Randy and Walter: Killers

by Tristan Slaughter

  He walked over to the brunette, smiling like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. She was frozen in terror, her eyes darting from him to her dead friend; she couldn’t scream, her voice was paralyzed.

  He grabbed her by the head with one hand and his cock with the other. He wiped the mess off in her hair as he prepared to have some fun with her.

  But before he could begin, a noise caught his attention from behind. He knew what it was immediately and he slowly turned, dreading what he’d find.

  The clapping continued

  Upon turning around, he saw his brother, Walter, standing at the edge of the basement stairs, clapping.

  “Bravo. Bravo,” Walter said as he applauded his brother.

  157

  RANDY AND WALTER: KILLERS

  Chapter 9

  “Why are you wearing a suit?” Randy asked his brother after he’d gotten dressed and they had walked upstairs and into the kitchen. “It makes you look like a cop.”

  Randy had backhanded the brunette girl and knocked her unconscious, forgetting about her for the moment.

  The first thing Randy noticed was that Walter was no longer wearing an all leather suit with a trench coat and boots. He still had his beard and shaved head, but he was now wearing a blue suit. A policeman’s uniform, if Randy was correct.

  “Yes, I know. I like the way it feels,” Walter said, admiring his sleeve. “I had to kill a cop to get it.”

  Walter looked at his brother, who was sitting at the kitchen table as he poured himself a beer.

  Randy lit a cigarette and said, “Seriously. Why?”

  Walter smiled at his brother and replied, “Well, no reason to hold the truth back from you anymore. I am a cop.”

  Randy dropped his cigarette. “What do you mean, you’re a cop?”

  “Exactly what I just said, Randy ole’ boy. I’m a cop.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “I’ve always been a cop. Ever since I turned twenty. Dad made me go to basic training in the police academy. He said he’d failed with you and I was his last shot.”

  “What do you mean by failed?” Randy asked as he lowered his head.

  “He said he knew he’d failed the day you were born. That was why he left. Give me one,” Walter gestured to the cigarette in Randy’s hand. Randy handed Walter a cigarette and he proceeded to light it as he continued. “He said that you looked nothing like him. He doesn’t even think you’re his real son.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, that’s what he thought,” Walter said and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Ugh, these are terrible; you smoke these all the time?”

  Randy shrugged. “I like them, don’t smoke it if you don’t want to. Now, what do you mean by Dad thought I wasn’t his?”

  “That’s right, that’s what he thought. Well, that is he did up till I killed him and his bitch of a wife.”

  “You killed Dad? Why”

  “Because, Randy, you are his son. His blood runs through your veins. And so does mine, and I don’t like being related to someone who likes to choke nine-year-old girls to death with their penis.”

  Randy jabbed a finger at Walter. “Fuck you, you two-faced son of a bitch! You don’t tell me how to run my life! And what about you? You destroyed an entire town for God’s sake!”

  “A town? That place was barely a fucking village. It had less people in it than a goddamn Whitesnake concert. Besides that, those fuckers were all bad people.”

  “Do you even know what that bitch of a mother did to me?” Randy asked him.

  “Of course I do. I arrested her one time on a DUI and she told me all about it as she was so drunk she couldn’t count to two. I let her go even though I could have had her sent to prison.”

  “You what?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s funny. You’re a motherfucker, Randy. A real bad motherfucker.”

  “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Randy growled as his hands curled into fists.

  Walter started laughing at him and said with a smile, “Go ‘head, dumb ass. But who do you think has been protecting your ass all this time? Who do you think removed all the evidence from all of your crimes? It was me!”

  “Bullshit. There was no evidence,” Randy snapped back.

  “Are you kidding me? Are you really that dense? Every woman you’ve ever raped you came inside her. You left finger prints all over everything. You left tire tracks. You’ve been recorded. You were seen chasing the girl that disappeared. Sometimes I’ve been forced to lay the blame on someone else to cover your shit. You’re a sloppy, idiotic killer, Randy.”

  “But I always burn the evidence.”

  “Randy, fire doesn’t wash away everything. The body at the pound? The dogs didn’t eat it all. I took it and got rid of it.”

  “Why? Why protect me if you hate me so much.”

  “Ah, but it’s because I hate you. Because you are the only one I do hate. I can kill anybody at all. I have no feeling towards anyone, no remorse. But you? I fucking hate your guts. You sicken me. Besides, we have a game to play.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? This is a joke? I can’t play this game anymore,” Randy said, shaking his head in denial. He’d thought he was so smart and it was all a lie.

  “And why not? Why can’t you?” Walter asked as he cocked his head to the side. “From what I’ve been seeing, you’ve lost that little part of yourself that hates killing. You’ve been merrily killing any little girls you come across.”

  “I’m not playing your sick game. Fuck you, cop.” The last word came out like a curse.

  Walter grinned. “Oh, you’ll play. Or I’ll win.” His grin widened. “And you don’t want me to win, asshole.”

  “Good, you win. I don’t really give a fuck anymore. Go fuck off and win, asshole.”

  “Are you sure about this? I’m telling you the truth here; you really don’t want me to win.”

  Randy smiled and drank some of his beer while snubbing out his cigarette.

  “Yes. Just leave me alone.” He lit another cigarette.

  “Really dumb choice of words there, bro,” Walter sighed. “Remember the terms? If I win, I get to fuck with you all I like. I stay in your life. I’ll even ruin your life.”

  “And if I win you get to fuck off. I remember the terms very well. But I don’t give a shit. My life is already ruined you can’t fuck it up anymore,” Randy’s face was red he was so mad.

  “Is that so?” Walter asked with a cooler smile, as if he knew something Randy didn’t. “I don’t think so. Your life seems to be just fine. You’ve got money for the rest of your life and a house you own free and clear. You’re always able to get away with it scot-free. You kill casually; you do what you want when you want. Yet still, you bitch? You say your life is ruined? I don’t think so. You’ve ruined lives, but your life is fine.”

  Randy looked Walter straight in the face and their eyes met.

  “Once again, Walter. Fuck you.”

  Like a coiled viper, Randy jumped across the table and grabbed Walter by the sleeves of his suit. He picked him up, knocking his chair over and slammed him into the wall. Once, then twice. They were face to face now, scouring at each other.

  With one hand, Walter grabbed his brother by the wrist and flipped him over onto the floor. With a heavy thud, Randy slammed onto the floor and Walter began to kick him in the stomach. With both hands, Randy grabbed his brother’s left leg as it came in for another kick. He caught him off balance and Walter dropped to the floor.

  Walter struck the edge of the table on his way down and the table flipped upwards just as Walter smacked the floor.

  Randy rolled on top of his brother and sat up. He balled his right hand into a fist and began to punch Walter repeatedly in the face. He broke his nose and blood began to flow. But Walter only laughed manically.

  Walter swung his right fist at Randy’s face, followed by another punch in the gut. Randy stumbled backwards to his feet with the air knocked out of his chest. Walter q
uickly stood and ran at Randy.

  Walter began punching Randy in the stomach and kidneys again and again and then brought his knee up into his brother’s groin. Then he brought his other knee into Randy’s stomach. Randy went down to his knees and Walter grabbed him by the ears. Walter’s knee caught Randy underneath the chin, which sent him flying back into his bedroom. Blood flew upwards and slapped with a wet-sounding noise on the floorboards. Walter walked over to Randy who was rolling over, spitting blood in large globs. He reached out to grab him but Randy got the upper hand this time.

  Randy had grabbed a baseball bat leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom and turned around, bringing the aluminum bat up and whacking Walter’s head as hard as he could. The bat dented in on itself as Walter fell to the side, crashing into the nearby hall mirror. Randy stood up and raised the bat over his head. He brought it down onto Walter’s back, savoring the feeling of metal on flesh.

  But when he went to take another swing, Walter’s hand flew out and grabbed the bat. He looked up at Randy and smiled. With blood running between his teeth and down his chin, he began to laugh again. He pulled the bat out of Randy’s hand and threw it behind him.

  Walter motioned with his hand. “Come and get me, fucker. Come on.”

  Randy ran at Walter again but Walter was ready for him. He grabbed Randy by the arm and flipped him over his back. Randy slammed onto the floor again.

  “Are you gonna play the game! Are you gonna play the game! Are you?” Walter yelled at Randy.

  In return, Randy looked up at Walter and smiled. “No. Kill me.”

  Walter’s smile faded and a deep frown erupted. “I will then!” he yelled.

  As he went to step on Randy’s head, Randy rolled away and reached up and managed to grab Walter by his balls. With a throaty yell, he picked Walter up, and with every ounce of strength he had left, he threw Walter out the bedroom window.

  Walter crashed through the glass and smacked the ground below with a sickening thud. Randy walked over to the broken window, his feet crunching on a few shards of glass that hadn’t gone out the window with his brother’s body.

  His mouth fell open when he saw Walter standing up on wavering legs. His right arm looked broken, Walter cradling it. But Walter used his good hand and pointed a single finger accusingly at Randy. “You’ll pay for this, Randy. You’re going to wish you had played with me, fucker!”

  Walter turned and took off running towards the shadows of the street in his tattered police uniform. The man’s movements were slow, however, showing he wasn’t unscathed from his fall.

  Randy closed the blinds over the broken window.

  He fell back onto his bed and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and though he was frightened and full of adrenaline, he slowly came down, and as the sluggishness took hold, he fell into a deep sleep.

  On this night he dreamed of the little red-haired girl. He hadn’t dreamed of that little girl in years but she came to him this night.

  She was still laughing at him. Only this time, she wore a tattered police uniform. Her face was covered in blood and her open palms held handfuls of maggots that crawled around and dropped to the ground between her fingers.

  Then she started to eat each maggot one by one.

  She stopped and laughed again, and between each laugh, said, “You’re going to die tomorrow.”

  157

  RANDY AND WALTER: KILLERS

  Chapter 10

  Randy woke up a few hours later to see it was still dark outside. A sharp icy wind was what had awakened him. It blew in through the broken window and found its way to his skin.

  The curtains were blowing wildly away from the window, and the wan moonlight spilling in through the flowing curtains reflected off the shards of glass scattered around the room. He sat up and wiped his eyes. The fear of his brother’s return had passed and in its wake was only anger.

  It was then he remembered the little brunette girl still chained up in his basement. She was the perfect source for him to take out all this anger on. He stood up and turned the bedroom light off. As he moved towards the basement door, he saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye from one of the windows facing the front of the house.

  Someone was on his porch.

  He grabbed a butcher’s knife from the kitchen and ran towards the front door, but when he opened it he found...nothing. Nothing at all. Just darkness and a few trees blowing in the wind. Whoever had been there had left.

  That, or there had never been anyone outside and his mind was playing tricks on him. He felt as though he was losing his mind. Then again, he may have already lost his mind. He closed the door and locked it. As he walked back towards the basement door, he noticed the clock in the kitchen.

  It was three in the morning.

  Some say that three is the most dangerous time. The devil’s time. He remembered hearing a story one time about 3 a.m.

  The story was about a man and his family. The unnamed man had been known around his neighborhood as a kind and gentle soul. He’d never so much as raised his voice at anyone. He had the same wife for fifteen years and three children. Two girls and a boy. Then one night, for some unexplainable reason, he’d grabbed a shotgun from the closet. He took the shotgun into the bedroom where his wife laid asleep. He pumped the weapon and shot his wife in the head, execution style. Then the man went to the children’s rooms. The three children shared a room together. He went into the room and proceeded to shoot all three in the head. After the first child was shot the other two had woken up, the blast startling them. They had tried to run but the man had taken each one down, shooting them in the back and then one more in the head to make sure they were truly dead.

  He tried to kill himself afterwards but to no avail as he ran out of shells. So he sat in the living room and waited for the police who were bound to come. They did, a neighbor, who had been his friend, had called the police and reported the shots. They arrested the man on the spot. He claimed he didn’t remember doing the shootings. He just remembered sitting in the living room holding the shotgun. The strangest thing about the shootings was the fact that all the deaths had taken place at exactly three in the morning. Stranger still was the fact that three days later he was found dead in jail. He hadn’t killed himself, but had just died. His heart gave out on him. The time he died was exactly 3 a.m.

  It’s been said that most deaths over the world occur at three. This is an unexplainable occurrence. But it does happen.

  Randy thought of this and smiled. True it was three a.m., but it would be not be the time of death for the little girl in the basement. She would die later, he would ensure it. He wanted her to scream and cry, to feel the pain he inflicted. He wanted to enjoy himself with her.

  His nose was still bleeding and he wiped the blood away with his arm and went into the basement.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was surprised to see she wasn’t where she should be, that she had escaped her chains. She was currently trying to open the west side window in the basement to escape. She hadn’t noticed his arrival yet but she did when he reached her.

  When he had grabbed her by a lock of her hair and yanked her back, she knew her escape was over. Randy turned her around and dangled her in front of his face, eye to eye. He stuck out his tongue and licked her cheek, leaving a wet trail behind.

  She whimpered.

  He dropped her to the ground and she cowered before him, then tried to back away on her haunches. He just watched her in amusement. She glanced towards the stairs leading to the kitchen, at the only exit; her only means of survival was above those stairs.

  Randy had left the door open.

  With a wave of his arm Randy motioned towards the opened door at the top of the stairs, smiling as he did so. She looked at him in puzzlement and he nodded his head in approval. Without another second of hesitation, she stood and dashed towards the exit. Taking steps two at a time, she reached the open doorway within a few seconds.

  She never noti
ced him behind her, never realized she had been tricked. She never left the basement. He had been ready, was faster. When she reached the doorway at the top of the stairs, he was right behind her.

  He had grabbed her by her hair again and pulled her up once again, like a dog reaching the end of its chain. She kicked, punched, yelled and screamed but none of it mattered. All her fighting was in vain. There was no escape for the little girl.

  She could only wonder why this was happening to her, why her friend had died and now it was her turn. The only question was why would anyone want to do such harm to an eight year old girl?

  She cried out for her mother, tears flowing down her eyes, as she was dragged back down into the darkness of the basement. Randy had turned the industrial light off so neither of them could see. But they could hear each other.

  Desperate, she decided to try something else.

  “Please, mister,” she whimpered between tears, “just make it quick. I don’t want to go back to my dad. He’s really cruel.”

  The next thing she said she yelled it out as if it had been on her tongue for ages.

  “He...my dad BEATS ME! PLEASE! My dad FUCKS ME!”

  She had broken down now, completely lost control. Randy let her go but she made no attempt to escape. Instead, she curled up on the floor in a tight ball. She was shaking and crying uncontrollably. Randy was shocked and amused all at once.

  He wouldn’t be vexed by this and she knew it. He knew that she had just wanted to tell someone, to let someone know the truth. His amusement passed away and he sat cross legged on the floor next to the girl. There was almost no light, but their faces were dim shadows as he looked at her.

  He wanted someone to share, too, he wanted someone to know what had happened to him.

  “When I was a kid, my mom and me were lovers. It wasn’t the first thing I really remember though.” He sighed and put his hand on the girl’s quivering shoulder. “My preacher, he used to take me into the backroom of the church; into his office. He would make me…do things to him. Always with my mouth. Then he started to do the things to my...backside.” He realized he was crying now as the painful memories flooded back to him. He continued. “Then my mom left me alone. She left me with him. Since then, I just don’t know what I’ve been doing.”