Randy and Walter: Killers Part 4

He turned around, holding them both in his hands like a pair of bookends, and then he threw them to the floor while laughing.

"We can do this easy or we can make it hard. Just do as I say and you can leave when it's over."

The twins' confidence was gone, the fight had left them. Fear gripped them in its icy grasp. Randy knew this, he could tell; see it in their eyes. You can always tell when someone is afraid. The twins were his to do with what he pleased.

Randy looked at the still dressed twin, "Take off your clothes, now." She lowered her head, her tears falling to the floor. The girl did as she was told. Her body was exactly the same as her sister's; beautiful and flawless.

"Stand up and turn around," Randy said as he unzipped himself. "Face your sister. Youaopen your legs and slide nearly off the bed."

The two did as they were told. He grabbed the girl who was standing by her hair and forced her head down into her sister's gaping chasm.

"Breathe in it," he said as he began to stroke himself. The girl on the bed was crying, yet her cries were mixed with moans. They weren't the moans of pure pleasure though, they were moans of fear and revulsion. The other girl started to make a gagging sound as if she wanted to be sick. Her body was convulsing beneath Randy's tight grasp. The other girl looked at her sister with worry in her eyes. She was crying as her sister gagged for air. Then something thick and smelly was covering her body and the bed; a thick smell of dried fruit mixed with the pungent odor of rotten beef and eggs. The girl had thrown up, and some of it had leaked into her sister. She immediately turned her head and began to vomit, too. The smell was powerful, overwhelming. Randy didn't notice any of it. He was in his own world of desires. He released the girl's hair and her head came up quickly, her mouth slicked over with a trail of brownish-green puke. She puked once again and started crying while taking long heaving breaths. Her face showed that of torment and pain.

Not even noticing what he was doing, Randy wrapped his hand around the girl's throat and began to squeeze. The girl started gasping for air, her hands reaching up to his wrist, her nails scratching through his flesh roughly. Something was caught in her throat, probably more vomit. Her sister watched with her mouth wide open; she started to scream and back up. Randy snapped back into the room from his fugue state. He realized what he was doing, but still he didn't release her, instead he picked her up by the throat, her a.s.s sc.r.a.ping along his body as she was held up in the air.

With the last bit of strength she had, the other girl pounced off the bed and grabbed the lamp off of the nearby night stand and ran at Randy. Her plan was to smash him in the head with it. He wasn't paying any attention to the girl running at him as he was fixated on the struggling, dying girl in his grasp. She'd almost reached him when she felt the pain of something being pushed into her stomach. It was then she noticed the other man. The man she had seen at the theater clasped in black leather with an expressionless face that seemed to peer into the very corners of her soul.

Somehow, she was glad this man was here, she was relieved to have been taken quickly rather than suffer unto the other one as her sister had. Her body fell limp and she dropped to the wooden floor, her blood was.h.i.+ng over the planks like something filled with red syrup had been overturned.

The crowbar stuck up through her body towards the heavens, its tip gleaming in crimson.

Randy looked over at his brother and dropped the other girl's lifeless body to the floor. She fell beside her sister the two lying side by side as if it had always been their fate to die together. Walter looked deep into the eyes of his brother and said one thing before he left: "You're such an amateur." Then he walked out of the room and then the house, closing the doors behind him.

Randy lowered his head and stared at the two corpses at his feet. He stared at the blood-covered floor, stared at the vomit covered bed. As he stared at the two naked bodies and realized his p.e.n.i.s had once again became fully erect. He grasped it with one hand and began to manually please himself as he stared upon the scene before him. He fell to his knees, his arm moving quickly and violently. A single tear dropped out of his eye. He knew who he was, and he hated it.

He finished quickly, without a word or a moan. He was silent and staring, his eyes darting around the room at what he had done.

It was time to start cleaning up.

The first thing Randy did was pick up the bodies and carry them to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Using an axe, he began to chop apart the corpses. He started with the limbs first, chopping madly away at the tops of the arms where the arm meets the shoulder. The bones cracked and broke underneath the weight of the axe. Then it came apart as if it was just a piece of meat you may see at the butcher shop. Then he struck at the elbows and smiled when they came apart as well. Randy followed his pattern downwards to the legs, starting first at the top near the base of the hips. Afterwards, he went to the knees then the ankles. He left the heads for last.

After he finished chopping the bodies apart in sections, he turned quickly and threw up onto the floor. He hadn't eaten anything lately so it was just a gush of foul-tasting liquid that came out as if he were a fountain. He turned back and continued his work. The limbs and heads were gathered together and put into a large, cast-iron drum he'd recently put in the bas.e.m.e.nt. He put the torsos in afterwards and had to take the base of the axe and smash it down into the drum. Even though the parts still came to the top, they were crammed in just enough. Randy took a gas can sitting near him and poured it into the drum. Striking a match, he dropped it into the drum which immediately caught fire. He stood back and dropped the axe which fell to the floor with a loud smash. The flames were almost alive and dancing around the top of the drum. It was as if they had a thousand tiny hands which rose upwards towards the roof of the bas.e.m.e.nt. The dark bas.e.m.e.nt around him had come alive with a sickening red light as if h.e.l.l itself was erupting from within the metal drum.

Randy stood motionless as he watched the fire burn. The smell of burning flesh and hair didn't bother him. The black smoke was filling the bas.e.m.e.nt and this didn't bother him either.

What did bother him was the thought that had crept into his mind. The thought of a little red-haired girl looking at him through the darkness, her vexing smile promising more to come. Promising much worse things to come.

After a while the smoke was getting to his eyes and nose. He found it hard to breathe, and although the smell was invigorating to his nostrils, it was also burning. A fine layer of sweat was covering his skin and stinking up his clothes which clung to him like cellophane. He quickly walked around the bas.e.m.e.nt, or rather stumbled, his hands searching for the small window which was hidden against one of the walls within the smoke. It took him nearly fifteen minutes, but he finally did find the window. He opened the latch and with a push popped the stained gla.s.s open as wide as it would go. The smoke immediately began to run outside as if escaping the clutches of something evil. He turned back and wiped his eyes, still blinded by smoke. Randy saw light leading upwards into the innards of the house, an escape from the burning stench of flame and smoke. It was finally bothering him. So much, in fact, that he thought that at any moment he may pa.s.s out from asphyxiation. He ran blindly through the smoke towards the light. He could feel the stairs coming closer to him, but he reached them too quick and tripped and fell. His chin smashed down hard onto the wooden step. Randy ignored the pain and climbed to his feet. He ascended the stairs two at a time. He plunged out of the red darkness and into the bright house. The smell was lingering throughout the house along with the smoke which seemed to lurch from room to room. He ran all through the house opening every window he could find.

After every window in the home was open, Randy walked out onto the front porch, still covered in blood with black ash stuck along his skin. He looked almost like a portrait painted by some depressed suicidal Goth chick, standing on his front porch drenched in blood and soot. In the silent darkness before him, he could make out a single outline. The outline of a man standing at the edge of his yard.

And then he heard the faint sound of laughter. He grimaced, knowing who the outline was and went back inside, slamming the door closed behind him.

Randy was still covered in blood and ash when he awoke the next morning in the middle of the bas.e.m.e.nt floor. Sometime during the night, he'd finished cleaning up. Everything in the house was scrubbed clean. The only blood that was left was the layer covering his clothes and skin. The smoke had stopped rolling and the fire had died, yet the smell still lingered in the air.

Randy stood up slowly and began to walk up the stairs when he heard clapping coming from behind him. He turned to face Walter, who leaned against a far wall hidden in the shadows.

"That was very entertaining but it would be great if you could take this a little more seriously," Walter said.

Randy did nothing but stare at Walter, whose eyes seemed to s.h.i.+ne back at him. "Let's try this again shall we?" Walter said.

Randy closed his eyes and silently nodded his head. "Good," Walter grinned. "There's a woman named Margaret who's going to Caruthers Coffee house later today. She always does. And she goes there with her seven-year-old daughter, Amanda. Interested?"

Randy looked at the shadows. "Yes, I'm interested," he said with a smirk.

Walter chuckled a bit. "I thought so. I suspect they'll be getting their around five or so. They walk there, so this should be easy for you. Let's see who can get to them first."

Randy watched as Walter walked past him, his face motionless as if he didn't have a care in the world. But then their eyes met and Randy saw what can only be described as pure hate. He just wasn't sure if it was just hatred for Randy or if it was for everyone in the world. But it was there like some sort of fire burning bright into some soulless creature shaped like a man. This frightened Randy, and he hoped that he would someday be rid of this monster he called a brother.

After Walter left the house, Randy stripped himself of his clothes and dropped them into the drum. At the bottom of the drum were several bones now colored with a black lacquer. For now, he decided to ignore them. As he showered, it occurred to Randy that the stench and the smell and the smoke should have bothered the neighbors. Yet, he hadn't heard a word. He couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't heard anything.

In fact, he hadn't seen or heard any of the neighbors in at least a month. He found this curious but he pushed the questions out of his head as he scrubbed the bar of soap onto his skin. He'd never liked the feeling of using a washcloth. It was so rough to the touch. He preferred to use just the soap on his skin. He felt smoother and better than he imagined he ever could with a rag.

It took him quite a while to get the blood off of his skin. He even had to stop to find a washcloth just so he could scrub the dried blood off. The water circling the drain in the tub was colored red as if someone had poured a gallon of red and orange food coloring into the tub with him. The colored water ran down his legs, across his feet and followed the rest of the water to their escape into the drain.

The shower finally ended and Randy stood at the closet in his newly cleaned bedroom searching for something nice to wear.

Something respectable; he had an idea how to get the mother and daughter to come with him. He looked at the clock which read 2:33 p.m. He had to hurry up. He wanted to be there before Walter. Using both hands, Randy thumbed his way through the clothes which hung neatly in his closet. It looked as if he hadn't been in it in years, which really he hadn't. After a few more minutes of rooting through the hanging clothes, he found what he was looking for. A nice, two-piece brown suit with a white s.h.i.+rt and red tie. He laid it neatly on the bed and began to put the suit on.

After he was dressed, he found his black dress shoes at the bottom of his closet. He put them on with black socks and stood tall, admiring himself in the mirror. He couldn't help but smile and think to himself, My G.o.d, I look like a business man.

Something about this was funny, although he wasn't sure just what it was. He fixed himself a bowl of sugary sweet cereal and ate it before he left the house to walk towards Caruthers Coffee. Another day of hunting, another night of feasting, another night of fun.

The air outside the house and along the sidewalk was filled with a cold chill that seemed to be alive, wrapping itself around Randy's face as he walked silently towards his destination, Caruthers Coffee.

It was a place he'd come to know very well and would continue to know very well. Near Caruthers was an alleyway, the perfect hiding spot for Randy. There he planned to wait for the two targets to pa.s.s. Then he would come out from behind and grab them. He would pull them back into the shadows where he would do horrors to the woman and even more unspeakable things to the little girl.

The sun seemed distant and gray, the gray you see only during winter. It was a sad depressing shade of color that seemed to affect all who stepped into its icy-cold glow. It was almost as if the sun was taking a much needed rest away from the rest of the world. The clouds appeared to be so low you could just reach out and touch them. Soon, Randy saw the warm light of the coffee shop. The worn-sign above the storefront of Caruthers was missing three lighted letters; the A, R and the H. So the word Caruthers became the word Cuters.

How morbidly ironic that seemed to Randy. He was d.a.m.n-near positive no one else had ever noticed the different name. The alley was a mere four second walk from the coffee shop. Randy silently and quickly ducked into the ally and leaned against the wall facing the coffee shop. This way he could come behind them more quickly, plus if the mother came from the other side of the shop, he would know immediately.

There he stood, s.h.i.+vering in the cold, his skin crawling with b.u.mps that only arrive when the cold seeps through your clothes to touch your skin. His fingers and toes were numb. A steady stream of liquid ran out of his nose and he wiped it away with his arm. He pulled the cloth hood over his head tighter, trying to keep some of the cold away. An hour or so pa.s.sed as he stood there patiently awaiting his prey. The cold was stinging and the numbness was reaching up to other parts of his body. He started to feel as though he may freeze to death standing in the alley.

He glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch. The time said 5:30. They should have arrived by now. They were thirty minutes late.

Perhaps Walter has beaten me again, he thought grimly to himself.

Still, he waited in the alley. The sun was almost completely down now and the darkness was inching its way across the town. The pale blue glow of the moon was showing a bit through the clouds above. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone on the other side of the alley. The outline was small and short. He may have missed it if he hadn't been paying so much attention to his surroundings. The shape was walking towards him. It got closer, closer, closer and closer still. Then it was on top of him.

A little bit of light shone through the darkness and fell upon her face like a spotlight cast down unto a show. Before him stood a little girl with brown hair. She was chubby. Her face pudgy like something you might see on a Hallmark greeting card. She was probably fed wonderfully by whoever were her parents.

Randy saw that her cheeks were red-stained with tears. She'd been crying. The little girl walked over to him and began to plead, "Please, mister, help me find my mommy." Her voice was soft and shaking.

Randy knelt down next to her and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder.

"Where's your mommy, honey? Are you lost?" he asked her.

"I don't know. She told me to stay in the store while she went to get some money," she replied, looking into his eyes Her voice was cracking sounding almost like that of an old record. "Will you please help me, mister?"

"How old are you, honey?" Randy asked, not entirely sure why.

"I'm seven, mister. Please help me find my mommy."

She was crying now, the tears streaming down her cheeks and falling onto her shoes. This was the little girl Walter had told him about; Randy knew it. Walter must have done something to her mom, expecting the little girl to do as she'd been told. Children, however are an interesting type. They never listen to authority. Just like his own daughter, this girl had disobeyed her mother.

Randy flashed her with a wicked smile. She smiled back, not knowing that his smile was only for himself and not for her. He had no intention of helping her. He only wanted what he wanted and at that precise moment, he wanted the little, chubby, Hallmark card girl who stood smiling at him with tears leaking from her brown eyes.

"Okay, I'll help you. Come with me," he said and stood up, extending his hand. She took it, believing him to be a friend and not a monster that eats little girls. Not the thing your parents warn you about. A bogeyman with a taste for little kids and a sweet smile hiding in closets and under beds, all the while waiting for a chance to strike.

Holding hands, they walked out of the alley and up the sidewalk and back towards his house. The house that had quickly become a place of such terrible nightmares.

On the walk over, the little girl never asked any questions, she just kept looking at her new-found friend who in return would look down at her and smile. She smiled back every time, still thinking she was safe.

Perhaps Walter did win, Randy thought, but I got what I wanted, too.

They reached his house and hand in hand they began to walk up the stairs to the front porch. She stopped walking before they reached the front door. He looked down at the girl to see her smile was gone, replaced with a grimace of terror.

She knew that something wasn't right about this house, about any of it. Why would anyone bring her to their house? Why didn't Randy just help her find her mother? To her, the house was horrible looking, almost as if it was haunted. It was dark and dreary; the kind of place a person would walk away from with their head hung low, scared of something that they weren't sure of. Neither was she, she didn't know exactly what it was that frightened her so much. She only knew that something just didn't seem right. Randy saw this through her eyes and knew what was about to happen.

She began to try to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let go.

"Please, mister," she pleaded with him, her eyes wide and aware. Aware of the smile that had faded away from the bogeyman's face. Aware of the horrible anger that st.i.tched his face. His eyes seemed to burn into her. For a split second his grip loosened just enough for her to pry his hand off hers. She was free and she backed quickly away from him, never noticing just how close the steps were behind her. Her foot missed the first step and she fell backwards, her back and shoulders slamming hard onto the stairs.

Her body seemed like a slinky as it tumbled down the stairs towards the hard ground. When she reached the bottom, which was in a matter of seconds, her head slammed down onto the concrete below.

Her eyes teetered for a moment; she felt so much pain she thought she would pa.s.s out. Yet when she saw Randy calmly walking down the stairs towards her, she began to awaken. She tried to stand but by the time she finally got to her feet he was there.

She began to scream as he grabbed her by her waist and picked her up. She was kicking with every bit of strength she had left. He carried the screaming child up the stairs with no worries of interference. With his free hand, Randy opened the front door and walked into his home, slamming the door behind him.

In time, her screams and cries were silenced forever.

Chapter 4.

Randy sat on the foot of his bed, naked and covered in the little girl's blood. Pieces of her flesh clung to his knuckles. His erection had long since died, leaving his p.e.n.i.s flaccid and useless. He held a cigarette in his hand. Every few seconds he would bring it to his lips and suck on it, taking in the smoke, the smoothness filling his lungs. Then he would softly exhale. His eyes were closed and tears fell down his face. He couldn't help but hate himself. The gun sat next to him on the bed. He'd pulled it out of his closet ten minutes after finis.h.i.+ng with the girl. He remembered buying it years ago before losing his job at the candle shop. He couldn't remember now exactly why he'd purchased the weapon. It wasn't a big gun, in fact to most male standards it was a relatively small firearm.

It was black with a wooden handle. He wasn't even sure what kind it was. He just knew that when he put it to his head and pulled the trigger, he would go away forever. The thoughts would go away, the memories of so many he'd hurt.

The ones that had loved him and left him. The ones he had loved and had hurt. He put his free hand onto the side of the gun and stroked it gently, having loaded it not long ago.

Just one bullet and it would all be over. No more memories. With his eyes still closed his mind went back to the little girl. He remembered slamming the door behind him, holding her as she screamed and cried for help. He brought the girl into his bedroom and roughly threw her against the wall. She'd slammed into the wall so hard the wall had cracked in several places, pieces of plaster raining down like baby powder.

Falling to the floor, she began to convulse as if she were a wind-up toy. Her eyes were rolling around in her head, her tongue hung out and to the side.

Randy picked the gun up and looked into its muzzle.

The girl blinked and her tongue went back into her mouth slowly. She looked up at Randy who gazed down at her like a predatory hawk would do to its prey. She started to cry. Randy knelt down to her and helped her stand up.

He remembered she wasn't able to stand on her own. The girl had needed to hold onto the side of the bed, crying as her clothes were stripped off of her body. Randy remembered almost drooling over her.

He had found her almost attractive, only more to the touch. The small flabby curves in her body, the imperfections in her skin, were just as inviting as the flawless girls he'd taken in the past.

He remembered that her entire right side and half of her back was bruised. He must have broken something inside of her for the skin seemed to change colors when he touched it.

Randy put the cold muzzle of the black gun to the side of his head and c.o.c.ked the trigger. A small piece of flesh still hung to his middle finger. It dropped to the bed with a silent squish that could only be heard by the sharpest of ears.

She was crying wildly as he laid her onto the bed and crawled on top of her after removing his own clothes.

He told her to touch it and when she refused, he slapped her in the face so hard she fell to her side. Then, she did as she was told, out of fear, out of what would happen if she didn't obey.

As she did so, he'd used that same middle finger on her. It was very rough, like sandpaper. It was so rough that he pulled that piece of skin off of her body. The girl's screams echoed throughout the house as he mounted her.

And now the screams echoed throughout his mind. In fact, the screams wouldn't go away. They just got louder and louder. He remembered how he had silenced her.

His finger started to squeeze the trigger.

He had raised his hand far above his head and brought it cras.h.i.+ng down onto her face. Over and over and over and over again until her face was no longer cute; she was no longer recognizable. Her skin broke open to expose the muscle and bone beneath it. Her teeth had come out of her mouth in pairs. She had long since stopped breathing. She was dead and Randy finished up quickly. The face he was looking down at was monstrous, and he had created it.

The gun dropped back to its place on the bed beside Randy who put his hands on his head and started to weep.

"You're pathetic," a voice whispered from across the room.

Randy looked up to see Walter standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with hatred. The two just stared at each other for what could have been all night but was only five minutes, maybe less. Still, time seemed to stop while these two monsters locked gazes. They could each see the hatred in the other person's eyes. This was going to be more than a simple compet.i.tion.

Walter was more than Randy's compet.i.tor and both men knew it.

Walter turned around and left without another word as Randy dropped his head back into his blood-stained hands and continued to weep.

The night outside the house had become day. Randy sat inside, the windows locked and the curtains drawn so no one could see inside. He sat in the living room wearing only a pair of tattered blue jeans. He had once again cleaned his house, scrubbed the floors and burned the sheets alongside of the girl. As he sat there remembering his sordid past, he began to realize something. Walter had been right, he was pathetic. All of his life Randy had thought these things; fantasized about doing these terrible things. But now that he was doing them he wished he could stop. The things he was doing were pathetic. No real man would, could, ever do these things.

He was too much of a p.u.s.s.y to even kill himself. Which, he knew was something that would be better for everyone. He felt he didn't belong, didn't deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of the world.

It was at this precise thought when he remembered something he'd forgotten; something from long ago.

Somehow, this was all his mother's fault. Her fault for not being a good mother. For not behaving the way a mother should behave. As Randy sat on his couch, miserable and alone, he decided to find his mother. He would track her down and force her to apologize before he killed her.

He remembered where his home had stood so long ago before burning it to the ground. He also remembered the priest and remembered the church where so many terrible things had occurred.

That's it then. His mind was made up; he would find them both and kill them. He would make them pay; make them beg for forgiveness as he repaid them for what they did to him.

His home had once been located on the edge of town. It once stood between two other houses on Maple St. When he had burnt it down, the fire had spread to the other two houses and burnt them too.

What stood there now was a small, brick apartment building. The building looked deserted, decrepit. He would be surprised if anyone actually still lived inside of it. It had taken him nearly an hour to reach this part of town and the first thing he noticed was the difference in appearance.