Sick Fux

by Tillie Cole

  Those cunts had ripped Dolly’s womb from her immature body. They had made it so she could never have kids again. All so they could keep fucking her, against her will, coming inside her as much as they wanted without ever having the worry of impregnating her. Stealing from her every piece of her rational mind, until it had shattered and she retreated into her shell. The vegetative state in which I had found her, sealed off from the real world.

  Their crimes, of which I was finally aware, loosed the volcano of rage they had planted inside me; it erupted into a molten sea of lava intent on destroying everything in its path. The people who tied her down on the operating table. The twin “uncles” we were en route to see. Add to the list the pricks most responsible for abusing her body and her mind: Uncle John and her papa. Her papa, the very person who was meant to protect her. Instead, he had pimped her pussy to his “colleagues” on a silver platter, poisoned teacup in hand.

  El Paso’s country roads gave way to town lights as I drove toward our destination. A property on the farthest edge of town, a nice little hacienda. Secluded. Private . . . perfect for a spot of light massacre by Wonderland’s finest.

  “Fancy fucking dinner parties,” Hyde had said as he came up beside me in Chapel’s secret Louisiana home. Hyde was looking at the photographs in my hand, the usual snarl on his lips. Henry was currently “asleep.”

  Chapel walked to where I stood reading the research on Uncles Jeffrey and Samuel. He whistled as he looked at one of the photographs the PI had taken at one such party. Strings of lights hung across the outside terrace. A number of people sat around a long table. All interesting characters in themselves; more kid abusers, no doubt. A couple of rapists, and some stupid whores who got turned on by the twisted tastes of the abusers—pieces of pussy that got high watching their men force themselves on others . . . age not a problem. “Oh, what fun one could have wreaking havoc on that little crowd.” Chapel sat beside me and ran his hand over the photo of the women sitting beside the built middle-aged men. “Paid whores?” he inquired, firelight in his eyes.

  I checked the PI’s information. “Yes. But ones that like the darker side of fucking.”

  Chapel sucked in a hungry breath. “Oh . . . what possibilities they could offer . . . what relations we all could have,” he murmured, his pupils dilated.

  “Make them all fucking hurt,” Hyde growled. “Tear out their fucking throats.” He left the table and made his way back to his rooms. No doubt Henry would be back soon.

  Chapel stood too and brushed the long blond hair from his face. “Yes, young Dapper Dan. I can only imagine the beautiful, poetic deaths our local blood enthusiast will conjure up.” He pointed his finger in the air and smiled. “You must write down these adventures for the sake of your friends.” He placed his hand over his chest. “I do quite enjoy a good murderous novel, my fine young sir. One such as this violent tea party would be quite the spectacle.”

  He walked away, leaving me to stare at the photographs, imagining Dolly’s face lighting up at the fare of cakes and tea.

  Imagining her bathing in their blood, a lightly toasted buttered crumpet in her delicate little hand . . .

  Dolly stirred, pulling me from my reverie. I glanced over just as her eyes opened. Her makeup was perfectly in place. I got hard just seeing the clock drawn around her left eye. But not as hard as I got seeing the vial of my blood dangle from the ribbon around her neck. The label “Drink Me” had never been so apt.

  Dolly gasped and sat up. I turned my head to see what she was looking at. Bright lights lay ahead. Parked limousines lined a road that led to a large building, from which music was blaring. Kids, no older than seventeen or eighteen, were scattered around the grounds.

  “What’s happening, Rabbit?” she asked as I slowed to a stop, allowing her to see more. Kids stared in at Dolly as they passed the Mustang. “Wow,” she murmured as she watched girls dressed in big poufy dresses and thick makeup to rival her own—except for the clock around her eye—linking arms with boys in tuxes.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Dolly as she watched them, wide eyed. Her leg bounced up and down in excitement. She turned to me and asked, “What is it, Rabbit? Why are all the girls dressed so prettily? Why are the boys dressed so handsomely?”

  I looked at the banner above the building: “Senior Prom.” Dolly was gazing at the kids entering the school grounds. But I only watched her. I watched as she was mesmerized by the girls in dresses. Long, fancy dresses.

  As if reading my mind, she said, “Their dresses, Rabbit . . .” Her voice was laced with awe. She glanced down at her own bare thighs. “Mine is nothing like theirs.” She gave me the saddest fucking smile I had ever seen. “But where would I wear one so pretty? Surely not to destroy the bad men. I wouldn’t waste something so beautiful on people so ugly.”

  My heart—if I even had one—cracked right down the fucking middle. She was right. She never did anything. Even as a kid she lived most of her life in her head, imagination fueling her tea parties, her adventures around the property. She danced every minute she got. Imagined a life outside the walls of the estate. I never danced, much to her chagrin. I was happy to watch. But fuck . . . Dolly deserved something fucking better in her life.

  “It’s a prom,” I said. Dolly’s brow creased in confusion. I knew she wouldn’t have been able to read the banner above the doors. “The kids of . . . Wonderland go to one when they finish school.” I shrugged. “They dance or some shit. Dress like this and dance.”

  “They dance . . . ?” she whispered as more limos pulled into the drive. “What fun they must have.” She smiled at two more girls walking past. They looked inside the car, and their eyes fell on Dolly. They paused, then laughed. Right in her fucking face.

  My lip curled. As if hearing the growl that rumbled under my breath, they snapped their eyes my way. I causally lifted the throat-slitting thimble on my finger and motioned across my neck. By the paling of their faces, I knew they had gotten the message to shut their fucking slut mouths. If not, I’d slit their fucking slut throats right here, right now.

  No one slighted my Dolly.

  “You both look so pretty!” Dolly said to the ungrateful bitches, oblivious to the fact that they had dared to sneer at her. Laugh at her clothes and makeup. They had no idea she could end their pathetic lives with one graceful sweep of her knife.

  I wished she would teach these stuck-up whores a lesson.

  I narrowed my eyes, staring at them, daring the sluts to ignore her. “Th-thank you,” one of them eventually blurted out, and they scurried across the road.

  Dolly turned to me, a huge smile upon her face. “They spoke to me, Rabbit! The pretty princesses spoke to me!”

  I nodded, but Dolly was already lost to the music coming from the school. “I do not know these songs. They are not on my tape.” Dolly frowned. “What else happens at proms, Rabbit?”

  I racked my brain, trying to remember. I’d never been to one before I went to the Earnshaw estate, but I obviously knew what one was. I seethed at the stark reality that it wasn’t obvious to her. Her papa had never even taught her how to read, let alone allowed her go to a school where she could have made friends, gone to proms and whatever the fuck preppy girls would have done. For a second I was almost glad her papa didn’t; Dolly would have never been friends with a freak like me. A freak who thought about death and murder twenty-four-seven, not football games and baseball.

  “Rabbit?”

  “They dance, drink punch, then they crown a king and queen.”

  Her eyes widened. “They do?” Her mouth dropped open. “Do they get to wear a crown?” I nodded. Dolly sighed. “I should very much like to wear a crown,” she said. “To be crowned a queen . . .”

  My gut clenched at the fucking sad smile on her face.

  What she didn’t realize was that she was a fucking queen.

  My blood-soaked queen.

  Checking my watch, I saw it was time to go if we wanted to crash the party. I put t
he car in gear and pulled away from the prom. Dolly’s neck stretched as she watched the school until it was completely out of sight. When she sat back in her seat, she flicked the card of Tweedledee and Tweedledum back and forth in her hands. Her face fell from happy to furious in an instant.

  I smirked, seeing my little Dolly mentally preparing for what came next. Each of these cunt’s deaths was such a treat. The Cheshire Cat’s death ended the vendetta I had held closest to my chest. The next four kills meant so much more after the revelations about her scar.

  I couldn’t wait for Dolly to unleash her rage on the fucks who had tied her down when they took her womb away. I was counting the seconds until she appeared like a fucking demon from their past.

  We arrived at the hacienda, miles from anyone and anything, just like the rest. The news outlets still hadn’t released the names of those we had killed. Months ago, Chapel’s PI had told us that the uncles hadn’t communicated in years. I shook my head, loving the fact that none of these fuckers knew we were coming. Surprise kills always felt that much more gratifying.

  Off the radar, and oblivious to the specters coming to haunt them from the past . . . It made their blood taste all the sweeter.

  Dolly stood and placed her hand on the frame of the windshield. “Rabbit! They are having a party!” Before I could stop her, Dolly jumped from the car, Alice doll-head in one hand and her knife in the other. Her gun was in the belt around her waist. I pounded over the driveway to catch up with her.

  Dolly rushed through the door of the hacienda. I followed behind, searching the house for anyone near. The sound of clattering dishes rang out from the backyard.

  Dolly turned to me, a smile on her face. “No . . .” She let out a high-pitched giggle, covering her mouth with the hand holding the doll-head. “Rabbit, are they having a tea party?” Without waiting for a reply, Dolly ran forward, then stopped in the center of the doorway that led to the veranda. I strolled up behind her, and my eyes fell to the table before us. Just like the PI’s pictures, the table was long and filled with that odd mix of unsavory characters. Kid abusers. Rapists . . . and whores who got turned on by watching these fucks carry out their depraved acts.

  Dolly gasped and clapped her hands. A loud, shrill giggle soared from her mouth, cutting through the loud music. Eight heads turned, and eight pairs of inquiring eyes landed on us. Dolly dropped her hands from her mouth. A maid had laid teapot after teapot on the table, and a cake tray boasting a wide selection of treats.

  We’d interrupted dessert.

  “You’re having a tea party!” Dolly sang and rushed forward to the table. I casually swung my cane in my hand, eyes scouring the guests at the table. They all stared at us in confusion. But there were only two guests I gave a fuck about. The two identical fat shits at the end of the table. Matching suits. Matching swept-over balding hairstyles . . . matching death countdowns branded on their heads.

  Dolly pulled a chair from the side of the terrace and pushed it between a rapist and a whore. She placed her doll’s head on the table. The whore screeched and leaned away.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the maid try to escape. Just as she tried to run past me, I slammed my cane against the wall and created a barrier that she could not cross. Her startled blue eyes landed on me. I shook my head, tutting. “No leaving, dearie.” I flicked my head at a bench at the side of the terrace. “Why don’t you take a nice little seat over there?” I pointed. The maid had frozen, eyes deer-like, caught in the headlights, but I cracked the bones in my neck as my head rolled from side to side. “I wasn’t asking . . . I was insisting.”

  She scurried to the bench, just as one of twins—Tweedledum, I decided to name him—stood up. “Who the fuck are you two? What the hell are you doing in my house?”

  My eyes snapped to his flushed face, and an insatiable rage built up inside. I opened my mouth, ready to speak, when Dolly slammed her hand on the table. Her furious eyes latched onto Tweedledum’s bloated face. “Where are your manners?” she hissed, her English accent more pronounced than ever before. Dolly shook her head, displeased, and pulled the gun from her waist belt. Tweedledum’s eyes fell on the blue-and-white Glock. Dolly ran her finger over the inscription. Her head tilted to the side as she looked at the “uncles.” “Time for tea.” She spun the pistol in her hand and held it like the proficient gun handler she had become. She pointed the gun around the table, aiming its barrel at each of the guests in turn. They were staring at her, their faces rapidly draining of color. When her gaze landed on Tweedledum, he froze.

  “We are guests here.” She glanced at the woman next to her and ordered, “Rabbit needs a chair.” The woman hesitated, only for Dolly to spin around and aim the gun at her head. “Don’t tell me your mummy never taught you manners?”

  The woman scrambled off her seat and retrieved a chair for me. She brought it back, hesitating when she clearly didn’t know where to place it. Dolly gave me a stunning smile and lifted one shoulder.

  My pretty, fucked-up doll.

  “Opposite me, I think,” Dolly said, and the woman placed the chair where Dolly indicated. I moved slowly, assessing them all as they flicked their gaze between me and my girl. When I sat down, Dolly looked at me. “A tea party, Rabbit! Can you believe it?”

  I leaned casually back in my seat. “I can’t believe it, my little Dolly.” My right hand rested on my cane, and I ran my left index finger around my lips. With my sharp thimble, I pierced the flesh, and I felt the blood gather in my mouth and run down my chin.

  I let it pour.

  I let them all stare.

  “You know, Rabbit? You know what really ticks me off?” Dolly asked as she sat down.

  “What, darlin’?”

  She lifted her knife and began sticking the tip into the wood of the linen-covered table. Her gun remained in her other hand, finger braced on the trigger. Her shoulders sagged, and a disappointed expression engulfed her pretty face. “I really don’t like rude people.”

  I nodded in agreement, spreading the blood over my teeth with the tip of my tongue. I felt the tension radiating from the guests. The heavenly smell of fear permeated the humid air. Dolly sighed and shook her head. Her eyes flicked to the side, staring at nothing. Her head tilted like she was listening to someone. “Ellis doesn’t like it either. She says it really makes her mad.”

  I smiled.

  My little Ellis never had liked ill manners.

  Sitting forward, I let the blood from my lips drop onto the tablecloth. Then I smiled. Rubbing the rabbit head of my cane, I shrugged and quoted, “Manners maketh man.”

  Dolly turned on the twins, who had turned a rather fetching whiter shade of pale. Their deathly pallor did nothing but excite me. I knew they had heard Dolly mention Ellis.

  It teased them, foreshadowed what was to come. Pain. Lots of lovely, addictive pain.

  “You invite us here, to your hacienda, and then treat us with such blatant disrespect?” Dolly’s eyes saddened, and her dimples popped out as her pink lips pouted in disappointment. “We have traveled so very far to be here tonight.” She paused, darkness flickering in her gaze. “To see you both . . . In fact, we could scarcely contain our excitement.” A sinister smile tugged on her lips, and then it returned to a pout. “You put on this beautiful spread, and then make us feel so very unwelcome.” She sniffed. “It is most upsetting.”

  The man on Dolly’s left whispered something to the whore beside him. I studied his face. My blood boiled when I remembered he was a child abuser. She was the bitch that liked to watch him fuck kids.

  He dared fucking speak when my Dolly had the floor? Dolly quieted, spun, knife in hand, and plunged its blade directly into the side of his skull. The whore, his fellow sick and twisted fuckpiece, screamed as his blood spurted over her. His hands scrunched the white table linen as he began a slow descent to death and the waiting hands of the devil himself. “I told you I hated bad manners!” Dolly said in her loudest, most commanding voice.

  Do
lly took a deep breath and closed her eyes. I heard her count to ten under her breath. I had to shift in my seat; my dick was so hard it was painful.

  She was glorious.

  When she opened her eyes, she smiled in relief, put her hand over her chest, and said quietly, “I am calm now.” Her smile fell as she swept her gaze around the table. Our hosts were all staring at her in abject fear. Pissing themselves at the titan of darkness she had become. She brushed her hair back from her face and fixed her headband.

  Suddenly, the whore who had just been covered in blood leaped to her feet. She fled for the door. She had only made it three steps before Dolly pulled her gun from the belt around her waist and fired a bullet straight into the back of the slut’s skull. The slut’s body slumped to the floor. The hooker beside me screamed in horror. I looked around the table. The rest of the fuckers were clearly too terrified to move.

  “Anyone else?” Dolly asked, facing the rest of the guests, arms spread wide. She shook her head in disappointment. “You are all trying my patience!”

  When no one uttered a single word, she placed her gun back into her waist belt. Turning to the prick she had murdered, now slumped on the tabletop, she grabbed the knife handle and unceremoniously yanked it from his skull. Blood spattered her dress; she tittered in embarrassment and reached for the napkin he had around his neck. She took it and dusted at the bloody spots on her clothes. Unfortunately, that only made it worse; blood oozed from his broken head and onto the napkin, spreading even more crimson stains onto Dolly’s dress.

  “There we go!” She looked at her knife. “Ugh,” she said, grimacing at the blood and brain residue clinging to the filigree steel. Shrugging, she looked around for something to wipe it on, before turning to the prostitute to her right. “Excuse me,” Dolly said politely, and wiped the blood on the silk scarf around the whore’s neck. Dolly cast her a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, lovely lady.”

  Dolly shook her head in response to something. “What?” she said as she sat down, staring off to the side again. The people around the table looked at one another, fear and confusion haunting their expressions. “Who?” Her gaze wandered to Tweedledee and Tweedledum, who were sitting motionless, casting frequent, worried glances at one another. Their hands twitched in unison on the table’s edge.