A Guardian of Innocents

by Jeff Orton

  But in the meantime, I sure as hell didn’t want to endure anything like I had in childhood. He was looking at me intently while he unbuckled his belt. I had to think of a way to stall him.

  I turned around and looked at him, trying to act coy, “So would you like a spanking or anything before we get started? Maybe you’d like me to tie you up?”

  That would just be way too perfect, I thought.

  “I ain’t into that shit, kid,” Galen replied, “This is the part where you pull down your pants and bend over.”

  While this was disappointing, I was prepared for that exact answer. “Well, you’re not gonna fuck me dry, are you?”

  Galen dropped his jeans and briefs down to where they were resting around his ankles, the upper halves of the gray, reptile-skin cowboy boots protruded above the white underwear which sat atop the navy blue denim which still had the black imitation leather belt sitting inside the loops.

  “I don’t got any lube on me, but if you do, be my guest,” he answered.

  I walked towards him and reached into my pocket, fully cognizant that Galen’s legs were currently immobilized. I pulled out a tube of lubricating jelly—well, at least the label said it was a lubricant. After I’d bought it from the local drugstore, I emptied the tube and replaced the contents with something I’d found under the kitchen sink among Doris’ cleaning supplies.

  Galen’s five-incher was staring at me from between the tails of his button-down shirt.

  “How about I put it on for you?” I offered.

  “Eh, sure,” he said, “But first thing’s first.” He pulled out a condom, “No offense, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna catch anything offa you.”

  And while he concentrated on opening the plastic square package, I took the opportunity to pull a rag out of my other pocket. I put both hands behind my back. My right thumb flipped the tube open while my left held the rag as the contents of the tube were evacuated into it.

  Galen’s head perked up, “What’s that smell?”

  Then... I fell on him.

  Gnashing my teeth, I shot my hands out from behind me. One reached for his hair so I could hold his head, while the ammonia-soaked cloth in my other hand covered his nose and mouth.

  For the first full second or so, Galen was so utterly stunned he had no concept of what was taking place. The ammonia was seeping from the cloth into my glove and my hand was getting cold. (It’s amazing the things you notice when your adrenaline is up and time slows down like this.)

  His arms came up, trying to push me away from him. I placed one foot behind his leg and pushed him forward, making sure when he fell, I fell with him so the rag never left his face. When we landed I felt his breath get knocked out of him, which forced him to take a big gulp of air through the rag. I thought I was surely victorious. He should fall asleep at any moment; just like in the movies!

  But Galen kept fighting. He punched me a few times, once across the jaw, a few in the ribs, but then he got smart and tried to use his brute strength to pry my hand away from his face. In return, my knees shot up like a piston and rammed his naked, unprotected testicles. Galen took another large inhalation of ammonia fumes. His eyes rolled up slowly... And he lay still. The rodeo bullride was over with.

  I scanned him to make sure he wasn’t faking. Satisfied Galen was unconscious, I got off him and went to work.

  * * *

  When Galen woke, he found himself sitting upright on the floor. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t able to move his arms or legs. But as his mind emerged further, closer to the surface of lucid reality, he realized his arms and legs were pulled spread-eagle away from his torso. And he had a screaming headache.

  Didn’t that kid say he wanted to tie me up? he thought. The memory of what had happened just before he’d fallen asleep hit him and Galen snapped awake.

  He struggled to move his limbs, but found himself completely unable to adjust them any more than a half-inch. He saw thick black cords wrapped several times around each ankle and wrist. He realized he was still naked from the waist down and the hardwood floor was cold, but what felt especially cold was his crotch.

  Feels like he put a fucking icepack down there, he thought to himself, then out loud: “Where are you!!! What the fuck didja do to me?”

  Shit, it hurts to talk! Feels like someone poured gasoline down my throat and chased it with a lit match. He couldn’t see much. I only allowed one light to shine in the studio and it was attached to a thin adjustable stand which I’d placed behind his unsupported back. The light bulb was shining down directly onto Galen’s bald spot.

  I was standing next to the door of the studio, away from the glare of the large glass window above the soundboard, completely hidden by the darkness. At first, I thought of not answering him; let him get a little more frightened. I was certainly enjoying it, but I wanted to get on with this. I felt as though I’d already been there too long and I needed to vacate the premises soon. Very soon. What if Eli’s uncle decided to stop by to pick up something he forgot (however improbable that would be at one in the morning?) Or maybe a friend of his would drive by this place and call him up asking if he had traded in his truck for a new Camry.

  Paranoia was settling in and I didn’t like it. But I’d come this far: I had to finish this; if nothing, for my own mental health. Going into this, I hadn’t allowed myself the illusion that everything was going to happen exactly as I imagined it would. Excluding the hard punches I’d taken, everything had gone perfectly.

  “Sunbitch problee stole all my money,” I heard him mumble.

  I stepped out then, into the hard yellow light, and squatted down a few feet in front of him. My work was displayed obscenely before me, but Galen had yet to notice it. I expected shouts of outrage and defiance, threats of murder if he ever got free of this bondage. But instead, he just cried.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Galen whimpered, his voice half-choked, “I didn’t do anything to you.”

  I smiled patiently, “No, but you have hurt others. Others who were close to you.”

  “I haven’t hurt nobody. I swear. I promise.”

  “Galen, I know about all the things you did to Kimber,” I began. His terror grew as he realized what kind of situation he was in. Until now, he thought he was dealing with a boy prostitute who tied him up to steal his money and throw a scare or two into him. Now he was busy convincing himself that I was a contract killer hired by Kimber or Pete or both.

  “And I know about the last thing you did to Kimber. And I know you made your son watch.”

  “You actually BELIEVE that shit?!” Galen spat, “If all that shit was true, then how come I’m not in prison? A grand jury didn’t buy that bitch’s lies and neither should you! So what are you gonna fuckin’ do, huh? Kill me?”

  “In a second,” I replied, “First I want you to see something. I performed a little surgery while you were unconscious. I know that swollen gut of yours makes it almost impossible to see, and I’m really surprised you haven’t experienced any pain or discomfort yet...”

  “What didjoo do tuh me?” Galen screeched as he twisted around, straining his neck in various directions to see what it was I had done. Then he screamed as his groin area sent up a hot bolt of pain as a protest to all his thrashing about.

  “What didjoo do tuh me? WHAT DIDJA DOOOO!!!”

  “Suck in your gut, Galen. And take a look,” I said softly.

  “Oh, yoosumbitch! You fucker! Whuh schjew do?”

  I was getting more and more frustrated with him, so I walked around him, ducking under the black electrical extension cord that secured his left arm to a large expensive-looking control panel nearby. I pushed his head forward, ramming Galen’s chin into his sternum, and then I felt his panic achieve its climax as he observed my work.

  While he was knocked out, I had used an exacto knife to slice directly up the center of Galen’s scrotum. This was, of course, after I had exchanged my regular gloves for some thin rubber ones. I had then reached i
nside and gently removed both of his testicles and laid them upon the hardwood floor, still attached by the vas deferens tubes which connected them to the rest of his plumbing. They looked like little gray peeled grapes with dark navy blue veins running through them in ugly, varicose patterns.

  I let go of his head, stepped back a few paces, then ran and jumped over him, feeling giddy and gleeful. I gazed upon him as he struggled with the cords, screaming himself hoarse.

  “Galen?” I beckoned. No response. He just kept yelling.

  “Galen?” I asked again, trying to get his attention. He was beside himself, just absolutely bawling.

  “Listen, I gotta get the fuck outta here, so I’m just gonna do my business and go. This is for Kimber...”

  As Galen was still blubbering, I threw a thin rag over his junk and lifted one heavy steel-toed work boot and brought it down on his exposed testes. It was one quick stomp. I don’t remember hearing much of a squish. I think it was just because the impact made a deep sound, like a door slamming shut, which drowned it out. The rag’s only purpose was to keep my boot DNA-free.

  The look on Galen’s face said he’d just seen the face of the devil and the devil had casually informed him of where he would be spending his eternity. No sound escaped him for the first two seconds; he drew in a large breath. I winced as I walked away, listening to the most horrified scream my ears have ever had to endure in such an enclosed environment.

  In the hour Galen had been unconscious, the last thing I’d done was find the thickest extension cord I could possibly get my hands on. It didn’t look at all that long rolled up, but after I’d used my larger knife to cut off the female end and lay it out, I found it to be plenty long enough to perform the job it was destined for.

  I used the knife to strip the plastic coating off the cable to expose about 6 inches of different colored wires, along with the copper ground wire. The male end of the chord was waiting by the wall, just underneath an outlet.

  I lifted up the frayed end of the cable and showed it to him, “And this is for fucking up Isaac’s entire life.”

  I walked the end of it over to him as he bucked and sobbed, swimming in delirium. I crouched down in front of him again, and carefully slid the splayed wires into the bloody opening of his empty scrotum.

  “Don’t. . . DON’T!” he pleaded. I thought about asking him if he’d considered his wife or son’s pleas to stop, but I knew that question would be pointless. He would say anything he thought might get him out of this situation, and I was aware (after witnessing the acts first-hand) that he never once considered ceasing anything he did due to Kimber or Isaac’s begging. Pleas to stop only egged him on. They heightened his sense of control over them.

  And it was with this thought I stood up, walked to the wall and plugged in the extension cord.

  I expected it to go down with little activity. I would watch Galen’s body tense up and vibrate a little; then he would quietly die. Just like a state death penalty execution.

  Holy shit was I ever wrong.

  The loud pops that came out of the business end of the cord were like gunshots.

  Then everything went dark. I had about a half-second’s worth of an “OH SHIT” moment, before the power came back on and the popping resumed.

  Over the next several seconds, the air of the studio became saturated with the foul and sour aroma of cooking flesh and burning pubic hair. But then the lights went out again. I distinctly heard (and felt) a loud, mechanical snap from the other side of wall and the power was restored.

  Galen’s wails were stinging my ears so badly, I had to plug them with my fingers. I knew the place was soundproof, but I was really beginning to worry just how soundproof. The lights flickered and faded off and on, but never went out completely.

  It took Galen quite a long while to finally die. By the time it happened, his entire pelvic section was blackened. The strands of hair encircling his bald spot were sticking straight out. I scanned him thoroughly to make sure he wasn’t faking, just to be cautious.

  And with great care, I slowly unplugged the cord. I knew there was no danger unless I touched part of the stripped area while it was still plugged (which was virtually impossible since Galen’s scrotum had almost completely melted and fused itself to the cord) but my anxiety was quickly elevating into paranoia.

  I stood where I was and looked all around the studio, trying to remember everything I had done and mentally checking off everything I could think of that could be considered evidence against me should I ever have to stand trial.

  Satisfied all was well and that Uncle Bob would be in for one really fucked up surprise tomorrow morning, I headed back upstairs. I checked my watch and was amazed to find that it was nearly two a.m.

  I was up the stairs and fast-walking down the hall when the corner of my eye caught something strange at the reception desk. I was still about three feet from the office standing in the hallway, but the moonlight was shining through the barred windows onto the desk and I could make out a black shape sitting on the desk.

  It was only about a foot tall and appeared to be shaped like a... heart. I scanned the entire studio building while fresh adrenaline flowed into my veins. Whatever that thing was, I was certain that desk had been clear when I’d brought Galen into this place.

  I stood perfectly still, opening my mouth and slowing my breathing so as not to be heard. I squinted my eyes trying desperately to see this mystery object better. My senses told me no one was around, so I began inching forward with my back to the wall. I tried to step quietly, but my clumping work boots didn’t want to cooperate.

  As I proceeded closer towards the desk, I started to realize what it was I was looking at. I strained my eyes and began to see a hint of horizontal lines going across this heart.

  The right half of the black heart moved a little; twitched would be a more accurate word. It hit me then that this heart shape was actually a pair of black shoes. Someone was sitting at the chair in front of the desk and had leaned back and propped his feet up on the desk, crossing his right foot over his left.

  The initial discovery was frightening, but once I thought about it, there was only one person (thing) this could possibly be, and the last thing I needed or wanted right now was a visit from the enigmatic man in black.

  I closed my eyes and thumped the back of my head against the wall behind me and quietly prayed, “Go away. Just go away. I don’t need your shit today.” I reflected only very briefly on how that sounded like some kind of schoolyard rhyme.

  I was surprised when I heard the tiny, metallic squeak of an office chair that has just been relieved of some weight. I wondered if he was getting up. Was he going to come around the corner and confront me? Why is he here? And why the fuck does he keep stalking me?

  I decided it was better to take the initiative; maybe I could surprise him. The small survival mini-knife I’d used to strip the power cord was in my hand before I was even aware I’d pulled it out of my pants pocket. I threw myself around the corner, ready to fight whatever specter it was that insisted on haunting me.

  But no one was there of course.

  Nope, of course not. Why would such an evanescent apparition wait for me in the next room when it could materialize directly behind me and let me feel its hot breath gingerly caress the back of my neck?

  I wheeled around and slashed wildly through the air. There was definitely a man dressed in black attire standing in front of me now, but my knife seemed to find nothing but air. I thrust the blade into his neck, and was startled to see the knife sink in all the way to the hilt. Even my thumb, index and middle fingers disappeared into his illusory flesh, turning instantly numb upon contact. I drew back and a tingling sensation erupted in those digits, that same pins-and-needles feeling one might get in various body parts upon waking in an awkward position.

  The man glared at me with a look of impatience, “In ten minutes a cop who has patrolled this beat for fourteen years is going to stop by...” His voice was soft-spo
ken, but firm. Neither deep nor high-pitched. “In the many, many nights he has passed this place, he has never seen a vehicle parked in front of it this late at night.

  “If you plan on getting away with murder tonight, Jeshua, my suggestion is to go back downstairs and get Galen’s keys. Take his car all the way back to the strip joint. Don’t even stop for your bag of clothes and bottled water. It’s not worth the risk.”

  It was as if someone had taken a syringe and injected my veins with frigid ice water.

  “And just to let you know that I’m not full of shit, someone broke into your truck while you’ve been gone. He got your stereo and CD case, but fortunately there’s not much damage to the truck itself. The only thing is he left in a hurry and closed your door kind of half-assed. The interior light’s been burning for awhile and if you don’t get back to it soon, the truck’s battery is going to be dead.”

  He paused then, as if waiting for a response.

  Speechless, I could only reply, “Okay.” I stood where I was, not sure what I should do.

  The man in black rolled his eyes, “Go get his damn keys and get the hell outta here!”

  It seemed as good idea as any, plus I was both shell-shocked and perplexed by the entire conversation. Following his order seemed to be the most logical course of action. Fighting him had already proven useless.

  My curious mind was overflowing with questions, but none of them could seem to work their way down to my mouth. I turned instead and trotted back towards the underground studio. I stopped at the end of the hall and glanced back over my shoulder.

  But, of course, he was gone.

  Chapter 9

  I wanted desperately to talk to Desiree. I wanted desperately to talk to her that night. But I remembered the rules. If I called her, it would break two of them.

  No calling as three a.m.—and it was already 2:45 when I got home. I’m not supposed to do anything that might lead her to believe I’m a psychopath, and there I was contemplating what I’ll say when I hear her sleepy, irritated voice say, “Hello?”