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.
