J. Gonzalez - Survivor

This can't be happening, this just can't be happening, he thought. He tried to command his limbs to move, to do something, but he remained frozen in shock at the hideous scene. John Panozzo fell to his knees, his fingers clawing at his throat, trying to stem the flow of blood. Brad felt his chest constrict as the room became increasingly claustrophobic, and then the old woman was standing in front of him, her features twisted in a mad grimace, the bloodstained knife in her left hand. Brad was so shocked, so frozen in horror, that his reaction was like moving through a sea of molasses. The old woman reached into her purse with her right hand and brought it out, and even when she pulled the trigger on the object Brad still didn't believe this was happening. How could this be happening? They were under protection, with an armed security team looking out for them! And as the old woman shot him with the Taser gun and Brad felt his body go numb with pain, he slumped to the floor, hitting his head on the desk. He tried to move, tried to turn over as the woman cackled, "Fooled you, didn't I?" She pressed the trigger of the Taser gun again, sending thousands of volts of electricity through his system, paralyzing him, and the last thing Brad Miller saw before he lost consciousness was the wide-eyed face of his wife on the bed, frozen in fear, and it was the first hint of emotion he had seen in her since they had gotten to Las Vegas.

When it was over, Mabel Schneider put the Taser gun and the bloodstained knife in her purse and pulled out a cellular phone. She glanced at the woman on the bed, watching to make sure she wasn't faking unconsciousness. She'd been instructed to stun the woman with the Taser gun too, but she didn't need to do that-the woman had fainted. She lay on her side limply, tongue lolling out the corner of her mouth, her hair hanging limply across her face. Her breathing appeared shallow, and Mabel had reached out cautiously prior to putting the knife away, touching the woman's face. If she had been faking it, the woman would have jerked with a scream at her touch. Mabel had caressed the woman's cheek, then lightly slapped it. No response. Mabel smiled. She wondered why Rick wanted to take such big risks in securing this woman as a snuff-film victim, but then, he was paying well for her work. What did she care for what Rick had in mind for her?

Mabel turned her attention to the cell phone. She turned it on, hitting the speed-dial button for the number already programmed. "It's done," she said when it was answered. "I'll be waiting." Then she hung up, pushed the antenna down, stepped around the bloody mess on the floor, and hovered by the door to wait.

The minute the elevator doors closed, Tim Murray hoped it didn't stop for other hotel guests.

He glanced at Mabel Schneider out of the corner of his eye as the elevator made its descent. She looked like a harmless old lady, the kind you saw at church picnics or old folks' homes, hobbling along in grocery stores and malls like turtles. Tim didn't know where Rick Shectman found her, didn't even know the old bat had existed until last night when he'd told Tim the plans for abducting the Miller woman. At first Tim couldn't believe that Rick had access to an eighty-one-year-old psychopath like this. How the fuck does he know so many fucking sadists? Rick had explained to Tim that Mabel was an old friend of his father's. "She used to run an S&M dungeon in my father's neighborhood in PL-nnsylvania in the forties," he'd ex- plained.And it was rumored that after she accidentally killed a client she developed a taste for dishing out extreme torture. That it didn't bother her to hurt people. I happened to make her acquaintance by accident ten years ago on a business trip to New York. She had requested a torture video of a child, and when I made the delivery we had a… how shall I say it?… a nice talk." The tone of Rick's voice had chilled Tim, and he quickly accepted the fact that he was to be working with an eighty-one-year-old female version of Animal. He wondered where old fucks like Mabel Schneider came from and then he dismissed the thought. If Animal lived to be eighty-one, he'd probably wind up just like Mabel. An old doddering man who appeared harmless. An old doddering man with a taste for the grotesque and inflicting extreme pain on other human beings.

Remarkable how the old bat had avoided getting any blood on her. It had been soaked into John Panozzo's clothes. After verifying that he was dead, Tim had quickly trussed up Brad Miller with the duct tape he had brought, slapping a strip over his mouth as well. Then he'd turned his attentions to Lisa, securing her tightly. Mabel had waited calmly by the door, and he had slipped into the room across the hall quickly without being seen. He had given the room a quick inspection, once again amazed at how quickly and precisely everything had gone down. Then he had quickly changed into the clothes he had brought along in the light tan canvas bag he had toted upstairs: brown slacks, brown shoes, and a beige shirt; now he resembled a hotel staffer at first glance. He had placed his own clothes in the bag, then had turned his attention to the large cardboard box he'd brought up with him, unconstructed. He had quickly assembled the box, then gone downstairs to the lobby and snagged a luggage cart. He had placed the box on the cart, then spent a significant amount of time and energy hauling Lisa's trussed-up form to the box. He had injected some morphine into her to keep her unconscious, and once she was limp she was easier to move. He stuffed her into the box, folding her arms over her head, her knees folded against her chest. Then he closed the box, sealing it with duct tape. There were enough holes in the box to provide for ventilation, but that wasn't a major worry either. She wasn't going to be alive for very much longer.

Tim Murray watched their descent to the lobby on the indicator above the door as the car plummeted downward. They had left Brad trussed up in the room with the door locked, per Rick's instructions. By the time he got himself free, wifey would be meat for Animal.

As if reading his thoughts, the old woman spoke up. "Rick said I could have an eye."

"Huh?" Tim looked at her, for the first time noting her watery blue eyes. She looked crazy. Insane.

"Her eyes," the old lady said, her voice reedy and britde.-'[like to eat eyes. Rick said I can have one

"Fine by me, lady," Tim said, turning his attention back to the door. He also had to drop this old bat off at a motel on Spring Street, on the outskirts of Vegas. He wasn't looking forward to that.

"I like eyes the best," the old lady said in a matter-offact tone, as if she were discussing the preparation of apple pie. "I've found that the eyes of children are the best, though. I also like asses. I like to boil the eyes in a broth I make from the blood, but I like to baste the asses in the oven with onions and bacon strips."

Tim looked at her, feeling a sense of revulsion. "You shittin' me?"

"Why, no," she said, in a tone of voice that seemed to say Why would / lie?

You fucking eat people?"

"When I can," she said, looking indifferent to it. She clutched her purse. "I'd eat this cunt you have in the box if Rick would let me, but he's saving her for that pig you use in those snuff films. I told him I wanted the eyes, though. I like eyes." "

"Shit!" Tim shook his head in disgust. And he thought Animal was a sick motherfucker.

*Of course, if her pussy's still intact when Animal is finished with her, maybe he'll let me have that. I do like the taste of pussy."

"Here we are" Tim announced as the elevator car stopped. Listening to this old fuck talking about eating pussy in the literal sense was making him sick. The doors opened to the lobby, where a crowd of tourists was waiting to get on the elevator. Tim mustered a smile and waited for Mabel to get off, then pushed the cart off. "Car's in the parking garage," he said, staying abreast of Mabel as he maneuvered the cart down the lobby toward the exit that led to the garage."Tird level."