by K. L. Savage
COPYRIGHT© 2021 TONGUE’S TARGET BY KL SAVAGE
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. TONGUE’S TARGET is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.
ISBN: 978-1-952500-55-8
PHOTOGRAPHY BY WANDER AGUIAR PHOTOGRAPHY
COVER MODEL: JONNY JAMES
COVER DESIGN: LORI JACKSON DESIGN
EDITING: INFINITE WELL
FORMATTING: CHAMPAGNE BOOK DESIGN
FIRST EDITION PRINT 2021
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TONGUE’S TARGET PLAYLIST
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ALSO BY K.L. SAVAGE
This book is for everyone who kept Tongue alive with their love for him and Daphne. Their story continues because of YOU. All the stories are written for our readers, but Tongue is special. For some reason, our lurking, dangerous, corner-loving killer became everyone’s favorite. His story seems never-ending and we are so happy to be able to tell their journey.
Thank you everyone. I know Tongue and Daphne appreciate it and we do too.
Love is a journey that you never give up on, just as Tongue.
Eight years old
My Barbie doll never gets mad at me, not like Daddy. Daddy is always screaming and yelling and his breath smells like that nasty stuff he drinks out of a silver can. He has always been mean but lately it has gotten worse. Mommy tries to calm him down, but every time she tries, he gets angrier.
“Are you fucking listening to me, you little brat?” He bends down and slams his drink on the table. He snatches the Barbie out of my hand, and I reach for it to get it back, but he lifts it in the air so I can’t reach it. I shrink away from him and start to cry.
“You cry baby,” he hisses. “Maybe you wouldn’t get in trouble so much if you stopped playing with your damn dolls and fucking did what I told you to.” Daddy throws the doll against the wall and the sound of her falling to the floor has me crying louder.
“Daddy, stop it. Leave her alone, please,” I beg him. Mommy got me that doll. It’s the only toy I have. I know that Mommy works really hard while Daddy sits in the chair and watches TV all day. She always comes home smelling like French fries and Daddy says she stinks and makes her shower.
He stinks too, but he doesn’t allow anyone to tell him that.
“I said to go get me another beer.”
“Daddy, I don’t want to,” I cry. “You don’t need any more. Can’t we watch a movie?”
“Can’t we watch a movie?” he repeats what I say like my friends do on the bus.
“Stop it!” I jump off the chair and land on the dirty floor with my bare feet.
He reaches out and grabs me by the hair when I squat down to pick up my Barbie. “Stop it!” He makes fun of me again and grabs the doll from my hands again. “You’re spoiled. When I was growing up, I had to earn my toys. What the fuck have you done besides be a pain in my ass?” I try to get away from him, but he tightens his fingers in my hair and pulls harder. It hurts.
“You’re hurting me, Daddy!” I cry when he throws me to the ground. I curl in a ball and press a palm against the spot on my head where it hurts the most. It burns.
“Maybe you’d learn to listen to me if you got your ass whooped,” he says, undoing his black leather belt that’s hit me so many times, I’ve lost count.
“No! No, please, don’t. Please.” I crawl away until I’m able to get to my feet and run toward my bedroom.
“Come back here, you little shit,” he sneers, cracking the belt in the air in warning of what will happen if I don’t stop running away.
It doesn’t matter if I stop or not.
The end result is the same.
I run into my bedroom and slam the door, then lock it.
The number one rule in the house is to never lock the doors, but Daddy scares me. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want Mommy to take me away and never look back. Daddy can keep the rundown trailer and the nasty drinks he likes. It’s all he cares about anyway.
A loud bang crashing against the door yanks a scream from me. I push against the wall and look around for any kind of weapon that I think will stop him from hurting me. The only thing I have is the book my mommy reads me every night. It’s an old copy of Little Women. I don’t understand a lot of it, but the sound of Mommy’s voice always puts me to sleep.
“You better unlock this door, Daphne, or so help me, I beat your ass until you can’t sit for a week.”
I’m frozen in place, staring at the door while my legs tremble. The door handle shakes while he pounds against the wood. I can’t get out either. The only window in my room is nailed shut from the last time I tried to run away. Daddy hit me across the face while Mommy was sleeping. When I was pretending to be asleep, I waited until I heard the loud snores coming from the living room and opened the window, but I wasn’t quiet enough. Daddy caught me just as I was about to close the window and escape. He yanked me back inside, locked me in the closest, and I wasn’t allowed to come out until he was done.
It felt like forever, hearing the hammer hit the nails and him cursing underneath his breath before he opened the door to allow me to crawl back to bed.
He’s going to get me.
I jump on the bed and lift the torn comforter and throw it over me to hide.
If I can’t see the monsters, they can’t see me.
“I swear I should have fucking left you and your mom before it was too late.” He kicks the door with his boot, and I bury my face in the pillow to muffle my cries.
I wish Mommy were here. She always knows how to stop him.
“Fucking bitch,” he swears, and in one last try, he kicks the door again. This time the wood cracks. I hear pieces of wood fly and hit the blanket covering me. I curl into myself tighter and squeeze my eyes shut. “How many times do I have to tell you,” he says between broken breaths. “Not to lock the door.” His hand wraps around my ankle and yanks me out of bed. “How many fucking times, Daphne?” he screams in my face and his spit hits my face.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I say again, even i
f I know it doesn’t matter.
He never stops.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, waving the Barbie in my face. “Look at me,” he demands, slapping me across the cheek.
I cry out from the hard slap, which only burns more than usual because of the tears wetting my face. I raise my legs to kick him off, but he straddles my hips to keep me still.
He places the head of the doll between his teeth and rips it from her neck. “No!” I cry, slapping him against the chest. I hate him so much. It was the only doll I had. Mommy got it for me for my birthday last year. I don’t get many gifts. Daddy takes all of her money and spends it on those nasty drinks.
I don’t care that it was a toy. I care about it because it was from Mommy.
He spits the head out and it hits me in the face, tumbling to the floor. Then he throws the plastic body across the room. It hits something breakable, maybe the lamp, because in the next instant, it falls to the floor and shatters.
He flips me over and I try to get away from him again, kicking his stomach with my feet, but he’s too strong. “Fucking sick of you and your momma disobeying all the damn time.” He yanks down my pants and holds my head down into the carpet. I brace myself for what’s to come and shut my eyes, a single tear falling down my cheek.
The belt cracks in the air like lightning and rakes sharply across my skin, like fire burning wood.
I keep my mouth shut, like I always do for the first few strikes. He always likes to hear me scream. He likes to hear that he thinks he is getting through to me, but he isn’t. The only thing it does is make me hate him more.
After five lashes, I can’t keep the pain inside anymore. My screams ring in the room and Daddy laughs when I try to get away from him again.
“You get your hands off my daughter!” Glass breaks behind me and Daddy falls to the side groaning.
I scurry away, my butt burning with every inch I move, and I pull up my pants. Daddy is on his stomach, a hand pressed against the back of his head, and an alcohol bottle is shattered all over the room. At least, it smells like alcohol.
“Come on, Daphne, we are getting out of here,” Mommy says, taking my hand in a tight grip and dragging me out the door.
She still has her work uniform on. It’s checkered blue with a white collar, and her apron is black. A groan comes from behind us and we are nearly to the front door when Daddy stumbles against the wall.
“Listen to me,” Mommy squats to the floor so she’s eye level with me. I’m happy that I look like her. We have the same blue eyes and brown hair. “You are going to take this money—” she digs into her apron and takes out a wad of money “—and you’re going to go to the neighbors and call your Aunt Tina, okay?”
The closest neighbor lives through the woods on the other side. My bottom lip wobbles. I’m trying to stop crying, but I can’t. The tears keep falling. “You’re scaring me, Mommy.”
“It’s going to be just fine, baby. I’m going to stay here and take care of your dad.”
“What about you? Come with me, please!” I beg her and take her hand, tugging her to the door. “We can run away, Mommy. We can be together. We can get away from him.” I cry for her, for me, for us. I want us out of this house.
“Come here, you bitches! Don’t try to take my daughter from me!” Daddy stumbles again, falling to the floor. “You two better come here.” He opens the drawer on the coffee table and Mommy opens the front door to push me out.
I dive to the left so she can’t get to me, but she grabs me by the shirt when she hears something click. Her eyes widen and she begins to cry too. “We need to go. Daphne, come on!” She drags me away from the front door just in time before a gunshot rigs out.
I scream when realize what Daddy was looking for in the coffee table.
“You two get back here and I’ll think about forgiving you,” he says, sounding more stable than he did when Mommy hit him in the head with a glass bottle.
“I’m scared,” I whisper as Mommy has us running through the kitchen to get to the back door.
“I know, but everything is going to be just fine, baby. I promise.” She opens the sliding glass door and shoves the money in my hand. “Now, tell me what you’re going to do.”
“Mommy—”
“Daphne, what are you going to do?” she says, frustrated.
“I’m going to go to the neighbors and call Aunt Tina,” I sob.
“You aren’t going to look back here, do you hear me? You swear?”
I nod and rub my nose across my arm. “I swear.”
“Where the fuck are you?” Daddy yells in the house.
Mommy wraps her arms around me and gives me a kiss on the head. “I love you, baby. I love you so much. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“This is your last chance!”
Mommy turns around and sees Daddy behind her, shirt off, belly hanging out.
“Get your ass back inside, Daphne, or I’m going to kill your momma,” he says.
I panic. I don’t want Mommy to get hurt. I take a step inside, but she blocks me and slams her hands against my chest, shoving me backward. I lose my footing and fall backward, hitting against the porch rail. She slams the sliding glass door in my face and her hand touches the glass. “I love you,” she mouths. “Go,” she says just as another gunshot rings out. Blood spreads across her shoulder and the air is forced out of my lungs. “Run!” she yells, her hand landing on the glass again.
Only this time, it’s bloody.
“Mommy,” I choke her name out as I trip down the steps.
Go to the neighbors. Call Aunt Tina.
I sprint into the woods and hide behind a tree trunk, staring at what is happening through the sliding glass door. Her back is to the door and Daddy is facing her, aiming the gun at her head. I cover my mouth, my tears flowing freely now.
Another shot fires, sending blood all over the door. It drips down just as Mommy falls to the ground.
Daddy opens the door and shoots the gun in the air, sending birds flying off the trees. “Come back here, Daphne! I won’t hurt you; I promise.” His feet pound down the steps, banging against the wood. I hear the gun click again, and I remember my mommy’s panic when she heard it.
I do what she tells me to.
I run, and I don’t look back.
And I don’t want to remember anything about this night.
Ever.
Present
I gasp awake. The sheets stick to my skin from the sweat beading across my body. I haven’t had a dream like that in a long time. I don’t know what happened to my mom, but I know Dad didn’t kill her. He was an asshole, but a killer? No.
At least, I don’t think…
I press my palms against my eyes and take a few deep breaths.
“What’s wrong, Comet?” Tongue asks me, flipping on the lamp on the nightstand. “You’re sweating.” His hand lands on my cheek and turns my head to look at him. His touch settles the wave of uneasiness inside me. “Do I need to kill someone? Has someone scared you?” He reaches for his knife that is sitting next to the lamp.
I know he is telling the truth. Tongue would do anything for me, and that brings me comfort too. “No, I’m okay. I promise. It was a dream. I think it was a dream. I don’t know if my mind is playing tricks on me or not.”
He places the knife down on the nightstand and slides his arms under me, holding me to his chest. “I think you’re perfect the way you are,” he says, sliding a finger down my cheek.
I can’t help but believe him, especially when he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world. I lean my head against his chest and sigh, replaying the dream over and over again in my head. I jump when the gunshot rings throughout my mind, as if it just happened in front of me.
“You’re okay,” Tongue whispers, gliding his hand through my long brown hair. “I’m not ever going to let anything happen to you, Comet. Not ever. You’re safe with me.”
The deep tone of his voice vibrates his chest, s
lightly tickling my cheek. I let out a deep exhale and snuggle into him further. I wish I could crawl inside him and stay safe forever.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks after a few minutes of being in silence.
I’m staring at the stacks of books all around the room and smile when I think about how Tongue only has these books because of me. He doesn’t care that he can’t read or write, he just wants the books because I like them. How lucky am I?
He will know how to read soon, though. Every night we sit in bed and I teach him how to pronounce certain words and write. We are starting small and working our way up. It’s hard to learn things like this when you’re an adult. As a child, you’re introduced to it your entire life through school. As an adult, there isn’t that same structure, so it becomes more difficult.
You couldn’t tell with Tongue. He’s so brilliant, and he doesn’t even know it.
But I do.
He is catching on quick; it won’t be long before he is reading by himself or writing letters. No one gives him the credit he deserves, but I always will. He is everything and so much more.
“I think I need to see Doc,” I whisper to him as my heart pounds in my chest.
“Hey, why do you think that?” He flips me around without effort until I’m straddling his lap. My hands land on his bare chest, his skin warm under my palms.
He’s beautiful.
I look down and with my fingers trace the tattoo on his stomach that says, ‘Unscarred’. It makes me shake my head. He’s one of the most scarred people I know. “What’s this tattoo mean?” I ask, not wanting to talk about me just yet.
“I want to believe that every time I look in the mirror, I’m not completely fucked up,” he states with a shrug of his left shoulder. “I know it’s a contradiction, because look at me—” he says, spreading his arms wide. “I’m scarred all over.”
I lay one hand on his heart and the other on his cheek. “I’ll have to disagree. You have the purest form of love I’ve ever seen. This,” I press against his chest, the beat drumming against my palm steady and strong. “This managed to survive untouched.” I stare into his rich brown eyes and watch as he tilts his head. The expression on his face softens, the wrinkles around his eyes disappear, and a faint pink blush tints his cheeks.