Final Review

by Dawn Cano

  I didn't have to leave the living room to see what was going on since the home had an open floor plan. Wade had Adam naked, on the floor until he finally found the duct tape. Once he had it, he told Adam to stand. Adam reluctantly did as he was told, and once standing, Wade grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him over to the counter next to the stove.

  “I thought you said you didn't have any duct tape? Did you think lying to me was a great idea?” Wade was smiling as he spoke, and the look on his face gave me chills.

  To Adam's credit, he looked Wade in the eyes, not wanting to appear weak as Wade took the other man's right hand and plunged it into the deep fryer used to make the family's fried chicken. Adam hissed at first, struggling away from Wade's strong grip, then the screams started. Wade laughed as Adam screamed, and when he finally pulled the hand out of the oil, the skin was bright red, swollen, and covered in blisters.

  Wade growled over the screams, “Lie to me again and I'll stick your fucking face in there. Then I'll carve it off and feed it to your family. After all, since we interrupted your dinner, they must be starving.”

  Carrying the roll of black duct tape and dragging Adam along by his burnt wrist, the two made their way back into the living room. Wade pushed Adam back down into the recliner and ordered me to tape up his hands and feet. When I hesitated, Wade screamed.

  “Do I need to repeat myself? Do it!”

  I sprang into action, not wanting to anger him. It was one thing to have him angry at others, but the thought of him taking it out on me was something I couldn't handle. I taped up Adam's hands and feet and placed a strip across his mouth, then moved over to secure the rest of the family. As I reached the boy, Wade spoke up.

  “Leave him alone.”

  I stared at him, wondering what he had planned for Timothy. The boy looked up at me and although he was putting up a brave front, I could see fear in his eyes. Wade ignored us and turned back to Adam before speaking.

  “Violence in stories is a tricky thing, isn't it, Adam? Writers have to do a lot of research to get it just right, and although you're not a writer, you seem to think you know best. It would be different if you knew what the fuck you were talking about, but you don't. You don't know how much research Emma puts into her books. You don't know the hours she spends writing to get every detail perfect. You don't know how bad reviews like yours ruin her day. You probably don't even care, do you?”

  Adam sat in the recliner, staring at Wade. With his mouth taped, he couldn't respond, but that didn't keep him from trying. He grunted and squealed as he unsuccessfully tried breaking out of his bonds.

  “You're Mr. Know-it-all, aren't you, Adam?” Wade stared at the bound man, as if waiting for a response. “All you reviewers are the same. You think you can come in and criticize a person's work. You think you can suggest changes to a story a writer puts her heart and soul into. Let me tell you something, you don't know shit.”

  Wade raised the gun and shot Adam between the eyes. The man died with his eyes open, staring at his murderer. “How that for realistic violence, mother fucker? I guess you've written your final review.”

  I couldn't help it. I screamed when Wade shot the man and for a moment, I actually hoped someone would hear the gunshot and call the police. With the houses spread so far apart, I thought that was an unlikely scenario, but he was scaring me now. He had to be stopped before anyone else died. Adam did nothing wrong. He left his honest opinion about my books and lost his life because of it. Wade had to be stopped, but I felt powerless to be the one to do it. Despite everything, I thought I still loved him, and I knew the drugs and alcohol were to blame for his behavior.

  After shooting Adam in the head, Wade walked back into the kitchen. A few seconds later, he came back to the living room carrying a chef's knife in one hand and the gun in the other. I thought he was going to cut the tape off the two women in the room, but he had other ideas.

  “Timothy, come here.”

  The boy sat rooted to his spot on the couch. He was staring at his dead father with a smirk on his face.

  “I said come here, boy. Don't make me tell you again.”

  Timothy got up and walked across the room to where Wade stood. Wade laid the gun down on the coffee table in front of him and handed the boy the knife.

  “You said your sister was a slut, right?”

  Timothy didn't answer and refused to take the knife. Instead, he stared at Wade with a look of apprehension, but there was also something in his eyes I couldn't identify. Excitement, maybe? I certainly didn't like the look on Wade's face and had no idea what he had in mind.

  “Take the fucking knife, and stand beside your goddamn sister.”

  Timothy took the knife and stood next to Rebecca. She looked up at him, the terror and pleading evident in her eyes, as her little brother stared down at her. I don't think any of us could tell what he was thinking. His eyes kept their look of fear and excitement. Wade watched with a smile on his face.

  “What...what am I supposed to do?” Timothy was trembling as he spoke.

  “What do you wanna do? You think she's a slut, so obviously, you should do something to fix that, don't you agree?”

  Timothy looked down at his sister and smiled. I could almost see his mind racing as he thought of what he could do. Finally, he would get his revenge on the girl who made his life miserable with her constant taunting, belittling, and practical jokes. As he stared at her, noticing the fear in her eyes, he kind of felt sorry for her, if only for a second. I held my breath as I waited to see what he was going to do.

  He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, just staring into her eyes. Finally, he said, “I'm sorry, but if I don't do this, he may kill me, and I don't wanna die.” Faster than I could react, Timothy plunged the knife into his sister's throat. A spray of blood coated his arm and face, and his sister squirmed and thrashed. The more she moved, the faster the blood pumped from her body, and the more enthralled Timothy became with the scene he created. The young girl soon bled out in her own living room. The boy's mother couldn't react; she just sat there, breathing heavily around the duct tape that covered her mouth, crying softly.

  Timothy watched the life drain from his sister's face, and with the knife still in hand, turned to look at Wade who was walking over to the boy with his arm outstretched, attempting to relieve him of the burden of the weapon. Although he looked like he enjoyed it at the time, tears rolled down Timothy's face, as the realization of what he had done dawned on him. As I watched his inner struggle unfold, my heart broke for him.

  I don't know why I did what I did after that. I guess something snapped inside my head, but before I could stop myself, I screamed and lunged for Wade, throwing punches as fast and as hard as I could. I didn't care about him anymore, nor did I care about what he might do to me. He'd become a monster I no longer knew, and I felt responsible to stop him.

  My first punch connected with his chest, and maybe it was because I caught him off-guard, but he stumbled backwards, and I kept hitting him. He recovered quickly and came at me with a backhand that made me see stars and hit the floor hard.

  “Emma, what the fuck?”

  I couldn't help it and started to cry. “Wade, you killed them. These people and all the rest! There was no need to kill anyone!”

  “I did it for you, baby. Haven't I made that obvious? I love you. Everyone will now think twice before leaving you a bad review. You never have to worry about it again. All you have to do is keep writing and you'll really make a name for yourself now. Once this gets out, people will love your books and you can even write about this whole adventure. Think of the money we'll make!”

  I was shocked at his statement. I mean, I knew why he was doing this and at first, it was fun, but killing a family in cold blood over a few stupid words left on a website was taking it way too far. I couldn't take anymore. “We'll? There is no we anymore, Wade. I'm done. How can you expect me to be a part of this? You killed a family who probably didn't know this guy
even left me a bad review? They didn't do anything wrong. They're innocent!”

  As I spoke, I slowly got to my feet and made my way to the coffee table where the gun still sat, seemingly begging me to pick it up. Wade must have followed my gaze because he made for the gun at the same time I did. Fortunately, I was faster.

  I aimed the gun at the man I used to love, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Tears sprang to my eyes, and he stared at me before speaking. My vision blurred and I wondered if I had the nerve to pull the trigger.

  “Come on, Emma. You don't want to do this. We've been through too much together for you to throw it all way. You love me, right? I killed these people to help you! Please, baby. I love you. Let's go home.”

  “Home? We don't have a home anymore, thanks to you! We've got nothing, Wade. The cops will be after us, and we have nowhere to run. Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life in prison because of you? I can't believe you talked me into doing all this shit. How could I have been so fucking stupid?”

  Wade walked toward me and I didn't think, I just pulled the trigger. I'd never fired a gun before and the way it kicked sent my arm flying backwards, but my first shot hit Wade right in the chest. I shot two more times. One bullet missed him completely and hit the wall behind him, but the other connected with the side of his head, blowing his left ear completely off. I stood watching the dark red patch spread against his white shirt. His head dripped blood. I dropped the gun and started to cry as my boyfriend hit the floor.

  Epilogue

  Journal entry whatever

  My name is Timothy. I am ten-years-old and I am taking over this journal because I killed the woman who used to write in it. After I killed my sister, and after she killed her boyfriend, I stabbed her a whole bunch of times with the knife. She never saw me come up behind her, and I kind of liked how easily the sharp knife went into her skin – at least I did until I accidentally hit the bone in her leg and the knife got stuck. I didn't think I was strong enough to pull it out, but I stepped on her leg and wiggled the blade loose. After stabbing her a lot, she died. There was a lot of blood everywhere, and I used my foot to spread it around. It was kinda fun.

  Anyway, my mom was still on the couch watching me, and she held out her hands like she wanted me to cut the tape off, but I stabbed her too. In the face, in the chest, all over. I smiled as I stabbed her, even when her blood got in my mouth. I liked the way she looked when she died. I liked licking her blood off of my teeth. I liked feeling powerful, kind of like a superhero, only evil.

  After I killed Mom, I called the cops. While I waited for them to arrive, I practiced crying and got the lies straight in my head. A bunch of cops showed up, and they believed everything I told them. I told them how these people came into my house and killed my entire family, and how I killed the Emma lady because he was gonna shoot me.

  Once they were finished with me, they sent me to live with my grandma in Michigan. My grandma smells funny and talks too much and sometimes, early in the morning, I catch her without her teeth. She makes me eat crap like prunes and oatmeal, and she sends me to bed at eight o'clock, like I'm some kind of baby. She buys all my clothes from the thrift store and won't get me a gaming console like I want. I really hate it here, but I was told that I'd rather live with a family member than go to a state home. I guess I'll have to tough it out.

  When they sent me here, they let me pack my own stuff and never found this journal, so I decided to keep it for my own. I think writing down this kind of stuff is neat, and sometimes, when the voices in my head get too loud, I can try writing my thoughts here, to shut them up. If they won't stop yelling at me, I'll have no choice but to kill again. I hope I don't have to, but if I do, I'm ready. I know where Grandma keeps the knives.