she’d sighted the biggest of the bullies, but ultimately held off shooting the kid. The weapon was only a BB gun. Wearing camouflage pants and shirt, dark green, black and brown face paint, she would never be seen. She could have definitely gotten off a few shots before the bastards figured out what was going on and took off running. Then she’d make sure they got her typed letter telling them if they bullied anyone again, next time the BBs would be bullets. According to Jason, the bullies picked on other students too, but seemed to focus their hate mostly on him. In order not to have any blowback on her or Jason, the letter would have had to be about bullying in general.

  The latest episodes of violence around her town had been the reason she changed her mind. People had been killed in gruesome fashion and there seemed to be no reason for it, as if a reason would have made the killings more understandable. The victims had been shot with arrows and bludgeoned to death. Reading about them in the local paper had turned her stomach and she lost her need for violence. Those deaths were reported after Mr. Brewmeyer’s murder and the murder of a local drug dealer. Then yesterday there had been more attacks. A woman walking along the road had been beheaded. Another person out for a stroll had been set on fire and now lay dying in the hospital with no chance of survival. Then there was a jogger who’d had her left arm sliced off just below the shoulder. She’d said she looked back just in time to see someone hanging out of a car wearing a hockey mask and swinging a machete. The attack was coming at her head. She had managed to dodge out of the way and keep her head intact, but the jungle-clearing tool went right through her arm, severing it completely. She then tumbled into the woods as the car sped away.

  Amber wondered what the hell was going on. Small towns weren’t supposed to have maimings and killing sprees. At worst, they had bar brawls and drunk drivers. The cops had no clue if the house-burning murders and spree-killings were related. But they did believe it was possible that people being killed alongside roads was the result of some sick cult moving through the area. The local police chief had called in the State Troopers for extra patrols.

  As much as Amber wanted the killers to move on, she would rather have them stay in town and get caught. It didn’t seem right to celebrate another town receiving them. It was selfish to simply want them gone and not captured or killed.

  If there was a plus to everything going on it was that The Voice was almost gone. It only reared its ugly head on occasion—like when she was overly stressed to the point of steaming rage. The last time she’d heard it was after some asshole customer kept grabbing her ass whenever she walked by. She’d told him to cut it out, but he was drunk and wouldn’t listen. He had laughed about it with his friends. Then he’d left a penny for a tip and complained to the manager that she had done a terrible job and was rude. The next time he came in The Voice demanded that she poison his drink. She ignored it, not wanting to do anything so extreme. Instead, she borrowed the cook’s Visine eye drops—the man a habitual pot smoker—and laced the customer’s beer, quickly sending him to the bath
room where she heard him heaving his guts out. The Voice called her a pussy, but she felt good about her decision. She would continue to dose the guy’s food and drink—whether he was her customer or not—until he stopped coming in.

  That had been the last time she’d heard The Voice. The longer she ignored it, the more it died.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  With so many cops in the area, the trio of killers had to slow down. It had been a few days since their last outing, and that hadn’t been a kill. Sage was still fuming over only severing the arm of a female jogger.

  They hung around Bobby’s house getting wasted and shooting their guns at birds, squirrels and bottles. Compared to what they had been doing, their time now was beyond boring.

  “I’m going to the Big M,” Sage said. “You guys want anything?”

  “Beer and smokes,” Daemon said.

  “Chips, all kinds,” Bobby said.

  Sage drove Bobby’s Shelby to town. She took an out of the way route, enjoying the fresh air and music blasting from the speakers. She hadn’t seen a single person out and about save for passing cars. People were scared. The police had urged residents to stay in groups and indoors until the perpetrators were apprehended. When walking along the road, they were told to pay attention to approaching vehicles and move way off to the side. Killing would be getting more and more difficult.

  They had only killed a small number of people and the town was in a panic. Sage had hoped to be able to kill for a while and was surprised with the rapid increase in police presence. Laying low would be tough, but it was something they had to do for the foreseeable future. Let the town relax a little, get the troopers out, and then they could kill again. Maybe they would even move on to killing in another town. She would have to wait and see. Getting high, really high, seemed to take the edge off of the need to kill. The damn game was fun, but she imagined they’d find other ways to kill. Killing was what mattered. It was powerful. The ability to end someone, to see their fear, was the best drug she’d ever consumed.

  Sage parked the Shelby in the Big M’s lot and went inside. She grabbed a shopping cart, making sure none of the wheels were out of whack, and went aisle to aisle loading in goodies. The last aisle was where the refrigerated beverages were located, including the beer. She stacked a few cases into the cart and was heading down the aisle, past the corridor that led to the restrooms, when she was yanked from behind into the dark hallway and into the arms of a bear-like man with a python grip.

  “Heya, girlie,” he said, and before she could scream, he clamped a meaty paw over her mouth.

  Sage kicked and struggled to break free, her arms pinned to her sides by a single one of his, making her efforts fruitless.

  “Now, now. Stop your fussing or I’ll snap your neck and be done with you.”

  Sage remembered where she was—in a supermarket— and relaxed. The worst the guy could do was hurt her, stab her, maybe even kill her, but he wouldn’t be able to rape her. If anything, it was close to closing time and a sweeper or someone telling her it was time to head to checkout would come along. If he pulled her into one of the restrooms, she’d be in trouble. She wondered why he hadn’t already done so and guessed they were locked.

  “Are you going to behave?” he asked.

  She nodded and realized the air had a cherry-scented cigar odor to it.

  “If you scream, you die.”

  He removed his hand and Sage felt the sweat from his palms clinging to the flesh around her mouth. Still held in a bear hug, she couldn’t wipe it away and shivered with repulsion.

  His voice… Cherry-scented cigars… There was something familiar about those things.

  And then she knew. It was Bud Kyle. The fat prick had been friends with Daemon until the night he hit on Sage behind Daemon’s back. When she’d told him to fuck off, he’d tried to force himself on her. She’d fought him off, but took a few smacks and wound up with a bloody lip and a black eye. Bud had gone into hiding after that, avoiding his usual hangout spots, until one night when Daemon beat the shit out of him as he was coming out of his mom’s house.

  “What the fuck, Bud?” Sage said.

  “Tell me something, Sage, is that pussy hair of yours purple too? Or are you bald down there?”

  Before she could tell him to fuck off he covered her mouth again and pulled her close, her back pressed against his chest. Holding her tightly with one arm, he slithered his other hand down her belly and into her jean shorts, then under her panties. His fingers found her hole and he plunged two inside, the thick digits like cold and bloated worms.

  She kicked his shins and dug her nails into his forearms. He growled, spun around with her and slammed her against the wall, pressing his weight on her. His grip remained strong and his two fingers went deeper.

  Disgust, worse than thousands of cockroaches crawling into her pussy, ran through her and she wanted to vomit. Her skin rippled with goose bumps. He was laughing, enjoying it all.

  A moment later, Sage let it all go and relaxed her body, sagging in his grip. She wasn’t going to give the scumbag the satisfaction he wanted. Not all of it anyway. He continued to pump his fingers into her and asked her if she liked it. Finally, he withdrew his hand from her pants and held them up to his nose. “You smell delicious,” he said, then stuck the fingers into his mouth and sucked her juices off them.

  “I told you I’d get you bitch,” he said. He spun her around so she faced him. Could smell his cigar breath and her pussy-juice on it. Furious, she kneed him in the balls, but it did little to hurt him. “Little cunt.” He threw her against the opposite wall where her head smacked the cinderblock. Stars bloomed across her vision for a moment. His hand closed around her throat.

  He pinned her to the wall and lifted her off the floor. “Tell anyone about this, and I’ll kill you and that shitfuck of a boyfriend of yours,” he said and launched a fist into her gut. The air was expelled from her lungs. Pain radiated to her spine and kidneys. “You’re lucky I found you here, cunt. If it had been someplace quieter, I’d have fucked you into a coma.”

  Sage was released. She fell to her feet, but her legs gave out and she crumbled to the floor. Waiting for another blow of some kind, she laughed… and laughed… and laughed.

  When nothing else happened, she looked up and saw that Bud had left. Hurting, she got to her feet, rage seeping from her pores like sweat from a bodybuilder. The cherry odor still hung in the air, making her sick.

  Her first reaction was to run to her car, grab her tire iron and beat the shit out of Bud before he could drive away. Instead, she went to her cart, grabbed one of the Labatt bottles, downed its contents, then smashed the bottle on the floor. “Clean up in aisle ten,” she said and broke into uncontrollable laughter, only stopping when an idea popped into her head.

  A deliciously, wicked idea.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I’m going to kill him,” Daemon said and sprang out of the recliner he was sitting on.

  “Wait,” Sage said, laying her hands on him as he brushed past her.

  “Don’t try and stop me, babe.”

  “Bobby,” she called out. “I need your help.”

  Daemon flew through the house, passing by the kitchen where Bobby was eating ice-cream and reading a comic book. Sage was right behind Daemon, catching the front door before it closed on her.

  “What’s going on?” Bobby asked.

  “Get out here and help me before he does something that gets him tossed in prison.”

  Bobby sprinted outside and raced over to the Camry just ahead of a storming Daemon.

  “Get out of my way, Bobby,” Daemon said.

  Holding his hands out, Bobby asked what happened.

  “Bud Kyle attacked Sage. Stuck his fat fingers in her. He needs to die.”

  Bobby’s mouth hung open.

  Sage knelt by the Camry’s rear tire and held a knife to it.

  Daemon grabbed Bobby by his arms and tossed him aside, then reached for the do
or handle.

  “Not another step, babe,” Sage said, “or I’ll pop this tire and the rest.”

  Daemon glared at her. “Get away from the car.”

  “Dude, when did this happen?” Bobby asked.

  Daemon ignored him and stepped toward Sage.

  “One more inch and the tire goes,” Sage said. “I’ll slash them all, Daemon. You know I will.”

  Daemon’s chest rose and fell. His hands were fists at his sides. “Fuuuuuucccckkkkk,” he yelled and slammed his fist on the car’s roof.

  “Babe, I know you’re pissed,” Sage said. “I fucking am too. If I’d wanted to I could’ve gutted that pig at the market. But we need to be smart about stuff now.”

  Bobby’s eyebrows arched.

  “Guess you’re rubbing off on me,” Sage said.

  Daemon threw up his arms. “So what, forget about him? Let the motherfucker walk away?”

  Sage stood, folded the knife and slipped it into her pocket. “No, idiot. I’d sooner slice off my clit than let him get away with touching me.” She shivered. “I have a plan. And it involves us fucking him up.”

  “No,” Bobby said, stepping up and shaking his head. “We can’t take any chances. Not now.”

  “I want to hear her plan,” Daemon said.

  Bobby rolled his eyes. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Well…” Sage said. “I figured since we can’t ride around and play The Game for a while, it doesn’t mean we can’t make home visits.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After gathering their supplies, the trio piled into the Camry and headed over to Bud’s neck of the woods. Daemon parked the car a mile up the road behind an abandoned bait and tackle shop. From there, they walked to Bud’s place. At two in the morning, they wouldn’t see much traffic, and if a vehicle did wind up coming along, they would simply hide in the tree line until it passed.