BONES

by Yolanda Olson

  I should probably try for that pain now.

  “Verona, have you ever been to the circus? Or a carnival?” I ask, glancing up at her.

  Her eyes are still closed, her chin is still resting against her chest, and for a moment I fear that I’m speaking to myself, when she coughs quietly.

  “Have you?” I ask again.

  Her head moves slowly from right to left.

  “I used to love going to them when I was a child,” I say to her fondly. Inhale deeply. Hold the smoke. Let it out. “My favorite performers were the ones that dealt with fire. I don’t know why, but I’ve always found fire to be intoxicating. Before you ask, I’m not a pyromaniac, I just happen to enjoy the colors and the heat.”

  Her eyes slowly open as she looks up at me, but I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t; not after what I’ve done to her family.

  “One night I went to a carnival alone. I was about your age, fourteen or fifteen. Anyway,” I stop to flick the ashes off the end of the cigarette before I proceed, “there was a performer there that lit his body on fire as part of his act. I was so entranced that I came back every night that they were in town and watched him, trying to figure out what his secret was. I could never quite place what he was doing to be able to walk in the flames, so I stayed the last night they were in town and I asked him. It was my last chance to know his secret.”

  I steal a glance at her. I want to know if she’s responding to my story, and from what I can tell she is. It would be a much more pleasant conversation if I could remove the waste-filled sac from her mouth, but her form of participation is screaming, and I finally got the headaches to secede.

  “It took some convincing until I finally got him to reveal his secret. He had a coat of fire-retardant gel on his skin. A thin enough layer that the crowd wouldn’t notice, yet thick enough to keep him from being burned to death. How his organs survived the smoke inhalation is another matter, yet the thought never came across as thought in my mind until I became an adult. But this is only the second time I’ve ever wondered it, so as you can imagine, that part was never really important to me.”

  I stand up and walk to the desk, snuffing the cigarette out in the ashtray. I’ve forgotten that it’s there because I’m not a smoker; I don’t need an ashtray. Just inside the armoire is what I need; it’ll show her that I’ve learned the trick and allow me the modicum of pain that would be sufficient enough when coupled with the carnage.

  I walk over to her, careful not to meet her eyes, but her body starts to shake. I don’t understand why she’s so afraid of me. This didn’t have to go this far had she not been such a defiant child. Had she obeyed her mother and cared about her family, they never would have found their way to La Douleur Folle.

  This is strictly her fault. Not mine. I want that to be understood. I could find much better things to do with my time than to slaughter a small family.

  Which reminds me.

  “I’m not exactly sure what he used, because he wouldn’t tell me more than what the trick actually was,” I say as I pull a cylindrical tube out of the armoire, “but I’m pretty certain it’s something close to this.”

  I hold it up for her to see, but she doesn’t turn her head. I know this because the cord hasn’t swayed in the slightest.

  I sigh.

  “I’m going to do something special just for you, and I’d like you to watch me please,” I say to her in a soft, but stern tone. “Can you do that Verona?”

  “Mph.”

  I accept that as a yes and reach for the small butane lighter that sat next to the tube. A shiver quickly shoots through my body as I try to mentally prepare myself; to make sure that I don’t forget to put the gel on first.

  I crack my neck to the right, and a small pop meets my ears. I’m ready now. I go back to the desk and place my items down before I begin.

  I pull my shirt off and the cord swings gently. I can see it as I raise my eyes quickly toward her. I know that she’ll appreciate my body and more than likely, what I have planned to show her.

  I continue to undress, unbuckling my belt, undoing the zipper in my jeans, pushing them off, and stepping out of them.

  The cord swings again, and I swear to God I’m almost sure I can smell her now. She’s aroused at the sight of me in my almost nakedness, but I push that thought away. I won’t fuck a child; and even if I ever found it in myself to do it, it certainly wouldn’t be this one.

  “Are you watching?” I ask quietly, placing my thumbs on the inside of the waistband in my boxers.

  “Mph.”

  I pull them off and step out of them. I use my foot to kick my clothes away then reach for the tube of gel. I wonder if it’s cold, warm, what it will feel like, or if it will protect me. So I decide that instead of my entire body, I’ll just light a part of me on fire. It should be a grand spectacle, and if it goes wrong, I have other ways of fucking. It wouldn’t make me any less of a man.

  I’m becoming hard now. I can feel the blood causing me to rise in my own hand, the more I rub the gel on my shaft and over the head, making sure that everything is properly covered.

  It’s an embarrassment. That my own hands can cause me to become aroused doesn’t say much about me, but I chalk it up to the nerve endings and decide to ignore it.

  “I’m ready. Are you?” I ask, finally looking up and meeting her eyes. She’s watching me; her eyes wide, curious, and full of sinful intent. But as I reach for the torch, I know that in a matter of mere moments she’ll think much differently of me.

  Except I can’t get the smell of her out of my nose; it’s inhabiting my senses, playing with my demons, trying to make me do things I refuse to do.

  I know how to stop this.

  I turn the torch on.

  I lower it to my hard cock and I run the burning flame up and down, over and over, closer and closer, until I grit my teeth. Until I feel the pain I was craving so deeply.

  Until I can pull the torch away and stand there looking down, completely mesmerized as the fire burns down below, hoping against hope that I’ll be able to snap out of this trance before it’s too late.

  Chapter Nine

  I’m frantic.

  I expected a burn, a singe, the smell of flesh set alight, but nothing. Not even the pain I wanted to feel is present after I snuff the small fire out.

  What have I done to myself that I can’t feel pain anymore? The exquisite release; the one thing that made me identify with being an actual person seems to have vanished.

  If I can’t feel it anymore, then I’ll watch it.

  I quickly walk toward the door and pull it open. Walking toward the side railing, I lean over slightly searching for someone, anyone that would be a willing participant in what I now have in mind.

  Fuck.

  I put two fingers to my lips and let out a shrill whistle to get her attention. It’s the young woman with the pigtails; the only one visible on the lower floor whose attention I want.

  She jumps, obviously startled by the sudden sound, and looks up at me. The smile on her face is because she’s regarding my naked physique, but I couldn’t care less. I know she wants to fuck me; her eyes tell me as such each time I come in here. I also know that she’s so lost in the delusion that it could happen, that she’ll be willing to do whatever I ask her to.

  “Hi!” she calls up to me cheerfully. I assume it to be cheerful because if it was meant to be a seductive tone, it failed miserably.

  “Would you like to come into my room?” I ask, crossing my arms over the side railing.

  Her eyes widen at the prospect, and I’m sure there’s a pool forming on the chair she’s sitting in. I don’t care; whatever gets her into my room, regardless of the false promises she seems to think my being stark naked on the landing is providing.

  “Am I allowed to?” she asks, her eyes widening even further still. It makes me wonder about the structure of her skull; how deeply her sockets go that she can widen her eyes so greatly.

  “For tonight,”
I reply, a small smile starting to cross my lips. It’s somewhat genuine, in I know what will happen once I close the door behind her, yet somewhat forced in the essence of seduction. My words won’t be enough to sway her from her place at the desk, but if I smile, act like I really want her company, she will oblige me.

  And it works.

  I wait as she pushes her chair away from her desk. I lean against the railing and force myself not to roll my eyes as she starts bounding up the stairs like an eager child.

  I’ve had enough of children today.

  This is why I need her.

  “What’s your name?” I ask her as she reaches the top stair.

  “Honey,” she replies, her eyes half closing, her voice thick with another failed attempt at seducing me.

  “Your real name,” I reply evenly.

  “Laura,” she says as she flips one of her pigtails behind her shoulder. She walks onto the landing closer to me, and I try my damnedest not to cringe as she wraps her arms around my waist.

  “What can I do for you?” she asks, attempting to lean in closer to my face.

  I gently put my hands on her wrists and undo her grip. I fight with myself not to snap them and throw her over the railing. Instead, I force the smile back onto my face and I look down into her doe-shaped eyes.

  “I want to watch.”

  Chapter Ten

  As soon as I close the door firmly behind us, Laura realizes the error in allowing her lust for me to compromise her better judgment.

  But once someone enters my room, they don’t leave until my terms have been satisfied and fulfilled.

  “What ... what do you want me to do?” she asks, her eyes darting between the legs on the floor, the young girl hanging on the door of the armoire, and me.

  “I seem to have lost something, so I’d like you to help me get it back. Verona here will help us, won’t you?” I ask, glancing at her.

  Her eyes cut toward me quickly, then to the lifeless body of her mother, and a fresh stream of tears is her only answer.

  “Um, I’m not really into the bi thing,” Laura says to me as she attempts to inch backward toward the door.

  “Today you are,” I reply, gripping her by the arm firmly and walking her toward Verona. “I’m going to take this out of your mouth now. If you scream, I slit your throat, understood?”

  Verona whimpers, but nods in agreement. I have finally managed to rid myself of a head full of her screams, and I don’t care to hear them resume.

  I remove the emptying sac from her mouth and toss it to the side. I lean close enough to inspect her lips. There is a thin film that gently coats them, and I turn toward Laura beckoning her toward us.

  “In the bathroom there are hand towels. Run one under warm water then wash her face, please. She shouldn’t have to be used with a dirty face. It’s unbecoming.”

  Laura is starting to shake. I can feel it, sense it almost, as she walks slowly toward the bathroom. In a matter of moments, I hear the faucets turn on and off. She reappears, towel in hand, and gently wipes Verona’s lips clean.

  “I should probably go back down to the desk. Priscilla will be angry if she sees that I’m not there,” she says in a soft, shaky voice.

  “Priscilla knows that the only person you would leave for is me; as I also know. I’ve seen the way you look at me when I enter this place. I’ve felt your eyes bore into me as I walk up to my room. I know you want to please me, Laura. This is how you will do it,” I reply as I walk toward the pile of clothes on the carpet.

  “Well, what do I get for doing this? From you?” she asks, turning to face me.

  “Knowing that I’m satisfied with a well done job and a possible place in my room in the future,” I reply as I pull my shirt over my head.

  I know that for most people that wouldn’t mean much, but to this insipid girl with the starry eyes, it means the world.

  “Promise?” she asks quietly.

  “I guarantee it,” I reply with a smile. I hide the sinister intentions well within it, not wanting to scare her out of this moment. I reach down for my underwear and pull them on, followed quickly by my jeans.

  “Okay. What do you need me to do?” she asks.

  “In the armoire,” I say as I zip my jeans, “there’s a very special strap-on I had made a few years ago. I’ve only ever seen it used once, maybe twice, none of the times seem to stick because none of them were special enough to stay with me. Anyway, I’d like you to undress and then pull it on.”

  Laura looks at me wearily before she reaches past Verona, who seems to have joined in the symphony of trembling bodies, and begins to ruffle around. She’ll know it when she sees it; it’s quite a masterpiece, and while I had been saving it until I came across her again, I would most definitely enjoy seeing it used right now.

  “Oh my God,” she says in a shell-shocked tone. I cross my arms over my chest as a half-cocked smile dances across my lips. Her reaction makes it clearly obvious that she’s found what I want her to wear.

  “There’s no way I can fucking do this. Not if it’s what I think you want me to do,” she says, pulling it out and turning to face me.

  “Yes, you fucking will, because it is what I want. You want to satisfy me? You crave me, you want me inside of you, fucking you mercilessly until you scream in ecstasy, correct? Then take your fucking clothes off and put it on.”

  I walk purposefully toward both of the young women and undo the straps around Verona’s body. I pull her up and out of the harness and hold her closely as her body collapses against mine.

  It’s exhaustion.

  I’ve felt that before.

  “It’ll all be over soon, then you’ll get to be with your mother and brother,” I say softly to her as I lay her on the bed.

  I turn toward Laura who’s now securing the special piece into place. I let out a happy sigh and smile like a hopeless fool. In the dim light of the room, the artistry is hard to see, but it’s so fucking special. And when covered with blood, it’s downright majestic.

  Like her skull will be when in its rightful place.

  Laura walks toward me, wiping tears away from her face. She’s not built for this; she’s one of the people that comes here that likes to pretend they know pain; they know the joy of feeling it and inflicting it, but when faced with the prospect, show their true cowardice.

  I sit on the bed next to Verona as Laura stands at the edge.

  “Are you ready?” I ask her.

  She nods, though her tears tell me otherwise. I look down at the twelve inch, thick, serrated knife that stands in the place of where a false dick should be and wait for Laura to begin.

  Chapter Eleven

  “His name is Joseph.”

  I’ve already decided, but as I watch Laura begin to climb onto the bed, ready to give pleasure to my eyes, I stop her.

  Verona’s head is lying in my lap as I hold the sides of her face gently. I’d almost forgotten she was here. Had I not thought to name the boy, I would have missed the moment to ask her.

  “Do you think he would like that name?” I ask thoughtfully, glancing down into her eyes.

  The stains of old tears and regret stream down the sides of her face, gently rolling against my thumbs. New tears, fresh with silent pleads and thoughtless hope replace them.

  “He looked like a Joseph,” I say more to myself than her.

  Verona is sobbing so heavily that I know she can’t answer me. She probably doesn’t know what I’m talking about and to be quite honest, had I been in her position I wouldn’t have known either.

  But I’m not.

  “Don’t cry. I won’t let you feel it for very long,” I promise as I raise my eyes toward Laura and give her a nod. “Proceed.”

  My eyes drift down Verona’s trembling body as Laura grips her sides firmly. Both are looking at me; begging me to end this before it begins, but we’ve already come this far.

  “Do it,” I say to Laura in a stern tone.

  Verona’s sobs turn to wa
ils, then are promptly followed by screams as Laura starts to insert the devious device of sexual gratification inside of her. I close my eyes tightly and listen closely. You can always hear the first rip if you really want to; you just need to drown out the world around you and open your soul to the beautiful sound of tearing flesh.

  I smile and my head tilts to the right. There it is; it may not have been the first, it may not have been the second, but I’m still able to hear the skin as it tears, the rushing sound of warm blood, and the purely erotic thrusts that are now rapidly happening.

  I know what Laura is doing.

  She wants her to bleed out, she wants her to die quickly, and while I would prefer it to stretch out, I’m inclined to agree.

  I firmly put my hand over Verona’s mouth. Her screams are starting to jar my nerves, and I can feel another headache quickly coming on. She bares her teeth and attempts to bite me, which makes me look down at her and smile.

  She has more fight in her than I had anticipated.

  “Shh ...” I whisper as I place the palm of my other hand over her nose and press down firmly.

  Her body becomes frantic with fear. It’s losing oxygen and being shredded from the inside, and it doesn’t know how to protect itself. One hand is attacking mine, one hand is shoving viciously at Laura, but neither of us relent. I refuse to, and Laura—well, she’s been misled by false promises that I have no intention of following through on.

  It takes the body approximately three minutes to die when it’s cut off from one of its major life sustaining sources; in this instance, it’s air. The lungs, from what I understand, feel like they’re on fire and it’s a very intimate way to die.

  Verona has lost consciousness. I look down toward Laura. The blade is thick with blood and tissue, and now that there are no screams to contend with, I can hear the melodic tune of debridement.

  It’s a beautiful massacre, and I know that I won’t ever be able to forget this moment.