Sunday, January 22, 2017

Excerpts #9, #10, #11 and #12-- Short Story- The Relished Touch

Heyy! This should be the last installment of the short story. I hope you have all enjoyed the ride! Sorry for the super late post. Hope you're all well.

Story links in order:

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt1-from-short-story-relished-touch.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/hey-so-im-day-late-it-seems.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt-3-and-4-short-story-relished.html


http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/12/excerpt-5-and-6-short-story-relished.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/12/excerpt-7-8-short-story-relished-touch.html

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Once they finished; she scurried out of the room.  He once again lay alone, in an empty room, while the doctors and care takers were on the other side of the glass with the speaker on.
He began to reminisce on his life- the day he was shot actually.
“This is impossible..” He heard a man say over the speaker that was mistakenly left on. He slipped into his reverie.




              He dabbed on some aftershave and then stepped back. He glared at his handsome self in the mirror. His brown hair meticulously combed with a back flowing side part. His pearly, white teeth freshly brushed. He fixed his collared shirt and knew tonight would be easy to reel her in. No, woman has resisted him yet. This should be cake.

              He heard faint, rattling from the basement, and ignored it- like he always does. He was at the ripe young age of thirty-two and has been at this game since his early twenties. He put his wallet in his pocket and headed out. He hopped into his mediocre, navy blue car and drove down to the club. Loud. Why must it always be so thumping loud? He parked his car down the block and walked over.

              David never had to wait in line; the bouncer knew the ladies loved him. He frequented here often and every time he left with a different girl. The girls were always young, always beautiful. He walked into a large, dark, music filled club. Glow sticks lit up the room. It was so colorful. He walked along the upper balcony by the entrance and followed it to the stairs. He walked down them and walked briskly to the bar. He ordered a scotch on the rocks. The bartender knew him; he made him his drink and walked away. He picked up his glass and turned. He watched the room. So many people. A blonde in a mini skirt spotted him and walked up to him. “Hi, baby, why don’t you buy me a drink.” He hated being approached, for he must have control of all situations. He gave a brief shy smile and shook his head. Both of her hands opened and raised at her sides, “Whatever.” Sure, she was pretty. Thin, tan, blonde; who doesn’t love a blonde? He just didn’t like her.

He turned back towards the bar and looked along the bar. Many people lined, mostly men buying women drinks, hoping they’ll get lucky. A pretty girl, he’s seen her before, next to him leaned over, “That was sad. On behalf of the population, I would like to apologize for women like her.” He looked at her, really looked at her. She had ivory skin and such dark brown hair. Her lips were almost a natural rose color and her eyes big with brown iris’. He was taken by her beauty. She was wearing an olive green long sleeved shirt with black gaucho pants.

 “She’ll find someone. It’s only a matter of time and desperation I suppose.” He replied coolly. The woman gave a short laugh.

“I’m Monique.” She said in a mature womanly voice. She put her hand out to suggest she wanted a handshake.

“I’m Clark. Nice to meet you.” He readily shook her hand. “Can I buy a drink? What are you drinking?” She smiled and readily accepted his passes. They chatted in the noisy club and he bought her several drinks. When she turned away, like every other night with a different girl, he would pour a hallucinogenic into her drink. The effects made them feel as if they were extremely high while being intoxicated.  He would laugh and play as normal, seeming like a perfect gentleman. Seeming like he was the man who was too good to be true. He would walk her, as she stumbled, to his car. Once she was in the car it was all over. He would drive her to his house.

              He pulled into his driveway. He walked her into his house. They would kiss and play, and eventually he would screw her, like she wanted. Except at the end of this date she would not return home. Once she was asleep, and after his needs were filled and his sexual hunger satisfied, he would dress her and carry her to the basement. He chained her up with the rest of the women.

              A lot of them already dead from starvation and dehydration, decaying corpses, whilst the others cry out and beg to be let go. His newest victim, and by far his favorite, was being added to his collection. He liked this one. She was smart, sassy even, but his desires have spoken. After he chained her up, he decided he wanted to give her a separate room. He took her into his special room and didn’t chain her up but locked her in a room. Instead of being in a large room with dead and half dead women, dozens of them; he put her in an actual room. There was a bed, restraints at every bed posts incase his needs rise and she resists. She’ll have a bathroom to shower, there’s a toilet. Basic needs. He wanted to keep this one. He wanted to convince her to be his.

              After, the room was locked he turned around and smelled the air. “I need to clean up.” He unchained the dead women and one by one he dragged them to the yard. He buried them and never thought of them again. “Please, let me go. Please.” He went to grab the last one. She was still alive, she just witnessed him kill the others. She was very weak. She had dirty blonde hair. He unchained her and let her arm drop. She sighed. “Thank you.” He knelt over her. “No.” He began to choke her. He enjoyed feeling life slip away through his fingers. It made him feel powerful. Unstoppable. After a few moments of struggling he added her to the bone yard behind his house. He was happy he lived far from neighbors and had endless amounts of space to bury his victims. 

              Weeks went by and to no avail Monique resisted him. She wanted out, she begged and pleaded. He was careful with her. He scared her and when she resisted his charms he would withhold food and beverage until she was so week she would succumb to him. This cycle lasted for the longest time, until one day there was a knock on his door. He looked outside and saw it was a cop car. He heard banging and screams from the basement. Monique! He saw cops looking around the house. Angrily, David stalked off to the basement, fists balled at his sides. He walked down the long corridor, filled the screams of the deceased, and to the locked door. He grabbed a blade and reached in his pocket for the keys. He put the key in the lock and unlocked the door. He saw Monique grasping at the tiny slit of a window and stood there. “I give you everything and this is what you do?!” he shouts. Bewildered she turned and cowered into a corner. “Please! Please don’t hurt me anymore!” She cried out. He walked up to her and grabbed her wrist. He yanked her up off the floor and said, “Is that what you think of me?” He was hurt, he loved her. He treasured her. She knew what her fate was- she saw the blade and felt his tight, tight grip around her thinning wrist. “You’re a monster. I could never love you.” She stared at him with sternness and spoke with distinct disdain for her capturer. “Goodbye, love.” He said with the saddest eyes and took the blade and violently cut her throat open. He felt her fear, he reveled in it. This is the part he loved. He is conquering her. He felt her warm, warm blood caress his fingers. He let her fall on the floor and watched her bleed out. As he relished in the moment, he held his hand close to his nose and smelled the metallic liquid. He would miss her- but his urge was satisfied, this will last him a long time.

              Above him-he heard the front door bust open. He needed to escape. He snuck down the hall opposite the way he came and ran through the back door. He thought he was in the clear- he was running into the woods when he heard a shot. It was a gun shot. He kept running and running. Another shot. Ha! It missed him again. A final shot- it penetrated his back and was imbedded in his spine. He went stiff and fell over. He was caught. His life was over.

              He now resides in a hospital, immobile, mute, and restrained to a bed. He saw Shelly by the glass and wished he could feel the warmness of her blood on his hands, or feel the life escape from her as he strangled her. Ah, yes, she was something special to him. His urged had died for nine years, he had the memory of Monique to keep him satisfied, but her- he felt his urge rising. He felt a fire inside that he hasn’t felt for nine years! He was so determined in his new conquest in mind; he felt a slight smirk actually curl across his face. You will be mine. In time, Shelly, in time.

1 comment:

  1. I just read all your posts. I kind of knew where this was going but thats only because I write serial killer stories, too. The "special drink" line clued me in. But again, only because my serial killer character does the same thing :)
    I don't think I need to tell you that I loved this! Damn good writing!!

    ReplyDelete