Damaged

by Timothy W. Long

  “Let’s have it later. I forgot to do something,” Michael said. “See you at the studio.”

  “You can’t leave now, we have to talk about…” Whatever Wex shouted was cut off.

  Michael slammed the door behind him and didn’t look back. He got into his car and went through the dials until he could find a news channel. He needed to know what had happened to Bruno.

  Michael connected his phone to the charger and looked up Bruno’s death. What he found was disturbing. As Giselle had said, Bruno had been found murdered, surrounded by burned out black candles. They weren’t releasing any more details but the article said his body had been mutilated.

  Michael’s stomach flipped over. First the girl, Payton, and now Bruno. He opened the car door, leaned over, and puked up everything he had eaten in the last few hours. When he was done, he wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and then dug around the glove box. Giselle normally put kept some anti-bacterial hand lotion in the car but he couldn’t find any now.

  Michael rolled the car in front of the gate. Why couldn’t he be free of this band and the deal? Maybe if he blew his brains out it would all just end. Or maybe he would kill himself only to find that his real hell was about to begin.

  As the gate trundled open, he saw movement across the street. Probably some kids playing around out there.

  He put the car in gear and hit the accelerator, then he slammed to a halt as a tall imposing figure stepped into the middle of the street. Brakes squealed and Michael was thrown forward.

  The figure moved toward the side of the car. Michael was about to hit the gas again and see if the promise of the car doing 0 to 60 in less than 4 seconds held up. That’s when he recognized the man so he rolled down the window.

  “The fuck are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Michael. I was just having a chat with Maximillian over there,” Nils gestured toward a copse of bushes across the street.

  “Maximillian, like our manager Max?”

  “Yes. It seems he did not understand the importance of certain rituals, shall we say. He didn’t know about a lot of things, but now he has first hand knowledge.”

  “What are you, some kind of fucking out of your mind voyeur? You need help, Nils,” Michael said.

  Maximillian stumbled out of the bushes, brushing leaves off his suit unconsciously.

  “What the hell, Michael? We need to talk. The band has been up to some very naughty shit. Very naughty shit, and I’m not about to get dragged into it, you hear me? Murder?” Max yelled.

  Michael put the car in park and opened the door.

  Nils backed up but Michael was right there. He got close enough to see Nils eyes in the pale morning light.

  “Listen to me, Nils. I’m about sick to death of you. Go the fuck back to your hole. Leave Damaged alone. You think you know stuff? You don’t know shit. You don’t know a nugget of turd, my man. The things I’ve had to do would turn you inside out. You got that?” Michael punctuated his sentences by poking Nils in the chest each time.

  “Michael, we need to talk,” Maximillian said again, shaking his head, his eyes wide circles.

  “I know precisely what you have done. I know because this is what I was trying to tell you. I was in the same spot those years ago and look what it got me. But you’re right, Michael. It’s not my business.” Nils said, poking Michael back. “But I’ll tell you a secret, something no one else knows.”

  Michael rolled his eyes and prepared to get the hell out of here. “Keep your secrets, asshole.”

  Niles ignored him. “I got out of it, Michael, my deal with the devil.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “Maybe, but one thing is undeniable. The rest of my band is dead but I’m still alive. Think about that, Michael,” Nils said with a half grin. “Think about it very hard.”

  “I won’t be party to this shit,” Max said. “I can get a lawyer to separate my holdings from yours. The best goddamn lawyer in town.”

  “You don’t say a word, Max. Not a damn word. You do and I can’t help with what might happen to you,” Michael said, realizing he sounded like a bad Bond villain.

  “This isn’t going to end well, Michael. You mark my words,” Max said.

  “You mark mine, both of you. Go away and forget you ever saw any of this.”

  Michael got back into his car and sped away. He had a lot to think about.

  25

  Angry Neurotic Catholics

  Seth

  “Fuck, Wex!” Sunny stared at the pool of blood cooling on the kitchen floor. “How can you do this and not feel anything?”

  Wex shrugged, his eyes wavering slightly in their sockets. “You should be thanking me, Princess.” He gestured to the floor. “Our latest letter needed a sacrifice; an innocent, remember? I took care of that shit so none of you pussies need to get your hands dirty, as usual.”

  “Dude!” Sunny hit her pipe and leaned against the counter. “You have lost your fucking mind.”

  Seth chuckled. “Ain’t no one you know innocent, man.”

  “All a matter of perception,” Wex answered. “She hasn’t killed anyone and isn’t part of our deal. That makes her innocent enough for what we need.”

  “So you just fucking killed her before we showed up out of some sense of twisted altruism?” Sunny asked.

  Wex grinned. “We needed a sacrifice, I found one. End of story.” He reached over and snatched the joint from Seth’s fingers. “Why can’t you just say thank you and shut the fuck up, Payton?”

  “Who the fuck is Payton?” Sunny growled but didn’t give him the chance to answer. “You know what, never mind. I don’t even want to know. Still, as much as I don’t want anything to do with killing someone, we’re supposed to do this as a band. This isn’t the Wex Shit Show, much as you like to think it is.”

  “That’s not what the latest letter said,” he replied, grinning and ignoring her jibe. “I found a loophole, now we’re free and clear. All you two have to do is smear some of the blood on you and we’ve met out obligations and we can go get this fucking album recorded and not worry about this shit for a while.”

  “That’s right.” Sunny sneered at the singer. “Let’s just dump a body and fucking get on with it, huh? Like that little girl we killed back in Chicago. Let’s just forget about her too, huh?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Wex stared at her a moment, then pulled a pill out of his pocket and tossed it in his mouth. “How about you make some sense? You’re giving me a headache.”

  “Her name was Charlotte, not that you give a damn.”

  Seth squeezed his eyes shit and shook his head, opening one eye to glare at Sunny. “Seriously, what are you blabbering on about? We haven’t killed anyone.”

  Sunny pointed to the blood on the floor. “This isn’t the first innocent life on our hands. That little groupie we dumped on the side of the road was butchered because we left her.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, we met our obligation years ago?” Wex asked, offering up a toothy grin. “I so wasted a good piece of pussy for nothing.” Seth joined him in his laughter. “Fuck. I wish I had known that earlier.”

  “God damn! Fuck you both,” Sunny shouted. She stood there, puffing on her pipe for a minute, her cheeks red with her fury, until she finally seemed to slump against the counter, defeated. “I’m so sick of this shit. What do we need to do? I just want to be done with it all.”

  “Time to earn your red wings, sweetheart.” Wex reached down and ran his hand through the blood, laughing all the while. Palm coated, he slid it across Sunny’s lips, smearing the blood from cheek to cheek like he was slapping her in slow motion.

  Sunny blanched but wisely kept her mouth shut. Her eyes, however, screamed at him.

  “Smear that shit all over yourself and you’re done,” Wex told her. “Same goes for you, Seth. Once you’re finished, you can go wash it off in the guest bathroom upstairs.” He took another hit off Seth’s joint and walked o
ut, taking it with him.

  “Motherfucker stole my joint,” Seth muttered, kneeling down and scooping up handfuls of blood. He glanced up at Sunny and grinned.

  “Don’t you fucking—”

  Seth tossed it on her, drenching her from her head down. “Here to help, sweetheart.” It ran in dark rivulets down her hair.

  Sunny growled and kicked Seth in the nuts, driving the steel toes of her boot into his taint as far as she could. He toppled face first into the puddle of crimson, blood splattering everywhere.

  “Right back atcha, darlin’,” she said with a laugh, splashing more across the fallen bass player’s back. “Missed a spot.” She kicked him again before she left.

  Seth groaned and clasped his balls, tiny red bubbles welling up as he struggled to breathe. “Bitch,” he whispered, flopping to his side so he could draw breath and not swallow a mouthful of blood.

  It was another ten minutes before the taste of his nuts receded from his throat and he was able to get to his feet, his stomach settling. By then, he was pissed. He limped across the kitchen floor and out into the living room, not caring how much blood he dragged across Wex’s carpet, imagining it was Sunny’s face he was scraping his boots over.

  The kick was the last straw.

  He’d put up with her bullshit ever since she’d broken up with him. No longer.

  Seth growled and stumbled up the stairs, clutching to the railing. She’d get what was coming to her.

  Soon.

  The moon stared as Seth slipped out through the window of Wex’s back guest bedroom, and scrambled down the lattice, overgrown with months of neglected hydrangea, which had pretty much enveloped the entire back of the house. The soft scent of the vines did nothing to soothe his anger. He hit the ground and ran, circling around the house and sprinting toward his car. Once there, he hopped inside, turned the crank over, and shot off down the driveway and through the security gate.

  This late at night, the blue gleam of the stereo’s clock shining 3 AM., and no bedrooms situated at the front of the house, Seth was sure no one had heard him leave. Wex had been snoring like a motherfucker, the sound echoing through the quiet house, and Seth knew Sunny was sleeping the sleep of the dead. Her high—if that’s what you called the after effects of whatever concoction of drugs she smoked—had worn off and she’d crashed hard, like she always did.

  That was good news for Seth.

  But as much as he wanted to go to her room and smother her with a pillow, he knew he had to wait. Killing her at Wex’s would be a nightmare and there would be no way to cover it up. At the studio, however, that was another matter entirely. Way out in the damn woods, surrounded on all sides by wild animals and treacherous terrain, accidents could happen easily enough. No one could point the finger at Seth if Sunny wandered off, high as fuck, and got savaged by a rabid woodchuck or pissed off squirrel; fell in a crevice maybe, and broke her neck three or four times.

  Seth grinned at the thought, barreling down the roads, looking for the tiny ass bar he and the bitch had passed on their way up to Wex’s. It wasn’t like he lived in the boonies, but his house was far enough out, and he owned enough property in the area, to keep the locals from settling in within miles of his McMansion. And that was perfect.

  Seth navigated the barren roads and spotted the flickering illumination of the bar sign after a while. He cut the lights and pulled the Mercury off to the side of the road, damn near flipping it into a drainage ditch to get it far enough out of the way that no one would notice it without purposely moving onto the dangerous incline. Then he gathered his stuff—gloves, balaclava, a tire iron, and a sheathed buck knife—and slipped out of the car, making his way through the wooded area surrounding the bar to come out behind it, slipping on his mask when he arrived.

  He chuckled under his breath when he spied only two cars in the parking lot. A dim light gleamed through the cracked back door, greeting his arrival, the sad clink of empty beer bottles landing on top of one another ringing out. His timing had been perfect, a lifetime slumming in bars across the world giving him an uncanny insight into the nature of business after hours.

  He crept up to the vehicles and crouched behind the raised 4-wheeler with wide tires and mud splattered across its sides. Next to it sat a maroon Ford Focus, stuffed animals in the back window, eyeballing him as he waited. He drew in a deep breath, hiding the steam by leaning into his shoulder, and stared at the back door of the bar, gloved hand throbbing around the steel of his tire iron.

  Seth hadn’t wanted to go this route, but Sunny’s bullshit pushed him to it. He’d manufactured fake letters to be delivered to Wex and Michael but he hadn’t bothered with Sunny, having other ideas as to how to drive her crazy before the hit the studio. After tonight though, he wanted her to suffer. And she’d given him just the inspiration he needed to make that happen. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been prepared to counterfeit another letter from the Devil but he didn’t have much choice.

  Worse still, with as many of the fucking things they’d received over the years, there was no way to fake the parchment. It’s not like he could go to the local craft shop and order a sheet of human skin. That was some Ed Gein shit right there. And if he waited until they were at the studio, it would be too late.

  He’d have to improvise. That’s why he was there at the Crossroads Bar and G_il—the light having burnt out in the R.

  As he watched the door, and cast glances toward the road out front to make sure no one drove by, he heard a young woman’s voice, followed by a deep basso that would have made Peter Steele envious. Seth was half tempted to break out into Type O Negative’s “Slow, Deep, and Hard” when he saw the door swing open and two people walked out.

  The first was a pretty young woman, a little over five feet tall and dressed in a pair of tight jeans, which hugged her figure nicely, and a red and black, long-sleeved flannel. Her short, dark hair gleamed in the porch light and she wore her exhaustion in her shoulders, slumping as the she locked the door.

  The bouncer loomed behind her and Seth found himself re-thinking his plan. The guy was twice his size and it looked as if he had bowling balls instead of biceps. He wore a plain black T-shirt that was clearly three sizes too small and, when he turned around, emphasized the barrel of his chest. Seth had thrown dollar bills at strippers with smaller tits than this guy had.

  I need to work out more.

  The bouncer ushered the young woman down the stairs and across the parking lot. She chatted away but the Hulk took his job way too damn seriously. His head was on a swivel, eyeballing the parking lot and the woods and the vehicles all in quick, effective glances. Seth hunkered down behind the giant wheel of the 4x4 and hoped it was big enough to keep him from being spotted. He held his breath as the pair neared the vehicles, gravel crunching beneath their feet.

  “Thanks, Wade,” the woman said, the dulcet tones of her voice drawing Seth out of hiding just far enough that he could see her around the tire. The pair were on the driver’s side of the Focus, and Seth clenched his jaw at seeing where they were. He hadn’t thought about the bouncer escorting the woman to her vehicle seeing how they were parked right next to each other. Fucking chivalry, man. He would have to act soon or miss his opportunity. There was no way the big guy would drive off and not notice Seth standing there like an idiot behind his truck.

  “Night, Afiya,” he told her. “Drive safe. Lots of crazies out there.”

  Seth nodded his agreement to the bouncer’s statement and watched as Afiya leaned up and gave the big guy a hug, her arms not able to reach entirely around him, tiny hands flailing at his back. Seth sighed. If he was going to do this, it had to be now.

  Satan, watch my ass.

  He hunkered down and crept around the back of the Ford as quickly as he could. Of course, a half-drunk and stoned bass player who hadn’t seen the inside of a gym in twenty years couldn’t possibly be as fast as a guy who kicked heads in daily.

  “What the fuck?” The bouncer must have heard him
coming because he spun to meet Seth, a lunchbox fist careening in Seth’s direction on instinct.

  Fortunately, what he lacked in musculature and athleticism, Seth made up for in foul play. He ducked under the behemoth’s fist and slammed the tire iron into the guy’s kneecap. There was a sharp crack, and the bouncer screamed, stumbling forward on a leg no longer able to support him.

  “Wade!” Afiya screamed, caught between racing to the bouncer’s aid and wanting to be as far away from Seth and his tire iron as possible.

  Seth took advantage of her hesitation. He spun and clubbed the bouncer in the back of his head. A sound like a ripe watermelon dropped from a roof echoed through the night air and the bouncer went still. He hit him again out of spite.

  Then Seth turned on the woman, who had found her courage and dug her hand into her purse, frantically searching for something. He didn’t want to know whether it was a gun or mace or just her car keys, but he sure as fuck didn’t want to find out. Spurred on by adrenaline, he leapt forward and swung the tire iron at her. She yanked something from her purse and raised it toward him but it was too late. The steel rod thunked against her forehead and she went down in a heap. A Taser fell beside her, discharging into the air with a zzzzt.

  Seth slumped to the ground beside her and let loose the breath he’d been holding since they walked into the parking lot. He took a few minutes to let his stomach settle before looking back to the woman.

  “Sorry, Afiya, but I need your skin.”

  He thumped her once more with the tire iron to make sure she wouldn’t wake up in the middle of everything and rolled her over, pulling her shirt up to expose her back. Goosebumps prickling his arms, he ran a hand across her warm flesh, measuring what he would need. She felt good against his palm, warm. It was nothing like the frigid cadavers his funeral director friend Kirk let him take pieces from before they carted them off to be buried. Afiya’s skin was soft and pliant, an artist’s canvas compared to the dollar store imitation he’d been used to working with.