Prodigal Son

by Christine Sutton

  "I like a little bit of everything."

  "Well, that is gonna run about a hundred dollars. Anything too kinky will cost you extra."

  "I'm not into anything too kinky."

  "Well then Sugar, we are gonna get along fine." She giggled, making herself seem almost girlish for a moment.

  "Well hop on in, then. I got a place nearby."

  She pulled away and reached for the door handle. She pulled it open and climbed into the passenger seat, buckling herself in. I chuckled at the irony of her worrying about her safety, yet she just got into a van with a complete stranger that was planning on killing her.

  "What's so funny?" She asked, seeming a little stung.

  "Oh, nothing. What's your name?"

  "Delia."

  "No shit! I love that name," I said as I pulled back onto the street and headed to the preplanned spot.

  "Oh yeah? I like it, too." She giggled again, but this time it sounded more like a cackle to me.

  "Funny story. There was a girl named Delia that my father knew. A while back, he met her when she was sitting on a curb. See, she was a filthy, junkie whore just like you."

  The whore started to shift in her seat, obviously putting up her guard and sensing danger. I continued my story.

  "Dad and his friend, this is the funny part, they took her out to a field and fucked her in the ass."

  "I'm not really into ass play," she sounded frightened, and it only served to make the bulge in my jeans bigger.

  "Well, it doesn't really matter what you are into, right? You're just a dirty gutter slut, right?" I was positively giddy by this point.

  "Hey listen, I don't think this is gonna work out. How about you just drop me off here?"

  "Oh no, you need to hear the rest of the story. I'm almost to the best part. See, they took Delia to this field and my dad fucked that filthy bitch in her ass. While he was fucking her, his friend sunk a knife into her neck. Isn't that awesome?"

  Tears had begun streaming down her cheeks as she reached to fumble with the seatbelt latch. She screamed out as Dale reached around the seat and grabbed her arms, holding them at her sides.

  "Please, don't," she whimpered, looking at me as though I might help her.

  Dale leaned around the seat and moved in close to her face. He darted his tongue out and licked away her tears. She cried out again and began begging for her life.

  "Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything."

  "Oh yes you will, you'll do a lot," Dale laughed.

  He reached down and pushed the button to release her lap belt.

  "If you try to run, bitch, I'll snap your fucking neck, you understand?"

  She moved her head in quick little nods. Without warning, he reached up and slipped the piece of rope around her throat. He pulled her out of her seat and into the back of the dark van. I heard her heels banging on the floorboards as she kicked and struggled. Then came a thump as Dale punched her in the face and her head slammed against those same floorboards. She was out. I pulled the van over and allowed my dad to take the wheel as I climbed into the back.

  There she was, lying on the floor, completely unconscious. I stared down at her; my erection was now on the verge of becoming painful.

  "Well, are you gonna stare at her until she wakes up, or are you gonna get her ready?" Dale all but snapped at me.

  I broke through the haze of excitement and set to work. I pulled her shorts off and tore through the flimsy fishnets. Slipping her boots off, I pulled the stockings off and slipped the red panties up and over her hips. Dale had pulled her up until her head rested in his lap. He pulled the cropped shirt off, exposing her heavy bare breasts. He reached around and roughly grabbed her breasts in his hands, squeezing and kneading her flesh.

  "Whew, this one has some nice tits. I'm so hard, I'm about to bust a hole in the back of her skull. Are we almost there, man?"

  My dad nodded his head as Dale continued to roughly handle her, squeezing her nipples between his fingers. I took out the tube of ravishing red lipstick and reached over to put it on her lips. Dale stopped what he was doing and held her head still.

  "Oh yeah, Tim, that's it! Now she looks just like the whore that she is. Boy, you are an artist!"

  I wrapped pieces of rope around her wrists so that she would be less likely to hurt any of us.

  The van came to a stop. My father turned to me and smiled.

  "We're here."

  I opened the door as though I was deprived of oxygen and we had just pulled up to a full tank. The landscape was completely hidden. It seemed that we might be in some sort of national park or something. Trees shrouded the spot that my father had picked. I could hear water running nearby, but there were no sounds of traffic or people. It was perfect.

  Delia was beginning to stir, so Dale jumped out of the back of the van and pulled out the large blanket that we had brought with us. I spread it on the ground as he grabbed her under the arms and roughly hauled her unconscious body out of the van.

  Her eyes opened as he laid her out in front of me. Her panic was almost immediate as she realized that she was nude, except for the panties. She began scrambling around and trying to gain enough footing to get up from the ground. She screamed like a wild banshee. It was no use once my father showed up next to her with a knife in his hand. He held the blade to her throat and whispered into her ear.

  "Fuck you, you sick fuckers."

  He pressed the blade into her flesh hard enough to let her know that he was serious.

  "You are going to be a good girl, right? My son here wants to get a taste of you, and you are not going to fuck this up for him. You hear me?"

  She nodded her head slowly, wary of the blade that was pressing more firmly into her neck.

  "Good girl," he whispered and gave her a tender kiss on the temple.

  She relaxed a little bit, no doubt thinking that this was just some sort of game we were playing and that she would end up surviving this mess if she cooperated.

  Dale reached over and quickly rolled her over onto her stomach with a thud. She exhaled, but did not scream. I was so excited; I could not wait any longer. I grabbed her hips and pulled her up onto her knees so that her ass was in the air in front of me. Presented to me to do whatever I wanted. As it should be.

  I leaned over her as I unzipped my jeans and spoke to her in a low voice.

  "You don't like ass play, huh? Well, I won't be playing. I'm going to wreck you, bitch."

  "Please. Please don't hurt me," she cried.

  "I am going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you real bad."

  "Please, I have a daughter…," she trailed off as she began sobbing uncontrollably.

  My erection suddenly jumped as I felt a stitch in the pit of my stomach. Theresa's face flashed through my mind, followed by a replay of the feeling of that knife sinking into her heart and lung. In the space of a few seconds, a rage built up in me to the point that I could feel it as if was a tangible thing. It felt like a medicine ball resting on my lungs. I realized that I was holding my breath and I could feel color rising in my cheeks. My brain was filled with a series of crackles and pops. I couldn't see clearly, and my ears burned as though they were on fire. I thought for a moment that I might be having a heart attack.

  I reached down and ripped the red underwear from her body in one motion, leaving red welts on her hips and angry looking scratches across her buttocks. She cried out again, and this time it only fueled my anger. I grabbed my cock and shoved it into her. The pain for me was severe, so I can only imagine how much it hurt her. Good.

  "You have a daughter and you are out there on the street sucking cocks and shooting up? Now all of a sudden you give a shit about your kid? You fucking stupid cunt. Your son is all alone at home and you bring men in to fuck you right in front of him? He sits in the closet and watches strangers fuck you and then you beat his ass and call him perverted? What the fuck is wrong with you, you worthless piece of shit?" I continued pounding her ass as she screamed and cried
for help, trying to squirm away.

  Dale and my father just sat looking at me, not sure what was happening, I imagine. I was lost in the reliving of my childhood, the pain of what my mother had been and the things that she had done to me.

  Delia was nothing but a receptacle for all of my pain and anger that had built up in me since I was young. She was going to pay for all of the sins of my mother, my father, Sherrilyn Grimes, Theresa, Dale, myself.

  I clawed at her back and ass, leaving trails of blood across her white skin. My father leaned forward and placed his hand over her mouth to muffle the blood curdling screams. I ravaged her for what seemed like an eternity. When I felt myself getting close to releasing, I reached down and wrapped my hands around her throat. I was screaming as I came inside of her, my hands squeezing her throat so hard that I felt the bones in her neck grinding and popping. Even after I finished, I was still squeezing.

  Finally, my dad put his hand on my shoulder.

  "Tim, she's dead. Has been for a while now, Son."

  I threw her body forward as if it was on fire. The dead whore fell in a lumpy pile on the blanket. Her bruised and bloody corpse twisted unnaturally, her blank eyes staring up at me. I felt all of the anger and rage draining from my body and soul. It felt like a shower that washed away years of dirt and grime from my skin. I felt new.

  I also felt the deepest exhaustion that I had ever felt before or since. Every muscle in my body ached and it felt as though I was kneeling on a layer of ground glass. I very slowly packed myself back into my jeans, suddenly uncomfortable with my exposure. I fell back into a sitting position, never taking my eyes away from hers.

  I had finally done it. It felt like I should be celebrating, but I only wanted to get rid of the pile of trash in front of me and then sleep for weeks.

  The three of us sat there on the ground in a circle surrounding the dead whore. It was obvious to me that the two men had no idea what to say to me. The trance that I had gone into had thrown them for a loop. Dale was the one to finally break the silence.

  "How was it?" He asked in a reserved tone.

  "It was…liberating," I responded with the only word that came to my mind.

  The two older men burst out laughing, and I couldn't help but join in. The rest of the grime washed away and some of my strength returned. We sat there laughing like hyenas until we heard the voice.

  "Put your hands up, slowly." The officer stepped into the clearing holding his weapon at eye level. He looked disgusted and nervous, but his gun hand was steady.

  I could hear the sirens in the far distance, approaching our location. I looked at my father, who nodded his head in the direction of the trees. I nodded back, getting ready to run for it.

  As I hoisted myself up off the ground, I felt the sting in my arm before I heard the report of the pistol.

  The pain was intense, but not enough to stop me from getting to the cover of the trees and back to the van. I ran for it, my father and Dale right behind me. The officer shouted, but we paid him no mind. I could see our freedom within yards of us when I heard the second shot. I expected to feel another sting, but this time I only heard the sound of someone behind me hitting the ground. I did not dare look back.

  When I finally made it to the van, Dale ran in behind me and we huddled behind the driver's side tire. I glanced around and saw my father lying face down in the dirt. Despair washed over me as I saw him there, helpless and barely moving. The officer stepped up as the sirens got closer, gun pointed at the van. I moved towards the door and opened it slowly. The officer yelled out for us to stop, but I ignored him. Dale slithered inside, belly crawling to the passenger side, staying below the window. I climbed into the driver's side, hunkered down, making sure to stay out of the officer's line of sight.

  Dale was laughing like a school boy as he huddled in the floorboard.

  "Uh oh, we are in trouble now," he said sarcastically.

  My father was laying out there, dead on the ground, I was nursing a bullet wound in my arm, and this stupid fucker was laughing like an idiot hyena.

  I reached over and took hold of the screwdriver that was nestled in the center console.

  "Hey Dale, you want to hear something really funny?"

  He turned his head towards me, still smiling like a fool as I buried the blade of the screwdriver deep into his left eye socket.

  At least he finally stopped fucking laughing.

  Chapter 23

  When the officer shot out the tires in the passenger side of the van, I knew that I was done. There was no sense in getting myself killed.

  At the officer's insistence, I stepped out of the van with my hands in the air. The blood that had shot out of Dale's eye socket was still covering my arm and hand, mingling with the blood from my own wound.

  When the other cars arrived, I was down on my knees in the dirt. My hands were laced behind my head and I was looking at the body of my father lying in a pool of his own blood.

  Delia was still in a crumpled pile of bloody flesh on top of the blanket that I had spread out on the ground. Her eyes saw everything and nothing.

  She saw me silently, unemotionally mourning the death of my father. She watched Dale twitch as he bled to death in the front seat of the van. Then she saw me being led away as the ambulance pulled up to take my dad's body to the morgue.

  Once I was shackled and shoved, quite roughly, into the back of the squad car, I was driven to the station house. I was read my rights, given a pencil and a notepad and told to confess all of my sins.

  I was able to hold out for a full day, but the police officers kept up the interrogation. They asked me question after question, and then they repeated those same damn questions over and over. Actually, they seemed to be quite good at their jobs. It was maddening.

  I never said a word, though. I simply sat stone-faced in this room with its two-way mirror, and its metal table and chair. My leg irons attached to the hook in the floor and my shackles locked to the ring riveted to the tabletop. I was denied the use of the bathroom for hours at a time, but I could have all the water, soda and coffee I could drink. I was given only overly salted, spicy foods to eat, which meant more drinking. Thus, I would have to go to the bathroom more often. This was all meant to put me in a more agreeable state. A more cooperative state. It did not work.

  Killing Delia with Dale and my father made me realize something. I have had the answer to my initial question all along.

  What is it that makes me the way that I am?

  Nothing made me this way. I was born with the blood of a murderer running through my veins. That, coupled with the abuse that I had suffered at the hands of my filthy whore mother had created the perfect storm. The perfect environment to nurture what was already there the day that I came out of her vile womb.

  If things had been different, maybe I would be married now with a little girl, just like Alicia. Maybe my wife would be just like Theresa. Hell, who knows?

  When the police officers told me that my father had not died at the scene of the crime, my first emotion was relief. I was relieved that the one little bit of family that cared for me was still alive. That was, until I saw the tape. That tape changed everything and made me realize exactly what was going on.

  A very fat detective by the name of O'Brien came waddling into the room holding a laptop. He set it down in front of me and pushed play on the media window that was open on the screen.

  I saw my father sitting at a table wearing the same jumpsuit that I was wearing. He was also sporting the same sets of shackles that I was wearing. He was even sitting at a table that was identical to mine. The only real difference was the bandage that he wore on his right leg.

  I listened intently to a story about how I had forced him to help me abduct the whore. Dale and I had threatened his life if he did not go with us to kidnap, rape and kill her. He talked about how he wanted no part of it and only went along because he feared for his safety.

  I sat in my chair with my jaw hanging, u
nable to believe the lies that were coming from the last person in the world that I thought gave a shit about me. Apparently, I was wrong.

  As the lies spewed forth, he put on this pathetic, uneducated mask that made him look simple and easily persuaded. According to him, after I killed Theresa I came to find him and I used my big, strapping, youthful power to force him into violating his personal moral code.

  What the fuck was I thinking? He was no different from everyone else, a liar and a cheat. A piece of shit that was more concerned with saving his own ass, than with saving his own son.

  One thing that I cannot abide is a coward. Watching that tape, I realized that that is exactly what my father is; a coward.

  As I sat there watching, the Detective sat with his arms folded across his very large chest. He smiled at me when I looked upset or angry. If I had not been chained, I would have ripped his throat out. That is, I would have if I thought I could get my hands past all three of his chins. That bastard just sat there with a smug, self-righteous look on his face. It made my blood boil.

  I told him to turn it off, I had seen enough. Being an asshole, as he obviously was, he let it run for another ten minutes. I was a captive audience, after all.

  When the tears started flowing from my father's eyes and he told the detective just how sad and disappointed he was in the way that I had turned out, and that he had information on other murders that I had committed, I completely lost it. The same rage that I had felt while killing Delia bubbled up inside of me like a geyser. I yanked at my bonds and knocked the laptop to the floor. The fat Detective moved faster than I am sure he had in more than a few years.

  I saw flashes of red as he moved to the door. He retrieved the broken laptop from the floor and quickly left the room. I sat there like a chained dog, screaming until my throat was raw.

  Finally, I was able to calm myself enough to sit still. I called out and asked for a glass of water. When O'Brien timidly reentered the room, I asked if I could have the notepad and pencil back, because I was ready to write out my confession.

  So, here I am. I have come to the end of my story.