Gretchen Lowell · @GretchenHLowell
1st Jun 2014 from TwitLonger
#AHeartForAHeartSL
I was perched on a stool when the phone vibrated. My guest's doodled skin glistening against the florescent lights as he mumbled in his hallucinogenic slumber. Wiping the blood off my hands I check the phone to make sure it wasn't Archie. Peter's number gleamed back at me. A mild sense of disappointment followed by a small thrill that he was back in town with a family member in tow.
“Yes?” I say after accepting the call. He mumbles something that makes me smirk.
“Bring him to me... I have another task for you, I will text the details.” I look lovingly towards my playmate.
Peter brought the boy shortly. It was the younger of the two, dark hair sleek with oil from travel and the same nose as the man on my table. His brown eyes were wide with fear as Peter all but threw him down the stairs. His hands were bound behind him as he took in the basement sights. The tiles, lights, trays of my instruments, even myself until they settled on the man's chest in the center of the room. I had covered his face with the cloth, only the chest and my love marks were showing. A dream caused him to twitch in his restraints and moan.
Instead of a look of horror the boy stepped tentatively forward with curiosity. I slipped into a warm smile while Peter left us to take care of the business I had ordered him to do.
“Fascinating isn't it?” Playing to his curiousness, “Once you get past the skin we are all the same.” I note he is about eight while I step around him and free his bindings. In reflex he rubs his wrists until he sees me holding out a hand. Taking it we move towards the exposed chest.
Littered with chemical burns and lacerations my eyes glaze over with pride. There will be time for that later. Picking up the scalpel on one of the trays I hold it in front of the boy and myself. “The trick is not to cut too deep. You don't want to ruin the fun so fast.”
The last time a boy watched me work I didn't say a word to him. This time was a different experiment.
Running the blade in the side of his chest so it was eye level with the child I couldn't help but smirk. As the blood began to flow down his side he didn't stir or make a noise. A few days of torture does that sometimes. The doodles become annoying mosquito bites instead of a painful design on the skin. The boy 'ooh'ed when it trickled onto the metal gurney. I kneel down to his level, grab his shoulders and turn him to face me. Our eyes lock and I knew I had him. I hold the scalpel between us as an offering, then rise and take the stool. Standing behind the boy I raise him to kneel on it and hold his small wrist poised over the man's chest.
“Lightly” I whisper and we slice down across a nipple, curving to the side of his chest in an elegant line led by my hand. The left was a tad difficult with his fist stiff in excitement, but the heart was drawn.
Taking the sharp blade from his hand I smile as he looks at me in wonder. Possibly seeing me for the first time.
“Are you scared?” I ask. His pupils dilate while he shakes his head no. I pat his head in approval. “Where do you live?” I ask, starting with small questions and working my way to what I really want.
“Texas.” He said in a small voice, then rattling off his address.
I nod training my face to look interested, “What does your mommy and daddy do? The might be worried you're so far away.”
My voice was sweet and he looked puzzled for moment. I hoped he would open up, Peter is not good with children and I would be a welcome warmth. For the time being.
“Mom stays with me and Henry. Dad...” He trailed off looking down.
“It's ok sweetheart, you can tell me.” I bend to be eye level with him again, my heart pumping faster.
“He used to be a police officer.” the child beamed, “Then he went away for long time and I haven't seen him.” He looked down at the floor again completely missing my reaction.
We have a winner.
Being nice was over. It was time for business. Walking away from the small man I round the other side of the gurney and take a steak knife. “Doesn't that make you mad? I know I would be so mad at my daddy if he just left us.” I twist the knife in my hands while the boy nods at me, his brow knitting together.
Holding the blade I offer the knife to him, “So angry you want to do something about it.” I gesture to the chest after he takes hold of the knife. A small look of bewilderment crosses his face, I was losing him.
“This man is a daddy too. He left his family and moved away. He has sons he never sees. He hurts people and does bad things. This is a bad man.” Speaking to a child was exhausting and repetitive.
It did the trick. Soon the knife's small teeth were biting into the man's chest in dotted horizontal lines. With perfect timing the pain killers I had given him began to dull and he moved with the each stroke of the blade. A few moans escaped his duct taped lips when I rounded to the side with the child.
I take hold of his wrist and twist the knife facing downward to puncture the man's lung. “And this is how you finish it.” I say in a whisper, guiding the child's hand downward through flesh, muscles, between bones.
I released his wrist when his adrenaline kicked in and soon the chest was riddled with puncture marks. I had to laugh. The man bucked when the boy struck him in the gut, allowing the cloth to finally fall from his face. And in the last moments before death father and son locked wide wide eyes.
As this law man died I stood behind his son in a wicked smile. The boy began to scream and tears fell down his face. Throwing the knife away and sobbing all over his work. I laugh again, wiping my hands against a cloth and open the metal door. The child's screams accompany me up the stairs and out of the basement. I leave the doors open in my wake, giving any curious person a trail to follow to see my work of art.
(@AgentTyGrady and @SuitAndBadge)