Bryan Smith - The Killing Kind

Her expression was hard, devoid of mercy. “No more hanging out on the sidelines letting me do all the work. No more illusions of being better than me just because you haven’t gotten your hands dirty.”

“I don’t think I’m better than you.”

“Prove it. Kill them.”

Rob looked at the woman, grimacing at the sight of her burned face. One side of that face was still beautiful. The sickening contrast made his stomach twist. He was suddenly glad Julie was dead. No one capable of inflicting this level of cruelty deserved to live. But Missy was just as cruel. Didn’t that mean she deserved to die, too?

He looked at the gun.

Then looked at the woman again. She watched him through bleary eyes, whimpering softly but otherwise waiting quietly for the end. He detected resignation in her expression. She was at peace with the idea of dying, would probably welcome it by now. So killing her could almost be seen as an act of mercy. But that was just a rationalization. Her wound looked awful, but it was hardly fatal. She could recover, maybe have plastic surgery, and go on with her life. It would be a life forever haunted by this night, but at least she would have a chance.

So he was at a crossroads. Again.

He could do what Missy wanted-kill this poor woman and the guy with the mangled hands.

Or he could do the right thing. Finally. For once.

He swallowed hard and pointed the gun at Missy. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled and moved closer. “It’s okay. It’s sort of what I expected.”

Her fist smashed across his bruised jaw.

Rob howled and staggered away from her, the gun falling from his hand. He stumbled and fell backward onto his ass. By the time he was able to sit up again, Missy had scooped up the gun and was standing over him. He tensed, waiting for her to point it at him and put a big fucking hole in his head.

Instead, she cracked the butt of the gun against the crown of his skull.

Rob wobbled and fell over.

His vision blurred as he lay on his side and watched her walk away from him. Everything went black for a moment. His eyes fluttered open again and he saw that Missy had set the chair formerly occupied by Chuck in front of the woman with the burned face.

His vision grew foggy again.

Blackness was descending.

But that was okay.

He didn’t want to see this.

“He should have shot you. It would’ve been easier for you than this.”

The woman met her gaze. She didn’t seem afraid now. Missy didn’t like that. Amazingly, the unburned side of her face almost seemed to smile. “It doesn’t matter how I die. God will have mercy on my soul and the souls of my friends.”

Missy snorted. “God? Really? How ridiculous. Religion is all meaningless bullshit, you know. I’m gonna stick this knife in you.” She gestured with the hunting knife. The gun was back in the tote bag. She didn’t think she’d need it again tonight. “Like, way up inside you. And it is going to hurt, let me tell you. A lot. At some point your heart will stop beating. Brain function will stop shortly after that. And that will be the end of you. Your essence won’t continue in some other place. You’ll be over.”

The woman’s hideous half smile didn’t falter. “No. I won’t. I wish you could feel what I feel right now. The presence of the eternal. You’d be on your knees and praying with me.”

“Feel this.”

Missy pushed the knife in up under the woman’s sternum. Just an inch at first, holding it there and letting her feel it. She wasn’t smiling anymore. She started breathing faster and looked down at the knife. Her voice emerged as a whine. “It hurts.”

Missy smiled. “I know. Didn’t I tell you?”

She pushed the knife in another inch.

The woman cried louder and began to beg. “Please…”

Missy laughed. “I’ve been waiting for that. You’d like me to finish it fast, wouldn’t you? That’d be nice, huh?”

The woman looked her in the eye. “Yes. Please…”

Missy made a tsk-tsk sound. “Wow, this just isn’t your night.” She twisted the knife a little, increasing the volume of the woman’s whimpering. She laughed. “Nothing’s working out the way you want.”

She was able to keep it up another fifteen or so minutes, slowly sliding the knife in inch by agonizing inch, savoring the way the woman’s eyes danced in their sockets as her pain and sense of desperation continued to increase.

Then she was gone.

She played the same game with the guy with the mangled fingers.

That just left Chuck.

He was still sprawled across the space where the sofa had been. She knelt next to him and watched the rise and fall of his chest. He was bleeding from a lot of places, but he’d been lucky. None of the wounds alone would kill him. Loss of blood, however, just might. She’d have to call 911 on her way out.

She wanted him to live for a couple of reasons. He’d fought hard to survive and had very nearly beat them. He was tough. She was impressed. But he was still the guy who’d insulted her. So living would be his punishment. For the rest of his life, he would feel the crushing weight of guilt.

She leaned down to kiss him on the mouth. “Good luck, Chuck. You’ll need it.”

She left him then and retrieved her tote bag. She cast a final, lingering glance around the room.

Another house full of dead.

A strong sense of déjà vu made her shiver.

She wouldn’t be burning this house down, though.

Her gaze lingered on Rob’s unconscious form a moment longer. A pang of regret flashed through her. She really did care about him. Him, and no one else. But he wasn’t fit for life with her. At least not yet.

She turned away from him and walked out of the house.

Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated July 11

I can’t believe the bitch fucking shot me. TWICE. Like…how fucked-up is that? It HURT. I mean…holy shit, I can’t even tell you. Imagine a dentist doing drill work without happy gas or anesthetic. It’s like that. Times a million and ten. My advice? Don’t ever get fucking shot, because it fucking SUCKS.

Anyway…I guess the bitch got sloppy there at the end because she didn’t finish me off. But sometimes I wonder…maybe she didn’t want to kill me. That’s the only thing that keeps me from totally hating her. That, and the fact she was kind of right about me moving in on her territory. I guess I would’ve been pretty pissed, too. But she could’ve just said something, you know? Like, “Hey, that’s my man, bitch, so BACK OFF.” But no, she FUCKING SHOT ME.

But then she goes and leaves him behind too, so WHAT THE FUCK!!!???

At least she didn’t shoot me in the head. A kill shot would have been easy. So maybe…

I guess I’m just lucky to be here. I could be in jail. My bail was set at some ridiculous amount. We’re talking millions. So high I guess they figured I’d be behind bars until my trial. But there’s something I’ve never told you guys. I know, you thought I spewed everything here, but not so. To me, this is more embarrassing than anything I’ve ever talked about. My father is a CEO and is fucking LOADED. So I’m home. And I am not having fun. You would not believe the tension. And I hate this monitoring thing I have to wear around my ankle. But I have to stay focused on the positive. Dad has hired the best fucking lawyers. You wouldn’t believe the schemes and machinations of these guys. Turns out every bad fucking thing you’ve ever heard about lawyers is totally fucking true, man. They’re sharks. Badass fucking SHARKS. At least the ones my dad can afford are. I thought I was doomed before I started talking to these guys, but now I’m totally confident I’ll never spend even one night in jail. If you’ve been reading the news coverage-and I know you have-you know it’s all like “Patty Hearst, Stockholm syndrome, blahblahblah.” I had to Google that shit. So there’s that, and I guess they’re gonna play up the “crazy” angle, too.