A Night to Kill Part 1
by "Splatter" Joe Solmo
Robert had to stand on her neck to get the leverage to pull the ball-peen hammer out of her skull, with a wet suction noise he thought the whole neighborhood might hear. It amazed him how quickly she went from being a fighter, to eerily still. It put a smile on his blood splattered face. Once the tool was free he held it to his face, turning it slowly. He liked the way it glistened in the light from the distant street light. He peered over the bushes towards the street, there was no one around.
He lifted her head to see if she was still alive, but no breath left her body. A shame really, he thought. He wished he could have stared into her eyes at the exact moment of death. He wanted to know if he could see when it happened. This woman, Sara, had such vibrant eyes, that’s what first drawn him to her in the bar. He couldn’t take his off of her. He knew that she was young, full of life, and would give him a challenge, and he never backed down from a challenge.
After changing his clothes with the spares in his trunk, he brought his car around and parked it in front of the bushes. It was a silver Toyota Camry. There was a thousand of them in the city, it was a good car to stay inconspicuous. He had already placed the plastic on the bench seat, over the shopping bags, in the back of the car earlier that day to save time. He waited in the driver’s seat until a passing car made a left onto Lincoln.
Robert counted to three then took a deep breath. With another quick glance in the mirror he jumped out and went to the bushes, where his newest conquest awaited him. He took a moment to relish in the scene before him. Beaming with pride. The hammer still laid there next to her. He picked it up and placed it in her hand, then grabbed his cell phone. He snapped a few pictures as a memento of the occasion.
Knowing he had limited time, Robert put his phone away and grabbed Sara by the stockinged feet. With a strong tug he began to pull her through the bushes towards his car. Her yellow pleated skirt got hung up on the needles of the bush and he watched as more and more thigh was exposed. She had a great pair of legs, he thought with another smile.
With a final look around before he committed to removing her from the bushes to make sure there was no car around, he yanked as hard as he could. HE heard her skull bounce off the sidewalk with a crack. It made him giggle. He walked around the body and grabbed her under the arms so that her head wound wouldn’t leave a blood trail to the side of the road. “Come on Sara, don’t be such dead weight,” he said and heaved.
A moment later he had her in the backseat wrapped in plastic, the hammer resting in her cleavage for safe keeping. He double checked the sidewalk for any signs of a disturbance and was satisfied there was none. He knew there was blood in the bushes, that couldn’t be helped, Sara had drank a lot and had asked him to pull over so that she could throw up. When would he have another opportunity like this one? Fate definitely was on his side this night, a night to kill.
He was getting pretty good at this now, he thought as he jumped into the driver side of his Camry. The first one was sloppy, he almost got caught, but after a week of laying low he came up with a detailed plan if he wanted to continue. He had always planned it to be a spree, he knew he couldn’t just settle on one. Years of fascinating about what it was like, he knew he was addicted before he ever picked up a weapon.
Robert adjusted the mirror so he could see in the back seat. Glimpses of his victim, illuminated as he passed under the street lights brought a smile to his face. He couldn’t wait to get home. He turned onto Layfette Street, only a few blocks to go.
When he turned the corner he nearly jumped out of his skin as Sara’s arm slumped to the floor, making the plastic noisy. After the first harrowing second he laughed a good, hearty laugh, relieving the tension of the night. He thought about a quote he had heard from John Wayne Gacy. “The dead won’t bother you, it’s the living you have to worry about.”
“Amen, brother,” he said in response as he pulled down his street, leading to the outskirts of the city. A few more minutes and he could play again. The drive seemed so long to him, an eternity of waiting, but wait he did. He was a good boy, and good boys can play with their toys.
His brakes squeaked as he pulled down his dirt driveway past the large Willow tree that obscured his home from the rest of the city. A hidden gem, the real estate lady had called it ten years ago when he moved in, and he had to agree. It was close enough to the city for him to patrol for women, but far enough out where a scream could go unheard.
The garage door opened and he drove inside, closing it behind him with the automatic opener hanging on his visor. “Honey, we are home. Are you excited?” he asked looking in the mirror into the back seat. He hoped she did bleed onto he vehicle carpeting, it was next to impossible to get out. But then again, she wouldn’t do it, would she? He raised an eyebrow.
He sat there so long that the automatic light in the garage went out. He looked into the mirror on his windshield and saw a monster. The creature looking back at him had black voids for eyes, and an oversized mouth. It moved towards him.
“NO! Not again!” he yelled out and punched the mirror, splintering the reflective glass. He tore the mirror from the windshield and threw it out into the dark garage. “This is your fault,” he called to the back seat. “You made a monster of me.”
Enraged, Robert opened the door and flipped the light on in the garage. He grabbed the woman and laid her out on the floor as a tear fell from his eye. “You made me this way. All of you!” he said and punched her in the side of the head. “LOOK WHAT YOU ARE MAKING ME DO!” he yelled out.
He dragged Sara towards the back of the garage, where he had built a set of stairs going down to a room he built off the basement. The Kill Room, he called it. Even though he rarely killed in there. He tossed her down the stairs with a grunt, and giggled as he watched her tumble to the bottom of the wooden stairs. He could still smell the fresh cut wood from when he built them.
He descended down and stepped on her back to reach the door beyond. It was made of steel, heavy duty reinforced and sound proof. He quickly put in the combination on the lock and opened the door. Inside was darkness. “Welcome to the honeymoon suite,” he said looking over his shoulder at Sara with disdain.
He stepped inside and the fluorescent lights came on with a buzz. It took a second for his eyes to adjust. Finally he could see the stainless steel table in the center of the room. He had gotten it from a morgue that had closed down, it was in surprisingly good shape. The left wall was adorned with shelves full of instruments and weapons. The opposite wall was covered in padding, every six feet a pair of shackles hung from the wall. The wall between the two held a sink, a computer, and above those a mural of photographs of Robert’s victims. He smiled and cocked his head when he saw them. “Relax, I am back. There is plenty of me to go around,” he said as he approached the mural. He reached out and carefully stroked a lock of hair pinned to the wall over a picture of an eviscerated blond woman. “Oh Linda, I can still smell your shampoo,” he said and breathed in deeply.
“Oh, where are my manners? Girls, I would like you to meet Sara. She is coming to spend some time with us,” he said pointing to the bloodied plastic lump at the bottom of the stairs. He skipped over to her, and dragged her by the plastic into the Killing Room.
Once inside he unwrapped her and placed her on the table, he face already bluing under those clinical fluorescent lights. He looker her over, approvingly. “Oh, I will be right back,” he said and raced up the stairs back to the garage for the bags on the back seat. A moment later he returned. “Good girl, Sara. You stayed put,” he said as he ran his hand up her leg to the knee before moving to the shelves and placing the bags there. “Isn’t she a good girl?” he asked the mural of victims.
“Eh what do you know!” he yelled at their condescending stares. He showed them, he was the superior one. Their opinion didn’t matter. He walked over to the tools and picked up a pair of stainless steel scissors before returning to Sara.
"Did you know my mother’s name was Sara?” he asked the corpse as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s true. She was a beautiful woman. Most of them start that way, before the deceit. Before the lies start. It’s pre-programmed,” he said as he began to cut her clothes off.
Can I blame them? I mean if it is pre-programmed what choice do they have? We should all strive to better ourselves. Even when I explained it to Mother, she didn’t understand. The programming was too engrained in her psyche. It was too late for her, but you Sara. You were much younger, it shouldn’t have been buried as deep in you,” he said.
Once she was naked he put her clothes inside a woodstove and ignited a fire. The warm light made him feel comforted and it hid some of the blue of Sara’s flesh. He turned back towards the shelf and grabbed the bag he had brought down.
His features changed from one of resignation to a sneer of hatred as he approached her still form. He flipped her over onto her stomach and spread her legs. He pulled a knife out and jammed it inside of her repeatedly, slicing into the pubic region. Every stab he grunted, as if in orgasm. His breathing became labored.
The fury of his strikes and the pooling of blood on the floor made him lose his footing and he slipped onto his ass. The knife clattered to the floor next to him. He liked the way it shined in the cool fluorescent lights, so red and pretty.
He started to laugh, first a small giggle that grew until his ribs hurt from laughing so hard. It took him several minutes to regain control. He used the table to stand up and looked at the wounds he inflicted on her.
“Oh Sara, you’re so funny. I should tell that one to the next girl I meet,” he said and placed the knife on the table next to him. He spread apart her butt to see the damage better. With an approving nod he smiled.
He reached into the plastic bag from the car with a hand covered in blood. He would burn the bag as well in a moment. He pulled out a pair of wax lips. The kind of horrible candy no kid wanted. He giggled at the mere thought of what he was about to do.
He jammed the lips into her anus, lips side out, and stepped back to admire his handy work. “Bah, women. They all talk out their asses,” he said and cracked up. He reached into his pocket for the disposable cellphone he carried, and snapped a picture. He looked at the small screen and burst out laughing again.
“Isn’t she a clown, girls,” he said showing the picture to the mural. “What a character she is!” Robert hooked his cellphone to a laptop and downloaded the pictures onto it. A moment later the sound of the printer invaded the silence of the Killing Room. He unhooked the phone and tossed it into the woodstove as well. They were cheap enough to replace.
“Ok, down to business,” he said and grabbed a pair of heavy duty rubber gloves, and set them on her bare chest. He grabbed an apron, and a reciprocating saw from the shelf as well. “Just like Thanksgiving, eh ma?” he said looking under the stainless steel table. A desiccated skull stared back with empty eyes. The skin was pulled tight and maggots crawled out the hole in the back of the skull. He waited a second as if awaiting a response.
“What the fuck do you know!” he said and waved his hand dismissively. He stood up and pulled the extension cord down from the ceiling. He hesitated for just a moment as he looked at Sara again. She was beautiful.
“No one is good enough for Ma,” he said and spit on the floor. “You could have been the love of my life, but now you’re only a sack of meat.” The saw buzzed to life as he got on with his tasks.
The next morning Robert awoke in his bed, feeling fully rested. It was Saturday, his day off. He took in a deep breath as he stretched. He imagined if Disney were to animate his life, the sounds of the birds chirping outside at this very moment. How wonderful it would be, to be a cartoon. He thought.
He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the glass of water, half full, on his nightstand. Tonight would be the night. Tonight he would bring home a live one, one that the Killing Room was made for. He smiled a little more and walked to the bathroom to relieve himself.
All these others, they have been practice drills, let him hone his skills. Tonight would be the real thing…
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