Tourniquet

by Chuck Buda

  God, I love my wife.

  Turner pulled into the driveway. He killed the engine and opened the door. A warning chime sounded angrily, fearful he would leave the headlights on. He flicked the switch to silence the annoying reminder.

  As he rounded the car to grab his bag from the trunk, an eerie feeling enveloped him. The neighborhood sounded quiet. Too quiet. Turner had never noticed the sounds of his block before. For some reason, tonight was different.

  He shrugged off the sensation as the tendrils of a weary road warrior. He lifted the suitcase from the trunk and made his way to the door. Most of the lights in the house were off. Sometimes Rebecca would leave the kitchen light on, so he wouldn’t bark his shins on his way to the stairs. Other times, if both girls were asleep, the house would be dark. Turner assumed Rebecca and Jordyn were already in bed.

  The clock on the microwave glowed. It said 11:42. He wondered if they had had a tough week and had turned in early. Neither of them usually went to bed before midnight, at the earliest.

  Turner hit the lights and stepped through the kitchen. He set his suitcase along the side of the island and began to leaf through the pile of mail. Advertisements for sports shops. A couple of credit card bills. Some fliers for donations and worthy causes.

  The smell.

  Turner paused with an envelope held up in the air. The air seemed different. Thick and cloying.

  The smell.

  He wrinkled his nose and took a few deep breaths. Rebecca had probably left some food from dinner in the garbage and it had begun to spoil. He snickered to himself. Not only did he have to travel the world to keep their lavish lifestyle afloat, but he also had to come home to take out the trash. Turner slid the garbage drawer open.

  A fresh bag sat in the bin. No garbage in the bag whatsoever.

  Turner huffed. He glanced around to see if a curdled milk carton or a melted ice cream bowl sat in the sink. The sink was clean too.

  Weird.

  The smell.

  A ruffle upstairs changed his course. He decided to look for the stinky culprit later. They could light some candles in the morning and open the windows to air it out. But now he needed to go to Rebecca. He especially looked forward to his weekly “lollipop” as Rebecca playfully referred to his relaxing blow jobs.

  “Honey?” He softly called up the stairs ahead of him in case Jordyn was asleep. Announcing his arrival increased the blood flow to his groin as the anticipation of his relaxation swelled.

  The smell.

  It had grown stronger as he reached the second floor. Turner screwed up his face and sniffed loudly in rapid succession. Whatever was ripe in the house it was becoming evident it was here. The hallway was dark, but an amber glow leaked from under the master bedroom door.

  Turner hoped Rebecca wasn’t sick to her stomach and sitting on the toilet. That would just ruin his mood. But the smell still reminded him of sour dairy products or rotted meat. It was not reminiscent of a raunchy bowel movement.

  He placed his hand against the bedroom door and twisted the handle. The door swung wide, gliding silently over the plush carpeting.

  The smell hit him in the face like an anvil. The pungent reek of death. The room was askew with furniture toppled and piled in one corner. Bedding and drapes shadowed objects like a long-forgotten attic full of covered antiques in an old mansion.

  He squinted as his eyes picked up on the stains on the floor. It looked like blood. Lots of blood. He started to step across the threshold when he noticed the blood spatter along the walls as well.

  What the fuck?

  Turner covered his nose with his forearm. His eyes watered. A distinct shape captured his attention from the other side of the room. It appeared to be someone sleeping on the floor.

  How could Rebecca sleep in here with this smell? And what the hell did she do in here? Did she wreck the place because she had stumbled upon a spider? A mouse?

  He inched closer to the form on the floor. His instinct warned him to tread carefully. He neared the body on the floor and his stomach sank.

  It was outlined in blood. The blood looked thick and solid as if it had been drying for several hours. Turner knew something very bad had happened in his room. His heart pounded in his chest. He prayed it wasn’t Rebecca under the bloody sheet. Or worse, Jordyn.

  He watched his shaking fingers dangle over the shape before tearing away the sheet from the head region of the body. Turner swallowed a large lump and yanked the sheet.

  It was Leah Fisher.

  His heart skipped a beat as the relief washed over him. He felt the bead of sweat along his upper lip. At least his family was still safe. But this was still a bad scene. What was Leah Fisher doing in his room? Why was she dead? Where was Rebecca? Images of trials and seeing his beautiful wife locked up in prison rushed along his field of vision. The dollar signs for high legal costs danced in the corners.

  Where is Rebecca?

  Before he could find the answer, Turner saw the writing.

  On the wall, written in streaks of blood, was a message. It was hard to read with the overturned lamp on the floor. Turner took out his cell phone and used the flashlight app to light the wall next to Leah Fisher’s respectfully cared-for body.

  You can’t cheat on death.

  Turner didn’t understand the message. He spared another few seconds attempting to comprehend the cryptic note before rising to his feet. He called out for his wife and daughter and began his frantic search throughout the house.

  Chapter 6

  Zoe felt electric.

  The blood rushed through her veins as she hid in the landscaping.

  Patrons came and went. The diner was always a hot spot for activity. Especially on a Friday night when kids gathered after a movie.

  A middle-aged couple approached their expensive sedan. The wife badgered her husband over leaving an extravagant tip for the waitress. She complained about her French Dip. It was too soggy, and the waitress was slow in bringing more water. The husband burped aloud and fumbled for his keys.

  Zoe stifled a giggle. Fucking typical. Nobody was ever satisfied enough with their upscale lives and phony charades to impress friends.

  An old car with a clunky engine turned into the lot. The car drifted past Zoe’s hiding spot. She recognized the driver. Peter Benson. He was a bench player on the school basketball team. A wannabe jock. He was tall and athletic.

  He’ll do, she thought.

  Zoe glanced around the parking lot. The coast was clear enough for her to make her way to Peter’s car. As he opened his door, Zoe stepped forward. The boy’s expression shifted from surprise to outright shock.

  She stood nude in front of him.

  “Hey, Peter. See anything you like?”

  Peter’s throat rode down to his chest and back as he swallowed his words. His eyes ravished Zoe’s body, leaving tingly trails along her flesh.

  “Would you like to take me somewhere quiet? So we can be alone?”

  Peter looked around nervously. He nodded and forced an unsure smile.

  “Oh, goodie.” Zoe jiggled her breasts with glee to further entice her prey. She hurried around the side of his jalopy and opened the door. Her bare bottom slid onto the worn leather seat. The coolness of the fabric brought goose bumps to her legs.

  “What, um, where are your clothes?” Peter fired up the engine, the clunky engine belts almost drowning out his words. Once again, his eyes traveled the length of her body.

  “No need for clothing where we’re heading, sugar.” Zoe laughed as she threw back her head. She ran a hand through her silky dark hair, playfully teasing the fool sitting next to her. “Grab that thick shift stick of yours and get us to a nice, dark place where we can get to know each other better.”

  Peter wasted little time getting the car backed out of the spot. He floored the vehicle to the street and pulled out of the parking lot with a slight screech of the tires. Zoe stroked his leg and laughed again. Peter sped up to shoot through an intersection w
ith an amber light. It flipped to red just as he cruised across. Zoe shrieked with excitement.

  The anticipation of her deeds brought wetness to her inner thighs. Zoe slid her fingers down to play with herself. She closed her eyes, envisioning the destruction she had left behind at Jordyn’s house. The blood had been everywhere. The childish crying and pleas for mercy. Her old friends were a joke and now she was moving on to a better life. One without peers. A life where small-mindedness and high school pettiness didn’t exist. A world in which Zoe was the creator, the controller, the usurper. Her fingers glided in and out. She bit her lower lip and moaned with satisfaction, dreaming of the time unfolding ahead of her.

  They ain’t seen nothing yet.

  Zoe prepared herself for the rest of the night. She knew she would be hunted. The police would be after her, searching everywhere for a murderer. But what she really hoped for was to be hunted by her friends. Zoe licked her lips, imagining each moment when she picked them off, one at a time.

  She stole a glance at Peter. He had one eye on the road and the other on her breasts. Zoe smiled and pinched her nipple, perking it for his enjoyment. She looked down and saw the massive bulge in his lap. Zoe felt so hot, she wanted to force the car off the side of the road so she could take what was rightfully hers.

  Peter swung the vehicle around a bend in the road, nearly clipping an oncoming SUV. The other driver slammed on their horn. Peter swerved back into his lane, breathing heavily at the near collision. Zoe quaked on the brink of orgasm. She trembled and concentrated to hold off the waves of ecstasy. Normal sexual desires would no longer be enough for her. Zoe was only interested in deviance and danger now. Her associations were too connected between blood and death. It was a fine line that she was not afraid to cross over.

  Zoe focused her attention on Spencer. The thought of her mortal enemy cooled her passions instantaneously. She stared at his hollowed-out eye socket in her mind. Zoe wished she could jam her finger inside the cavern until she worked through his pickled brain matter. She thought about how gushy it would feel, like warm, wet Play-Doh in her fists. She wanted to squeeze it, so it oozed out between her fingers. And then she would pat it into a cake between her hands and squeeze it again.

  Zoe giggled, picturing herself as a toddler in pigtails, playing with the substance at a small, plastic table designed for small kids. The little yellow cans had pictures of Spencer’s eyeless, screaming face. Bubble lettering over his face said “Spence-Doh.”

  Her soft chuckling grabbed Peter’s attention.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Zoe grinned. She rubbed her wet fingers under Peter’s nose, so he could smell her musk. “Just thinking about some silly friends.”

  Peter struggled to keep his attention on the road. He was torn between sniffing her fingers and staring at her body and keeping the car straight.

  Zoe pointed. “There.” She indicated a darkened street which bordered their town with Englewood. Peter wasted little time following her orders. He slowed the vehicle down enough to make the turn. The houses were dark and there was only one street lamp on the short, dead end street.

  Zoe felt the roiling orgasm begin again. She dampened it down with images of Aiden’s whining face. She wished he were here right now, so she could have her way with his scrawny little boy’s body.

  Peter snapped her out of her reverie, asking where he should park. She rolled her eyes and stabbed a finger at the black patch of dense woods at the end of the street.

  Let’s get this over with, she thought.

  Momma is hungry.

  Chapter 7

  He found it difficult to breathe.

  The darkness settled in around his peripheral vision. After killing the engine and turning off the headlights, Peter’s senses heightened. He smelled Zoe’s musk lingering beneath his nostrils. The expanding spot of pre-cum, cold and soaking his underwear.

  Peter tried to take a deep breath, but his excitement overwhelmed his nervous system.

  What the fuck happened?

  He struggled to reconcile how he had gotten to this moment. One second he’s stopping at the diner for a malted before heading home. And the next, he is alone with one of the hottest chicks in school, about to get busy. Peter stifled a chuckle that there was indeed a God.

  Before he could stammer out an awkward line about coming here often, Zoe bent to his crotch. She began sucking at the wet spot on the front of his jeans. Peter threw his head back against the rest. Zoe wasted little time releasing his engorged member from its prison.

  Peter wasn’t experienced like the rest of his teammates. He had fooled around with a few girls, but he had only had sex with one girl. Camille. Camille was a lifeguard at the swim club in Cresskill. Peter had met her when he had a summer job there as a Freshman. Camille had been a Junior. They had hit it off, usually making fun of the spoiled kids whining to their surgery-enhanced mothers all day long. He had been attracted to the older girl from the moment he saw her. Peter still had no idea what she had seen in him. Maybe he was the younger man she could bend to her will. Or, perhaps, he was the forbidden fruit, a student from a different high school who couldn’t leak her transgressions to her classmates.

  Zoe bit the tip of his cock, bringing him out of his happy thoughts. The sensation was painful and yet pleasurable. Peter clutched the back of Zoe’s head. He licked his lips and moaned. Zoe brought her face up and licked Peter’s lips.

  “Can you taste your saltiness?”

  Peter choked back a gag. The thought of his own junk in his mouth made his stomach churn.

  Zoe’s expression changed. Peter squinted to get a second glance. He thought it looked like she was angry at him.

  “Is this your car? It’s a bit cramped for what I want to do.”

  Peter swallowed a lump. “Uh, no it’s my father’s car.”

  “You don’t have your own car yet?” Zoe giggled. “So cute. Like a little boy.”

  Peter flushed with anger. His erection flagged a tad as he deliberated whether he should take her shit so he could get some pussy or toss her out of the car. Maybe tossing her to the curb would earn him a bigger reputation than banging her.

  Zoe pulled the latch on the driver’s seat and the bucket immediately titled back. Peter fell with the seat. Zoe swung her left leg over his lap so that she was facing the front of the car. She held onto the steering wheel and lowered her rump into Peter’s face.

  “Eat my fucking asshole, baby boy.” She clutched his cock tight in her fist, squeezing the blood flow to attention.

  Peter did as he was told. He had never put his face where the sun doesn’t shine. In all his wildest fantasies, it had never occurred to him to attempt such a taboo act. He ignored the sweaty smell of her butt cheeks and went to town. It invigorated his excitement.

  Zoe plopped her ass into Peter’s face a few times, smothering him and groaning with each lash of his tongue. She shrieked with ecstasy.

  “Oh, yeah.” Zoe huffed. “When you’re done eating the shit out of my ass, I’ll let you swallow my juices.”

  Peter intensified his work at the dirty talk.

  “Maybe your daddy will smell my pussy all over his shitty old ride. He’ll remember the first time he fucked your mommy. Probably in this piece of shit car when they were teenagers.”

  Peter bit her ass. He didn’t like the way she talked about his parents. Especially his mother.

  “Shut the fuck up or get out.”

  He shocked himself as the words flew out of his mouth. Peter shoved her ass up in the air. Zoe laughed and swung her leg back over to the passenger seat.

  “That’s more like it. I knew you were a real man.”

  Peter lashed out. He slapped Zoe hard. Her head flew back with the force of his strike. Zoe retaliated with a slap of her own. Peter punched at Zoe’s head, oblivious to the fact she was a female. His animal brain took over, defending himself against a physical assault. He caught himself before throwing another punch.

  �
�I’m sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

  Zoe’s tongue traced her bloody lips. She cooed.

  “Mmmm. Now we have something.”

  Zoe lunged forward and jammed her tongue in Peter’s ear. She probed and breathed hot, moist air. He relaxed, grateful she wasn’t hurt. And thankful Zoe wouldn’t get him in trouble for his reaction. He still had hopes of playing basketball and trouble would ruin his career.

  A tearing sound, too close to Peter’s head shattered his thoughts. Blazing heat scorched the side of his skull as Zoe sat back with his bloody ear in her mouth. A strand of sinew dangled between his head and her mouth.

  Zoe laughed and spit the torn ear into Peter’s face. He started to scream and clutch at the side of his head. Zoe dove in, gnawing on his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in its escalator. She sunk her teeth in and twisted her neck back and forth until the structure came free.

  Zoe choked on the bone fragments and allowed them to fall from her mouth onto Peter’s chest. She rubbed the squirting blood across her breasts.

  Peter gasped as small bursts of air tried to get into his lungs through the tear in his neck. His eyes searched the dark sky outside the windshield. He hoped someone would come to his rescue before it was too late. Zoe’s laughter and moaning faded into the darkness along with his narrowing scope of vision.

  He imagined himself dribbling the ball down the court, in and out of defenders on his way to the basket. The crowd cheered as Peter went up to the rim and dunked the winning bucket. He landed on the parquet floor. His teammates carried him on their shoulders. His parents tearfully looked on from the bleachers.

  Peter’s last thoughts left a pained smile on his lips.

  Zoe fed on the athletic build beneath her. The sustenance made her stronger. It would add to her strength. Giving her the power she would need in order to crush the existence of those who had gone against her.