Crossing the Line (13 page)

Thad glared at Marty. He considered trying to rush him. He might have been able to get the gun and kill the prick, but he doubted it. Marty was a lot quicker than Thad.

“So, you want to take control then? Okay, Marty, what’s your plan?” Thad asked.

“We go get Stan and Gabby, bring them down here and everyone stay right in the center of the room and we’ll cover every possible entrance. When the psycho tries to come for us we pop him off and our problems are solved. No one else needs to die here.”

“What the fuck is your problem, Marty?” Thad said. His rage rose to the surface again. He glared at the idiot and shook his head. “No one else needs to die here? So we’re just going to let the girls walk away in the morning? We raped them, beat them, tied them up a
nd they watched us kill people, one of which was a friend of theirs. If we let them go do you think they’re going to just forgive and forget?”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Anna said. She looked Marty directly in the eye. She pleaded with him with her tear filled eyes. “Just let us go and we’ll act like the psycho did everything.”

“Shut the fuck up, you lying cunt!” Thad said. He kicked Anna in the face. She fell onto her back unconscious.

Quentin stepped up without warning. He delivered a quick roundhouse kick to the side of Thad’s head. Thad fell to the floor, the world spinning around him. Quentin kicked him in the face, knocking him out cold.

“Help me tie this little sociopath up and then we’ll go up and get Stan,”
Quentin said.

Marty nodded. He went to slide the revolver into his waistband and hissed with pain. The steel barrel was still hot from being fired recently. He stuffed the gun into the pocket of his jacket instead and rubbed at the first degree burn just above his pelvic bone.

Quentin pulled off Thad’s shirt and tore it down the center. He used the two halves to tie Thad’s hands and feet. Marty pulled the belt free from Justin’s pants and tied the two knots together, leaving Thad hogtied on the floor.

Quentin turned to the women then. “If you all keep to your end of the bargain we’ll make sure you live through the night, okay?”

“We’ll
do
whatever you ask,” Lynne s
aid. She was clo
se to breaking down into sobs,
and they could be heard in her voice. “I don’t care how nasty it is, we’ll do it.”

Marty looked around the room, still feeling uneasy. He finally realized what was bothering him. “We need to go find out what the hell is keeping Clint and Stan. They should have been back down here a long time ago.”

“Clint’s been my roommate for a long time, man, and I can tell you he ain’t no minute man. He could just be taking his time,” Quentin said.

“Well, Stan
is
a minute man. He should have been down here a long time ago,” Marty said. “I’m going to go check on them. You stay here with the girls.”

“You leaving the gun with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Marty said. He handed Quentin the pistol and swallowed back his fear. “If you hear anything up there just assume I’m fucked. Don’t move from this room until I get back.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, man.
I’m
the one who saw Tommy’s body. There ain’t no way I wanna end up like that.”

Marty nodded. He turned to the stairs and said, “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck. If something seems fucked up just come back down here. Don’t go trying to be a hero.”

Marty nodded. He picked up the fire poker on his way across the room.

17

Stan pulled his erection out of Gabby’s sex and frowned. Ever since the bleeding had stopped it had become a lot less comfortable having sex with the dead girl. He looked around the room for something he could use as lubrication and saw nothing. Shrugging, he spit in his palm and rubbed it up and down his cock.

You discover odd things about yourself when you’re thrown into a situation unprepared. He hadn’t planned to kill anyone when Thad invited him along on this little adventure. Things had just not turned out the way he thought that they would. Had he not killed Gabby he would have never known how much he enjoyed having sex with dead girls, though.

Since her untimely demise Stan had managed to come three times. He didn’t have the holding power of a porn star, but he had the stamina of a track star. The most he had ever gotten off in a single day was an even dozen. Twice while getting lap dances at a strip joint and ten more when he got home and rubbed out his frustrations. With Gabby being incapable of fighting off his desires he had a feeling he might be able to break his old record, though.

He had moved her off of the bed and arranged pillows beneath her. He might have been sick enough to bang a dead girl, but he wasn’t disgusting enough to do it in a pool of her shit. Perhaps it was because he kept her muscles moving, but there didn’t seem to be any stiffing to her body yet. In fact, it had only recently grown cold.

He knew that part of the thrill he felt was because of how taboo his actions were. If only his mom could see him now! The dumb cow hadn’t even let him watch an R-rated movie until he was fifteen. She had force fed him the Bible every day after school, announcing that the State may have separated from the word of God but she hadn’t. Seeing her only child buried balls dead in the torn remains of a dead girl’s pussy would probably give the self-righteous cunt a heart attack.

The idea of his mother clutching her chest and falling over dead turned him on even more. He increased his pace, bending Gabby’s legs at the knees and pushing them hard against her chest while he thrust deep inside of her.
He wished the dead could weep. He had enjoyed listening to Gabby cry while he raped her. It had been one of the best parts of fucking her while she was still alive.

He hated fake moaning. Every hooker he had bought in the States thought that moaning and grabbing at their own tits was the woman’s entire job while fucking. It had turned him off so much that he was incapable of performing a couple of times. There was nothing more embarrassing than wasting fifty bucks so a chick could look at your soft dick while she tried to hide her smile.

As he unloaded inside Gabby again he decided that from now on he wouldn’t face such humiliation. If he found it difficult to get erect around a woman he would just kill her and fuck her corpse. Maybe he would kill a couple
while
he fucked them. He had watched the way Gabby’s body seized up as her life slipped away and could only imagine how good it would have felt to be inside her when that moment came.

He looked down at Gabby and saw how the mark around her neck had turned a dark purple with a green outline. He cursed himself for paying attention to such details. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get it up again now.

Of course, there were plenty more victims to be had downstairs.

As he dressed he wondered what that muffled gunshot he had heard was all about. There had been all kinds of garbled yelling before and after. He was pretty sure Thad had killed someone else. He just hoped it wasn’t Marcy. She was the next on his list to play with.

He opened the bedroom door and froze in terror. Standing in the hallway was the biggest man he had ever laid eyes on. The man’s size alone was intimidating, but his décor made him downright terrifying. A skull covered the top half of his face. His torso was bare, revealing muscles that Stan had no idea even existed. Tied to one of his arms was a length of a spinal cord.

Stan stepped back into the room and slammed the door. He pressed all of his weight against it, but that did absolutely no good. The door flew out of its frame, tossing Stan through the air with it. Both he and the solid oak door smashed into the bed. Pain rang out in the back of his head when a splintered piece of wood pierced his scalp.

He felt the door being yanked away from him and screamed as loud as he could.

18

Marty was halfway up the stairs when he heard the scream. He turned around and ran back down to the main level of the house, completely unconcerned with how much of a coward he must have looked like. He hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of Stan’s attacker, but he had no doubt it was the same killer that had taken out Tommy.

“He’s in the house!” he screamed as he nearly tripped over Thad. “The killer’s in the house!”

“Jesus Christ,” Quentin said. He looked around the room for some kind of wisdom, but found only walls. “What the hell are we going to do, man?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what the fuck we
can
do.”

Quentin mused over this for a moment and then nodded his head, confident that his logic made sense. “We can untie the girls and we can all leave together. There are plenty of cars out in the driveway. There will be room for all of us.”

“You want to leave with the girls that we raped? I don’t want any of them to die, man, but you might as well be turning yourself over to the cops right now.”

“Would that be so bad? I’d rather do a couple of years in jail than spend any more time in this house with some psycho killer knocking off our friends!”

Marty weighed out his options and nodded his head. “Okay, fine, we all leave together. What are we going to do with Thad, though?”

“He can be bait. The killer comes down here and sees him lying there all ready to be murdered. It may buy us enough time to actually get out of here.”

“You want to leave Thad to die?”

“If we hadn’t knocked him the fuck out he would have already killed both of us. Fuck him! We are wasting time even considering trying to bring him with us!”

Marty looked from Thad to the girls. He stared at Chandra’s corpse for a moment and then looked over at Justin’s. “Shit, goddamn, you’re right. Fuck it. Let’s untie the girls and get the fuck out here.”

Each time one of the girls was freed from their bindings they told them to stand against the far wall. Marcy was the last to be set free. Quentin wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders and pressed the gun to her head.

“If you don’t want to be responsible for Marcy getting her head blown off you won’t try to fuck us, okay?” he said. The traumatized women nodded their heads. “Okay, good. Now, we need keys to your cars. We may as well only take two of them. There are not enough of us left to worry about all three. So grab the keys to the two closest to the end of the driveway
and do it fucking fast!”

Lynne and Anna went to the purses and dumped them all out. They found the keys and showed them to the men.

“Good, now some of you are pretty hurt. We’re going to need to pull together to get through this. Whoever is in the best shape help the girls that might slow us down, okay? We’re going to move as one solid group toward the cars. If something spooks us we are going to stay as a single group. None of you are going to try to run off, okay?”

The girls nodded.

They moved en masse to the front door and Anna opened it. No sooner were they all on the front porch than a spotlight fell on them. Quentin lowered his gun and raised his hands in the air. Marty tossed the fire poker aside and, too, held his hands up in surrender.

They both had enough experience with the police to know that they were about to be arrested, though. The fear of the psycho was enough to make the terror of their forthcoming incarceration seem like nothing, though.

“There’s someone inside! I think he’s killing our friend!” Quentin cried out.

“Stay where you are with your hands where I can see them!” The order sounded threatening in tone.

From inside the house came a piercing scream of pain.

19

Stan looked down at the bottom half of his left leg. Blood was pumping from the stump and dousing the floor near
Gabby’s feet. Brute was standing over him with the blood dripping off of the curved blade of the sickle.
He had already sliced strips of skin and flesh from Stan’s arms and chest. The pain was immense, but Stan was just as angry as he was hurt. How dare this skull wearing freak make him look bad in front of his girl?

Stan refused to cry. Every time the blade sliced through him he choked back tears. Even now that his leg was halved he sucked in his breath to keep
from allowing tears to fall.

Brute grabbed him by the right ankle and lifted him from the floor.
He got swung through the air as if he weighed nothing. He felt the
hand release him and flew across the room. Stan’s back smashed into the wall and one of his sho
ulder blades cracked. As he fell his body rolled so that his chest and face connected with the top of the solid oak dresser. He bounced off of the dresser and his leg snapped at the knee while the stump smashed against the floor.

Stan’s pain was so intense that he could not even try to get away from the psychopath. He didn’t so much as whine. His body was sliced up and broken, but he refused to
allow himself to be reduced to tears.

He had spent his childhood being beaten until he would cry just so his mother could tell him that he would never be a man. She was such a prim and proper Christian that the only passage from the Bible she actively followed was “spare the rod, spoil the child”. A few broken bones and cuts were nothing compared to the beatings he had suffered as a child.