Pure Hate

by White, Wrath James

  “We’re gonna use your guestroom for a while. Don’t kill that bitch. I’m serious. When you’re done, come on up and we’ll have some fun.”

  Malcolm pulled Rick’s jacket off of Natasha’s shoulders and ran his hands over her naked body. “I’ll save you some.”

  XXXVIII.

  Natasha closed her eyes and tried to shut out the pain while still pretending to be enjoy herself. Maybe if he thought she liked it, maybe if he thought she still wanted him, thought she still loved him, he wouldn’t torture her too badly. Maybe he might even let her live or at least kill her quickly. Maybe he wouldn’t let Rick have his turn.

  She tried not to show her fear, her disgust, her anger. She tried to ignore the penis slamming in and out of her, feeling as if it was pushing up into her guts. When the teeth clamped down on her shoulder and the fangs punctured her flesh, she tried not to scream. But she did.

  Oh, God, it hurt so bad!

  When he turned her over and she felt his penis ripping into her anus, she couldn’t help herself. She screamed and cried and begged and cursed. Malcolm only laughed and pounded into her harder. His laughter sounded like something rumbling up from hell. She could feel his penis swelling inside her as he approached an orgasm; she felt his hand clamp around her throat and begin to squeeze. She couldn’t breathe. Everything went gray and then it all went black. She was grateful for the escape—the peace of oblivion.

  When she awoke, Rick was on top of her, inside of her. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth and his eyes were wild. He was muttering something about CC fucking some other guy. She could feel him thrusting inside her, but it was a dull distant pain, more like the memory of a pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a huge shadow, pregnant with menace, so dark it stood out against the backdrop of night. She closed her eyes and tried hard to slip back into oblivion, but the pain kept her wide awake. She opened her eyes again and looked back at the huge shadow that filled the corner of the room. It was moving toward her, its fangs reflecting the moonlight.

  XXXIX.

  Malcolm bound Natasha’s arms and legs to the bedposts and left her. He wasn’t finished with her. He wanted her to suffer for a long time, and he wanted to derive as much pleasure as possible from her suffering.

  She had tried to convince him she was still in love with him, hoping to be spared. Malcolm didn’t care whether she loved him or not. Even if he still loved her (and he wasn’t sure he didn’t) he’d still have to hurt her. He had made a promise to himself long ago that he would repay every injury tenfold. He owed her pain, lots of pain.

  When her hands and feet were firmly secured, he kissed her once on the forehead, turned and left. He walked downstairs with Rick walking closely behind.

  In the living room, CC sat on the couch, immobile. There were a just few more bruises on her than when Malcolm left Rick alone with her. Tears trickled from her eyes down her bruised cheek as Malcolm moved toward her.

  “Congratulations, whore. You get to live.”

  He grabbed CC by her hair and yanked her up from the couch.

  “We’re going to see your boyfriend.”

  Rick made a sound like he was choking and punched the wall again. Malcolm laughed and led them both out the door and over to the Jeep.

  Several police vehicles cruised by as they made their way through Center City, Philadelphia. Malcolm was calm. He knew that, slouched down in the back seat behind the dark tinted windows, he was almost invisible and Rick was far too scared to start speeding or doing anything stupid that might attract police attention and get Malcolm angry and himself dead. CC was catatonic.

  Malcolm had seen this before. CC had checked out. Her mind couldn’t handle the stress and had simply shut down. Even if he were inclined to let her live, he knew her mind would never reassemble itself. No amount of psychotherapy could put the pieces back together. CC was gone.

  XL.

  City Hall loomed above them, covered in gargoyles, angels, thousands of pigeons that seethed as if the building itself were alive and breathing, and of course the monolithic statue of Benjamin Franklin watching over the city like a silent golem. Beneath the famous statue, a single vehicle rolled down Broad Street, past the clothing stores, record shops, and hotels where young urban professionals sipped martinis in posh restaurants. Violin music floated like a funeral procession of one.

  CC watched a couple laughing in the window of an expensive seafood restaurant. The woman threw her napkin at her companion who caught it and laughed even louder. CC’s eyes clouded with tears. The last man who’d made her laugh like that was about to be murdered then she would be murdered as well. She was certain of it.

  Rick might think he was Malcolm’s accomplice, but CC saw the way Malcolm looked at him. She saw the way he spoke to Rick. There was no respect there, no warmth. There was a distance between them that Malcolm carefully maintained and he was widening it by the second. There was only one reason for that.

  CC had no illusions about what was going to happen to her once they reached their destination. Hers would not be a quick, painless death. She, like everyone else in Philly, knew all about Malcolm, and what he did to his victims. She’d seen the TV reports, read the newspapers, imagined the horror his victims must have felt, the pain, the helpless woe. She knew how he tortured his victims, ripped them apart with those gruesome silver fangs while they were still alive and conscious.

  One news reporter had commented that he apparently “. . . had no taste for carrion.” The horrifying accounts of his rampages had replayed every evening in her nightmares. The news stories had disturbed her so much that she’d stopped watching television altogether.

  Now, she was about to become one of those gruesome stories. The thought paralyzed her. The tale of her death would doubtlessly keep some lonely housewives awake at night. Her stomach rolled in revulsion as she imagined those silver fangs shredding her breasts.

  They passed the steps of the Art Museum, made famous by Rocky Balboa’s triumphant run, and CC remembered sitting with a handsome law student beneath one of the many ancient statues standing guard over the Art Museum’s ornate courtyard. It was the Fourth of July, nine years ago, and they were there to see the fireworks display. Now, that handsome law student would be an accomplice in her murder.

  CC turned her thoughts away from what was about to happen. She could see no way to avoid it, so there was no sense dwelling on it. She wanted her last moments before the end to be as happy and peaceful as possible. She sought refuge in her memories, deep within her own mind. She transported herself away from Rick and Malcolm and back to her wedding day, the happiest day of her life, when she’d been hopeful, confident of a future filled with love and joy. When that memory faded, she thought of Detective Bryant, how he’d held her, kissed her, made love to her. She held on to his memory, like a talisman against the evil that surrounded her, and held on to the slim hope he would save her.

  XLI.

  The house was empty when Reed smashed through the front door, brandishing the Glock in a shooter’s stance. He called out for Malcolm, but heard no reply. He rushed from room to room with the nine millimeter held out in front of him. He dashed up the stairs into the master bedroom and found it empty. Reed was screaming Malcolm’s name at the top of his lungs or rather, he thought he was. When he realized that he hadn’t uttered a word, that it was the voices in his head screaming for blood, he was already past caring.

  He turned around and headed to the little guestroom. He stopped abruptly, just outside the room. There was someone in there. He’d heard a noise, a muffled cough. Malcolm was in there, waiting to ambush him. Reed aimed the Glock at the door and fired half of the fifteen shot clip through it. He waited a second and listened. This time he heard nothing. He kicked open the door and looked around for Malcolm’s bleeding corpse. What he found was a naked woman bound to the bed with electrical tape, her eyes wide in terror. He recognized her immediately. It was Natasha. She looked exactly as he remembered her, her slight,
delicate body that appeared only recently matured, frozen between childhood and womanhood, like some kind of sensuous changling.

  Her eyes, even while terrified, still had that glint of mischief and sexual energy. She’d always been wild. It wouldn’t have surprised him one bit to discover that her current predicament was consensual. There were two bullet holes in the headboard. One was less than two inches from her head. Reed scanned her body for bullet wounds. He could’ve killed her, shooting through the door like that. But she seemed to be unhurt. At least unhurt by him.

  Reed was amazed at how seemingly unchanged she was. She looked only slightly older than when he’d last seen her, fifteen years ago. Her body was still that of a teenager. Her pubic hairs had been shaved cleanly, making her look even younger. Reed wondered if Malcolm had shaved her or if she just kept it that way herself.

  A trickle of blood dripped down from her shoulder where Malcolm’s fangs had bitten into her skin. Again, Reed checked to make sure he hadn’t shot her. There were no bullet wounds that Reed could see. It looked like two of the bullets had hit the ceiling and three others had buried themselves in the floor. His nervous breathing had caused his gun hand to bounce up and down, sending the bullets high and low. If someone had been standing right in front of the door only one or two of the eight bullets he fired would’ve hit. Reed was not confident that two bullets would’ve been enough to stop Malcolm.

  Reed looked back at Natasha, bound and helpless. God she was beautiful! A look of impatience came into Natasha’s eyes and she began struggling against her bonds. Still, Reed stood in the doorway, staring at her exposed breasts. Even lying on her back, they didn’t sag much. Her hard pointy nipples pointed skyward.

  Malcolm had bound her legs, one to each post, so that she was spread-eagle on the bed. Reed grazed her smooth legs with his eyes, and a hunger started to rise in him. He knew he was staring at her naked body for too long and that his pants were ill equipped to hide his growing excitement, but something about seeing her bound and gagged, helpless, was turning him on. He snapped free of the spell and stepped forward to free her, feeling ashamed for that unbidden response.

  All fear had left Natasha and she was staring at Reed with a look of impatience and annoyance. She knew what he’d been thinking. Reed flushed with embarrassment. He knew how inappropriate those thoughts were with her terrorized and raped by a madman. Reed made sure that he removed the tape from her mouth last and gently.

  As soon as she was free, Natasha jumped up and threw on some baggy pants and an oversized sweatshirt that hung to her knees. Reed looked at her quizzically.

  “These aren’t my clothes. They ripped off all my clothes back at my apartment. These are Rick’s.”

  Reed wanted to ask her what they’d done to her, but it was obvious from her attitude that she wasn’t interested in reliving her recent torture, She was putting on the same tough front she’d maintained in high school. Back then, he’d believed that she really was that tough. Now, he knew better. Nobody was that tough.

  “Where’s Malcolm?”

  “I don’t know. He probably went after you. He’s obsessed with you. He told me he was gonna pull your heart out and feed it to me.”

  Natasha looked away from Reed as she finished the rest, “I was laying here, trying to work up the nerve . . . uh . . . to get myself ready to . . . I uh . . . I was thinking that if he did try to feed me your heart and I ate it he’d . . .”

  “Yeah, maybe he would. Or maybe he’d cut you up anyway.”

  Reed tried to catch her gaze, but she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she busied herself trying to stuff balled up tube socks into the toe of Rick’s sneakers so they’d fit her feet.

  “We’d better hurry up. Who knows when they’ll be back?”

  “You go. I’m staying. I’ve got to end this.”

  Now, Natasha did look at him. Her face filled with shock and then concern. She opened her mouth to speak, to try talking him out of staying, out of confronting Malcolm, then her expression changed to solemn acceptance, and she turned away and gathered up Rick’s ski jacket. She shrugged it on and zipped it up, turned to leave.

  “You came here to die, then.”

  “Maybe,” Reed said.

  Natasha was halfway out the door when she stopped and looked back at Reed.

  “That’s why you came here, huh? For Malcolm? Yeah, how could you know I’d be here? You always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, but it was all just a coincidence wasn’t it? You were never the type to make things happen. Things happened and you just got caught up in them. When we made love back then, I was just looking for a way to make Malcolm notice me and there you were. Right place. Right time. Now you’re caught up in this, another situation you can’t control. You can’t win here, Reed. Just get out. You don’t have to do this.”

  “It’s too late now.” Reed whispered.

  “You spent all of high school following Malcolm around. You don’t have to follow him anymore. Malcolm brought you here. He wants you here. And if you stay, you’ll die.”

  “Or he will.”

  Natasha looked down at the nine millimeter clutched in Reed’s hand and shook her head with what looked like pity. She slipped out the door, walking quickly down the stairs. Reed heard the front door slam and her footsteps down the street, running. He knew she’d go to the police, and he knew that they would interfere. They’d want to arrest Malcolm, put him on trial and execute him legally, humanely, but that could never happen. Reed had to see this out himself. It had to end.

  XLII.

  James was not doing much to hide his boredom. In fact, he was doing everything he could to let it be known. “Big Bird” Woo was briefing the taskforce on the newest developments in the Family Man case.

  Among others, James felt his time would be better spent out on the streets, looking for Malcolm. He’d heard everything the lieutenant was saying before. After all, most of it came straight from his notes.

  “We know that Malcolm has some type of vendetta against Reed Cozen stemming from their high school friendship. This friendship ended when Mr. Cozen had an affair with both of Malcolm’s first two girlfriends. For some reason, Malcolm has never gotten over this betrayal and has come back to ruin Reed Cozen’s life. This is the most likely scenario. How all of that ties into the Family Man murders, we are not entirely certain and perhaps only Malcolm himself can explain that to us. We do know that all the victims in each case bare an uncanny resemblance to Reed, including Paul Cooper, Malcolm’s former roommate, accomplice, and most recent victim.

  “Another scenario we have to consider is that Reed and Malcolm are somehow working together. That Reed Cozen contacted Malcolm to kill his family. I think we’ve pretty much discounted this theory, however we still have to keep it in mind as a possibility, especially considering the fact that Reed is currently missing and armed with Detective Baltimore’s gun. We are going to search the Germantown area thoroughly in the hopes that Reed is heading there to find Malcolm. We are also going to stake out Renee’ Volare’s house on the possibility that either Reed or Malcolm may show up there.”

  Detective Trinidad raised his hand and Lieutenant Woo acknowledged him with a nod.

  “What about the other woman . . . ummm . . . Natasha? Has anyone located her yet?”

  “No. Still no luck there. We are researching her social security number in case she changed her name, but she has probably left town. Maybe, with the help of the FBI, we can cut through some of the red tape at the IRS and get copies of her tax forms. That should at least tell us where she works.”

  “The FBI?” all the detectives seemed to speak in unison.

  “Yes, the FBI. As soon as a police officer was murdered this became a federal matter. So now, the Feebs are in. They are not going to take over the entire investigation. They are going to work with us to bring this whole thing to a speedy resolution.”

  “Yeah, bullshit.” James barked.

  “Excuse me, detective?
” There was obvious annoyance in Lieutenant Woo’s voice.

  “I said bullshit. The Feds don’t assist. They commandeer! They’ll have total access to all of our files and we won’t have access to any of theirs! They won’t tell us shit about what they find. We’ll wind up being their fucking errand boys, doin’ all the work while they take the credit. We lost a detective, not them. This should be our case. They’ll muscle their way in and squeeze us out like they always do.”

  “I promise you, that will not happen.”

  “Yeah, right,” James grumbled and this time Woo ignored him.

  Captain Kelly stood up and, in a voice that for anyone else would’ve been a whisper, but from him sounded like the roar of a full grown male lion, addressed James directly.

  “You’re worried that they’ll take over the investigation? Well, your new job is gonna be to make sure that doesn’t happen. Meet your new partner, Agent David Malcovich of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  James stood as the man who’d been seated beside the podium, next to the Captain and Lieutenant Woo, rose and took the center of the room.

  “What tha fuck are you talking about, partner?” James asked.

  Agent Malcovich was another tall, slender, non-descript white boy whose beady eyes, weak chin, skinny neck with comically large Adam’s apple, and crooked front tooth would forever keep him from being called handsome. He was average. He was the type of average that people pass every day in the halls at work. The guy people pass on the street, in the aisles at the grocery store, and think that they might know him or that they’ve seen him before only to realize that he just reminds them of every other average looking guy they see every day.