Crossing the Line (32 page)

Luther came into the room with a solemn look on his face. The big man had been a part of the family for years, an honorary member because of his services. He was one of the best hit men in the country and the very best in the Midwest. To see emotion on his typically stoic face was a clear indication that the death hadn’t just affected Dominic.

“How are you, sir?” Luther asked.

“I just came from my youngest nephew’s funeral. How do you think I am, Luther?” Dominic said. He pulled a cigar from the age old box on the coffee table and fished the cutter out
of the pocket of his suit. He ha
dn’
t even had
the willpower to change yet. He felt numb from head to toe. It was as if the world had stopped revolving the moment that he heard of Fitzgerald’s death and it had yet to begin moving again.

“William has asked that you meet with him tonight. I assume that there will be some talk of retaliation for Fitzgerald’s murder. Should I tell him that you are available?”

Dominic didn’t seem to notice that his loyal friend had spoken. He picked up the Zippo from beside the cigar box and lit his stogie. The thick smoke that wafted up from the tip smelled wonderful— completely intoxicating. He puffed off of the thick Cuban until the tip was a bright red cherry burning away at the hand rolled leaves.

“I want you to personally oversee the investigation into Fritz’s death. I am sure that the police are doing an inadequate job. How else is that little fuck out of my grasp?”

“We haven’t been able to find the location of Thaddeus yet, sir. I assure you that he will not survive this week.”

“
I don’t want him dead, not yet. I have a feeling that he has a story to tell. I want to know what happened to my nephew and I want everyone involved to be brought to me. I will kill them all with my own two hands. Do you understand me, Luther?”

Luther nodded his head. His stoic expression had returned now. Any remorse that he felt for the loss of the boy that he had watched grow up was buried deep beneath the layers of the hit man’s callused soul.

Dominic flicked ashes from the tip of the cigar and looked again at the newspapers strewn about on the table.

“I am as interested in the girls as I am Thaddeus. Make sure that they are handled with care, though. I know Fritz’s reputation was not unfounded. He was a moron and a piece of shit rapist, we both know that. But if it was the girls that killed him they’re going to have to pay the price. Still, it is possible that they are innocent so I don’t want any of the fucking morons William has working for him touching them. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dominic nodded his head and took a deep draw off of the cigar. He allowed the smoke to come from either corner of his mouth while he sat staring off into space. He knew the only way he would ever get the world set back in order was to avenge his nephew. His hands still carried the sensation of the 24 karat gold rails from the side of the coffin. The sensation would not go away until he had washed them in the blood of the responsible parties.
Another resolution came to him then.

“Sir, will you be attending the meeting with William and the others tonight?”

“No, I want you to go in my place. My brother is worthless and I don’t want to have to sit and listen to his sniffling the coke up into his head,” Dominic said.

“I will be sure to pass on your sympathies.”

“Thank you.”

Luther turned to leave his boss to his grieving.

“Luther, one more thing.”

Luther turned back around and clasped his hands in front of him. “What is it?”

“I will be going with you.”

“But I thought you wanted them brought back here?”

“I changed my mind. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone on vacation, a little hunting trip will do me some good. I want you to assemble the best you’ve got working for you. We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If we can’t get the police to cooperate and tell us where Thaddeus is being held we’ll burn the entire fucking state of California. Make sure your men know
to bring their best weapons and their balls. We’re not going to go half assed like my brother.”

Luther nodded. “I’ll be sure to bring the meanest motherfuckers I have.”

“Thank you. Will you have someone bring me a bottle of Scotch? And make sure Vinnie knows we’re flying out in the morning. Tell him not to smoke or drink anything tonight.”

Luther nodded and turned to leave. As soon as the door closed behind the hit man Dominic allowed the tears to run freely from his eyes.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Though the novel you just read was fictional I drew many inspirations from legitimate sources.
I will present them to you in the following note. I would also like to make mention that though some people would say that the graphicness of the descriptions of rape and death cross the line of art into torture porn. I, however, think that the descriptions were necessary as the point of the story was that through being raped, beaten and witnessing the brutal murders the women learned to accept the views of dogs.

My idea when I began writing this story was simple; “I want to write something where the masked killer is portrayed as the hero.” I wrote the first draft with that in mind and it came out to be the novella I wanted. I was prepared to release it on the world when I saw a documentary about feral children. The documentary went on to say that feral children were nothing more than an urban
legend. Though stories of
children being raised by animals
have been told worldwide since the beginning of civilization we as modern men cannot believe that animals would be so akin to us as to raise one of our lost children. Yet it is on a regular basis that we take in wild animals and raise them to behave in a civilized manner.

While I did not write this novel to include actual feral children I completely believe that they could, and have, existed.
The reason for the evolution of the story is that directly after this documentary I came across stories about children being raised as animals by their
abusers. These stories disgusted me to no end. And so I thought to myself, what better way to personify a serial killer as a hero than to have him portrayed as a vict
im. Thus the genesis of the rewrite was born. And now the novella is a novel. Not a particularly long novel, but a novel none the less.

Now, as promised, I am going to give you a brief history of children that were raised by malicious assholes to believe that they were animals. These stories are legitimate tales of horror that haven’t been given enough focus by our modern media.

John and Sonja Kluth, both in their fifties, seemingly performed an act of kindness by adopting three children. However, when one of the children ran away from home and was found living beneath a retail store in a box he told authorities of the atrocities that had been performed by his adoptive parents.

After investigation the police found that the children were fed dog and cat food and forced to sleep in dog crates. All of the children had been badly beaten over the years. The Kluth’s had moved from Wisconsin where they originally adopted the children to Oklahoma to avoid
the authorities.

The couple admitted to many acts of bizarre torture. And when asked one of their biological children said, “They’re going to get what they deserve.”

John Eckhart and his girlfriend, Alayna Higdon, were arrested for keeping their four children in inhumane conditions. Two autistic boys were found in a room that had been converted into a cage, forced to live in diapers and being treated like animals. The police
said that the boys had stuck their arms out through the bar
s
imploring that the officers freed them. They also said that the babies were kept amongst filth.

The sad thing about cases like these is that typically the guilty parties don’t serve more than five years in prison. There are dozens more cases out there that you can research on your own. I read them and found myself utterl
y disgusted
.

A complete nonfiction account of a child being raised as a dog has been published
by Basic Books. It is entitled “The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog: And Other Stories from a Child Psychiatrist’s Notebook— What Traumatized Children Can Teach Us About Loss, Love and Healing” and was written by Dr. Bruce Perry. Though the title of the book is a bit pretentious and long winded it is a very insightful read.

So there you have it. I tried at first to just write a brainless novella and instead was compelled to write something so brutal and tasteless that it only could have been inspired by actual events.

No human being deserves to be treated the way the characters in my book were treated. Criminals that perform these acts of heinous cruelty need much harsher sentencing. If you damage someone so badly that they no longer act like human beings then you should be convicted of murder. The death of a soul is just as horrible as the death of a physical body.

Those are my humble opinions. I’m sorry if my book disgusted any of you. It was not my intent to cause anyone discomfort any greater than any oth
er horror novel would
.

Thank you for reading and I once again urge you to research feral children and children being raised like animals. The sheer amount of stories will terrify you worse than any
novel
.