“Nod once if you understand.”
Dylan did so carefully so he wouldn’t cut himself. Jameson smiled briefly, glanced in annoyance at his son, and put the blade away on his person. Cradling his injured hand, Gabe waited until Jameson left the room to get up and glare daggers at Dylan.
Leaning down so his face was level with Dylan’s, he promised, “Better make your peace with your Maker because you’re in for one hell of a ride.”
Dylan wasn’t one to give up without a fight, so he winked at his abductor just to piss him off, and show that he wasn’t going to play the part of the wounded prey. Gabe roughly shoved the rag back into his mouth, and used duct tape to ensure that it stayed in place this time.
Chapter 13
The night was dragging on as it usually did on the night shift and the two men were battling sleep, doing whatever they could to keep awake: cards, discussing plans for the future, talking about what was happening in the precinct, etc. Both officers had been on the force for a little over three years and the night shift was where they had been assigned to.
Mac popped a new stick of gum in his mouth, his fourth piece, and shifted in his seat, keeping his cards hidden.
“Are you going for detective next month or are you going to come up with another excuse as for why you shouldn’t?”
Looking up from his cards, Warren gave a fake smile, “There is a big difference between an excuse and a reason.”
“Pull your panties out of your ass. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
Mac was twenty five, single, and had no family in Florida. He’d removed himself from an abusive home and had never looked back. Stopping abuse of all kinds was the main motivation to why he chose the career path of a policeman. Passing him on the street, one would never correctly guess his profession. Five seven, slightly overweight, with a patchy mustache didn’t quite grant him the label of an intimidating man of the law.
Warren was the polar opposite. Twenty seven, married, with his first child to be born in three months, he was the quintessential family man. Devoted to his family first, the job second. People avoided eye contact with him because he did have the intense stare and muscular build that commanded respect. Recently his mother had fallen deathly ill, and his father couldn’t do it on his own, so he did all he could to help with her. He was lucky if he got four hours of sleep a day but you would never hear a word of complaint come from his mouth.
Mac knew of the family issues Warren was facing, but didn’t really know how to respond to the situation so he resorted to cracking jokes or playing dumb to it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just had no experience in the area and Warren didn’t hold it against him.
“So you didn’t really answer the question…”
Warren was grateful when the radio crackled to life, saving him from having to get into this conversation again.
“Dispatch to Unit 7, we’ve got a call for a possible missing person driving a black mustang, license plate Alpha Tango Four Charlie Two Six, last seen heading down I-75 South to Miami. Never made it to destination. Name’s Dylan Masterson. Alcohol may be involved.”
“Roger dispatch, Unit 7 on it,” Mac answered.
Their car was pulled to the side of the road and hadn’t seen a car in the last hour. Warren buckled his seat belt and nodded to Mac.
“Let’s head north. I would have remembered seeing a Mustang pass us. Keep an eye out for headlights or taillights, car debris, anything that could give us a sign of an accident. Let’s hope we just find him pulled to the side of the road.”
“Guarantee you we’ll find the person passed out in his car, on the shoulder,” Mac said with a laugh.
Knowing how horrible car accident clean ups could be, Warren was silent as they pulled off down the road, hoping for once that Mac was right.
* * *
No body. Shining his flashlight in the car revealed little to nothing and left him baffled at the location of the person who drove the car. Warren did find possible evidence as to the cause of the accident quick enough when the light reflected off of the empty liquor bottle. Further inspection led him to believe possible foul play was involved though. The tires were shredded, but from what?
Mac was still on the radio, checking in and informing dispatch that they’d found the vehicle but no person yet.
He bent down to get a closer view of the tires and something caught his attention. A piece of metal jutted crookedly out of the remains of the front driver’s side tire. Wiggling it back and forth, he removed a three inch chunk. He held it in the palm of his hand and saw it was tapered to a sharp point at the end with rough, jagged edges. Following the path the car was on proved easy enough with his flashlight and he made his way back towards the road, hoping to find some clue as to what this guy could have hit or run over.
Waving his beam back and forth across the road proved pointless. Mac called out to him but he waved him off as he continued his search. Footsteps rang out on the street behind him. Fifty feet down the road and there was no sign of any type of obstruction or debris that could have ripped through his tires with such ease.
“What are you looking for?” Mac asked, slightly out of breath but trying to hide it.
Clicking off his flashlight, Warren turned back towards the abandoned vehicle.
“I’m at a loss for what he hit because there is no sign of anything on the road as far as I can tell, but something fucked up his tires bad. There is no smell of alcohol but I did find an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker on the floorboard. Something isn’t adding up. The chances that all four tires burst simultaneously are astronomical,” he said, holding up the rusted piece of metal for Mac to inspect. “I pulled this out of one of the tires on the car.”
Dropping it into Mac’s hand, Warren made his way back over to the Mustang.
“What do you think happened?”
“A missing person, no sign of where he went to… some blood on the dashboard of the car, probably from hitting his head when the car flipped. I don’t know yet,” Warren responded as he crouched next to the car, sweeping the ground with his flashlight.
Tilting his head to the side to get a better angle, Warren motioned for Mac to join him. There were two divots in the ground next to the driver’s side door. “A body just doesn’t vanish into thin air.”
Chapter 14
A voice calling softly broke through the haze.
It sounded like his mother’s voice, telling him that everything was going to be fine. When he’d heard her voice as a child, he’d been reassured that all the wrong in the world could be made right. A light brush against his cheek brought a smile. The soothing voice continued to speak to him, but he couldn’t understand it at first.
A pair of the most beautiful hazel eyes greeted him as he opened his own to see the angel that was in his presence. Not his mother but a woman in her early twenties, sitting on his lap, with a dazzling smile present on her face as she coaxed him to wake up. A cream colored t-shirt and a pair of black underwear was all she was wearing. What the hell is going on?
“You’ve been out for quite some time.”
His tongue felt like a piece of rough sandpaper and his mouth was dry. Answering this very attractive woman was out of the question. Had the entire ordeal been a dream? Could he be that lucky? He tried raising a hand to touch the woman in front of him to see if she was real and the hard reality of the situation came crashing back in on him like a rogue wave. Without warning, she ripped open his shirt and tilted her head as she took in his physique.
“You called for your mom a little bit ago. Were you dreaming of her?”
Until I woke to find that my life has become a fucking nightmare. There was only one door that he could see out of this room. Not being able to see behind him limited his options to the front and sides. No windows either. How the hell was he supposed to get to out of this place?
A searing, sharp pain in his lower left abdomen caused him to almost see stars as he twisted and tried desperately t
o retreat from it. That just made the woman smile all the more.
“Stop squirming. You don’t want me hitting anything important do you? I just need to make a small incision so we can have our base ingredient for the broth.”
A strangled cry escaped his lips as she pulled the knife back out. Blood began to trickle from the three inch incision into a pot she’d put under the cut.
“Don’t make too much noise,” she said teasingly, holding up the rag.
“Fuck you!” Dylan responded with all the defiance he could muster at the moment.
Her eyes took on a mischievous glint as she maneuvered herself on his lap so that she straddled him, bringing her face close to his. Balling up the rag, she put it back into his mouth, and then lightly patted his cheek. He breathed in her perfume and in any other situation wouldn’t have minded their current position. For a brief moment, he’d considered ramming his face into hers but feared the reaction of the rest of the group. A scowl would have to suffice for now.
“You are so cute,” she cooed, lightly trailing her hand down his face, stopping to rest against his chest. He couldn’t help but cringe at her touch. What was wrong with these people? She hummed to herself as her fingers crawled their way down to his stomach. His flesh broke out in goosebumps and he couldn’t help but shiver. The farther down her hand travelled, the closer she moved her body to his. Mere centimeters separated them and she smiled seductively at him. There was no denying that she was stunning but the fact that she was clearly insane was hard to forget, even when she was sitting on his lap.
Her smile widened as her fingers found his wound and pushed their way in. His eyes widened in pain and shock and he bit down viciously on the rag.
“We need this to be a little bigger to get more from it,” she said as she widened his cut with her fingers.
She picked up the pot and held it directly under the now four inch slit in his side. Pushing down on his abdomen above the wound increased the stream of blood. His blood filled a third of the pot already and she still didn’t seem satisfied. Resting her head against his chest she twirled her bloody fingers through his chest hair.
“Saturday’s tend to be one of our busier days, so we have to make sure to have enough soup to last us,” she purred as she continued to play with his hair.
Dylan’s vision blurred and he shook his head trying to fight away the light headedness. Sitting up from his chest, she gave a little giggle. He watched in horrid fascination as she sucked his blood off of her fingers one at a time. Eyes closed, she made a sigh of delight at the taste.
“Elena, how many times have I told you not to play with the food?”
She made a frustrated sound at the tone in her father’s voice, and stood up from Dylan’s lap. Upon seeing Jameson, Dylan started straining against the ropes again. The knife from earlier was back in his hand and tapping against the side of his face as he studied Dylan. He nodded to Elena, who with a frown on her face, left the room, visibly upset at being interrupted.
“Close the door behind you,” Jameson said, never shifting his gaze.
With a wink at Dylan, she closed the door, locking him in the room with the mad man.
Chapter 15
Elena stood with her back against the door for a few seconds until she heard the music start. The blood sloshed in the pot as she made her way into the kitchen. The vegetables for the stew were laid out on the counter next to the stove waiting to be cut; all of her favorites. Carrots, celery, onions, and tomatoes. It wouldn’t take but a half hour to get the soup going, and at that point she would require the meat to add in. A scream from the store room was a sure sign that she wouldn’t have too long to wait. Her pants hung on the edge of the counter where she’d left them and she eased herself back into them.
Cutting the vegetables was the boring part but someone had to do it. Her mother was putting the tablecloths on the tables while cleaning and arranging the dining area to her satisfaction. Once that was done Eleanor would start on her pies.
Turning the heat on, she placed the pot on the stove and stirred lightly. Checking over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, she couldn’t resist a little taste. Elena was the only member of her family to partake of the food they prepared. It had remained her secret but had almost been uncovered on a couple occasions. She hadn’t always harbored a taste for human flesh.
* * *
Jameson and Gabe had just returned from their “outing” and had brought in a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. This was their fifth time and it was becoming easier and they were beginning to get in a routine. Jameson and Gabe found and brought in the meat. Eleanor and Elena worked on the appetizers and desserts. The preparation of the meat was left to Jameson. He had the stomach for it. Gabe was the one given clean up duty.
Her mother’s arms were covered in flour and dough. “Elena, tomorrow’s special is the stew. Would you mind getting the base for the soup? I’m behind with these pies.”
With a quick nod, Elena grabbed a large pot, and stopped at the knife rack. This was the first time her mother was entrusting this task to her. A surge of pride and confidence swelled within her and her eyes lit up as she withdrew a slender, five inch blade.
Her brother and father passed her in the hallway without a word. A look of concentration was displayed on Jameson’s face that played in direct contrast to Gabe’s look of resignation. A part of him didn’t agree with what they did but he was too afraid of their father to ever say or do anything against his will.
Emotions were something that Elena seemed to lack. At least when it concerned her feelings towards the people they murdered. She felt no sadness or remorse over any of it. She was her father’s daughter through and through having inherited his gift of lacking a conscience.
The woman’s head remained down as Elena crossed the threshold, tools in hand. She couldn’t help but pout a little. It wouldn’t be fun unless they were awake. Elena was patient to a certain extent and if the woman didn’t wake momentarily… there were persuasive ways that came to her mind.
Lifting the woman’s head showed a darkening bruise over the left side of her face. Jameson must have done or said something to irritate Gabe. Pressing with her fingers, not so gently, brought a weak groan from the woman and her head moved away.
“There we go,” she whispered.
Blond hair obstructed her face as her head went back down.
“Oh no you don’t,” Elena declared, as she lifted the woman’s head.
One slap rocked her head to the side and brought her fully awake. The fierceness in the woman’s eyes forced Elena back a step. She was accustomed to fear, desperation, or confusion emanating from their victims but not strength. Had she not been so taken aback she may have predicted what came next.
A thick wad of spit connected with her face. Shock froze her for a few seconds. Maybe she was wrong earlier to think that she was devoid of any emotion because her stomach churned like a tea kettle with a burning rage at the moment.
Forty five seconds later, the woman was dead. She didn’t even have the chance to release a proper scream, just a series of pained grunts before her final breath wheezed out. Blood oozed from eight puncture wounds and six slashes across her stomach, breasts, and neck. With a morbid fascination, she watched the light vacate her eyes and felt the anger drain away from her.
The knife fell from numb fingers to clatter noisily on the floor. She’d never lost control before. Apparently she was capable of emotions just not sympathy and compassion. Anger came quite readily to her.
Her senses returned and she rushed forward with the pot she had dropped in her explosion of murderous rage. She had multiple options for placement of the pot but her concern was the blood running out. Content with the blood she’d collected, Elena experienced another first. Worry. Her father was going to be livid. A waste of perfectly good meat.
Maybe not.
If she called for her father perhaps he could work fast and get what was needed. She wet her lips
and a coppery taste filled her mouth. Some of the woman’s blood had sprayed onto her. Lines and dots of red decorated her clothes and body.
To her surprise, she found herself lifting the pot to her mouth. The urge to drink was too powerful to fight and she gave in. She’d always been somewhat curious as to what it would taste like. Not once had a customer complained so it couldn’t be bad. Rivulets of red coursed down her chin unnoticed as she drank.
Footsteps coming down the hall interrupted her twisted taste testing and she hastily put the pot down. Wiping her mouth, she worked up fake tears while fabricating a story in her mind that would help absolve her of any punishment.
* * *
Relishing the memory, she started cutting the vegetables for the stew. Another scream at a higher octave brought a crooked smile to her face. It wouldn’t be long now before her father presented her with the meat.
Chapter 16
“You’ve given us quite the night and almost made a mess of things. Not to worry though, this isn’t the first time someone’s tried to escape.”
Jameson’s gaze fell on the clock on the shelf to his right. Four am. Still seven hours until opening time. His back was to Dylan as he arranged his collection of tools. Eagerness and excitement filled him as he heard the young man moving in his restraints. A look over his shoulder showed he was almost fully recovered from the tranquilizers.
“I like to listen to music while I work. I hope you don’t mind.”
Hold the Line by Toto filled the silence and he hummed along.
“Kidnapping and torturing people is work for you. Damn, I’d hate to see what you do for fun around here.” Dylan said with sarcasm, shaking his head.
Jameson chose to ignore the comment and wiped his knives down one final time.
Good Home Cookin': A Novel of Horror Page 4