by Ian Woodhead
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Today was to be an exciting day as it marked the true proper beginning of Donnie's conditioning and I was determined not to allow my recent mental slips ruin was should be a momentous occasion. The sleep certainly helped. I must have been dead to the world for almost eleven hours.
I had awoken fully refreshed and alert with none of that weird drowsing influence bothering me. I even found myself whistling while cooking up a hot breakfast for us. We had eggs, bacon, sausages and beans. Even with such simple foods, I know how to make them taste like a king's banquet. Donnie had probably not tasted a hot breakfast so fine.
He should be grateful for my presence. Without me, the poor, half-starved boy would be making do with whatever that drunken father of his could give him. Something cold, greasy and unhygienic, I shouldn't wonder.
The little shit wasn't grateful. He wasn't grateful at all. This, obviously earned him a beating. Putting him over my knee and slapping his bare arse a dozen times wasn't how I wanted our relationship to go but kids need discipline. I didn't allow this to ruin our day together, oh no. I was far too used to the needs of my Franco to allow this to happen. I simply sat him back down on the floorboards in front of my armchair and we continued to watch me murder his parents.
We watched right up to the point where I created a mini volcano in his father's guts. He cringed again, which resulted in me squeezing his shoulders hard. I left the boy on the floor, picked up his plate of uneaten food and took it into the kitchen where I scraped it into a plastic container. The boy will have this for his lunch. I do not waste food.
In retrospect, I might have been a little too harsh with the boy. Was I expecting a miracle on the first day? Perhaps I was. Perhaps I expected providence to provide me with an associate already on the path to enlightenment, a boy who required little training, a boy who did not have too much evil inside his soul.
I should have known that it wouldn't be so easy. The boy had not moved from in front of the armchair. I leant back and peered into the living room. His stiff posture and his unblinking eyes suggested that he'd gone into shock. This was a very good sign, and I really shouldn't be so disappointed. It took the other Francos weeks to reach this stage, so the change from photographs to video was definitely the way ahead.
Once the food was ready, I carried it into the living room, picked up the boy, tucked his still body under my arm and took him over to his future place. The area where all the Francos used to stay. It seemed a little strange planting him in the area without the photographs above his head. This is something I would just have to live with. After all, this was the new way.
I put the container in front of him, before kneeling down and fastening his ankles to the manacles. The poor mite was really shaking so I ruffled his hair to show that I was no longer mad at him. Looking back, I guess I should have fed the pair of us before we binge watched the double bill. I thought he wasn't doing so bad, which is why I left him when my cinema namesake left the woman's house. I'm calling this 'the missing period' for want of a better name.
My armchair beckoned me but I resisted. The day had only just started and if I sat down, I probably would not get up again. I blinked rapidly, not too sure where that thought came from, considering just how energetic I felt this morning. I put it down to a residual trace of weirdness stemming from yesterday and promptly cast it aside. There would be no more armchair sitting for me until later tonight.
Judging from the boy's frantic scratching, those manacles around his ankles must be itching something terrible. I wanted to reassure him, to tell the boy not to be too concerned as all the others suffered this too. It took them all a good month to get used to the metal. Obviously, me pandering to this little shit was not going to happen. For one, to become Franco, he so needed to toughen up. I was helping him harden up on the inside, the rest he would have to do. The second point was obvious.
I did not want him to think that there had been others before him.
He would have to endure the discomfort. I smiled, what he needed was something else to occupy his mind!
I opened my mouth, about to tell him that he'd soon be able to watch a triple bill but nothing came out. I turned my head towards the television. While in my mind, I went over my plan to grab the boy's uncle, to wipe that vacant smirk off his face by cutting it off, I saw Donnie, weeping, rocking and shivering whilst I was gone. Alone in this silent house with nothing but the remains of his breakfast for company. I couldn't take him with me, that was obvious.
“Would you like me to put some cartoons on, Donnie?”
He didn't respond but that was okay. This was expected. Cartoons would be better than silence. This way, Donnie could, at least, calm down a little before I brought back the next video. I'll admit, I couldn't fucking wait to get Bennie. Oh yeah, I was going to cut his face alright, right before I peeled the flesh away from his skull. It has been such a long time since I had performed such a procedure. Before that happened, I wanted to sever his toes and fingers, maybe even fuck him as well.
I slipped the bag off the back of the chair and opened it to ensure I had everything I needed. As expected, the inventory was complete. I am prepared for anything.
This is certainly a talent of me which I do not keep hidden.
One more item needed to go into the bag. I couldn't exactly torture Bennie without filming it. I walked over to the television, gave my armchair a dirty look before I dropped to my knees in front of the screen. My hands reached for the video player then I paused. I looked around at Donnie who had stopped trying to scratch off all his skin and was now poking his finger into the cold congealed goop in the container.
Just how exactly is allowing that spoiled brat to watch a few cartoons while I was hard at work going to help toughen him up? Without the pictures to remind him, he could quite easily end up regressing. The blood drained from my face. I had not considered this eventuality when I changed over to video.
He had no permanent reminder. I had fucked up. I could not believe that this was happening to me. I had well and truly messed up everything. This was a fucking nightmare! No wonder my past self was haunting me in my dreams!
I find myself walking towards the boy. I do not know how the hammer appeared in my left hand but I was aware that I would not be able to put it back into the bag without it tasting blood. The boy's fingers were coated in bean juice. I stood over him, knowing full well that Donnie was doing this on purpose. I shrank away from my form but his theatrics did not fool me. I knew that the little shit was just putting it on.
“This is all your fault,” I growled. The hammer appeared to take on a life of its own. It obviously smelled the anticipation.
It wasn't the only one either. My blood was up. Thinking about what I planned to do to Bennie had put my hormones into overdrive. He might be acting but Donnie's performance would have won Oscars. He really did look like the helpless, shaking, naked little boy that he was pretending to be. “You have such pretty eyes,” I whispered.
I pulled him up, and spun his body around. My hardness ached to be let loose. The urge to fuck the boy drove me to the point of borderline insanity. Donnie moaned out a plea. Somewhere in that mumbled sentence, I think I heard him asking me not to do this.
The hammer was the one which helped to calm down the hormones. It was the one who explained that If I did go through with the rape, he'd be no good to me anymore. He would never become the Franco.
I grabbed the boy's wrist and slammed it against the wall. He howled in agony, which is exactly what I needed him to do as it made him open up his fist. I pushed his wrist onto the floorboards, ensuring his bean finger was flat against the wood. He whimpered and begged but I wasn't going to listen to any of that nonsense. All I heard was my hammer, urging me to get this done and I could not deny the tool any longer.
The hammer slammed into the boy's fingertip and judging from the fleshy red mess that splattered out, one little boy would not be stirring his breakfast with that digit
ever again. The hammer fell silent and so did the boy. Donnie had fainted.
"No cartoons for you, boy," I muttered. Not that I was going to allow him to watch them anyway. Thanks to the intervention of my hammer, my thoughts had returned to normal. It felt good to be in control again as my clear thinking gave me one hell of an idea.
I left the boy, clean my hammer and popped it back into the bag before I returned to the television. After a few seconds of fiddling about, I found the loop function on the video player. Who needs pictures when you have video?
Donnie had started to come around, which was good. The boy was proving to be such a hardy little boy. I got the video ready and stood up. 'Donnie, I have put the video on loop, so you will have the pleasure of watching me murder your parents over and over." I chuckled. "I don't think you will have to watch through it more than twice before I return."
I'm not sure whether he heard my words as his destroyed finger seemed to occupy every scrap of attention. Not that this mattered, he would find out soon enough. "I'll be returning with your uncle Bennie. He'll be alive and well. At least for the beginning. You see, as you so enjoy acting, I thought you might enjoy a live show."
I grabbed my bag, pressed play and turned up the volume before leaving the boy to moan, cry and whimper.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I drove through the town, heading towards Bennie's residence in a state of pure calm. Even when a blonde woman ran out in front of the car, causing me to slam on the brakes, my mind was as still as a tranquil pond. I could have quite easily got out of the car and bashed her head against the lamppost next to her, before dragging her unconscious body around the back and stuffing her in the boot. There was nobody around and I knew now that providence was looking out for me so nobody would have witnessed the incident.
She glared at me to suggest that her not looking where she was going was somehow my fault before hurrying to the other side of the road. I just sent her a genial smile before continuing on my journey.
If the hammer had still been talking to me then the outcome could have been so much different. Messier, certainly. I waited until the woman was out of sight before continuing. Even with such an ugly personality, she wasn't that bad looking and taking her back to my house to perform in front of Donnie did have appeal.
I will admit. Killing women satisfies me more than killing men. I think that is the fault of my mother. She is the sole reason why I have turned out the way I did. I almost slowed down again. Where did that thought come from? I managed to open the bag, on the passenger, just to make sure that the hammer was still silent. I wouldn't put it past it to find a way to implant alien thoughts into my mind. I would have to keep a close watch on that particular tool.
The rest of the journey passed without any further incident, apart from just one moment just before I turned into the street where Bennie lived. That dread Drowsing Influence almost managed to slip its claws into me by asking how was it even possible that some lifeless household tool could suddenly acquire sentience. Admittedly, this did cause me a moment of uncertainty. Either, I was showing the first sign of insanity by believing I could hear voices or that providence had found a channel in which to communicate to me directly. I was not going mad, that much I did know. Only people with weak minds did that, and I certainly was not weak.
I parked a few doors from Bennie's house and casually walked down the street, even smiling at a passing old woman. The woman smiled back, she showed no indication that a higher life-form, a hunter and killer of her wretched kind had just passed her. Just like the woman who had almost hit my car, she had no idea just how close she had come to ending up in the boot of my car.
I whistled a theme from a cartoon while I walked up Bennie's driveway. I blended in perfectly. I knew that, even if I dragged his struggling form out of his house and forced the fucker into the back of my car, witnesses would be reluctant to say with any certainty that the incident happened.
The door was locked. This one was a little more safety conscious than Donnie's father. Not that it made much difference. The lock wasn't too difficult to pick. There aren't many locks that I cannot open. This is one of my hidden talents.
The only life I found in that bloody house were two orchids in the bedroom and a cup of green mould left on the window sill in his spare bedroom. Of him, there was absolutely no trace. I stood in the middle of the bastard's living room, glaring at a picture above his fireplace or who, I guessed to be his parents and I...
---
...I am not sure how long I was out. Minutes, I hope. Bennie's living room focused into view, only this was not the same place as I remembered. It looked as though the insides had suffered through a hurricane and nothing had weathered well. Had I done all this?
My roving gaze shifted away from the splintered and broken chairs, the smashed television, and the destroyed welsh dresser. I looked at where that picture of his parents should have been above the fireplace.
Deep scores in the plaster and shredded wallpaper were the only things there now. I heard police sirens in the distance and I knew that they were coming here. My rational Zen mind had pushed away what had remained of that Drowsing Influence and regained control. I knew I had to get out of here before their arrival but I could not do this until I had found that fucking picture. Why this was critical, I do not know, as it obviously made no sense but, nevertheless, my legs would not move towards the front door no matter how hard I tried.
I stepped over smashed plates, ripped up envelopes and bits of wallpaper. What the fuck had possessed me to devolve into some hormonal, possibly deranged maniac? It made no sense. I picked up a paperback and flipped through the pages. Every sheet in that book was ripped. The sirens were getting louder and I felt the first signs of panic taking up lodgings in my gut.
How could I find anything in this devastation? I found my legs weakening and I dropped to the floor. At first, it felt like that Drowsing Influence had won, that the police would burst through that door at any minute and find me lying in among all this ruin.
I should have known better than to believe that It had returned. Zen was in full control. Now that my nose was closer to the ground, I could smell something which was very familiar. I carefully pushed back a pile of white, fluffed up cushion stuffing and saw myself staring at the corner of the picture frame. My nose cautioned me to be careful and I heeded its warning. With the skill of a surgeon, I peeled back a section of sofa fabric and there it was.
His picture of his beloved parents smiled back at me, at least they would if I could see through that curl of fresh human shit, laid smack on their faces. All motive power returned and I picked up the picture, held it level and ran up the stairs. I glanced out of the landing window as I rushed past. Two patrol cars were now heading up the street.
Would one of them go around the back to cut off my escape, or did that only happen in cop shows? I reached the bathroom and dropped the faecal matter into the toilet. It all came off in one solid lump, I gave the glass a wipe before rushing out of the room. They were in the house. I heard two voices. They would check every room, I had no doubt.
I placed the picture on the man's dresser before walking over to the window. I could quite easily escape from here. There was soft grass to cushion my fall and I saw nobody outside. Both police officers had entered through the front door. I did not follow through with this plan as I refused to run and cower like a coward.
They were already heading up the stairs and this would be the first room they checked, that much I knew. I could not escape now even if I wanted to, and yet this did not trouble me for providence, although was now my constant companion, she could not govern my every action. I was in control, not her. After all, it was she who put me into this mess in the first place. If she hadn't been so weak to allow that fucking Drowsing Influence to take temporary control then I would now be back home, already showing Bennie a bad time. I might have even got away if she hadn't made me look for that stupid picture.
“I might
have got away if it hadn't been for that pesky picture,” I whispered.
“Did you hear something, Jeff?”
The floorboards outside this room creaked. Two of them meant they'd each check a room. That suited me. I opened the window as wide as it would go then tapped my fingers on top of his parent's picture from the dresser, took up position behind the door and waited for the inevitable.
I did not have long to wait before the door swung inwards. Just as I knew, the policeman, whose name was not Jeff, headed straight for the window.
With his attention and thoughts directed at what I might have done in some parallel universe, he was not aware that this room had an additional occupant until his entire world exploded. I slammed my boot up between his nicely spread legs then followed this by smashing g his face into the wall. I heard the satisfying crunch of bone but this wasn't enough. I needed this one out of the way before the other one could call for help. I grabbed his hair pulled him back then savagely chopped his throat. Bubbles of blood spurred from the sides of his mouth, the sight of which certainly helped me to start to put my mind pieces back into place.
"There's nothing in here," shouted his companion. "What about you?"
Oh, bless. He was even trying to reply. The policeman's mouth opened and shut like a beached fish. It was very funny to watch.
I couldn't imagine what must be going through his mind right now. Well, actually, I could.
Run, Jeff. Run for your life. There's a maniac in here who kill you. Call for back - up. Oh God. I don't want to die. Shit, Jeff. Run. Run now. He's just taken my baton.
I thanked the dying copper for his imaginary commentary before taking his baton and taking up position behind the door again. If this carried on, I'd have to start decorating behind this door to make the place more intimate. I gripped the baton and listened to the other policeman's shallow breathing. He was on the other side of this door, probably staring at his companion while wondering what was going on. This one wasn't as impulsive.