How to Successfully Kidnap Strangers

by Max Booth III

  Eliza laughed, then frowned. “That motherfucker murdered Serg right in front of me. He enjoyed it. He would have done the same to me if I hadn’t gotten myself untied in time.”

  “I’m glad you did, sis.”

  “Maybe if I had been quicker, I could have saved Serg, too.”

  “I don’t know. I think you did the best you could.”

  “But it wasn’t good enough.”

  Billy knew he should have been a good brother and continue to offer words of comfort, but he was too obsessed about the heads to think about anything else important. Because nothing else was important. The universe began and ended with the heads. They weren’t always severed heads, hiding in a trunk. Once upon a time, they had belonged to complete bodies. They’d rested atop shoulders. They were special. Now they were nothing. The idea that he too could have been one of those heads consumed Billy. That was no way for anybody to go out. What would happen to those heads now? What was Lewis planning on doing with them? Probably some sick perverted psycho shit. Some weird, Patrick Bateman snuff film shit.

  It was weird, how they were just sitting in a duffel bag. Why not put them on ice or something? This was no way to take care of your severed head collection.

  He wondered what the police would do with the heads if they got busted. File them in some evidence lab? Store them away in a police station basement? Would the heads be given a proper funeral?

  What if they were never found? Were these heads Billy’s responsibility now?

  What was he supposed to do with a bunch of heads? He’d never been taught how to handle these kinds of situations. He was just a trailer trash writer with a sweet tooth for crank. He wasn’t in the disposing-of-severed-heads business. Hell, he wasn’t even in the kidnapping business until this morning, and look how badly he’d already fucked that up.

  Eliza had stopped talking. He looked to his side. She wasn’t even sitting by him anymore. Maybe she’d gone back inside after she realized he wasn’t paying attention to anything she was saying. Oh well. Fuck her. Fuck everybody. They all hated his guts now, anyway. Like he meant to get them all mixed up in this clusterfuck. If anything, it was Eliza’s fault for making him come pick her up for lunch. He had tried telling her he was busy, but no, she needed her stupid goddamn cheeseburger. Yet here he was, getting pissed on because he had the nerve to throw a couple people in his trunk. Like he knew one of them was a serial killer. Shit. What Billy did on his own time was his business. Next time he saw Eliza, he would be sure to bring that up. Fucking nosy-ass people.

  In the meantime, there were still those heads in the trunk. The heads who hadn’t hurt anybody. Well, okay, Billy didn’t know that for sure. Those heads could belong to a bunch of child molesters and dog fighters, he didn’t know. But he had a hunch they were innocent, at least as innocent as a person could be, which in all truth wasn’t really that much, when you thought about it. But screw that. Nobody deserved to have their head pried from their body and thrown in some dirty trunk. Something needed to be done.

  Billy got up, opened the trunk of Lewis’s car. The heads stared up at him, waiting impatiently for him to take action.

  “Avenge us,” the heads said in unison. “Kill that bastard.”

  “Shut up,” Billy said.

  “Cut his head off and throw it in the trunk with us. Give us five minutes alone with him.”

  “I said shut up, I’m trying to think here.”

  “It’s fucking hot in here! You left us alone. We can’t breathe!”

  “You don’t have any lungs.”

  The heads began laughing. “You got us! There’s no getting past you.”

  “You guys are a bunch of assholes, aren’t you?” Billy said.

  “Hey, Billy, Billy-boy, you got any more crank? Huh, Billy? What do you say?”

  Billy thought for a moment. There might have been some in the front seat that Samantha had left behind. No. He couldn’t. He shook his head violently. “I can’t keep doing this shit. It’s killing me.”

  “You’re already dead,” the heads said.

  “No I’m not.”

  “You might as well be in this trunk with us. Come on in. We can scoot over, make room for you. Bring the crank, it’ll be a party up in here.”

  Billy stared at them, refusing to blink. Their mouths opened at the same time, and one voice left their gruesome throats in unison, like they were one creature, one being.

  “You guys aren’t really talking,” Billy said, giggling. “None of this is real.”

  “Billy, Billy-boy, Billy-billy-billy-boy, don’t you see? Don’t you see?”

  “Stop it.”

  “Don’t you see we’re the realest goddamn things this universe has ever offered?”

  “I’m not even here. I’m back home, in bed. I’m asleep. My eyes. Oh God, I’m so tired. Oh fuck.”

  “Crawl in with us, Billy-boy. Crawl in and we can have an orgy. We can fuck like mythological beasts. Bring your sister. You know you always wanted to tap dat ass.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “Tap dat ass. Tap dat ass. Tap dat ass. Tap dat ass.” They sang the words like a Christmas carol.

  “You bastards. I was going to rescue you.”

  “What’s the matter, Billy-boy? Don’t you want a little head?”

  They stuck their maggot-infested tongues out and licked their lips, making loud, revolting slurping noises.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Billy shouted.

  “Who you talking to, boy?” a man asked behind him.

  Billy spun around, wide-eyed, and found himself face-to-face with a bona fide demon. No, not a demon. Just a man, a man holding a gun. A gun pointed straight at him.

  Hell, he could’ve been a demon. Who said demons couldn’t use guns?

  “You a demon?” Billy asked.

  The man gave him a queer look. “No, I’m a police officer.” He brushed his jacket aside, flashing a badge attached to his belt. “I’m gonna have to ask you to put that firearm down.”

  “What?” Billy said, then realized he was holding Lewis’s gun. How long had it been in his hand? Shit. He threw it to the ground. “Sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” the cop said. “Now step aside.”

  Billy did.

  The cop approached the trunk, peered inside, then yanked his head back, gagging.

  “Oh my God, oh my God.”

  He stepped forward again, reached inside and picked up a head by its hair. He stared at it for a moment, looking at Billy, then the head, and tossed the severed body part back into the trunk. He looked like he was about to puke. Billy didn’t blame him.

  “What the shit,” the cop said.

  “I know,” Billy said. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with ‘em. Any idea?”

  The cop emphasized the gun in his hands, told him to get down. Billy obliged.

  “What the fuck are you doing with those heads in your trunk?”

  “They were in there when I acquired the vehicle.”

  “Yeah, that so?”

  “Yeah.”

  The cop handcuffed Billy, then dragged him to his own car, which Billy somehow hadn’t noticed until now.

  “Man, you drive quiet.”

  “I think you were too busy talking to those heads.”

  “They started it, man.”

  “Who else is in the cabin?”

  “Nobody,” Billy said. “It’s just me.”

  Somebody screamed inside the cabin.

  “Nobody, huh?” the cop said.

  “I think I need to speak to an attorney.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  41. HOSTAGES & HOSTAGES

  People thought duct tape was unbreakable. Those people were idiots. If you knew what to do, you could get out of duct tape just as easily as scotch tape. And Lewis knew what to do. The real trick wasn’t getting out of the duct tape, it was getting his hands from behind his back to in front of him. After he conquered that goal, the rest would be a piece of cake.


  Except he wasn’t going to be freeing himself inside the closet. There simply wasn’t enough room. He started pounding his shoulder against the door. The wood splintered instantly. Five more good whacks and the door was shattered open, the chair propped in front of him tumbling to its side.

  He flew into the bedroom, into the darkness. There were no lights on, no candles lit, nothing. He didn’t mind. The darkness was his friend.

  Fortunately, Lewis had ridiculously long arms. Laying on his back, he bent his knees and arched his ass up, giving enough space to slide his tied-up hands down his body, over his feet, and to the front of his torso.

  Sometimes it paid off to be flexible.

  Lewis stood up, raised his arms over his head, then brought them down as hard as he could manage, yanking his hands apart in the process. The tape loosened, so he did it again, and again, giving him enough room to slip one hand out of the restraints and peel it off the other hand. This was too easy.

  He slowly moved across the room, hands reaching out, feeling for the wall or the door or anything that wasn’t the infinite emptiness of darkness.

  He found the door relatively quickly, pulling it open quietly and slowly. Candlelight greeted him from down the hallway. Lewis walked toward it, slowly, relying on tiptoes to avoid obnoxious creaking. He made it halfway down the hall when a bedroom door next to him opened and a man walked through it. Lewis didn’t hesitate. He lunged at him, tackling him against the wall. The man screamed. Lewis punched him in the face, then wrapped his hands around his neck and pulled him up, dragging him back into the bedroom he’d just escaped from. His freedom was now evident to everybody in the cabin. Progressing toward them would do no good, especially when one of them now had his gun. Instead, he’d return to the darkness and wait for them to come to him. Now that the hostage had his own hostage, anything was fair game.

  These fuckers were going down.

  “Let me go, goddammit,” the man said.

  Lewis tightened his grip around his neck. “I suggest you silence yourself before I do it for you.”

  He continued backing up until he made contact with the wall opposite the door. He slid down into a sitting position, pulling his new hostage with him. He wrapped his arm around his neck, tightening his hold. The man struggled, but Lewis was too strong, and a moment later the man went limp into unconsciousness.

  Lewis needed a plan. He needed one now. They would be storming into the bedroom any second. The only advantage he had was the lack of lighting, but of course that meant he couldn’t see shit either. He didn’t have any weapons. All he really had at his disposal was this new hostage. Maybe he could threaten to snap his neck or something if they didn’t back off.

  Then what? Maybe he’d demand his gun be returned, and his car keys. Get in his car, get as far away from these freaks as possible. Surf the ocean with his beloved heads. Get out of this country once and for all. This had just been a speed bump, nothing more. Soon, he’d be back on the road, heading toward the border.

  He heard screaming from the other side of the cabin. People shouting. They were confused, scared. Afraid of the big bad killer on the loose. Lewis smiled. Good, they should be afraid.

  Someone, he wasn’t sure who, shouted, “Police!” and Lewis’s smile faded. Had they really called the cops? That wasn’t good. He could outsmart a bunch of dumb writers. But the police were another story. Not that the police were any smarter—they just had more firepower.

  Now what was he supposed to do?

  “Uh, please don’t kill me,” a voice said in the darkness.

  Lewis jumped. “Who said that?”

  “Me,” said the voice. He wasn’t that far from Lewis’s spot on the floor. He sounded close enough to touch.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Jared. I’m an award-winning editor.”

  “How long have you been in this room?”

  “I have no idea where I am. But my head sure does hurt. But listen, if you have any need to hire an editor, maybe we could work something out. I edit for you and you spare my life. What do you think? Any projects opening up?”

  “I’m . . . I’m not a writer.”

  “Most writers aren’t.”

  “Are you with the publishing company, or are you one of those they’ve abducted?”

  “I’m . . . I’m Jared. I just told you that. Blood stings when it gets in your eyes.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Are you going to kill Nick?”

  “Who’s Nick?”

  “Nick is an asshole.”

  Lewis thought about it. “I probably will, yeah.”

  “Can I help?”

  42. OFFICER DOUGHNUT TO THE RESCUE

  “Un-fucking-tie me, goddammit,” Harlan said. “I’m not going to run away. I just want to be able to defend myself in case that psychopath kills the rest of you.”

  Eliza cut the duct tape from his wrists with the knife she’d snagged from the kitchen.

  “That fucker’s in there, doing God knows what to him,” Louise said. “We gotta go in.”

  “He might cut your heads off,” Harlan said, stretching his newly freed hands.

  “With what?” she asked. “Dude doesn’t have shit.”

  “Then how did he free himself?”

  “Maybe he’s a magician, who knows.” Louise stared at the door, quiet for a moment, then she threw her hands up like she was ready to brawl. “Fuck this, let’s just charge him.”

  “Well, Billy has a gun,” Eliza said. “Maybe we should—”

  The front door burst open. A tall man stormed inside, waving a pistol at them. “Police! Everybody get on the ground!”

  They all stood, staring at the man with the gun, confused. Harlan felt a huge weight relieve itself in his stomach, and for a moment he was convinced the weight was a massive turd slipping from his asshole. But alas, it was just stress.

  “Finally,” Harlan said, smiling.

  “Shut up!” the cop said. “Get on the ground!”

  They did as they were told.

  The cop stared at Louise. “Aren’t you the woman who assaulted a child with a muffin today at a Pic-n-Pac?”

  “No, that doesn’t sound like me.”

  “Damn, you look familiar.”

  “Uh, dude?” Louise said. “Just, uh, so you know, there’s this serial killer in the other room, and he has my boyfriend hostage. Who knows what he’s doing to him.”

  The cop paused, taking his time to process his words. “Lewis Hill.”

  “Yeah, man, his name is Lewis. You already know about him?”

  The cop—if he even was a cop—seemed to tighten. “He’s wanted for the murder of his wife.”

  “Shit, man, he’s killed a lot more than his wife.”

  Eliza nodded. “There’s a whole bunch of severed heads with his name on them. Plus, the bastard murdered our friend.”

  The cop hesitated before answering, swallowing loudly. “Sergio Placid.”

  The room was quiet. Then Eliza said, in a whimper, “Oh, Serg.”

  “We fucked up,” Louise said. “We really fucked up.”

  “And now you’re going to prison,” Harlan said, almost laughing. “You stupid assholes deserve everything you get.”

  “Oh fuck you,” Louise said.

  “Shut up!” the cop shouted, waving his gun. “Stop talking.” He nodded at the bedroom. “Is he armed?”

  He waited, but nobody responded.

  “Goddammit, is Lewis Hill armed? You said he had a hostage?”

  Again, the room was quiet.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”

  “Dude,” Louise said. “You told us to stop talking.”

  “She does have a point,” Harlan said.

  The cop grunted and kicked Harlan in the side of the head. “You fucking people. This should be a sacred place.”

  “Who are you?” Eliza said.

  Harlan tried to sit up, but his head was pounding and the cabin was spinnin
g before his eyes. “Whoever you are, I’m reporting you,” he said, and the cop kicked him again. This time he just stayed on the floor. There was no reason to sit back up if he was going to get kicked again.

  “Is he armed?” the cop asked.

  “We don’t know,” Eliza said. “But he’s crazy. I saw him kill Sergio. He . . . he was like an animal.”

  The cop nodded and took off toward the bedroom. He reached out for the door, but it swung open just as he was about to grab the knob. The wooden frame bashed into his face, sending him flying backward into a stack of paperbacks piled on the ground. A candle that’d been resting on top of a stack of books soared across the cabin and landed on another tipped-over pile of books, only it landed upside down, the wax spilling over a sea of scattered pages. Still on the ground, the cop turned around, raised his pistol, and fired blindly into the dark room. Someone inside screamed.

  Everybody held their breath, waiting. Around them, the paperbacks lining the cabin ignited. Nobody seemed to notice but Harlan.

  The homeless editor stumbled out of the bedroom, groaning and holding his bloody stomach. “I should have moved to Portland,” he said, and collapsed.

  “Was that him?” the cop asked, climbing to his feet. “Did I get the sick bastard?”

  “Nah, man,” Louise said. “That was just Jared.”

  43. POLITICALLY CORRECT DECAPITATIONS

  Lewis hadn’t noticed the window in the bedroom before due to the blinds behind pulled down, but on account of an incredible streak of luck, he accidentally bumped into it. He pulled the blinds up and opened the window. He couldn’t believe they’d shot that other guy. The bullet was meant for Lewis, of course. Next time, he wouldn’t be so lucky.

  His hostage, the one named Stephen, was starting to become more aware of the situation, so he bashed his head into the wall a couple times before pushing him outside. His body made a soft thud as it landed in the dirt. Lewis climbed through and followed him out. The hostage started getting to his feet in a pathetic escape attempt, but Lewis was on him before he could gain any real distance.

  “Not so fast,” Lewis whispered, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and leading him around the cabin. His entire day had been wasted. He was not leaving without at least some kind of reward. This guy had a decent-sized head. Sure, in the past he had only targeted women, but times were different. He needed to not be so sexist. The world was no longer so politically incorrect. His collection could use a little variation. Hell, why even limit himself with humans? He could add dogs, cats, fuckin’ goats—the sky was the limit.