Sick Fux

by Tillie Cole

  I smirked. They were piss-scared of my little Dolly darlin’.

  “These two?” Dolly pointed to Tweedledee and then Tweedledum. She shook her head, an incredulous look on her face. “They wouldn’t do that to you, Ellis. I am sure of it . . . they are our hosts. Hosts could never offend in such a manner.” Dolly sighed, and then shook her head again, slowly, sadly. “They wouldn’t hold you down while you were cut open and your insides removed. Surely they could not have taken your baby from your belly, and slapped you around your face when you tried to cry and fight them off.” The twins choked on a shocked breath. Tweedledee’s mouth dropped open. “They look too nice for that.”

  She sat down and got comfortable back on her seat. Tweedledum and Tweedledee couldn’t tear their eyes from her.

  Because they knew her.

  Remembered her.

  Feared her.

  Then they looked at me.

  They looked at the blood coating my mouth . . . and I saw it. I saw it in their frightened eyes the moment they realized who also sat before them . . .

  “Heathan,” they mouthed to each other and shifted their chairs back. I shook my head, slowly, warning them without words to stay the fuck down.

  And I saw the moment they realized that they wouldn’t be leaving this here tea party alive.

  Dolly gasped suddenly, her inhale of air drawing all eyes back to her. “Are we celebrating my unbirthday?” She giggled. Her eyes landed on the cakes and tea before her. On the china teacups and the teapot that steamed with freshly brewed tea.

  She looked to Tweedledum and Tweedledee. “Well . . . is it?”

  They looked at each other. Tweedledee cleared his throat. “Wh-what is an unbirthday?”

  Dolly batted her hand and rested her elbow on the table. “Just a bit of nonsense, really. Yet sooo much fun!” She surveyed the contents of the table and picked up a small plate. She stood and leaned over to the three-tiered cake stand. “So much choice!” Dolly began picking cakes and placing them on her plate. “Carrot cake,” she said excitedly, licking a smear of cream-cheese frosting that had fallen onto her hand. “Fondant fancies . . . and . . . Rabbit!” she squealed. “Scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream!” She veritably hummed with excited happiness as she sat down. She danced in her seat as she put the “scone” into her mouth. It wasn’t a scone, of course. The cakes were none of the ones she had said. This was America. Dolly lived in England in her head.

  Dolly wiped a crumb of cake from her mouth as I observed the people watching her. Looking at her as if she was mad. She was, of course. But so was I.

  It was what I loved most about us.

  “Rabbit?” Dolly asked. I turned my attention to her. “Would you be a sweetie and pour the tea?”

  “My pleasure, darlin’.” I rose from my seat, picked up the teapot nearest to her and poured some into her cup. Dolly waited with a huge smile on her face. She pulled the cup close to her and lifted the milk jug beside her. She froze. When she looked up, everyone became a statue, all eyes fixed on her. “Drink your tea, please,” she said kindly. She poured the milk into her tea. The walking corpses did nothing. “I said, drink your tea!”

  The pricks scrambled for the teapots in front of them. I poured a cup for myself. Dolly reached for the sugar lumps in the center of the table. “One lump or two, Rabbit?”

  “Two, darlin’.”

  Dolly plopped two sugar lumps into my tea, then did the same to her own. She lifted her cup, and then she looked at me. I mimicked her movement, but I saw her eyes narrow. Winking at her, I stuck out my little finger. She giggled. Without looking around, she said, “You had all better have your pinkies in the air. I do not drink tea with people who do not. It’s so uncouth!”

  Dolly flicked her eyes up, and everyone, in unison, lifted up their pinky fingers. Dolly sighed in relief and brought her cup to her lips. What happened next seemed to flow in slow motion. Dolly, eyes closed, took a sip of tea. The instant the tea touched her lips, her eyes snapped open and she spat the tea onto the table.

  Everyone froze, backs bunched in fear, as Dolly dropped the teacup, the fine china smashing on the tiled floor. Dolly’s head remained down, her thick blanket of blond hair hiding her face. Her hands were flat on the table, but I could see them shaking. Her fingers scrunched into tight fists.

  She made a noise under her breath. A snarl. A grumble . . . a fucking ascending roar. Suddenly, Dolly reached for the gun at her waist and fixed her eyes on the whore to my right. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger and, with a deafening bellow, sent a fucking metal slug straight between the bitch’s eyes. Her blood splattered across my face. Our hosts screamed. Dolly seethed, her eyes wide with rage, shoulders tight with the need to kill. I wiped a drop of blood from my face and brought it to my mouth. My lips curled in disgust.

  The whore tasted as fucked-up as her choice in men.

  “Darjeeling . . .” Dolly said under her breath. The screams around us began to fade. “Darjeeling . . .” she repeated, louder this time. Dolly’s eyes shut tight as her body began to shake. She grabbed her knife off the table. Not a sound could be heard. Dolly snapped her head up, her face bright red. “Darjeeling . . .” The word cracked from the rage lacing her voice. “I don’t drink Darjeeling.” Her pursed lips pulled back and she screamed, “I ONLY DRINK FUCKING EARL GREY!”

  Dolly spun to the whore to her right and swiped her knife clean across her throat, slicing apart her silk scarf in the process. But she wasn’t finished. As the whore grabbed her throat, spluttering as she choked on her blood, Dolly’s eyes collided with Tweedledum and Tweedledee. “Who was responsible for this?” she asked, picking up the teapot in front of her. She tipped the teapot and poured the now lukewarm tea on the tabletop. She released the teapot from a height, the china smashing when it hit the table.

  Tweedledee, panicked, pointed to a man two seats down to my right. I rolled my attention his way and watched as the blood visibly drained from his face. I recognized him from the pictures—another child abuser. I focused on the pulse in his neck. It was beating so fast. I wanted to take my thimble and pluck it from his throat. “I . . .I . . .I . . .” he stuttered. His hands flew into the air. Dolly glared, positively vibrating with anger. “I . . . I have shares in a tea company . . . it’s my favorite. I brought it as a gift to the hosts.”

  Dolly stilled, and her head slowly tipped to the side. She never took her eyes off him. “It’s your favorite,” she repeated his words quietly, without emotion. The kid-rapist searched the table. All his friends on the opoosite side were dead. He nodded, answering her question. “It’s your favorite . . .” Dolly continued, her tone lifting slightly at the end. She closed her eyes and brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. “It’s his favorite, he says,” she said to herself. “Darjeeling is his favorite tea. He has shares in a tea company.” Her eyes opened, but they were glazed. Her head dipped again.

  She was listening to Ellis.

  “I know,” she agreed and began turning her head slowly. Her eyes returned to the kid-rapist. I pushed the dead whore beside me to the floor, then turned in my seat to better see him too. I didn’t want to miss whatever my Dolly was about to do. “We like Earl Grey.” She nodded in response to something Ellis had said. “Its light tone. Its flavor, bergamot. It is the superior blend.” She nodded again and raised her top lip in disgust. “And he had the audacity, the gall, to serve Darjeeling to us. Because it was his favorite . . .” I held my breath as Dolly stopped speaking. Then she moved. In a flash, Dolly had scrambled onto the table, smashing the food and cakes and tea under her feet. She rushed for the dick two seats down from me and slumped to her knees. Lifting her knife in both hands, she plunged it into his chest. She plunged and plunged, again and again and again. I groaned, my cock hardening to the point of agony as she sliced into his chest cavity until his ribs began to show. The dick’s body slumped in his chair. But Dolly only stopped stabbing him when she was out of breath.

  Leaning f
orward, she took hold of his collar and brought his still-open eyes to meet hers. Hissing, breathless, she spat in his face, then said quietly, “Only Earl Grey will ever do.”

  I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t not fucking touch her as she sat on the table, bathed in blood, eyes blazing with fury from her kills. I launched up, dropped my cane and wrapped my hands around her throat. I dragged her to me and slammed my mouth over hers. My tongue swirled in her mouth. Dolly moaned and pulled at my hair. I bent her backward on the table, eating at her mouth, before ripping myself away and staring down at her—blue-dressed, drenched in blood, eyes and hair wild.

  “End them,” I demanded through gritted teeth. I felt their fear wrap around me, and it brought a smile to my face. I slammed my mouth on hers again, needing one more taste of her lips, before breaking away to suck the skin on her throat. “Fucking end them all,” I growled into her ear. I stepped back, taking hold of my cane and kicking my chair the fuck out of my way.

  I palmed my cock under my pants as Dolly shifted to the end of the table, legs open, giving me a perfect view of her “frilly knickers,” as she called them. “Wanna have some fun, Rabbit?” she teased, a sparkle in her blue eyes.

  “Always, darlin’.” I held out my hand and guided her off the table.

  She dusted invisible lint off my coat and purred, “My Rabbit . . . such a gentleman.”

  Dolly skipped toward Tweedledee and Tweedledum. She stopped behind them and threw her arms around their shoulders. “Now it’s your turn,” she announced. Looking to me, she said, “Would you be a dear and help me, Rabbit?”

  I bowed and walked her way, twirling my cane. I met the eyes of the fucker left alive at the table and the maid. They were both shell-shocked, immobilized by fear. When I reached Dolly’s side, she ordered, “Pull out their chairs.” Smirking, I dragged the twins’ chairs out until they sat away from the table, further out on the veranda.

  Dolly skipped around them until she faced them. She turned to the maid, who was still sitting on the bench. “I shall require two knives, of equal size.” The maid’s eyes widened. Dolly shooed her with her hand. “Chop-chop,” Dolly said, sounding so, so fucking English. The maid scurried into the house. I followed. As I filled the doorway, her eyes widened and she backed away to the kitchen drawers.

  “Make sure they’re sharp,” I called. The maid took two knives from the drawer and held them out to me. “To her,” I said, pointing at Dolly, who was busy pressing kisses on her Alice doll’s lips. The maid crept past me, never taking her eyes off mine, and handed Dolly the knives. Dolly placed her doll’s head on the table and took the knives. She had tucked her blade and her gun in the waist belt of her dress.

  I strolled over to where she stood. I held my cane close as she offered Tweedledum and Tweedledee the knives. They stared at her, not moving. Dolly sighed. “Okay. I can see you are confused, so I’ll explain.” She bent down, like she was speaking to recalcitrant children, and said, “Only one of you will survive tonight.” She brandished the knives in her hands. “You are going to have a fight. One of you will kill the other.” She shrugged. “Whosoever survives shall be freed.” A smile. Another shrug. “Simple.”

  Tweedledee and Tweedledum shook their heads as Dolly offered them the knives again. Sick of their shit, I unsheathed my own blade and held it across both of their throats. Their bloodshot eyes landed on me. “The lady wasn’t giving you a choice.” I smiled a bloody smile. “She was insisting.” My smile disappeared. “Now get the fuck up.” Dolly clapped loudly from behind me. I used my blade to gently guide them to their feet. “Take the knives.” They looked at me, ready to refuse, but I pressed my blade harder against their throats. Panic on their faces, they grabbed the knives. I guided them backward. Suddenly, Dum broke away and lunged for Dolly. Before he could reach her, I sliced my blade through his side, and he bowled over in pain. The second of the twins, Dee, looked at me with shocked eyes. Shrugging, I awarded him the exact same injury. As he fell to the floor, I looked at Dolly. “Thought we had better make the fight even.”

  She tapped her finger to her head. “Good thinking, Rabbit.”

  Dolly turned to the lone man left at the table and the maid. “Get to your feet and come here.” They did. They stood around the twins on the floor. “Place your bets, people,” Dolly sang, circling the rapist and maid. “Who will win tonight? Will it be Tweedledee, the man who held Ellis down and fucked her while she cried? Or will it be Tweedledum, the man who slapped Ellis around the face as he pinned her down and robbed her of the place where babies grow?”

  Dolly stopped at maid. “Place your bet. Tweedledum”—she pointed at one of the twins—“Or Tweedledee?”

  The maid’s bottom lip quivered. “Tw-Tweedledee,” she whispered. Dolly nodded in acknowledgment. She turned to the man. “Tweedledee,” he echoed shakily.

  Standing between the twins, she put her arms in the air. “Tweedledum will face the favorite, Tweedledee, in a death match. On my command, let battle commence!” She looked to me and smiled. “Ready, set . . . tick tock!” Dolly jumped aside, but neither of the twins moved. “Fight!” Dolly commanded, hands on her hips, but they stubbornly refused to move. She looked at me and sighed. “I suppose we will just have to do it ourselves.”

  My cock throbbed as Dolly dropped to her knees behind Tweedledee and took hold of the hand holding his knife. Before he even had a chance to fight her off, Dolly guided the knife straight into the shoulder of Tweedledum. Dolly gasped. “The first strike goes to Tweedledee!” She looked over his shoulder at me, then asked, “Question is, will his opponent respond?”

  “No!” Tweedledum shouted, holding his bleeding side. He tried to scurry away, but I held him by the hair and grabbed the hand holding his knife. I easily overpowered him, plunging his knife deep into his brother’s stomach. Both twins screamed, and Dolly laughed.

  “You’re sick!” Tweedledum shouted.

  “Yes!” Dolly replied excitedly. “The Sick Fux!”

  Growing tired of these fuckers being alive, I drove the knife into Tweedledee’s heart. His eyes glanced up in shock, then slowly frosted with the glaze of imminent death.

  “No!” Tweedledum shouted again as his brother slumped to the floor.

  Dolly got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “No fair!” She stuck out her bottom lip.

  “Dolly,” I said, and she begrudgingly turned to me. I threw Tweedledum to the floor and pinned his wrists behind his head, leaving his stomach free. “Would I ever deprive you of anything so delicious, darlin’?”

  Dolly scuffed her boot on the floor, but reluctantly shook her head. “No.”

  “Now,” I said and nudged my head in the direction of Tweedledum’s stomach. “Wouldn’t you like to do to him what he did to Ellis? Wouldn’t little Ellis like that too?”

  Dolly stared off, listening to the voice in her head, then she turned back to me and a slow grin sprouted on her lips. “Yes. We both agree we would.”

  Dolly ran to Tweedledum’s feet and took out her knife. Tweedledum flailed around in my arms. “No!” he cried, trying to break free. “Get the fuck off!”

  Dolly’s eyes clouded over. She sliced the back of her hand across his face. “Shut it!” she shouted and did it again. “You shut your mouth!”

  Dolly lifted his shirt and slashed her knife across his stomach. But she didn’t stop. She did it again and again, and again. She scarred him like he had scarred her, but he got so much more. He got so many scars that his skin was no longer visible. Tweedledum slumped in my arms, and Dolly drew back, blade held in the air. She locked eyes with me. I could see the hunger in her gaze.

  My cock twitched, and I knew her pussy would be flooding too.

  Tossing the body to the floor, I stood up, turned on the remaining male guest and unsheathed my cane. “You lost the bet,” I said, before shooting the fucker in the head.

  But just as I aimed at the maid, who had closed her eyes in readiness for the blow, Dolly yanked on my arm. �
��No, Rabbit!” she shouted and looked at the maid. She was blond with blue eyes. Dolly stood before her and got on her tiptoes to stroke the woman’s face. “She’s far too pretty to die.” Dolly stroked her hand down the maid’s face and over her lips. “She looks like a doll.” She smiled. “She looks like me.”

  She didn’t. Not a fucking patch on my Dolly, but I didn’t burst her bubble by disagreeing.

  “We can leave her alive,” Dolly said, and the maid’s eyes widened. I snarled, wanting to kill the bitch stone dead, but Dolly turned and presented me with a stern face. Reluctantly, I nodded and put my cane back together. Dolly turned back to the maid. “Put out your hand,” Dolly ordered sternly. The maid did. Dolly lifted her own hand and smacked it hard across the back of the maid’s. The maid cried out, but stayed still. She was too scared to move. “You worked for very bad men,” Dolly scolded and shook her head. “Next time,” Dolly said, pointing in the maid’s face, “make better choices!”

  Dolly ran to the white wall of the veranda, a contrasting backdrop to the pile of bodies on the floor, and pulled out her lipstick. After scrawling a Chanel-pink “SICK FUX,” on the wall, she collected her doll’s head from the table. Just as she went to turn back, she grabbed two doughnuts from an untouched plate. “A doughnut each for the road?”

  I nodded. Dolly took my hand. As we walked out of the hacienda, blood-soaked and needing to fuck, I knew it wouldn’t be long until I pulled over and took her body under mine.

  Unclean.

  Covered in their blood.

  Hot.

  Wet.

  Fucking perfection.

  My jaw clenched as Dolly’s hands ran up and down my thigh. Her tits were pushed up against my side, and her teeth played with my earlobe. I gripped the steering wheel so tightly I thought I might rip it clean off.