by Katy Rose
As Trent makes his way closer to me, I pull out my phone and pretend to be engrossed in it. Looking up, I call out, “Hey. Trent Lockwood? Is that you?” Making a show of stumbling off the trunk of the car, I head his way.
“Kaleb Volpe? Hey, man. What are you doing out here? Everything ok?” Trent sounds curious to see me, but not concerned. I don’t miss the tremor of excitement in his voice. He strolls forward, closer to me. Taking the beer, I offer. I watch as he opens the bottle with his key chain and chugs two-thirds of the bottle in one swallow. I watch as he finishes the bottle and throws it down the alley. Classy.
“Not much, man. I was supposed to meet Drake, but he stood me up, I guess.” I answer him. “What were you doing? Booty call?” Smirking I watch as he starts blinking rapidly.
“I …hasssead a studded group.” Trent slurs through his answer. I open my beer and watch as his body relaxes, and he leans on the trunk of the car. Smiling into my bottle, I finish another drink before putting it on top of the vehicle. Trent’s eyes are having a hard time staying open. Popping the trunk, I look down into the darkness.
“You feeling ok, Trent? Maybe you should lay down for a bit?” nodding and mumbling his agreement Trent gets in the trunk willingly, falling asleep before he is even all the way in. Too easy.
I stop by the sandwich shop near our brownstone and pick up Kora. “That was quick.” She says, looking at me with raised eyebrows.
“Yeah, I know. He chugged the beer within five minutes. He should be out for at least six hours. That's plenty of time to get to Oswego. We should have tied him up and gagged him before he wakes up.” I shoot her a grin hopping it isn't too eager, and pointing the car Northwest, we start our adventure. It isn't too long before Kora is softly snoring next to me.
The drive doesn't take too long. It feels nice being out of the city. It is a bit quiet, but there aren’t any neighbors close enough to hear his gagged screams. Pulling up to the cabin, there are no lights on and no signs of life. Good. No witnesses that could get awkward. I have no real excuse as to why I am pulling a drugged body out of the trunk. I get out and head inside, turning on one strategic lamp. Not enough light to show where we are, but enough to not trip over my own feet. Making my way through the attached garage, I raise the door.
My father is an avid hunter — Elk, deer, moose. Larger game has always been more of a thrill. With hunting comes cleaning. Knowing this, I flip on the light looking around for the meat tools. I find them on the far wall. He has them all lined up in perfect order. Grinning, I pull down the hook for the big game hoist. It can hold any animal that is eight hundred pounds or less. This should work nicely. Pulling Trent out of the trunk, he is dead weight due to the drugs, but lifting him should be easy. Grabbing the zip ties from the workbench, I zip tie his hands together in front of him. Making sure the ties dig into his skin a little.
Kora helps grab his feet as I take his arms. Thanks to the pulley system and the hook connected to it, lifting him isn’t as difficult as you would think. I hear his shoulder pop as I raise the hook enough that the toes of his sneakers are touching the ground, that will hurt when he wakes up. Grabbing the red ball gag, I may or may not have used before during different activities, I secure it in his mouth.
Kora has been putting pictures up on the wall he is facing. Grabbing a spotlight, I aim it at the center to illuminate the collage. All other lights are turned off. Shutting the garage door, I pull out two camping chairs behind Trent. I sit in one and look at my sister, who after grabbing her phone and sketch pad, sits down and begins doodling. Now we wait for the drugs to wear off.
At the first twitch from Trent, we are up and in motion. Grabbing the smelling salts, I wake him from his drug fog. I will never admit to Kora, but the sheer panic on his face as he comes crashing to reality is a strange rush. I enjoy the fact that he is scared enough to piss himself. I enjoy the fact that I made him feel that way. I don’t have time to over analyze my feeling, though; it is showtime. I watch his eyes widen from my dark place against the wall. I see the guilt and terror take over his face as he realizes someone knows what he has done. Good. He should be scared. I know all his dirty little secrets, and what I don’t know I am sure he will spill to try and save his disgusting ass. I look over at Kora who nods and puts her pad down. Time for answers.
“Well, well. Hello, Trent. Like my gallery? It isn’t worthy of being in the Lourve, but it stars you.” I speak barely above a whisper. I find that the low timber of my voice seems to disorient him. Good. “Tell me, Trent. How long did you think you could rape girls and get away with it?” his replies are muffled, making me chuckle. I forgot he had the gag in his mouth. Whoops. Walking closer to him, I tilt my head as if by doing so he will tell me the answer. His muffled response comes again. I can see the pure panic and fear in his eyes. Turning away from him, I gain my control.
Nodding, I walk over to the pictures and point to a few. “I like the way you captured the fact that not only is she barely eighteen, but drugged her. You can tell by the vacant eyes. You see, my sister had the same vacant expression when I walked in on Drake raping her. It shows what a disgusting scumbag you are. Very nice. Tell me, did you like the fact they were paralyzed and had no say? Or was it the fact that they couldn’t fight you and your tiny dick off?”
He makes a muffled, indignant sound. “Oh, I am sorry. Is that a touchy subject? Should I handle the feelings of a rapist with kid gloves?” coming behind him, I remove the gag and let it fall to the floor. I stand back and wait for his reaction.
“You son of a bitch. You drugged me! Where the fuck are we? What are you going to do? My family has money, a lot of money. I can pay you whatever you want.” When I make no move to answer him, Trent begins wiggling and screaming for help. A giggling sound has him shutting up. Looking over, I see Kora up and out of her seat. She makes her way across the garage to where we are.
“You are so adorable, to think anyone gives a fuck about your money, your whining, or your screams for help! Did you care about any of your victims? You are a disgusting pig. Do you even know what it feels like? To be completely helpless and at the mercy of someone else?” Pulling out a knife Kora slices up through the T-shirt he is wearing. And cutting his basketball shorts so they fall off him. “How about having your clothes forcibly removed and someone touching you without your permission.” Quicker than I anticipated, Kora grabs hold of his crotch and squeezes until her knuckles turn white. Trent’s screams of agony ricochet off the garage walls. That had to hurt.
“Shut up, you big baby. It doesn’t hurt that bad.” Letting go, Kora backs up a few steps, so the light hits her face. I can see the cruel smile that has taken her mouth. It seems inflicting embarrassment and pain has helped her a little. “Since you like games so much, we are going to play a game. I will ask you a question, and you will answer it. If you refuse or you lie, I will cut you. If you lie or refuse too many times, I will cut off an appendage that you don’t want me to? Ready?”
“No. Please. No, I don’t want to play.” Trent begins to cry a little. Realizing that Kora has this handled, I grab a soda from the fridge. Then taking my camp chair around to the front, I get settled and watch the show. Oh, what a show it is. Her rage comes pouring out the longer I watch her. It is magnificent. Like a princess that is allowed to have a sword, she wields the hunting knife like an old pro.
“Let's start with an easy question. How many girls have you raped in the past year?” Kora leans forward toward Trent’s face making eye contact. He blinks slowly and shakes his head, giving no other response to her question. Kora shakes her head slowly before taking the knife and slicing up his leg slowly. The pussy cries out. “Come on, Trent. I know there have been at least twelve. Now, let me ask again. How many young women have you raped?”
Through his tears, Trent whispers “seventeen.” Kora smirks a menacing smile as she paces back and forth. “Why were there only photos of fourteen on Drake’s phone?”
“We didn’t come up wi
th the idea to share pictures until Lucas said it would be fun. Like showing off trophies. A way to go back and relive the feeling at different times.” Trent says it low like maybe he is embarrassed by admitting to his depravity. Lucas Wilson is the biggest shithead in the entire campus. He thinks because his dad is a senator, he is untouchable. Grabbing Kora’s sketch pad, I write notes down and starting with the name Lucas Wilson and turning my attention back to the show; I watch the interrogation continue.
“Why was Lucas the head of your little club of perverts?” Kora asks.
Trent laughs solemnly and nods. “He brought us together. Told us there wasn’t anything wrong with us. He introduced us to Seth and Donovan.”
“Who is Seth, and who is Donovan?” Kora asks. When Trent doesn’t immediately answer, Kora draws back her arm and stabs him in the shoulder.
“FUCK. That fucking hurts. He should have raped you first!” Trent screams in her face.
“Tsk. Tsk. Trent. That is no way to talk to a lady. No wonder you had to rape them. You have no manners or charm.” I am up out of my seat and in his face in a matter of seconds. Taking hold of the knife handle I twist it hard, digging the blade in deeper.
Trent screams out again as I look down at my bloody hand. Wiping it on him, I sneer at him “Answer the fucking question. Now, maybe your death will be quick.”
“You. You are going to kill me?” Trent cries. “What if I told you Seth is the name of the professor that buys our pictures and sells them to a website? Donovan is the guy who gets us the Rohypnol.”
“Well, that changes things. Where can I find this Donovan?” I ask
“The dump. He works for waste management. Go there and tell him you need party favors. When he asks what kind tell him the irresistible juice. He will give you a vial of RHB that is enough for two girls.”
“How do we get a hold of Seth?” I ask.
“I have his number in my phone. You can have it. I swear I will stop. I swear. Please don’t kill me. I am so sorry. I really am.” The spineless shitbag keeps blubbering to Kora and me. I personally don’t care how much he whines and begs. He is not leaving this property alive. Looking to Kora, I tell her to pull up her banking information.
“What is your online banking info,” I demand from Trent. As he rattles off his password and login information, I tell him what we are doing. “We are taking two hundred and fifty thousand out of your account, and we are transferring it to our offshore account. Then we will set up automatic payments of $25,000 every month from now on until we say otherwise.”
“That’s extortion. You won’t get away with this Volpe!” He screams.
“Oh, such righteous indignation from a rapist. You won't do shit, and you know it. You are nothing but a pathetic follower. That's all you do; you are worse than that. You are a vulture. You don’t even put forth the effort. You have to drug girls to get laid. It is pathetic. Do you know what I think? Actually, I don’t give a fuck if you know. I am going to tell you. You are lucky that I figured your shit out and that I am going to let you go. You’re lucky I didn’t turn in the evidence I gathered to the police or sold it to the highest bidding tabloids. How would your daddy like to hear all about his rapist shitbag son?” when I finish my tirade I look over to where Kora is standing looking at hunting rifles. I wait until she chooses a Ruger, one with a scope.
“You are going to let me go? I am going straight to the police. I will tell them everything. You think you’re so untouchable, Volpe. You’re not.” He seethes at me.
“No, but I am smarter than you. Now. I will let you go. We will give you a few minutes head start before we hunt you down. If you make it to safety, we will allow you to live. Good luck.” With that, I hit the lever to release his hands. I hear his ankle crunch as he hits the floor. Standing back, I open the garage door and watch him run into the night.
“How long should we give him for a head start?” Kora asks as she adjusts her hunting rifle.
“That’s up to you. How good of a shot are you?” I tease her.
“Hm. Fine.” Spinning on her heel, she strides over to the deer stand at the end of the five-way. After she gets herself settled, she looks down at me. “How much?”
“100 back, 200 head,” I say as I get the night vision goggles. I stand in the middle of the road following Trent’s retreating form that is hobbling on a broken ankle. I hear the slide of the rifle’s chamber, and I ready myself.
Lining up my shot, I remember what Kaleb said about blood splatter. Well, that is easy. Lining up my shot, I slide the chamber back and steady myself. Aiming to the left, I shoot the ground right next to Trent. The shot scares him, and he runs to the right, sliding down the embankment into the creek that is there. Perfect. Water that rushes fast enough to keep the blood from pooling.
“What was that? You missed him!” Kaleb looks up at me with wide eyes.
Grinning, I line up my next shot and pull the trigger back. Round two goes through the back of Trent’s head. That will leave a mark. Climbing down from the deer stand, I smirk at Kaleb. “Did I? What was that about blood splatter? Messy, isn’t it? Now, come on, asshole we have a body to get rid of.” Putting the gun down, I walk toward the creek with swift, sure steps. Kaleb follows behind me. When we get to the body, Trent's head is right in the middle of the water.
“Ah. I see. Water washed the blood splatter away.” Kaleb nods to himself before using his shovel to dig a hole off to the side in a copse of trees. “Aren’t you going to help?” he asks after a few minutes. I walk over from the creek where I measured trajectories. Bending down, I grab the bullet off the ground from where I dug it out of the tree.
“I am helping. I am the lookout. Speaking of which,” lifting the bullet up, I show it to Kaleb before sticking it back into my pocket.
“Good. Ok, you stand there and look pretty. Try and warn me if anyone comes, and I will do all the work.” He sneers as he pulls Trent’s body closer to the hole. After he gets a decent way down, he throws the body in, but not before I get a clear view that half of Trent’s face is missing, gross.
“Yes sir, Villain.” I salute my brother and make my way over to the roadway. I don’t expect anyone to be too worried. It is the height of hunting season and around six in the morning. It wouldn’t seem off for the gunshots at this time. No lights or cars ever come as we make our way back the eight hundred yards to the cabin. As soon as we get back, I make my way to the upstairs shower. Kaleb stays in the garage cleaning off the shovel and hunting knives.
We meet back downstairs later that afternoon, after a nap. Gathering our things, we load back in the car and dive back into the city. The information we collected from Trent cycles through my mind. Seth and Donovan. I have never heard of these people before. Strange. I guess I will go through their social media or trace their messages when we get back into the city. I know we stashed Trent's phone in the alleyway so it couldn’t be traced up to the cabin. Once we are in the city, I walk down and pick up the black duffle bag from the alley storm drain. If anyone saw me, they would think I went and worked out at the YMCA down the street.
A quick internet search and I have Donovan's personal and work addresses. A phone number and his social media pages. Too easy. Seriously people, protect your pages. Now, Seth poses a slight issue. There happen to be four professors with the name Seth at NYU. Cross-referencing the cell phone number in Trent’s phone, I figure it has to be one of two. Both are mid to late fifties with a creepy predator feel to them. That is ok. They can be predators; they won’t ever see the wolves coming until we are ripping his face off. I pin both pictures to the wall next to the guys. Donovan looks like the easier of the two targets. He isn’t much older than us, and he sells RHB out of the junkyard. Classy.
“Kaleb! Are you ready?” I yell down the hall from the stairs. He comes out of his bedroom and jumps over the banister to land in front of me.
“Yeah, I am ready. How are we doing this?” He asks.
“We are going over to have a cha
t with our new friend. Possibly get some of that “irresistible juice” However, should things go off course I have a stun gun and pepper spray.” I answer him showing him my concealed weapons under my jacket.
“Good. I have some brass knuckles and a switchblade on me. Let’s hope he answers our questions without incident.” Looking at his Rolex, he whistles out a few bars of Sinatra's “New York, New York” as we make our way out to my Mercedes E 450. It is classy without being too flashy. Turning out into traffic, we make our way to Staten Island. The dump is actually called “Fresh Kills” I can’t help the smirk and giggle that comes out as we pass by the sign. Kaleb even chuckles a little.
The gate is closed, and the guard is gone when we pull up, no significant loss on that one. Hopping over the small barricade that blocks the cars, Kaleb calls out “Hello! Does anyone work here?”
A younger tall guy with overalls comes from behind some tires, “Yeah, what can I do for ya'll?”
Oh, great. A drug dealer with manners. How quaint is this? Your manners won’t save you from my wrath. Weed and Cocaine I can look past, hell I will even turn a blind eye to ecstasy and heroin, but RHB? That is low bro. Low. “Yeah, we are looking for some of that irresistible juice. Do you know where we can get some?” I ask with a smile.
“Yeah girl, I gotcha. I got a good supply so I can sell two tabs for ten bucks or I have fifteen milliliters for twenty. Comes in an eyedropper bottle.” He throws it out there like it isn’t a date rape drug he is selling. For ten bucks?! What the fuck? Studying him, I see the wear and tear of someone in the lower middle class. He most likely does this for the money, but come on.
Pulling out his wallet, Kaleb pulls out a hundred. “How many can I get for this?”
“Twenty men. Or around 75 milliliters. Do you want that much? I have it in the back.” Donovan walks us back to his car. While he and my brother talk and bullshit, I make sure the cameras are disabled. My black leather gloves make sure no fingerprints as I clip the wires. Setting the scene for later, I drop a duffle bag in the back of a white Pontiac. It holds what we will need later when it is dark out — an emergency kit for serial killers.