Jack Kilborn - Serial Uncut

I should have fired, but a small part of me knew I could be killing a guy whose only crime was wanting my autograph, and I had enough of an ego to think I could still handle the situation. I side-stepped his leg and rammed my heel into his kidney, hard enough to show him this wasn’t a joke.

That’s when his partner dove at me.

He hit me sideways, knocking me off my feet in a flying tackle that drove me to the asphalt, shoulder-first. His weight squeezed the air out of me, his hand pawing at my face, a cold, wet hand covering my mouth and nose, flooding my airway with harsh chemicals. I held my breath, bringing my weapon up, squeezing the trigger-

The trigger wouldn’t squeeze. The gun didn’t fire.

Now the paper towels were in my eyes, the sting a hundred times worse than chlorine, making me squeeze my eyelids shut in pain. I felt my gun being wrestled away, and the small part of my brain that wasn’t panicking knew the perp had grabbed my. 38 by the hammer, his grip preventing me from shooting.

I still refused to breathe, knowing that whatever was on my face would knock me out, knowing when that happened I was dead. That made me panic even more, thrashing and pushing against my unseen assailant. I tried to kick my feet, get them under me to gain some leverage, but then they were weighed down the same as my upper body-the fat guy had joined the party.

So I went for the fake-out, letting my body go limp.

The seconds ticked by, each one a slice of eternity since I was oxygen-deprived. I could hold my breath for over a minute under ideal conditions. But terrified and with two psychos on top of me, I wouldn’t be able to last a fraction of that…

One second at a time, Jack. Just don’t breathe.

I felt that vertigo sensation in my head, my mind seeming to stretch out and twist around.

“Is anyone coming?”

“It’s clear.”

Stay still. Don’t breathe.

My eyes were stinging like crazy, and I wanted to put my hands to my face, rub the pain away.

Don’t. Move. Don’t. Breathe.

My chest began to spasm, my diaphragm convulsing and begging for air. In moments it wouldn’t be under my control anymore. I would breathe in those toxic fumes whether I wanted to or not.

Hold it in don’t breathe don’t breathe DON’T BREATHE-

“Too much and you’ll kill her.” The fat guy talking.

The hand over my face eased up, the noxious rag being pulled away. I wanted to gasp, to suck in air like a marathon runner, but I managed to take a slow, silent breath through my nose.

The fumes still clinging to my face smelled like gasoline, and by sheer will I didn’t sneeze or cough. I kept my breathing slow, like I was sleeping, even though my heart pounded so loud and fast I could hear it.

“She’s out. Grab an arm.”

I felt myself lifted into an upright position, my arms over their shoulders. Then I was dragged, my feet scraping against the asphalt, which tore at my bare toes like sandpaper. I bit my inner cheek. If I made a peep, they’d use the rag again.

“Her feet! Watch her feet! I don’t want them messed up!”

“Shh! Lift higher.”

Then I was completely off the ground. I tried to peek, to see where we were, but everything was blurry and opening my eyes made the pain worse. I could feel the weight of my purse still hanging at my side, and I had a dull throb in my shoulder where I’d hit the pavement, but it didn’t seem dislocated or broken.

“It’s this one.”

My body was shifted, and I heard the jingle of keys and a vehicle door opening.

“I’ll get in first, pull her up.”

“Check around for witnesses.”

“We’re alone out here, brother.”

Another shift, and then strong hands under my armpits, pulling me up, hands on my ankle, my right shoe coming off, and then…

Something warm and wet on my big toe.

Jesus… he’s got my toe in his mouth.

His tongue circled it, once, twice, and then I felt the suction. Heard the slurping. Heard him moan.

This freak is sucking my toe.

Wet and sloppy, like a popsicle. I wanted to flinch. I wanted to scream.

Stay still, Jack. Don’t kick him. Don’t move.

His teeth locked on, scraping along the top and bottom, not enough to break the skin but enough to hurt, the pressure increasing…

I felt a surge of revulsion unlike any I’ve ever experienced, and my muscles involuntarily locked and my stomach churned, threatening to upload the burger and curds. I was half-hanging out of a truck, and I couldn’t see, but I was going to take my chances and kick this bastard in the face, hopefully burying my shoe heel into his eye socket. It was two on one, and they had my gun, but I wasn’t going to let him chew my toe off without a fight.

“Taylor, let’s hold off until we get her inside.”

My toe was abruptly released, and then I was violently shoved upward onto the fat guy’s lap. I assumed he was sitting in the driver’s seat of a semi. I felt his hot breath on my ear, and then the clammy touch of his lips. One hand pawed at my chest, tugging at my bra through my shirt. The other slid up my leg.

“Such a pretty lady,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “I’m going to love feeding you your face.”

Breathe slowly, Jack. Don’t tense up and let him know you’re awake.

When his lips touched my cheek it was like a taser shock, and my bile began to rise again.

“Take her in the back,” Taylor said. “We’ll bring her up to the sleeper.”

The fat man gave my knee a final squeeze, then grunted as he hefted me up in his arms and shifted his bulk. Once again I was lifted, tugged, and pushed. I chanced a peek, everything dark and blurry, wanting so badly to rub my eyes, and all I could make out was a ladder of some sort.

“There’s a handle on the trap door. Turn it.”

“Where?”

“Right above your head.”

I was shoved through an opening in the ceiling of the cab, then dropped unceremoniously onto a mat. It was hot. I smelled bleach, cheap perfume, and the copper-pennies stench of fresh blood. Also, underneath everything, was an odor that scared me to my core, an odor I recognized from hundreds of cases from more than twenty years of cases. A cross between meat gone bad and excrement that all the bleach on the planet couldn’t ever fully erase.

The stink of dead bodies.

People have died in this room.

“Warm up here.”

“When we get started, I’ll put the air conditioning on. I’ve also got recessed stereo speakers, for mood music, and an AC outlet up by the fire alarm, if you want to plug in any power tools.”

“I like power tools.”

“Give yours a tap, see if she’s awake yet.”

I heard a slapping sound, skin on skin, and then a feminine whine.

“She’s still groggy.”

“She’ll be up soon. I know she’s not much to look at, but that really doesn’t matter once you get started, does it?”

“Actually, Taylor, as grateful as I am to you for inviting me into your home, I’ve been reading about Jack Daniels for years. She’s every killer’s wet dream.”

There was a long pause.

“What are you saying?” Taylor said.

“I’m saying I want the cop.”

“We already agreed, she’s mine.”

“You can have her feet. I want her face.”

“Maybe I want the whole thing.”

Donaldson laughed. “You know, you remind me of my younger brother. I miss that kid, so much that I sometimes regret killing him. But I remember something my father used to say when we were fighting over a toy. He said, If you can’t share, then neither of you can have it. ”

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of my. 38 being cocked.

Standing on the ladder, with his upper half through the trap door, Taylor stared at the gun in the kneeling fat man’s hand. It was pointed at the cop’s head, but Donaldson’s eyes were focused on him.