What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed

by D. M. Thornton

  I grip the side of the mouth opener, jerking it to the side, cracking one of his teeth as I do. It’s hard to see in his mouth since he’s beginning to choke on his own blood, but a little blood doesn’t stop me from reaching in his mouth and pinching the slippery muscle. With my other hand, I bring the tearer back up to his mouth, and with a single snip, cut his tongue clear off.

  I shiver and let out a euphoric sigh. I’m holding in my palm his severed tongue, rolling it around my hand like it’s a stress-ball. It’s an indescribable feeling, but it comes close to having a core-piercing orgasm. But what pushes me over is Caleb’s blood. I smear the blood that has splattered my chest, coating my skin until I’m painted red. There’s something liberating about being sprayed with blood. I can’t quite put it into words, but when I’m splattered with the warm, sticky substance, it’s as if the demon that’s in me is set free. And I’m not sure why, but every time I get the pleasure of experiencing such gratifying release—add on the violent wailing from my victims—I’m as happy as a fucking lamb. Honestly, the sound that a set of vocal chords can produce is mind-boggling. It’s nothing you have ever heard before. It’s like a cross between a siren and a slaughtered pig. It’s like sweet, sweet music to my ears.

  Fucking beautiful.

  Chapter 6

  Gray

  Well shit, that was anti-climactic. Talk about wham-bam-thank-ya-ma’am—boom—and it’s over. I really hate it when it goes that fast. I mean really, the hunt loses a bit of fizz when the kill isn’t dragged out and dramatized.

  Shit.

  I just hope the asshole hasn’t passed out. It’s not as fun when they’re unconscious. I hit play on my Pandora. Moonlight Sonata fills the room with a calm but haunting mood as my door flies open, revealing a blood-covered Andi who’s grinning like a fool.

  “He’s still awake,” she mumbles, her eyes sparkling with pure bliss.

  Andi steps aside, allowing Jaz through the door. She’s pushing Andi’s table to the center of my room then storms off. Caleb’s pale and covered in blood, and visibly shaking. I saunter up to the side of the table and glare down at our boy toy. His eyes, that are already bulging, protrude further when he connects my face with his memory of me at the grocery store. I think it’s safe to say he’s petrified. He should be.

  “Well hello, Mr. Foster. Are you having fun?”

  He begins to sob and thrash against the table.

  “Cat catch your tongue?” I say with a smirk. I turn my focus to Andi, who’s hovering, her hands twisting together in an anxious twitch. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “He said them both,” she answers, her brows waggling and her eyes beaming.

  Her body is swaying, so I grab her shoulder and squeeze. “For the love of God, stop rocking like that.”

  “Sorry, but fuck, he said them both,” she says, trying to keep her voice composed, but she’s borderline delusional with silliness.

  I roll my eyes and puff out a loud breath. “Go get your spoon.” I grunt.

  One corner of her mouth curls up, and she digs her hand into her back pocket, pulling out her lucky spoon.

  Caleb’s eyes are darting between us, frantic and wild. I’d be lying if I say that I feel sorry for this asshole, ‘cause I don’t. Not. At. All. The way I see it, I’m doing the general population a service by removing him from this sacred planet. One less idiot who will force his dick into an unwilling participant’s vagina. One less fucktard who will pummel a defenseless woman when she doesn’t agree to suck his cock. Yep, I’m doing ya’ll a fucking favor by killing this motherfucker.

  I remove the scalpel from the metal tray and hold it up for Caleb to see. His chest is heaving, and blood is spurting from his gaped mouth. “For the love of Pete, would you look at all that blood in your mouth? You might choke on it before I get to slice-n-dice. That wouldn’t be good, now would it?”

  I snatch the turkey baster that’s sitting on my tray with my other hand and begin sucking the blood from Caleb’s mouth. He gags a few times, especially when I shove the tip of the baster far down into his throat. What? So I’m tickling his uvula, so sue me. I very well could be ramming the thing clear down to his lungs. I continue to remove as much of the blood from his mouth as possible, and ask, “You’re not so tough now, are you?” Dropping the baster back on the tray, I position the cool steel of the scalpel against his skin and hold my hand steady. He can’t see what I’m about to do. He can only feel the blade pressed against his side. Andi might get a thrill when they squirm, but I like them completely still. “Oh, Mr. Foster, it’s a shame really. This is what happens when you let your teenie-weenie control what brain cells you might have. It really doesn’t have a mind of its own. You could have controlled it.” I hold in my laugh. He does have an abnormally small penis. No wonder he had to force girls to fuck him; I bet they just laughed at him when they saw he was hung like a five-year-old.

  Andi chuckles from behind me. I snap my head, glaring at her from over my shoulder. “Sorry,” she cackles, quieting herself down by covering her mouth with her palm. “I’ll shut it. Promise.” She giggles again, but sucks it back in and stands with a straight face. “All’s good.”

  I nod, turn back to Caleb, and watch his eyes glisten when the tip of my scalpel glides easily down his side. “No need to bite your tongue, Mr. Foster,” I tease. “I won’t hold it against you if you scream.”

  He’s trying to hold in his screams, but when I slip my gloved hand into his opened flesh and push through the ligaments and muscles, he begins to howl in pain. My hand grabs hold of the lump of intestines and with a swift jerk of my hand, I pry them free of his body. There’s a gulping gasp before blood is spurting from Caleb’s mouth like a sputtering faucet. He begins to choke on his own blood when I slip both my hands, elbows deep, back in and find his stomach and liver. I’m holding his insides in my hands as I turn to look at him. “This is it, Mr. Foster. A few minutes after I free my hands from your insides, you’ll take your last breath. I’m not going to say I’m sorry, because I’m not. What I will say is, this is for every woman you forced your tiny dick into, for every woman you beat and raped. I avenge them all against the devil that you are. You’ll will never hurt another woman,” I snap and yell, “ever!” then rip his stomach and liver clear from their orifice. There’s a gurgling, blood bubbling sound, then Caleb’s twitching body falls still, and a final breath expels passed his opened mouth.

  I set his parts on the covered tray and drop my arms to my sides on a long exhale, releasing all the tension that’s been sitting in my shoulders. Everyday life, playing a role of mousy school teacher, takes a toll. I prefer my foul-mouthed self over the soft-spoken and overly polite bitch that comes out during the day. Maybe it’s sad that I feel the most alive when I’m taking the life of some asshole, but to me, that’s when I’m at my prime. It’s my true self, and I’d much rather not play this game anymore, but I clearly can’t walk around as a fucking serial killer, now can I?

  When it comes to mummification, there’s a step by step process. However, I’m not an ancient Egyptian, I don’t have the proper tools, and I’m not here to help these people move on to the afterlife. I simply get my fucking jollies off slicing these bastards open, removing their insides then stuffing them back in. Now, I do like to do some of the traditional mummification steps like rubbing the inside of the body with wine and spices before replacing all the parts. And I do wrap the body in toilet paper and paper towels...because it’s biodegradable...but I don’t have seventy days to let the body rest after being rubbed with salt and don’t waste my time or money with giving them a proper receptacle such as a coffin or, as the Egyptians used, a sarcophagus. Nope, these losers get a simple burial in the flower garden. And man, their dead bodies make the most beautiful gardens, bar none.

  I turn around to find Andi scooping out Caleb’s eyeball—one is already lying on his chest—when it shoots out with a sloshing pop. Andi catches it in mid-air and grins. “I fucking love blue eyes.�
�

  I shake my head and press my lips together. “Great.” I roll my eyes on a quiet laugh and poke my head out of the door. “Jaz, need your help, brat.” I head back into the room and start my clean up.

  “What the fuck?” Jaz snaps as she barges through the room. “Seriously, Andi doesn’t get to go first anymore. I never get mine when she goes first.”

  “I’m standing right here, bitch,” Andi barks.

  “You never get yours even when it is your turn. Hell, Jaz, you chicken out every time saying that you can’t go against your vows. Don’t be pissed at Andi just because you’re not getting laid,” I interject.

  “I know, I know...fuck! I just need to get screwed already.”

  I wave my finger then point to our boy toy’s junk. “You wouldn’t want this one anyway, Jaz. He’s a turtle.”

  Jaz walks up to the table and inspects Caleb’s jewels and laughs. “Ha, the turtle’s in hiding! I think my thumb is bigger than that thing. Fuck, I need a long, fat cock. Like caveman club big. Like it’s so big it will rip me in two, and I can ride it and blow it at the same time ‘cause it’s so long it hits the back of my throat.”

  “Weirdo,” Andi mumbles under her breath.

  “I’m the weirdo?” Jaz asks, guffawing and pointing at her chest with her finger. “I think you take the cake, Andi. I’ve never met someone so morbid before...and that’s saying a lot considering we’re friends with this one,” she says, pointing at me.

  My hands come up to my chest and my mouth falls open on a playful gasp. I’m hardly offended, but I play the part anyway...’cause I’m good at acting, that’s why. “Shut up, brat. There’s a reason we’re all friends. We’re all fucking disturbing. But I have to admit, I agree with Jaz here, Andi. You’d bathe in their blood if you could.”

  Andi shrugs, her lips pressed into a smirk. “True.”

  After Caleb’s body drains of his blood, we hose him down. Jaz rolls him onto his side and holds him steady while I pour some red wine into the opened wound and spread the liquid around with my hands, coating his stomach lining. Andi hands me a handful of flowers and whole spices. I shove them in until his stomach looks like it’s bloated, then sew up his side. Jaz and Andi help rotate and lift his body as I wrap it with rolls of paper towels, securing it with twine. When I’m finished, Jaz tosses his body over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes...hence her nickname, Ox, and Andi and I grab some shovels and head outside.

  This is by far the worst part of this process...digging fucking holes. And to top it off, it rained, making the ground heavy and saturated with water. After digging far enough down to keep Caleb’s body hidden with no chances of the weather exposing him after time, Jaz drops his body in his garden grave with a heavy thud, then proceeds to help us cover him up. Andi disappears into the shed, returning with a wheelbarrow full of potted flowers ready to be planted. It’s the start of this new portion of our flowerbed, and damn, it’s looking gorgeous. So beautiful, in fact, it could be front page of Better Homes and Gardens.

  Chapter 7

  Gray

  I’m sitting down to eat my breakfast of coffee and mixed cereal—Frosted Flakes and Honey Nut Cheerios—when my cell phone rings. “Hey,” I say through a mouthful of food.

  “Hi, brat,” Jaz chimes through the phone. “Got a minute?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Tell me if I’m wrong, but would you be mad if you haven’t gotten laid by your newly married husband of almost a year? I mean, fuck, it’s been almost ten months. How do we go from fuckin’ like rabbits, pre-marriage, to him blowing his wad just by saying the word sex? He won’t even touch me. Shit, I haven’t had an orgasm by a cock in ages. And my vibrator doesn’t count. Which, by the way, I have broken four already. What would you do?”

  Well, this is an awkward question as I could care less about sex. Yes, I’ve had plenty of it, but it was merely an escape from my own demons...a way to hide from my reality. I have never had sex that came with true feelings. Hell, I’ve never even had an orgasm. I guess that’s what happens when you can easily shut your brain off to any solid emotion. So how am I supposed to respond to this?

  “First of all, your husband is fucking gay. Second, you have every right to be irritated, just don’t ask me what you should do. You know how I am about sex. What do you think you should do? I mean, you haven’t taken the plunge to cheat. You’re too good for that, so what is it that you want to do?”

  Jaz giggles through the phone. “I want to find a hot guy that’s jogging down the street, smack him with my car, then toss him in the backseat to take him home and make him my personal sex slave.”

  “Well, there you go. Drive around town until you spot some meathead and gun them down with your car. Fuck him senseless and ditch him at the next stop sign.”

  “You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?” Jaz laughs.

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  She laughs, then goes silent. “I need one,” she finally says.

  I sit quietly for a minute. I don’t typically do more than one in a weekend...too risky. And risky isn’t good when you want to stay invisible. “You know—”

  Jaz cuts me off. “I know you don’t, but I need it, Gray. I need it bad. If I don’t get a fucking cock in my pussy, like now, I might go on a raping escapade...screwing anyone and anything with an eight-inch penis. I’m like an eighteen-year-old boy ready to pump into anything with a hole.”

  I chuckle. “Well, when you put it that way. We can’t have you running around town like a wild, rabies-infected animal, now can we?” I tease.

  “Please?”

  “You can’t just go find someone on your own?” I ask.

  “You know I can’t do that, that’s cheating. If I have you, it’s for a reason...”

  “And what reason would that be? I mean, a cock is a cock. Any way you slice it, if you decide to take a ride on one, it’s technically cheating. And besides, you haven’t had enough balls to fuck one of our boy toys yet anyway. I can be all the reason you need, but you’ve never utilized what’s been provided. Rubbing your tits on a muscular, toned chest doesn’t count.”

  “Okay, so maybe that’s true—”

  “It is,” I interject.

  “Shut up. Like I was saying, it may be true, but if I have you, it’s more like a job rather than me just going out and banging some random dude. At this point, it’s mind over matter, and I think I have finally convinced myself it’s time. I can’t go another day without a goddam orgasm.”

  Ugh!

  “Okay, fine.” Against my better judgement, I’m sure, I agree. “Meet me at Perry’s by ten tonight.”

  “Perfect. See you later.”

  “Yeah, yeah, go lube up your pussy, brat. We’ll get you laid tonight.”

  * * *

  Jaz is already sitting in a corner booth when I arrive at Perry’s. Damn, she must be wound tighter than a Hangman’s Noose. I slip into the booth across from her, tossing my purse to the side, and stare at her. Her fingers are twisting around each other as she looks at me, then glances at the bar. “I’m so fucking nervous right now,” she finally mumbles.

  “What for? This should be like finding the Holy Grail. Now, go up to that guy,” I say, pointing to a tall, handsome, and overly-muscled man with a full sleeve tattoo. “Tell him your name and tell him he needs to buy you a drink. And if you want to not beat around the fucking bush, because I don’t have all damn night to wait around on you, you could just tell him you’ll blow his cock for that free drink.”

  She glares at me over the rim of her water glass. “You’re such a bitch.”

  I shrug with a chuckle. “Hey, I’m not getting any younger. Now’s your chance. I say take the bull by the horns and run with it, or in this case...” Jaz rolls her eyes and starts to leave the table, so I yell after her, finishing my comment, “Grab that hottie by the penis and rub it ‘til it squirts jizz in your face.”

  I’m given the middle finger as she walks away, only putting it dow
n when she takes the seat next to the hunk of steroids. I’m not fond of the overly-muscled male body, and when I say over the top muscled body, I mean the kind where their head looks like it’s a pinhead. But hey, that’s what Jaz likes, and by golly she’s gonna finally bang one tonight. At least I fucking hope so.

  I settle into the booth and order myself a drink so I can watch this clusterfuck happen. My bet, Jaz will load the pistol but won’t fire the weapon. It happens every single time, but she keeps trying. She’s persistent, that’s for sure, she’s just yet to complete the task. And so I sit here and watch as she flips her unruly curly hair and giggles at all the right times, and when his hand grazes the inside of her thigh and she covers his hand with hers to help guide it further up her inner leg, I think we may just have hit the million dollar jackpot.

  I glance down at my watch—ten minutes, it’s like a whole new record. Good for her.

  Slut.

  Pinhead stands from his barstool, towering over Jaz, and holds out his hand to her. She takes it with a flirty grin then allows him to lead her outside. I toss a handful of money on the table and slip from the booth, walking quickly to my car. I beat them out of the parking lot and hang a left, speeding down the road toward the compound. I barely beat them to the house, with only a few minutes to hide in my room and wait.

  I don’t bother setting up any of my tools. I have no intentions of killing a random person who I have no qualms with. And besides, I don’t have a whole lot of faith in Jaz following through. As bad as she wants to be manhandled and screwed senseless, her morals always get the best of her. She’s the noblest one out of the three of us. Hell, I probably would’ve resulted in deflowering one of my high school students if I was as neglected as she is, and let me remind you, I don’t care about sex, but that doesn’t mean I’m fucking dead. And Andi, well, she’s a bit crazy, so if her husband made her wait ten months, she would castrate him then feed him his own dick. But I can tell you, Jaz will end up going home amped up and on edge from her lack of dick-whiz and be pissed off at the world. What she needs to do is go home to her husband, dress up like a man, grab a fistful of his limp noodle, stick a finger up his ass and make him squeal until he confesses he’s fucking gay. Jaz is way too kind, always standing up for him when I run my mouth. At this point, we can no longer have a conversation about him without me slipping in a few, “that’s ‘cause he’s fucking gay” remarks. It’s a good thing she loves me, otherwise I’m sure I’d be buried in the flower garden with the rest of ‘em.