Wrath White - The Resurrectionist

Dale took a few steps away from the sink to test his shaky legs. His feet still felt numb but it no longer felt like his legs were going to collapse underneath him. He stretched his arms and wiggled his fingers until all the tingling sensations went away; then he pulled out his hammer and slowly cracked open the laundry room door.

The old, fat detective with the ponytail was sitting on the couch in his wrinkled suit with a pillow behind his head and his face pointed up to the ceiling, mouth open, snoring like a grizzly bear. He was clutching a fleece blanket in his lap. His Glock was still tucked under his arm in a shoulder holster. Dale calculated his chances of creeping out of the laundry room, across the great room and into the living room without waking the detective and then killing him before he could pull out that gun. The chances weren’t good. But Dale knew that he was going to try it. There was never a question. He would do anything for one more night with Sarah.

The first floor in the Lincolns’ house was all stained concrete with a glossy polyurethane coating. The floor was slippery but at least it didn’t squeak like a wooden floor or make that tapping noise that tile floors made when you walked on them in your shoes. But they weren’t completely silent. Dale slipped off his shoes and began tiptoeing across the hard floor in his socks. His heartbeat was thundering in his chest and sweat drenched the handle of the claw hammer in his left hand, as well as the curved and serrated diver’s knife in his right. The saliva in his mouth had dried up and his eyes felt watery. He stared intently at the detective’s face, prepared to bolt for the front door if the man woke and knowing he would never make it.

Halfway across the floor, only three or four yards from the detective, Dale decided that if the man woke up he would rush him with the knife. He was fairly confident that he could gut him like a fish before he could pull that gun from its holster. But Dale had never taken on a grown man before unless he was ambushing him in his sleep. Men intimidated Dale and a guy as big as this detective would probably put up a good fight. He might even wrestle the knife away from Dale and use it on him.

Dale swallowed hard and his legs began to tremble. Perspiration soaked his T-shirt and ran down his forehead into his eyes. He wiped away the sweat with the back of his hand and crept closer. Now he was so close he could have been on top of the detective in three quick steps if he needed to. He was sizing up the big man, trying to decide where to plunge the knife in first if he had to defend himself or where to cut him when he reached him to silence him and take him out before he could fight or make a sound that might wake up the rest of the house. The last thing Dale wanted was a fight.

Two more steps and the detective’s eyes opened. Dale almost screamed. He plunged the knife into the side of the detective’s neck so hard the blade completely submerged in his flesh up to the hilt. Blood sprayed from the wound and the detective’s eyes bulged. Both of his hands flew up to the knife in his throat and a gurgling and wheezing sound came from his mouth. He started to rise up from the couch, groping for his weapon with one hand while holding his throat with the other. Dale clubbed him with the hammer and the detective fell back onto the couch. Dale hit him again and one of the detective’s eyes spilled out of the socket and drooled down his cheek like an oyster shucked from its shell. The next blow caved in the left side of his head and the next one dislodged a piece of his skull, flinging it across the room and revealing a patch of the detective’s gray matter.

The detective’s remaining eye had rolled up into his skull and his body began to convulse. Dale placed a pillow under the detective’s feet so his spasmodic fit wouldn’t make too much noise and wake Sarah or her husband. The big man was still making that wet, asthmatic wheezing sound. Dale grabbed the knife protruding from the detective’s throat and began to saw through his windpipe, cutting his esophagus in half and nearly decapitating him. The corpse finally ceased its Saint Vitus’s dance and lay still. Dale put his foot on the man’s chest for leverage and then yanked the knife out of his throat. He wiped the blade off in the detective’s graying hair and turned toward the stairs.

This was the tricky part. There were two stair treads that squeaked and Dale could never remember which ones they were. He tried to walk on the edge of each stair instead of stepping in the middle to eliminate the potential for a squeak that would alert Sarah and her husband. If he had to flee the house, he wouldn’t be able to bring the detective back to life. That would be murder and Dale knew that murderers went to hell. Worse was the fear that if he murdered someone and defied God’s law, then God might take away his gift. He had to make sure that didn’t happen.

Dale took another step and felt the stair flex under his weight. He slowly released his weight off his foot and used the railings to lift himself up over the stair, supporting himself on his arms. He took the next few steps without a sound and was soon standing in the upstairs hallway outside the master bedroom.

Dale knew that there was a strong possibility that Sarah and her husband were on the other side of the door with their guns cocked, waiting for him to enter so they could empty their pistols into his face. His pulse had been over a 160 beats per minute since he’d woken under the sink. Now it felt like it was closer to 200. He put his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned the handle. The door crept open slowly and Dale slipped inside.

The room was dark except for the dim illumination from the streetlight outside leaking through the blinds. It was just enough light for Dale to see that the room was empty. The bedsheets had been pulled back revealing a mattress stained with blood. Dale could smell blood in the air, rancid blood. He stood in the doorway for a while trying to figure out where they could be. He spun around and looked in back of him to make sure they hadn’t set some sort of trap and weren’t sneaking up on him from behind. Then he checked the closet and under the bed. They weren’t there. Dale was about to scream when he remembered the other two bedrooms. They had probably slept in one of those.

But why? Was it some kind of trick?

The longer Dale stood in the bedroom, the more overwhelming the smell of fetid blood became. Slowly it dawned on him that the smell was probably the reason why they had not slept in their own bed. He turned around and crept quietly out of the room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

In his socks, still tiptoeing as softly as possible, Dale made his way to the first bedroom and pushed open the door. His heart lightened and an overwhelming feeling of joy rose inside him as he spotted Sarah lying beside her husband, eyes closed, sleeping soundly. Her big husband was making whining and whimpering sounds in his sleep and tossing and turning fitfully. Seeing that videotape of what Dale had done to him had obviously disturbed him greatly.

Dale didn’t know what had possessed him that day. He had just wanted to punish the big man. He wanted to emasculate him, humiliate him. Seeing Josh’s big cock and knowing that he was fucking Sarah with it every night, that she willingly gave herself to him, that she enjoyed it, loved it, loved him, imagining her sucking it, letting him fuck her in the ass with it, had enraged him. All he could think of was how much he wanted to break Josh down and show him, show her, that Josh was not a better man than Dale just because his penis was twice as big. He wanted Sarah to see her big, strong husband with his porn-star cock, humbled. He wanted to show her who the real man was. Thinking about it had made Dale’s cock hard and so he had gone with it and used it as an instrument of torture. It had even surprised Dale when he had managed to ejaculate. He wondered if they had done a rape kit on Josh. He wondered how humiliated the big man must have felt when they swabbed his rectum and found Dale’s semen inside of him.