Episodes of Violence Page 16

  When they reached the property, they slid on their gloves and disguises, all of them wearing ski masks just to switch it up a bit. If caught on camera, the descriptions the cops had been given wouldn’t match what they were currently wearing, further confusing the piggies.

  Bud’s front yard was mostly open grass with a few Oak trees, making the house clearly visible from the road. The nearest neighbor was more than a few acres away, the house dark save for a small light coming from one of the windows.

  Having been in Bud’s house plenty of times when Daemon and Bud were friends, Daemon knew the layout. Bud had moved out when he turned eighteen, but after his mother passed away from a heart attack—his father having left when he was a baby—Bud moved back into the home. A paint-peeled, white wooden fence surrounded the sides and back of the yard, the thing in desperate need of a paint job.

  The trio crept along the fence until they were in line with the house, then bolted to the attached one-car garage. From there, they went around back to the patio where the rear entrance was located. Daemon tried the door and found it unlocked. Bud hadn’t changed a bit. The big oaf was like so many of the town’s people. They felt safe. Locking a house up tight wasn’t a priority. That might have been the way it was in the 50s and 60s, even the 90s, but in today’s world, people needed to take heed of the dangerous individuals roaming the earth.

  They slipped inside the house, the door leading to the kitchen. A cutout in the wall gave a view of the living room. The television was on, casting a dim glow around the room. Peering through the opening, Daemon saw two people sleeping on the couch, neither of them Bud. One was Gill Boumont. The other Tracy McMillan. Daemon knew them both. Losers to the core and good friends with Bud. They must’ve partied a little too hard and passed out. Beer cans littered the coffee table and floor.

  Daemon looked at the others and held up two fingers, then pointed into the living room. Sage and Bobby nodded and followed him out of the kitchen. Bobby held a hunting knife with a serrated edge. Sage had her crossbow in hand. Daemon his machete, the .45 tucked in the waistband of his pants.

  They stood in front of the slumbering pair. Daemon and Sage looked at Bobby and nodded, giving him the go ahead.

  Bobby stepped up to the couch. The woman was resting alongside Gill. Her right arm and leg lay on top of him, her head nestled against his armpit. He put the tip of his knife to her temple and shoved it in, the blade disappearing easily. A trickle of blood leaked out of the incision. Her body jerked and then went still. Blood continued to run, turning her blonde hair red.

  Bobby withdrew the knife from the corpse’s head, then pressed the blood-slicked blade to the side of Gill’s throat and sliced a gash across it. The initial cut wielded a few spurts of blood before it exited in waterfall-like fashion. The man awoke. He sat up and clutched at his throat, sending the dead woman to the floor. His mouth opened and it looked like he was trying to speak. Bobby backed away as the man got to his feet. He reached out and tripped over the corpse at his feet.

  “He’s making a bit too much noise, don’t you think?” Daemon whispered.

  Gill crawled forward leaving a river of crimson behind. Bobby stepped on the man’s fingers with the heel of his boot and ground them into the carpet. The bones snapped and skin split. Gill’s mouth opened, but no scream came forth.

  Daemon understood Bobby’s need to play with his prey, but they were there for Sage. The more time they wasted with Gill—who didn’t have much left—the less Sage would have with Bud.

  “Dude, kill him,” Daemon said harshly.

  “He’s dead, just hasn’t realized it yet.”

  “Enough of this shit,” Sage said and shot an arrow into the man’s head.

  Bobby spun on her. “What the hell, Sage? He was mine!”

  “Noise, moron. The asshole was making too much of it. Besides, I’m done wasting time here.”

  “I slit his throat so he wouldn’t make any noise. I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

  “He’s dead,” Daemon said, stepping between them. “Time to move on. You got the kill, man. She only made it come quicker.”

  Bobby’s jaw moved back and forth, the man clearly unhappy. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

  After shutting off the television and allowing their eyes to adjust to the low level of light coming in through the windows, they made their way down the hall. They passed a bathroom that smelled like body odor, and then a room filled with garbage bags, a desk with a computer on it, and an exercise bike in the corner. At the end of the corridor were two doors, both slightly ajar. With gun in hand, Daemon checked the door on his right and found a bed, table and chairs, but no people. Turning his attention to the other door, he slowly pushed it open and slid into the room.

  Bud lay naked on his back, his rotund belly like some giant, swelled blister ready to burst. Gentle snores filled the air. Next to him was a naked woman Daemon didn’t recognize. Her feet hung a good foot off the bed, a bra hanging off her large toe. The air was heavy with the stench of sweat, semen and pussy. Daemon looked over his shoulder at Sage who was standing in the doorway and whispered, “You’re up, babe.”

  She entered the room and smiled. She and Daemon kissed for a moment, then with a flick from her forefinger, turned the light switch position from off to on. The room exploded with bright light from the overhead bulbs.

  “Ack, what the hell, Gill?” Bud moaned.

  “Gill is a little dead right now and can’t come out to play,” Sage said.

  Bud sat up quickly, coughing. The woman next to him didn’t move, only complained about how bright the light was shining.

  “What the—” Bud began, his voice groggy, but appearing fully awake now.

  “You fucked with the wrong woman, Bud,” Daemon said.

  “So what, you here to rough me up a bit?”

  “Not exactly,” Sage said, then raised the crossbow and fired an arrow through the woman’s ankle, the projectile stopping halfway though the leg. The woman bolted upright, screaming.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” Bud shouted and reached for the nightstand where he yanked open the drawer.

  Daemon kicked the drawer closed on Bud’s hand, pinning it in place with his boot while his former friend howled in pain. He pressed the gun against Bud’s greasy head and told him to slowly pull his hand out. Bud did so, then sat back and held his bruised hand to his chest. Daemon pulled a .38 Special out of the drawer and tossed it to Bobby.

  Bud’s female companion continued to wail.

  “Bitch, shut the hell up or the next arrow goes through your skull,” Sage said, having already loaded another projectile.

  “You… You shot me. It fucking hurts.” She continued to cry. “I’ll never walk the same again.”

  Sage stood next to Daemon, handed him her crossbow and withdrew the machete from the sheath on his belt before returning to the woman. “I told you to shut the hell up.” Sage tapped the machete against her palm.

  The woman’s cries turned to sobs and then she was quiet, but still shaking. “It hurts. Hurts so bad. I need to go to a hospital. I ain’t part of whatever this is between you and Bud.”

  “Does your ankle hurt that badly?” Sage asked.

  “Just let me go to a doctor,” the woman whined as she held her leg.

  “Why bother when I can get rid of the hurty part myself?” She raised the machete and swung fast, lopping off the foot, ankle and a few fingers due to the woman’s inability to remove her hands in time. She screamed, her vocal cords like daggers against Daemon’s ears. Blood gushed from the stump and spurted from the severed digits.

  Sage shrugged. “Guess that didn’t help much.”

  “Shut her up,” Bobby said.

  Sage thrust her arm forward and sent the machete’s blade into the woman’s mouth. She then jumped onto the bed and straddled the woman, forcing the steel down her throat. Gagging noises mixed with blood sounded. “Come on, slut, swallow my shit. Take it all in. Show daddy you can suck a goo
d machete.” The woman’s arms flailed as she coughed and gagged, blood speckling Sage’s face.

  “What the fuck?” Bud said and attempted to hop off the bed when Daemon pistol-whipped him back onto it, creating a large and deep gash in his forehead.

  When Daemon glanced back at Sage, she was holding up a dead woman. The corpse’s head was arched back, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling while the handle of the machete protruded out of her gaping mouth. Blood seeped from her neck where the blade had sliced through.

  “She must have given great head,” Sage said. She took a moment to admire her work, then focused on an unconscious Bud, his face caked in crimson from the wound on his forehead. “He better not be dead.”

  “Nope,” Daemon said. “Just had to get him back into bed.”

  With effort, Sage pulled the machete out of the corpse’s throat. The blade was caked in blood and pinkish esophageal flesh. She shoved the body away and it tumbled off the bed. “Come on, boys, time to strap this piggy down.”

  Bud was centered on the bed. Sage got the duct tape out of her bag and secured his wrists and ankles to the accompanying bedposts. “Looks good,” she said, then sat on his stomach and slapped him awake.

  As soon as his eyes opened, they focused on Sage. He blinked hard, then tried grabbing her. “What the hell?” He looked at his right wrist, then his left and sighed.

  “Did you really think you would get away with violating me?”

  “I was fucking stoned off my ass. I’m sorry. Okay. I hardly remember—”

  Sage pressed the machete against his throat, silencing him. She inched the blade, drawing a thin line of blood before stopping.

  “Is Barb dead, I don’t see her?” Bud asked.

  “Was that the woman who swallowed my tool,” she said, indicating the machete in hand.

  “You’re a sick bitch, you know that?”

  “You really are stupid, aren’t you?”

  “You didn’t have to kill her.”

  “Did she ever swallow your entire cock like she swallowed my machete?”

  “Doesn’t look like it would be difficult,” Daemon said.

  “Small dick alert,” Sage said.

  “Fuck you, guys,” Bud said and spit in Sage’s face.

  Sage shook her head and said, “Tsk, tsk,” then shoved the machete’s blade between Bud’s lips. “Now that wasn’t very nice.” She slowly moved the blade back and forth in saw-like fashion, giving Bud the ability to open his mouth farther than he ever thought possible. The big man cried out. “I could cut your fucking face in half if I wanted to.” She withdrew the machete and sat up, resting the bloody tool at her side.

  Tears streaked Bud’s face as blood ran down his cheeks and into his mouth. “Please, there’s got to be something we can do to work this out,” he said, his speech slightly off. “I mean, I can pay you, or do something for you.”

  “You sure are stupid and funny,” Sage said. “I’ll be right back.” She climbed off of him and left the room.

  “Guys, please,” Bud said, “you got to let me go. I’ll do anything.”

  “Bud, if Sage hadn’t stopped me, you’d have been dead much earlier,” Daemon said.

  “We were friends at one point, remember? I fucked up. I’ll admit that.”

  “You more than fucked up, Bud. The first time was a fuck up. And I made sure you paid for that. This time you signed your death warrant.”

  Sage entered the room holding an electric carving knife. “Look what I found.”

  “Nice, babe.”

  “Now I can reenact some of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite movies—The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2.” She approached Bud while pressing the trigger on the knife, the serrated blade moving back and forth in a blur.

  “Get away from me.” Bud struggled, the tape on his wrists and ankles groaning, but holding firm.

  Standing next to the bed, she told Daemon and Bobby to make sure Bud behaved during surgery. Bobby tossed Daemon his hunting knife. Daemon then held the tip of the blade against the corner of Bud’s left eye socket. Bobby held the crossbow and asked if she wanted him to pin the man’s leg to the mattress.

  “Nah, I think he’ll behave.” Sage held onto Bud’s thick thigh, brought the knife to life again with a press of the trigger before lowering it to his flesh. The steel easily cut into the meat. Bud screamed through clenched teeth, trying not to move. Sage guided the knife along, going from the top of his thigh to a few inches above the knee cap. Blood cascaded down the leg in rivulets, quickly soaking the sheet. Bud was trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Sage forced her fingers under the skin, then peeled the flesh up and off. Bud howled in pain, quieting the wet, tacky sound of the flesh separating from the gelatinous muscle beneath. She held the slab of glistening skin out and admired her work. Bud’s leg was a raw, exposed appendage ripe for infection. Sage poked the area repeatedly with her free hand, Bud adding yelps to his cries each time. “So soft,” Sage said.

  “Fuck you, bitch,” Bud said, spittle flying from his lips. “Fuck you.”

  A pearl of blood rolled down his face from where the tip of Daemon’s knife broke the skin next to his eye.

  “I’m impressed, Bud,” Sage said. “You hardly moved. I had a dog once that was like that when we took him to the vet. Was as still as a statue.” She flung the skin over her shoulder, then picked up the knife and went to work on Bud’s rib flesh, slicing down to the bone. Bud swore and cursed, Daemon’s knife penetrating the eye-flesh and ball, turning the white pupil red.

  Sage didn’t stop there; she kept going, removing the skin from his knee caps next, then his other thigh, shins, forearms and nipples, piling it all neatly on the floor.

  “Please… kill me,” Bud drooled. He could barely lift his head.

  “I should’ve brought my video camera, babe,” Daemon said. “This would’ve been great to watch over and over again.”

  “No cameras,” Bobby said, sitting in the chair, crossbow resting on his lap. “That’s how assholes get caught.”

  “I think, with all this extraneous activity, I’ve made Bud tired. He needs energy.” Sage picked up a slice of flesh. “Open his mouth.”

  Bud seemed to come to life again. “N… No.”

  Daemon held Bud’s head and squeezed his mouth until it opened. Sage shoved in the skin, then Daemon pressed the man’s jaw closed and covered his mouth. “Chew, piggy. Chew.”

  Bud screamed and bucked.

  Sage got the electric knife blade under Bud’s penis and across his ball sack. “Eat it or you lose them.”

  Bud was still. He stared at her, hate in his eyes. He began to chew, gagging every second until he lurched forward as far as his taped wrists would allow. Daemon lost his hold. Bud’s mouth opened wide and the flesh was propelled forward by a stream of vomit that splashed over his belly.

  “Gross,” Sage said, jumping away from the bed.

  “That’s going to smell,” Bobby said. “I feel like I’m part of some horror comedy from the 80s.”

  Breathing hard, Bud begged for them to stop. “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone it was you three.”

  Sage ran out of the room, quickly returning with a container of Kosher Salt in her hand.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You can’t. Please. I’m begging you. I’m so sorry for what I did.”

  Sage poured the salt onto the man’s legs and he screamed and trembled as if fifty-thousand volts of electricity were flowing into him. The bed rocked and swayed, creaked and moaned. His head whipped back and forth. The vomit on his belly was tossed about, decorating the rest of the bed and floor and walls. Sage and the others kept back until the man settled down.

  “Oh, I almost forgot one of my favorite parts of the movie,” Sage said. She picked up the electric knife, went over to the dead woman and cut off her face. She made sure to peel it off carefully, not wanting to rip the eye holes.

  Happy with her work, she came to
a passed-out Bud and stuck the wet skin mask to Bud’s face. “I think I finally have a true indication of how Leatherface feels. Beautiful.”

  “Nice touch, babe,” Daemon said.

  “Thanks.”

  Bud was woken when Sage yanked out Bud’s big-toe’s nail. Then over the next couple of hours, the torture continued. Bud went in and out of consciousness, and seemingly in and out of reality. He’d clearly lost his mind when Sage crushed his left testicle with a pair of pliers, doing the same to the right one shortly after. The finale was when she sliced his flaccid penis in half and nailed each piece to his inner thigh. He’d shit the bed and puked a few more times by then, Sage disregarding the matter on her hands and shirt. She was having too much fun to let anything stop her.

  “I think he’s dead,” Daemon said, feeling for a pulse.

  “Good, I’m tired,” Bobby said. “Sun’s coming up. Can we go now?”

  “All right,” Sage said. “But before we leave I just wanted to thank you both for allowing me to do this, and have all the damn fun.”

  “I had some fun too,” Bobby said. “Those two kills weren’t too bad, despite someone’s interfering…”

  “He hurt you, babe,” Daemon said. “And no one hurts you. You deserved this.”

  “Aww, babe, that means so much. It’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.” She went over to Daemon and open-mouth kissed him, making sure not to touch him with any other part of her.

  “Okay, before you two screw in this filth, you guys need to clean yourselves up and we need to leave,” Bobby said, heading to the door.

  Bobby searched the premises for flammable liquids while Sage washed off in the shower where she also rinsed her shoes. In the bedroom closet, she found a pair of woman's jeans and a T-shirt. Her soiled clothes were piled on Bud’s stomach. Gasoline from the gas can in the garage was splashed around the bedroom and living room before the bedroom was set ablaze. On the way out, the gas stove was turned on without flame, letting the gas fill the house. When they reached the Camry a few minutes later, the explosion rocked the airwaves.