Trespasser (Part XXVII)

 

NOW

 

Any apprehension that what they were doing was wrong had long since fled.  He no longer remembered how they began.  Had it been a certain way Andy had looked at him?  Had it been something he’d said?  His last memory was of he and his brother following him, stalking him, as he made his rounds through the neighborhood. Once he had reached his daughter’s window, that’s where the grey area began.

He looked down as his hands, which were now throbbing and covered in blood that may or may not have been his own.  He could feel it on his face, slowly running down his right cheek.  His shirt was damp and sticky, covered in splatter from this night’s gruesome work.

“Wha-  What have I done,” he asked nobody in particular.

He was standing in the shadows, about as far from where they had planned to shackle their captive as he could have possibly moved.  He looked to where Andy should have been, to where the others should be, but there was only a large puddle of blood on the floor, and his bloody footprints, suggesting anyone had ever been there at all. It looked as if, from whatever he had done, or witnessed there, that he had back pedaled to where he now stood.

His vision blurred, and he lost his balance, falling into the wall next to him as a brief flash of memory suddenly leapt to the surface.  He saw the bloody face of his daughter’s predator looking up at him, smiling, even though his lip had been split and his eyes were swelling closed.

“…and it wath tho good,” the apparition spat, taunting him.

“…noooOOOO,” he wailed.  It was a pitiful sound, not so different than the heartbreaking cry when his baby girl had finally broken, that took him to his knees as the emotion overcame him.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained this way, but it was a firm hand on his shoulder that brought him back.  Slowly, John looked into the grim eyes of his brother, who, like himself, was covered in the blood of their victim.

“It’s done.”

John only stared at him blankly, the pain from the realisation of what they had done still having a firm grip on him.

“John?  Are you good?”

He nodded, using his brother’s offered hand to pull himself up.  He couldn’t help the tears that had fallen down his cheeks, in the same way that his daughter couldn’t help the tears that had fallen down hers.  Very much like her, his innocence had been stolen by this most foul of men.  While hers had been physical, and not of her own will, his was spiritual and knowingly given.

“I’m sorry,” he started shakily.

“No,” his brother interrupted.  “Don’t apologize,” he said with a reverent tone.  “You’re a beast, John.  A fucking monster!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he answered solemnly.

Advertisements

Trespasser (Part XXVI)

ONE HOUR AGO

 

“Jesus Christ,” John muttered as he walked into the room.  “What is all this stuff?”

“You said that you wanted him to suffer, right?”  Donnie looked at his brother indifferently, as if the answer didn’t really matter.

“Yes, but-”

“Don’t be a pussy, John.  You knew what you were asking for when you got me involved.  Your exact words were; ‘I need your expertise on this one Don.’  It’s too late to look back now.”

“But, is this all necessary?”

John felt sick.  His imagination had only gone so far as beating the living shit out of him, until he admitted to what he had done.  And then, he would finish him quickly.  As he looked around the room, a basement which had housed his family’s memories only a few hours ago, he realized that there was nothing left to remember.

Several sheets of plastic covered the floor.  The seams were meticulously duct taped together, to prevent anything from escaping.  In the same regard, plastic was hung from the ceiling, and over the walls.  He felt as if he were walking into a scene from one of his favorite TV shows.

In the center of the room, beneath a hanging light, was a single chair.  The latter was encased in a Ziploc bag, the light that it cast flickering weakly.  The chair, which had once been used to seat many a hungry diner, had been fitted with brackets and bolted to the floor.  Custom made manacles had been attached to the front to legs of the chair, as well as on the end of the armrests, where a person’s wrists most commonly lay.

A few feet to the right of the chair, as one would see if directly in front of it, is a small table, also carefully gift-wrapped in construction plastic.  Donnie stands on the other side of it, removing several small items from his duffel bag and laying them carefully before him.  Most of the items were the kind of tools that one could easily find in the gardening section of the local super store.  Others, tools used for such tasks as carpentry, and possibly dry-walling.  But also on the table were tools which he had never seen the likes of, outside of in the movies.  Even then, only in the darkest section of horror.

“Listen bro, if you ain’t got the stomach for this-”

Donnie had been watching him, gauging his reaction to work that had been done.  John knew from the sound of his voice what was going to come next.

“No,” he quickly replied.  “It’s not that.  That son of a bitch is going to pay for what he’s done to my little girl!”

“Yeah, Johnny.  That he is.  So, what is it then?”

John took a deep breath.  He could feel the rage returning at just the mention of that bastard.  The very thought of him, and what he had done, refueled the fires that had begun to cool.

“I didn’t think-  I didn’t expect all of…this,” he said, gesturing to the scene before him.

“Listen brother,” Donnie said as he placed a power drill on the table, “you know as well as I do what will happen if we turn him in.  Jack. Shit. Nothing.  At the very worst, he’ll get twenty years in prison, and people like him never serve their full sentence.   You know as well as I do that he’ll be out on good behaviour in half that time, and it will be somebody else’s baby that he’s got his hands on.  No sir.  Not on my watch.  We’re going to make an example out of this fucker.  In the very least, we’re going to know that he’ll never touch another child again.”

John trembled with nervous energy.  A part of him was excited to finally act out the revenge he sought for his loved one, while another was afraid of the threshold he was about to cross.  His gaze had fallen onto his hands while he was lost in thought, but now they looked up with a new-found appreciation for his brother.  They looked upon him with appreciation, but also with sorrow.  Sorrow for what he had lost to get to this point, and for what he was going to lose on the other side.