Unleashed

by Jacob Stone

  Alex tried shouting for help, but something had been stuffed into his mouth, gagging him also. A wool sock. Somehow, he instinctively knew that’s what was used. Like Jill, duct tape had also been wrapped around his mouth. He also understood why his shoulders ached. His arms had been yanked back and his wrists bound together behind the chair with duct tape. He blinked several times, hoping to clear his vision. They were in the living room. The blinds were closed, but the lights were set to their brightest, making it torturous for him to keep them open more than a crack. While Jill was naked, he was still in his clothes.

  A shallow breathing noise had him looking to his right. Their attacker was crouching beside him. The man was no longer wearing a baseball cap. Instead, he now had a ski mask covering his face. That had to be a good sign. If he was hiding his face from them, that meant he was there to rob them and that he planned to let them live. Alex only had a vague sense of what the attacker looked like. The assault happened too fast for him to see the man’s face, and when he looked through the peephole, he only paid attention to the baseball cap and the pizza box. This man had to know they represented no threat to him. Still, a cold dread seized him. He couldn’t think of this person as anything other than a savage animal who had been let into their apartment.

  The man straightened out of his crouch. Alex saw then that he was wearing latex gloves and had a tattoo of some sort on the underside of his right wrist, but he was unable to focus enough to see what it was. His blood chilled when he saw that the man was holding a thin and very sharp-looking carving knife from the set that he had unwrapped earlier.

  He’s just trying to scare us, Alex told himself. He knew about our engagement party and he’s here to rob us. And he wants to scare us first so we give him more money.

  Mission accomplished. He was terrified. There was over 6000 dollars in cash sitting on their bedroom floor, another 7000 in checks. He’d let this man empty out their bank account as long as he didn’t hurt Jill again. If he’d just remove his gag, Alex would offer him whatever he wanted.

  “Just so you know, I’m not going to kill you,” the man said, his voice flat and muffled somewhat by the ski mask. “I’m not even going to hurt you again, as long as you don’t misbehave. But your fiancée is sadly a different story. She’s already in a great deal of pain from a broken collarbone, and it’s going to get so much worse for her. The simple fact is she’s going to die tonight after hours of torture.”

  The man turned his back to him and casually strolled over to Jill, as if this was all a game to him. He stood to her side so Alex could see what was being done. Jill had small, but beautiful, pert breasts with perfect pink nipples, and he watched in disbelief as the man squeezed Jill’s left nipple with his index finger and thumb, pulled it, then sliced it off with the knife as if he were slicing off a button from a shirt. Alex screamed and fought to break free as the man did the same to her right nipple, but only a faint, inhuman sound made its way past the gag and his efforts to escape the chair were beyond futile. He collapsed in the chair, panting heavily, his head feeling like it was being squeezed in a vise. He struggled again to break free when the man stabbed Jill in the side, but there was nothing he could do. Jill’s skin color had turned sickly white, and it tore him up inside to see the pain flooding her eyes and the way she was silently pleading with him to save her.

  The man took his time as he repeatedly cut and stabbed her. She was so slender that there just wasn’t that much of her, but the man found places to use the knife so he’d hurt her without killing her. There had to be something Alex could do. He tried rocking his body from side to side, thinking if he could knock himself and the chair over that he’d make enough of a racket for their downstairs neighbor to investigate. The problem was he was bound too tightly to the chair and he couldn’t generate enough momentum. Their tormentor noticed what he was attempting and he left the knife buried deep in Jill’s thigh while he came back to Alex.

  “You want to save her, huh, champ?” he asked.

  Alex nodded furiously.

  “You want me to kill you instead?”

  Yes, dear Lord, yes, Alex pleaded silently, the throbbing in his head becoming something unbearable as he violently nodded affirmatively.

  “Sorry, champ, but that’s not going to happen. I will, though, let you save her from hours of agony, if you’re up for it. All you have to do is give me the old say-so and I’ll let you choke her to death. It’s the best I can do.”

  Alex could only stare at this maniac, not believing what he was hearing.

  The pale blue eyes behind the ski mask were merciless. “Think about it, champ,” he said in a taunting tone. “It’s the only way you’re going to be able to save her from all the pain that’s coming. But I have to warn you that if I cut you free and you change your mind, or try something stupid, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll still keep you alive, though. No matter what, you’re not dying tonight. And your girl over there, you don’t even want to think about how much worse it will be for her if you piss me off.”

  The man waited to see if Alex would accept the offer, but Alex refused to, and so the man moved back to Jill and continued to stab and cut her. Every few minutes he’d look back at Alex to see whether he had changed his mind, but how could he? Someone might send the police to check up on them. It was almost a certainty that Jill’s mom would be calling, and she’d definitely freak if Jill didn’t answer her phone. So how could he possibly do what this maniac was suggesting when there was a chance Jill could be saved?

  While Alex couldn’t save her, he could bear witness to what was done to her while he prayed for them to be rescued. They’d always been able to say so much with a single glance, and he concentrated to do that now, as if he could psychically tell her how much he loved her. That she needed to stay strong and that someone would soon be saving them. The maniac took his time, but the cutting and stabbing didn’t stop, and the psychic messages Alex was desperately trying to send Jill began feeling hollow and false. Worse, he found himself growing numb to the atrocities being done to her. It became hard for him to think of her as the Jill he had fallen in love with, and instead she became something less than that. He hated himself for that, and even more so for wanting this to just end. Her eyes had grown glassy and he knew she was lost somewhere deep inside of herself. But even so, she whimpered each time the maniac used the knife on her.

  The maniac kept doing worse and worse things to her. Disfiguring her in sickening ways, as if he were carving her up like a jack-o’-lantern. Alex knew that she wouldn’t want to live even if she could be saved. He also accepted that ending her suffering would be the kindest thing he could do for her—really, the last act of love he could show her. But he couldn’t do it. The maniac would turn around at times and give him a questioning look, but Alex lacked the strength to even nod his head.

  He saw the moment when Jill died. Even before her head dropped to her chest, he knew she was dead. He wanted to cry out, to feel anguish, but all he felt was numb. The maniac grabbed a handful of her hair and lifted her head before letting it drop again. He turned to give Alex a damning look and then left the room after that without saying a word. Soon Alex heard water running in the bathroom. This went on for a while. When the maniac returned, he was still wearing a ski mask, but had replaced the latex gloves with leather ones. The maniac crouched in front of him as if he were searching for something in Alex’s eyes.

  “I bet if I were to take that gag out of your mouth you’d have something you’d like to say to me, huh, champ?”

  Alex squeezed his eyes shut. He just wanted this man to go away, but he could feel his presence and knew the man hadn’t moved and was continuing to stare at him. In an odd way this became the most unbearable part of everything that had happened. After the horror Alex had been forced to witness, this was what was going to send him out of his mind.

  “Or maybe you don’t have anything to say,�
� the maniac finally said, his voice dripping with contempt. “Maybe you just want to hope I disappear and when you open your eyes again, this all turns out to be nothing but a bad nightmare. Sorry, champ, that’s not going to happen.”

  The maniac used his thumbs to force Alex’s eyes open. It seemed like an eternity while the maniac continued his searching. Finally he nodded to himself, as if he found what he was looking for.

  “Now you have yourself an especially wonderful rest of your life,” he said.

  The maniac got out of his crouch and walked out of view. Shortly after that, Alex heard the apartment door being opened and closed. Only then did he begin sobbing, the pain racking his chest, becoming something excruciating.

  Chapter 8

  Duncan popped out the cosmetic contact lenses, changing his eye color from blue to brown. After that he used a washcloth and baby oil to scrub away the temporary tattoo of a snarling wolf’s face from the underside of his right wrist.

  He was beyond famished when he left the couple’s apartment in Marina del Rey, like he had a hole in his stomach that no amount of food could fill. He’d thought about taking the Roma’s pizza with him, but he couldn’t risk someone seeing him leaving the building with it, and he wasn’t about to sit in the couple’s apartment and eat the pizza after what he’d done—he’d learned long ago nothing good can come from hanging around after finishing a job.

  Although he couldn’t remember ever being that hungry before, he showed enough forethought to wait until he drove back to downtown LA before stopping at a twenty-four-hour market and buying a couple of turkey and cheddar sandwiches and a liter of orange soda. He was shaking like a drug addict by the time he got back into his car, and he wasted no time ripping off the wrapper and devouring one of the sandwiches along with half a liter of soda, but it did little to satisfy his hunger. Somehow he showed enough willpower to put away the other sandwich for later.

  Now was as good a time as any. He pulled his backpack out from under the bed and fished inside for the remaining sandwich, being careful not to cut himself on the carving knife he had taken from the Marina del Rey apartment. He hadn’t planned to take knives from any of his victims, but inspiration struck earlier. Why not let the police see that the same knife was being used in all the murders? Even better was the idea he had of what he could do with the knife when this was all over. Besides, he’d be hard-pressed to find a better knife. This one was a finely crafted tool; the blade thin and sharp enough to cut through cartilage and bone, the balance and handle perfect.

  He found the turkey and cheddar sandwich and tossed the contact lens case and baby oil into the backpack. Aside from the lens case, bottle of baby oil, and knife, the backpack also held a baseball cap, ski mask, eleven-inch leather sap, materials for making a temporary snarling wolf tattoo, and a whole lot of cash—1800 dollars he had remaining from what he had saved up to bankroll his plan and an additional six grand he took from the couple’s bedroom. He shook his head, thinking about anyone getting six grand in cash from an engagement party, and that wasn’t even the half of it! There was another a pile of checks for even more money and all those other presents. The way some people live! A harsh smile tightened his lips as he thought about how if he and Julia had had an engagement party, they would’ve been lucky to get a can opener out of it. Maybe they would’ve gotten a set of dishes if he and Julia had gotten married.

  He finished unwrapping the sandwich, but letting himself think of Julia dulled his appetite. The one blemish to what had so far been a perfect night. And it really had been perfect. The first step of his plan had gone off without a hitch, in no small part due to the time he invested that afternoon. Crashing the engagement party and eavesdropping on conversations allowed him to learn useful tidbits, such as the name of Frey’s brother and the pizza the couple were always raving about, and that helped him to gain quick entry to their apartment.

  When he had charged into the apartment, he was afraid at first that he’d hit Frey too hard in the ear with the leather sap and the guy wouldn’t be waking up that night, but even that worked out just right. Frey was out of it just long enough to give Duncan time to get Frey and his girlfriend ready and to search the apartment, and that was when he found the money, which turned out to be a nice little bonus.

  Things could’ve also gone wrong quickly if the girl had screamed when she had the chance. The apartment door was still open and a neighbor might’ve heard her. But she froze, too much in shock at seeing her fiancé crumple to the floor. When she finally reacted it was to try running to the bedroom, and Duncan felled her with a single crushing blow, the leather sap striking her flush on the collarbone. It was all over for her then. She was in too much pain to scream for help or to fight off Duncan. Thinking about what happened next brought back his appetite. He picked up the sandwich and took a bite, and unlike earlier when he wolfed down his food, this time he made a concerted effort to chew slowly so he could savor it. As he did this, he closed his eyes and replayed in his mind what happened inside the Marina del Rey apartment.

  If he could have, he would’ve used the knife on Frey and left the girl untouched. Frey was the one he wanted to hurt. Not just hurt, but destroy, and so he had to use the girl for that purpose. That was what the plan needed, but it was so much more liberating than he ever would’ve imagined. Each time when he looked back and saw the anguish flooding Frey’s eyes, he felt just that much better. Like he could breathe easier. As if a little bit more weight had been rolled off his chest.

  After the girl was dead and he forced Frey’s eyes open, all he could see in them was shock. Eventually, though, the shock wore off, and he found what he was searching for. Deep, profound shame. It was more than just cathartic seeing that. He experienced what had to be something close to ecstasy. He wished he could’ve held onto that feeling, but it proved fleeting and now it was barely a memory.

  He took another bite of the sandwich and washed it down with more orange soda. What surprised him most that night was how he felt when he used the knife on the girl. He had expected it to disgust him and fill him with loathing, maybe even mental anguish. After all, she wasn’t whom he wanted to hurt—at least he hadn’t thought so. But he didn’t feel that way at all. Instead, he discovered he liked it. Each time he stuck her with the knife and saw her react in pain, all he could think was: Good, let’s see if I can make you suffer even more. That really did surprise him, because he didn’t think of himself as a sadist, but he came to accept that there was nothing wrong with him feeling that way. Why shouldn’t he enjoy seeing both of these privileged, beautiful people suffer? The plan he came up with had him waiting a week before finding another oh-so-in-love couple, but he no longer wanted to wait. He badly wanted to feel that same euphoric lightness again that he had felt with Frey, even if it only lasted minutes.

  The doorknob rattled softly, knocking Duncan out of his thoughts. This was followed by a slight metal-against-metal scraping sound. Someone had tried the doorknob, found the door locked, and was now using a lockpick. A clicking sound confirmed that the person was successful with the lockpick. Duncan didn’t have time to retrieve the sap from the backpack. It didn’t much matter. It was after midnight, and whoever was breaking in was expecting to rob him in his sleep. He couldn’t imagine any of the human jackals he’d seen hanging around this skid-row boarding house being a serious threat to him. He got off the bed and moved quickly to the door. The person on the other side was carefully inching the door open and Duncan yanked on the doorknob, speeding things up and revealing his intruder, who turned out to be a man in his thirties with a ravaged face, dirty, greasy long hair and beard, and clothes that were even dirtier. Duncan had seen him before lurking around the hallways, as if he were looking for someone weaker than himself to rob.

  “Let me guess,” Duncan said. “You got confused and thought this was your room?”

  The intruder showed no reaction to being confronted. “Yeah, man, a rough
night, you know?” He smiled, revealing brownish and rotting teeth. His twitchy movements, cystic acne, and ruined teeth were enough to show that he was a serious meth head. He sniffed and swiped a bony thumb across his nose, then showed Duncan the lockpick. “I lost my room key so I’ve been using this. My name’s Stevie.”

  He switched the lockpick to his left hand and held out his right, as if he expected Duncan to take it.

  “Very resourceful of you,” Duncan said, ignoring the extended hand. “So we’ll call it an honest mistake, then.”

  He started to close the door, but the meth head named Stevie stepped forward, putting his shoulder in the way. He sniffed again and made another twitchy swipe at his nose with his thumb.

  “How about helping out a fellow brother in need? Meth, smack, crack, anything. It’s going to be a long night if I don’t get something to take the edge off.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t use drugs.”

  Stevie made no attempt to back away. Instead, he looked past Duncan so he could take in the room in a glance, which could easily be done since there wasn’t much to it. Most prison cells were bigger. Just enough space to hold a single bed that was really more of a cot, a small desk with two drawers to hold clothing, a matching wooden chair, and a coat hook. Not even a closet, and the residents shared a bathroom at the end of the hall. No doubt in that quick half-second glance he saw Duncan’s duffel bag shoved between the bed and the wall and the backpack under the bed. When he shifted his eyes back at Duncan, they had the glazed look of someone contemplating violence. In a way Duncan understood it, but in another way it surprised him. From Duncan’s well-groomed appearance and preppy, clean clothing, Stevie must’ve thought Duncan was slumming it at this boarding house and was someone who could be victimized. Still, a predator should be able to recognize a far more dangerous one if he meant to survive long, and this meth head should’ve been able to sense who he was dealing with.