Bryan Smith: The Killing Kind

Karen awoke with a gasp and sat up straight in bed. “John! What’s going on?” Then she got a glimpse of the intruders and unleashed a shrill scream. “ohmygod! helllllllllp!”

She rolled to the other side of the bed, tried to get up, and got her feet tangled in the twisted bedsheets. She took a tumble off the bed and hit the floor hard, crying out in terror and pain.

The big man chuckled. “Don’t let her get nowhere, Clyde.”

“On it.”

Clyde swaggered past his partner and leered at John. The lean man faked a lunge in his direction and cackled at the girlish shriek this elicited. Then he continued around the bed and scooped Karen up off the floor. She screamed again and flailed against him, battering the sides of his head with her tiny fists. If the blows had any effect on him, it didn’t show. He just grinned and let her hammer away a few seconds longer before cracking her across the face with the back of his hand. The sound was loud. And there was a crunch as the cartilage in her nose snapped. Intense pain made her cry out again. Another punishing blow stifled any additional screams. She mewled and blubbered, pleading for mercy, sounding to John like Nancy sometimes did when he put a good spanking on her for misbehaving.

The sounds of her distress affected him in ways that were ironic given what he’d been about to do to her. Some primal part of him felt anger and an instinct to protect. He made a move toward Clyde, but the bigger man intercepted him, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting the knife out of his hand. Then, before John could even begin to consider defensive tactics, the man stuck the knife in his belly.

And now John screamed, a sound even shriller and louder than what had come out of Karen. His attacker just stood there, grinning, those madman’s eyes conveying an avid fascination. He was studying John, tasting the quality of his pain and terror. John glanced down and saw that only the tip of the blade had penetrated his flesh. No more than an inch of steel was inside him, but it was more than enough to send shock waves of agony cascading through his body. Blood streamed down his belly and soaked his pubic thatch. The man gave the blade a little twist and John screamed again, but the blade penetrated no farther. The sick son of a bitch was toying with him.

John tried to twist the knife out of his hand, but he wasn’t as skilled at the maneuver as the intruder. The man swatted his hand away and delivered a closed-fisted blow that hurt like hell and sent him sprawling backward across the bed. He hit the plush mattress and bounced. His head went up and down a time or two, and a fresh stab of agony at the center of his face told him his nose had been broken.

Karen saw the wound to his belly and cried out in anguish. “John! Don’t hurt him, please!”

The lean one cackled and leaned close to Karen, teasing one of her earlobes with his tongue. “Oh, we’re gonna hurt him, baby, you can count on that. Gonna hurt you, too, you want to know the truth.”

Karen cringed away from him, but he held her close, holding her by the back of the neck as he rubbed his crotch against her bare bottom. His other hand roamed over the front of her body, cupping her breasts and squeezing the big pink nipples. Primitive instinct spurred John to action again as he rolled over and prepared to leap at the man attacking his wife. He was on his hands and knees, readying to launch himself at the filthy bum, when the other man stabbed him between the shoulder blades. John screamed and arched his back, hands clawing at the blade as it sank deeper into his flesh. He felt it scrape bone and screamed again. The big man rode him down to the bed, straddling him and pulling his head back by the hair. He felt the knife against his throat and knew he had only moments to live.

He looked up at Karen through eyes misty with tears and felt something he hadn’t experienced in a long time-shame.

What he’d been about to do…well, it was an abomination.

Unforgivable.

The least he could do was tell her he loved her one last time before he died. It wouldn’t be a total lie, either. He really had loved her once upon a time. With his whole heart and every fiber of his being. He guessed maybe there was some of that feeling left somewhere inside him, after all. Recognizing this deepened his shame and broke his heart. He just wanted this over now. Nothing could be worse than this feeling. Not even death.

Then he heard it.

They all heard it.

That small sound drifting in from the hallway.

“Daddy?” The delicate, fragile voice was thick with tears. “What’s…happening?”

The wiry man cackled yet again. The pressure of the blade against John’s throat ceased as the big man climbed off him and started toward the open bedroom door and the tiny figure just barely visible in the darkness beyond.

John lived a while longer.

Hours, maybe.

And during that time, he learned beyond all dispute that there absolutely are things infinitely worse than death. Worse even than the emotional and spiritual betrayal of his wife. Things that blackened his soul. When death finally came, he greeted it like the embrace of a long-lost love.

March 22

The girls were sitting at a picnic table at a rest area, talking while they watched the guys toss a football around. Zoe and Emily sat next to each other on the edge of the table, their feet planted on the bench beneath them, while Annalisa sat on the bench on the opposite side and jabbered into her cell phone.

Chuck cocked his arm and flung it forward, sending the football in a high, wobbly semispiral in Joe’s general direction. Joe took off down the gently sloping hill, head up as he tracked the ball’s progress across the bright blue sky. He held his hand up against the glare of the sun and it was obvious to Zoe that he’d lost track of the thing.

Emily sighed. “Shit. Joe fall down, go boom.”

Joe twisted his body and scanned the sky again, but the ball was already coming to the ground some twenty yards ahead of him. He saw it an instant before he got his feet tangled and crashed to the ground with a startled yelp.

Emily shook her head. “Stupid boy. Asshole. That’s what he gets for getting so sloshed this early in the day.”

Zoe laughed. “Your guy takes a fall and you call him an asshole. It must be true love.”

Emily snorted. “I do sort of love him. I guess. But he is an asshole, especially when he drinks so much.”

Zoe sipped from a fresh can of Coke. “Yeah. But he seems like a good guy, deep down. At least when he’s sober.”

“Too bad I can’t say the same for Chuck.”

Zoe tensed, her fingers dimpling the moisture-slick can as she squeezed it harder. “Emily…”

Emily nudged her with an elbow. “Fucking relax. They can’t hear us. Admit the truth to your best friend. You’re about to break up with the prick, aren’t you?”

Zoe’s grip on the can eased some. She sighed. “Yeah.” Then she tensed again as a wave of anxiety surged through her. “But don’t tell Joe! God, he’d blab it to Chuck right away.”

“Right. If I tell him not to do something, he’ll damn well not do it.” She smiled, watching as Joe awkwardly picked himself up and dusted off before limping away to retrieve the fallen ball. “But yeah, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Although…” She looked at Zoe now, mouth curling in a strange expression that was almost a leer. “It could open the door to some interesting possibilities.”

“What do you mean?”

Emily leaned close to Zoe and whispered in her ear. “Joe’s always hinting around about how he’d like a threesome with me and another girl.” She laughed. “Typical guy. But I’m thinking maybe it’d be fun if you were the other girl.”