Raison D'Être

In the bathroom, Kary Sand sat naked on the toilet seat. Her brown hair hung low, eyes downcast. Jackson stood before her, nude as well. He stroked his erect penis slowly. Precum glistened on the tip.

Doris sat on the edge of the tub. In her hand was a video camera. Grinning, she zoomed in on Kary's shaven crotch.

“Lift up a little.” She licked her lip. “Show me your pussy.”

Blushing, Kary raised off the seat. With two fingers, she spread her vagina open.

“Do it.” Jackson grunted.

Burning with embarrassment, Kary released a stream. Some of it hit the toilet bowl ring.

Jackson stepped in close to her. His penis was inches from her face. “Fuck yeah.” He grunted. “You dirty cunt.”

Doris grinned. Rising, she came closer and zoomed on Kary's shamed expression.

“You're a little fuck doll, aren't you?” She purred. “A little fuck doll?”

Kary pushed another shot at the water. At that moment, Jackson groaned. A hot burst of semen splashed on her cheek. A stray burst hit her eye. She recoiled, yelping softly. Some sneaked into her mouth.

The camera focused on her face. A thick white string hung from Katy's chin. One eye was closed. She finished pissing and swallowed.

Jackson grabbed her chin and faced her towards him. He spat on her forehead.

“Good girl.”

Katy was seated on a wooden chair in their spacious living room. She wore a silky red neglige. Doris stood behind her, groping Katy's breasts. A plastic bar was strapped between her legs at the knees, keeping them apart. Her arms were bound across the back of the chair.

Jackson held the camera. He zoomed on the pink lips of her sex. “How old are you?”

“Twenty seven.” She stammered shyly.

“How long have you been a whore?”

Doris pulled one of Katy's breasts out over the slip. Her fingers pinched and pulled at her nipple.

“Since I was eighteen.” Katy gasped.

Jackson panned to her lips. They trembled. “Do you like being used?”

She closed her eyes, frowning. Doris squeezed her breast painfully and Katy grunted.

“Do you like being used like a little bitch? Do you like getting paid to be a slut?”

Katy whispered. “No.”

His hand struck out sharply across her cheek. She cried out and Doris laughed.

“What was that, cunt?”

She suppressed the urge to sob. Doris grabbed her chin, forcing her towards the camera.

“Do you like it?”

A tear escaped her. “Yes.”

In their bedroom, Doris secured the camera to a tripod. She aimed it and started recording. On the large bed, Jackson sat back against the headboard. Katy was bent over his groin, the renewed erection buried in her mouth. Her exposed rear was raised. His hand held her head down. When she coughed and gagged, he let go momentarily. A deep breath and he yanked her back by the hair.

Doris slipped on a pair of rubber underwear. A thick rubber penis stuck out the front.

“Is she any good with that mouth?” She grinned.

Jackson pulled Katy up. A strand of precum travelled from her bottom lip to the tip of his glands.

“She sucks like a pro.” He grunted. Holding himself, Jackson rubbed the end against her lips.

Doris climbed onto the bed and crouched behind her. Pulling a buttock aside, she held the large head of her dildo against Katy's anus.

“Say it.”

Katy choked. “I'm a bitch.”

Jackson forced her down around him. Doris pushed and Katy grunted in pain.

Four blocks away from the hospital, Katy stood at a corner, leaning against a brick wall.

Jackson drove in a black car. The cost of it could have covered a year of rent for Katy. In the passenger seat, Doris looked out passed him.

“Hey.” She called out.

Katy walked up and leaned in.

“You guys looking for a date?”

Jackson grinned and Doris winked. “Want to make a shit ton of money?”

Katy hesitated. She feigned looking around. Biting a nail, she asked. “How much are we talking?”

Jackson answered. Doris added. “But you have to everything we say. We're talking real hardcore. I' not paying that much just so you can give my husband a quick handjob. You might get a little hurt but we just want to try out having a sex slave.”

Katy was about to change her mind.

“Ok.”

On the bed, Jackson held Katy's rear raised. His penis moved quickly within her vagina. She was lying down. Doris knelt over her face, her loins against Katy's mouth. She pulled her head up by the hair, crushing her.

“Oh fuck. Oh shit, I'm coming.”

Jackson's finger was in Katy's rectum.

Katy stumbled out of a car, ankles tangled in her underwear. The man within returned to the driver seat.

“Close the door, for fuck's sakes.”

She slammed it and he drove out of the alley. Squatting, she pulled her underwear up beneath her skirt. Dizzy, Katy shuffled further between the buildings. She stopped her her foot stepped on a newspaper page.

Picking it up, she read the article.

On the kitchen floor, Katy knelt. She was nude. Her hands her bound by her underwear behind her back. Her knees were bruised. The cheeks of her rear were pink. There was a slight cut on her upper lip. Her hair tangled in clumps.

She was blindfolded. Jackson stood before her. He held a tail of her hair in his fist. He thrust his pelvis in jerks, penis inside her mouth. He held the camera.

Beside her was Doris. Jackson pulled out of Katy and turned to Doris. She bobbed her face around his length. He then yanked Katy back on him.

Doris grabbed her throat and squeezed. “Choke the bitch. Choke her on your cock.”

Pushing against her head, he buried in her throat. Katy gagged. She coughed bile against Jackson's pubis. He released her and she pulled back. Turning aside, she coughed out a splash of vomit. It swung off her chin as she was forced back. Jackson resumed.

“Fucking doll. Fuck doll.” Doris squeezed Katy's breast.

Walking down the hospital hallway, Katy felt insecure. A mother came out of a room, weeping. A doctor followed behind her.

Kay stayed back, listening. She caught the words.

Terminal. Operation. Money.

The mother shook her head. She leaned against the doctor and he hugged her. Katy wanted to comfort her as well.

A nurse stopped beside her. “Can I help you?”

“No.” Katy said. She walked away, tears starting down her face.

“I'm a bitch.”

Katy was bent on her knees. Behind her, Jackson crouched. His penis pushed down into her rear.

Doris knelt before her. Reaching back, she pulled a buttock aside. Katy held the other one and licked circles around Doris' rectum.

“Again.” Jackson slapped Katy across a rear cheek.

Katy stopped momentarily. “I'm a bitch.”

“You piece of shit.” Doris gasped. “You fucking cunt. I'm coming. Make me come, slut.”

Katy pushed her tongue inside. Doris fingered her clitoris and climaxed.

Jackson crushed his pelvis on Katy's rear. “Fuck. You cow. Your ass is tight. So hot. Do it again.”

Katy sobbed.

“That's right. You hate yourself. You worthless whore.”

Doris looked up at the camera with a grin.

Jackson pulled his penis out of Katy sharply. Her anus stayed open a moment. Rising, he pulled at his length and nodded urgently at Doris. Elated, she squirmed away from Katy.

“Lay down, bitch.”

Katy rolled onto her back and spread her legs out. Her breath came fast. Tears had long dried. She watched Jackson anxiously. He stepped up to Doris. She knelt before his penis and opened her mouth. He ejaculate and she caught it between her lips.

“Oh fuck.” He groaned.

She sucked in on the head and pulled away. Jackson grabbed the camera off the tripod.

Doris climbed over Katy, looking down at her. He zoomed in close at the girls. Violently, Doris spat the semen out on Katy's face. She screamed in surprise.

Standing, Doris giggled. Jackson paned over Katy's ruined face. She was weeping. He focus on her tears.

“Cry bitch. Cry.”

She wore her clothes once more. Her hair was a mess. Her face was cleaned. She stood in their doorway as Doris counted out bills.

“Nine thousand, nine hundred. Ten thousand.”

She zipped up a sports bag and handed it to Katy.

“Thank you.” She muttered.

“Fuck, whatever. It's pennies.” Doris crossed her arms. “Feel like shit? That's a lot of money. Your mother would be so proud.”

Katy choked. “I need it.”

“Enjoy your crack, cunt.”

The door slammed in her face.

Outside a home, a broken mother answered the door and found a bag instead. Inside was hundred dollar bills and a note.

You do not know me. I do not know you. But I know about your son. I read about him in the paper.

The operation will save his life. This doesn't cover all of it, but it should bring you a lot closer to your goal.

I failed my chance at life. I would like to believe I gave someone else the opportunity to do better.

I love you.

Anonymous

On the bridge crossing the shallow river, Katy stood on the railing. The memory of her night stung like a needle. In a large home, a man and a woman have videos of lust unleashed. Of a prostitute who submitted her body to humility.

In a home, a mother is calling her friends, family. She is ecstatic. She is overjoyed. She believes once more in angels.

Smiling softly to herself, Katy jumped and pretended to fly.

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Any comment or feedback is welcome.

Innocence

   Maeko was no different than any other girl in her class. She was definitely not the most popular. She was no social outcast either. Her long dark hair fell around a pretty face, the glasses she wore a compliment to her appearance, not a hindrance. She had an independent sense of fashion, playing with short skirts over tight jeans, or an open blouse and tie. She was unique. Her friends liked her for it. Most of them. Some simply liked to say they had an Asian friend.

Maeko was seventeen years old.

Whenever she went out on weekends, Maeko had the habit of carrying her video camera with her. It was her most prized possession. Everywhere she went, it came along. It was a rare sight to not see the lens reflecting back her surroundings. Maeko's personal laptop was full of videos of her life.

Like a diary.

It was a Saturday morning. Maeko was ready to leave her house with her the carry case for the camera slung over a shoulder. She almost made it before her mother, Kicho, stepped out of the living room into the lobby of their two story house. She was replacing one of her earrings with great difficulty and was dressed for the office. As a single parent, Kicho often worked through weekends.

“Where are you going?” She asked in their native tongue.

Sighing, Maeko faced her aged and tired mother. “I'm meeting with my friends.” She replied in English. “I told Hanna I would be there.”

Kicho flinched as the earring's backing pinched her lobe. “Take your brother with you.” She continued.

Immediately Maeko whined. “Mom! He gets in the way.”

“I don't care. I have to go to work and I told you yesterday you had to watch him.”

Maeko didn't bother to fight it. She stomped up the stairs to the second floor.

Ichiro was only eight. At his age, he had little interest in girls. Robots were amazing and he had a pet turtle in his room. He liked movies over television, was proficient at video games and put little effort in the way he dressed.

When Maeko entered his room uninvited, Ichiro jumped and dropped his comic book.

“Come on.” His sister said in annoyance. “Mom says you have to come with me.”

He shook his head quickly. “I don't want to go. I want to stay home.”

Maeko stormed up to him. Grabbing Ichiro's arm she pulled him to his feet. “I don't give a shit. Mom says you have to come with me.”

He fought against her, struggling to free himself. “I want to stay here and play my games.”

Maeko slapped him across the face. Ichiro recoiled, covering his cheek.

“I said we're fucking going.” His sister hissed. “So put your fucking shoes on and let's go.”

Maeko often hit him whenever she wanted things to go her way. When he was seven, she kicked him in the groin when he was walking too slowly to the park. She once trapped him in his closet after Ichiro was given the last cookie.

He'd never told their mother. She was often too busy to take the time to listen. And he had been warned by Maeko already.

She would kill him if he did.

Surrendering, he followed his sister out the room and down the stairs.

In their neighbourhood, alleys led out towards a ravine. They crawled under a wire fence down to where the creek flowed and followed it. From within the cover of trees, the city scrapers were hidden. The city a distant static. Bushes reached out, scratching against Ichiro and Maeko's pants like tiny fingers. Bees buzzed softly from wild flowers. The wind whispered through the leaves above.

Maeko held Ichiro's hand and led him further away from home. Along the slow flowing creek, the water stagnant and low. Deeper among the woods until finally she pulled him up the slope. They stepped out into a clearing where the grass rose uncut like a green sea. There sat an old barn, the door opened slightly.

Standing outside were Maeko's friends, Hanna and Neil. Hanna waved to Maeko and her brother first.

Hanna was a larger girl, many pounds away from being obese but enough to hamper her confidence. Her plain brown hair was cut to an unflattering short length and the black she always wore did little to make her seem slimmer. She was often seen reading or writing in the privacy of a dark corner at school and was generally a social outcast.

Neil was skinny enough to cause his mother to worry and take him to see a doctor. He had his father's metabolism. His mother refused to connect Neil to his father ever since the man left her. Neil rarely wore anything that showed his body physique and was the target of bullying. His unwashed black hair hung in strings around a gaunt face, the dark eyes big and bug-like.

These were Maeko's friends since their early years in school. A trio of social outcasts, loners and different. Keeping to themselves. They were better companions than anyone would ever know.

Maeko approached them, waddling through the tall grass with her brother in tow. Hanna called out to her.

“You brought it?”

Maeko raised her camera bag with a grin. Neil stood by the barn door looking in.

Ichiro began to resist. “I want to go home.” He whined.

His sister pulled him along, ignoring his protest. He yanked against her arm. “I said I want to go home.”

She stopped in the open field and spun around sharply. Her fist slammed the boy in his stomach. With a breathless grunt, Ichiro fell to one knee. Hanna got Neil's attention and together they watched.

Ferociously Maeko pushed her brother onto his back. She kicked his side sharply. He cried out in pain.

“Quit your fucking bitching.” She said as he curled into a ball. “Mom made me in charge and you have to listen to me. Now get up, you big baby.”

Suppressing the urge to cry, Ichiro achingly rose. He let his sister take his hand and held his sore waist. They continued onward, reaching the barn and her friends.

“Why is he here?” Neil asked curiously, looking down at Maeko's brother. Ichiro kept his eyes low.

“I had to.” Maeko replied. “Mom didn't give me much of an option.”

“Is he gonna rat us out?” Hanna asked with worry.

Maeko grinned and turned to her brother. He cowered submissively.

“I think he'll be good. Am I right, Ichiro?”

He nodded quickly. It was enough for her friends.

“Then let's get to it.” Neil said, pulling the bar door wider. “I've been thinking about today since last night.”

Hanna paused them a moment. “Did anyone say anything to you guys?”

They shook their heads and then Maeko asked. “Why? Is someone talking?”

“Well,” Hanna said hesitantly, “my parents asked me about it last night.”

“And?” Neil enquired.

“They believed me when I said had no idea.”

Maeko gave an assertive nod. “Good. It won't matter after today, anyway.”

With that said, the four of them entered the barn.

Her name was Isabelle but among her peers they were privileged to call her Izzy. They had to ask her for permission first. It was an honour if she said yes. Izzy was the popular girl in school. It wasn't because her parents were rich. It had to do with her blond hair, her beautiful face and her abilities to manipulate people. She was her own clique in school and her followers were her army.

They were nowhere to be seen that Saturday as she sat with her back against a support pole in the barn. Her hands tied behind it. Her normally silky hair falling in thick strands. Her face pale and bruised. She was gagged and blindfold by cloth.

Izzy was completely naked.

When the four children entered the barn and closed the door, Isabelle raised her head fearfully. Her breath came in fast at the sound of their approaching footsteps.

When Maeko released Ichiro's hand, he immediately went over into the corner and watched. She had already completely forgotten him as she stalked up to their captive with a grin.

“Izzy, Izzy. Little Izzy.” She said with a chuckle. “Everyone is looking for you.”

Hanna walked up to the girl and knelt to lift the blindfold off. Horrified blue eyes jumped from the girls to Neil and then back to Maeko. Tears escaped her lids and eased down her cheek.

Rising, Hanna spat down at her face. The blond recoiled.

“Fucking cunt.” The larger girl hissed. “No one's gonna find you here.”

Neil stood behind Hanna, watching with a hand on his groin. “You're going to rot in here.” He said, drawing Isabelle's trembling stare.

Maeko opened her bag and took out the camcorder. She raised it and turned it on.

Hanna glanced towards her with a vicious smirk. “Ready?”

Maeko looked back over her shoulder. Ichiro had cowered into a far corner, slumped down on old hay. His eyes were wide. Smirking at her younger brother, she turned back to her camera and looked vicariously through the lens.

“Yes.” She said, pressing record. “Yes I am.”

Isabelle started to cry as Neil walked over. He began to unbutton his pants.

“I want to go.” Ichiro whispered, pulling as his sister's sleeve.

Maeko was crouched, the camera focused on Isabelle's face. Hanna stood behind the post, pulling Izzy's head back against it by her hair. Neil was squatting before the bound girl, naked below the waist. His hips were thrusting in sharp jerks against Isabelle's face. The girl was choking loudly.

Ichiro couldn't prevent staring at the sight before him. “I want to go.” He tugged again.

Sighing, his sister stopped the camera. “Guys, hold on.”

Neil pulled away from Isabelle. She gasped a coughing fit. Hanna continued to hold her hair and looked over at Maeko.

“I told you he'd get in the way.” She said irritably.

With another frustrated sigh, Maeko rose on sore legs and faced her brother. He naturally recoiled in defence.

“You fucking shit.” She said. “Why can't you just shut up? We'll go home when we're done.”

He couldn't take his eyes off Isabelle. Hanna had risen, releasing the blond hair. Izzy's head hung, a line of wet drool hanging off her bottom lip. Her breasts hung downward. Her legs were parted, stretched out along the barn floor. His glance caught the slip of pink flesh between her thighs.

Maeko followed his stare and grinned back at him. “Like it?”

He quickly shook his head and stepped back. Hanna and Neil watched silently.

Fearful, Ichiro looked from Hanna to Neil's erection and back to his sister. She smirked cruelly.

“Like her pussy, you little perv?”

Neil chuckled.

“I want to go home.” Ichiro said. “I want to go home to my room.”

Reaching into her back pocket, Maeko pulled out a knife. She pointed it at her brother. “We aren't going yet. Not yet.”
The blade of her weapon caught Ichiro's horrified gaze and he began to sob softly. Maeko passed Neil her camera before grabbing her brother by the arm. With a cry he pulled against her hold. She pointed the knife at his face. He froze. The crotch of his pants grew warm and wet.

“I've had just about enough of your fucking bitching.” She growled softly at him. “Do you want me to have to tell our mom you've run away? Run away forever and will never come back? Not until they find the body?”

He slowly shook his head. “No.”

“Then fucking shut up and do as your told.”

“But-”

She cut a small line into his cheek and he yelped, pulling away. “Do it!”

Resolutely he nodded, lips trembling.

Through the camera, Maeko watched. Zoomed in as her brother hesitantly pushed a finger into Izzy's struggling loins. His own face damp with tears. Isabelle's head turned to the side, grunting with each push of Neil's hips. Hanna whispering to Ichiro, guiding his unwilling hands. Forcing him to explore the captured girl.

Maeko grinned when Neil pulled back from the crying blond. Izzy gasped a scream as he ejaculated on her face. Hanna made Ichiro push three fingers into the girl.

“No.” Ichiro said sternly, stepping back from them.

Isabelle was cut free from the post and was lain out on the floor. Hanna held her struggling arms down. Neil was between her thighs, holding them open as he raped her.

Maeko leaned down to her brother, knife in hand. She held his arm tightly.

“If you don't,” she hissed, “I'm killing you right here. I'll cut your throat open and shove my fingers in the hole. Fucking do it.”

Ichiro glanced over at Isabelle. She was crying out tearfully, throwing her head from side to side. Hanna leaned over and spat in her face.

“I don't want to.” He replied softly.

His sister slapped the cut on his cheek and he fell to the floor.

“You fucker!” She yelled. “Do it! Do it!”

Cupping the stinging pain, Ichiro rose slowly. His sister held out the knife and he took it hesitantly.

“Do it.” She repeated, bringing the camera to her eye. Ichiro walked over to where Isabelle lay. Neil was slamming his groin against her. The girl was screaming, pleading and sobbing.

“Please!” Isabelle pleaded, eyes shut in terror. “Please!”

Kneeling over her bare chest, Ichiro felt sick in his stomach. His palm's sweat made the handle of the knife warm.

Hanna smiled gently at him. She continued to hold the blond down. “You're doing her a favour.” She said. “You're doing her good.”

Neil didn't stop, thrusting in sharp jerks. Closing his eyes, Ichiro choked out a sob and raised the blade in his hand. He plunged it down between Isabelle's breasts. Her eyes went wide as the steel cut in, shocked by the pinching invasion.

“Again.” Maeko said, zooming in with the camera. Blood grew from the slit in her skin. Lifting the knife once more, Ichiro cried went he brought it back down.

That night, Ichiro's mother was late for supper. Maeko fed them and then let her brother hide in his room. He sat there in silence, the video games ignored. The comic book lying on the bed untouched. When his mother arrived, she found him lying in bed, curled up beneath the blankets.

“He was so active today.” Maeko told her mother when they were in the living room. “He must have really tired himself out.”

That night, in the darkness of his room, the vision of Isabelle's raped and murdered body clouded his mind. The memory of her lifeless eyes stared up from the hole they had left her in, the dirt falling from Neil's shovel over her pale and naked body. Maeko entered his room silently and he refused to look up at her. She walked over. Ichiro felt her weight on the bed as she sat down beside him.

“You killed a girl today, Ichiro.” She whispered close to his ear. “You killed Isabelle with a knife. You killed her and now she's dead. I have it all. I have it on my camera. I have it on my laptop. Everyone will know if you choose to share our little secret. Everyone will know. You killed her, Ichiro. You stabbed Izzy with a knife.”

She left his room, door closing slowly behind her. The light of the hallway thinned away to nothing, leaving him alone in darkness.

Ichiro sobbed silently into his pillow.

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Any comment or feedback is welcome.

Rodney

Aug 10

Dear Jenny,

It’s me. Rodney. It feels like it’s been forever since we’ve last spoke. Since I’ve spoken with you. Look, I miss you, Jenny. I really do. I know it’s hard to believe, you know… considering… Well, I do. I think about you every night. Every time I come, it’s your crying eyes I see.

Listen, I’m trying. I’m here now, at the camp. It’s a camp for workers. Up north, in the oil sands. It’s this huge refinery or something. A large plant the size of a city. Jenny, they give you a room in one of the camps, right? It’s in a unit. Not large, but you get three meals a day and the pay is really good.

The plant that I’m working at smells like an open grave on the face of the Earth.

The walls here are paper thin. The ones in the units separating the rooms. I can hear my neighbor clearly from my bed. He coughs and farts and stomps around and I think he jerks off with a belt tight around his neck. A pervert. You know, when you consider how many guys must have blown their loads on the floor of my room…

I’m trying, Jenny. I’ve been very polite and courteous since I’ve got here. I hold the doors open for people and try to smile a lot. I say please and thank you as much as I can. I’ve been super nice to the kitchen staff. And I have yet to insult my co-workers. I have yet to threaten anyone. I’m trying very hard to be a good person.

The machine I get to run is a forklift. She’s beautiful! Two four-feet long forks lead me like the raised spears of a blood thirsty cavalry. If I was so inclined to, I could charge through one of the smoke pits during the peak hours. When everyone is standing there. I could impale and crush the whole lot of them in one violent blow.

I won’t though. I promise you, Jenny. I’m trying very hard.

Wish me luck today. I’ll be good.

I miss you Jenny.

I wish… you know. I’m sorry.

Your loving and changed man,

Rodney

Aug 13

Dear Jenny,

Did you know that in 2007, this plant had a fatality? They tell you this stuff during what is called “orientation”. Seems that a man working at heights wasn’t properly tied off, you know. With a rope or something. He fell, hitting the ground with the force of a sledge hammer. He was forty feet above the concrete. I’ve asked around but no one seems able to tell me if he hit the ground head first.

In 2008, an electrician made a simple mistake and shocked himself on damaged copper wiring. The strength of the current was apparently high enough that his body seized and his fists melted into the wires. I bet he shit himself. The man held on until he was fried. I wonder if he smelled of crisp meat and bubbling fat?

It’s difficult, Jenny. Everywhere I go, there are people. So many people. In the kitchen, in the recreation. Fucking people. The buses that take us from the camps to the factory. People. People. Every morning is a full bus. A man sat down next to me this morning. He just started talking. He hopped right into a conversation with me and he wouldn’t shut up! I couldn’t say anything. I thought I was going to cry.

I got to learn a few names. I work on occasions with a Mike, a Paul, another Mike and Andy. Two Mikes. I can never remember which is which. I don’t think it really matters. Both Mikes, they are nothing more than blood and guts on the inside anyway. Right?

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have added that last part. That was bad. Bad Rodney, right? Bad. That was bad.

I’m trying really hard, Jenny. For you. I’m still holding the doors open and smiling. Smiling so hard it hurts. But it isn’t easy. No one thanks you. No one smiles bad. Don’t these assholes see how much effort I’m putting into being nice?! If only they knew. Maybe then they would be more inclined to say thank you every once in a fucking while!

My neighbor. I can hear every goddamn word he says in his room when he’s on the cell phone. I guess he has a wife and a daughter. A teenager. I think she’s been skipping class, a real troublemaker. I hear everything going on in my unit. Every damn person living around me. Like a constant buzzing of a beehive. Buzz buzz buzz! I’m getting no sleep at night.

There’s a smoke pit near this pond. I guess the pond is where they dump some toxic waste or something like that. I don’t know. Relax, Jenny. I’m not smoking. That’s the old Rodney. I quit. I just like to park my machine there and hang out with the smokers. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to talk to someone there. Maybe make a friend. I would like that very much.

From the pit you can hear the blank shots going off. See, they use these harmless cannons or guns to scare off ducks so they stay away from the unhealthy shit. It’s like constant sniper shots being fired from the unseen depths of the factory.

The roast last night tasted like raw flesh and I pushed the soap in to my ass during my shower. I’m sorry.

Jenny, I miss you. I wish it could be different. I have to end this now. They gave me a radio to call me when I have something to do. It keeps going off with people calling me and it’s making me angry.

Love,

Rodney

Aug 14

Dear Jenny,

The cleaning girl who handles the rooms is pretty. Not like you, but she’s far from ugly. I came on my sheets this morning. It excites me to know she’ll be touching my cum.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be thinking that. Bad Rod! Bad!

Last night in the kitchen, they had macaroni and cheese on the menu. This very fat man sat at my table and his plate of overflowing with it. They looked like squirming little maggots coated with puss. He ate through it like it was his last meal. Little yellow maggots sticking to his bottom lip, mashed within his mouth in to a tasteless pale paste. I couldn’t stop staring. I though I was going to puke.

The girls at camp have separate units. Units with only girls in them. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m sorry, Jenny. There was this one girls today in the smoke pit today. The pit near the shots. She’s very pretty, with nice hair and a hot body. Her cunt smelled of lemons through her jeans.

She looked familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen her before. I could have sworn I’ve seen her in a porno getting gangbanged roughly, crying hard as she choked on a cock. I was too shy to ask though.

Last night, my neighbor was jerking off. I’m sure of it. The bed was squeaking and banging against the wall.. He was arguing with his daughter about her skipping school. I think he was jerking off to that. I think yelling at his daughter gets him off. I bet she’s hot.

I didn’t bring a lunch today. I had a dream that maggots were crawling in to my dick. I had to jerk off in the shower this morning, just to make sure it wasn’t real. I came in to my palm and rubbed it on the shower. Can you just imagine? The next guy to take a shower, he’ll be showering in my semen! Hahaha!

I’m sorry.

On the bus this morning, a girl sat next to me. She smelled of blood. I think she’s on her period. She wanted to touch my crotch. She didn’t say it but I can tell these things. Slut.

Did I tell you they have units just for the girls?

FUCKING RADIO WON’T FUCKING SHUT UP! RODNEY DO THIS! RODNEY DO THAT! FUCK YOU! I’LL KILL YOU! JUST SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!

I’m sorry, Jenny. That was bad of me. I’m sorry. Maybe Dr. Andrews was wrong. Maybe coming up here was a bad idea.

The cleaning girl has keys to every room in my unit. Can you believe that? Being trusted with such power. I bet she rubs everyone’s toothbrush against her clit. We’re all brushing our teeth with her snatch. Clit paste. Haha!

I’m sorry. I’m ending this now. The FUCKING RADI

Aug 16

Dear Jenny,

I wrote yesterday but it was bad so I tore it up. But I still want to ask. Why? Why did you do it? We could have been

Last night’s dinner was liver and children. I sat alone. I think everyone is avoiding me. What am I doing wrong? I hold doors open and I smile until it hurts and I say hi. Why can’t I make friends up here? Why does everyone seem to hate me? Well, no more. Fuck them. Sorry, Jenny, but I won’t be taken advantage of anymore.

I’m sorry, Jenny. I have a confession to make. Please don’t be angry. I brought the sharp. The same one. I’m sorry. I packed it in my suitcase and brought it with me. I know I did something very bad. Bad Rodney! BAD BAD BAD!

I won’t take it out of the bag. I promise.

I’m playing with my dick underneath my coveralls. It’s that girl at the smoke pit. The exploding sniper smoke pit. I bummed a smoke off her and she gave me one. It tasted like her finger. I tried to talk with her but she said she had to go back to work. She smiled at me.

Her name is… fuck, I forgot.

I wish those shots were real. A disgruntled employee with a rifle trying to kill as many smokers as possible. And I could save that girl somehow. I could save the girl by grabbing her and carrying her off as people die around us. I could take her to the tool crib and in the chaos she would thank me. She would get down on her knees and choke herself to death on my cock.

I mean… sorry.

Sorry. Bad Rod.

The man who sat beside me on the bus today touched my leg. Fucking queer. I’ll kill him if he thinks I’ll suck his dick! Sorry.

I would make a great cleaning person. Better than the bitch we have right now. She made my bed and cleaned the floor but she left my waste basket full! What are they paying her for? I would do a better job. I don’t even need the keys. I could tell her boss that. They would hire me on the spot. I have the tools with me. I still remember what Dad taught me. I should put that on my resume. A locksmith for a father. A family business. I should tell them. I would be so much better than that cunt.

I bet her ass is tight.

I can’t say that. I don’t mind being an operator. I’m good at it. My foreman has even hinted about carrying me on to the next job when this one is done. Isn’t that great? I think he wants to be friends! That’s good, right? Good Rodney.

I hope you can see how hard I’m trying, Jenny. I hope you can see your Rodney from the bottom of the river.

I love you,

Rodney

Aug 17

FUCK YOU! THE FUCKING RADIO CALLING ME! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!

I’LL KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL! THE SMOKE PIT BITCH! THE COOKS! THE WORKERS! LIKE A SNIPER SCARING OFF DUCKS! BANG BANG BANG! FUCK YOU FOREMAN! FUCK YOU SUPERVISOR! FUCK YOU! I’M DOING MY JOB! LEAVE ME ALONE!

IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, DR. ANDREWS! YOU TOLD ME TO DO THIS! COME UP HERE! MAKE SOME FUCKING FRIENDS AND GOOD MONEY! FUCK YOU!@ WHEN I GET BACK HOME I’M COMING TO YOUR HOUSE! CUT YOUR HEAD OF WITH MY SHARP! PUT IT IN YOUR CHAIR! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME NOW, ASSHOLE?

DON’T THINK I’LL DO IT? I’LL PICK THE LOCKS TO THE GIRL’S UNIT! RAPE EVERY SINGLE WHORE WHO FAILS TO THANK ME FOR HOLDING THE DOOR OPEN! SEE ME SMILING NOW, YOU CUNTS? DEAD MOMMIES AND DAUGHTER, THEIR MUTILATED BODIES COATED IN CUM! HAHAHAHA! LET THE CLEANING CUNT DEAL WITH THE MESS! SHE’LL LEAVE THE WASTE BASKET FUL! HAHAHAHA!

THIS IS YOUR FAULT, JENNY! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID THAT! YOU SHOULD HAVE NEVER LEFT ME!

I HOPE THEY NEVER FIND YOU!

HAHAHA!

Aug 18

Jenny,

Yesterday was not a good day. My neighbor’s snoring is loud. I can hear him breathing. I can’t sleep. The foreman and the supervisor had a talk with me and it upset me. I thought I was doing just fine. I thought I was making a friend. The radio keeps calling for me and I’m just so tired. So tired.

The cleaning girl didn’t empty my waste basket yet so I came on the pillowcase. I pretended it was her mutilated face I was coming on. I’m so lonely up here. Last night’s dinner was lasagna. I pretended it was the girl seated across from me. Yum! Bloody pussy juice dripping off my chin. Your cunt tastes like week old shit, bitch. When she caught me staring I didn’t bother to smile.

I hate this place.

I’ve been checking the newspapers since I got here. They still haven’t found your bloated body yet. You cow. You fucking bitch. Is the river cold?

On the bus no one sat next to me. I don’t care. Every second I was hoping we’d crash. The bus flipping on to its side. People screaming in horror and flailing like rag dolls. Smashing their heads open on the steel window frames. The engine on fire. KABOOM! All dead.

I hate this place. I’ve been at the smoke pit more often now. I sit and smoke. I kept the radio off all morning and just sat and smoked. The hot bitch, she came down a few times. Would she submit if she knew I had my sharp inside my coveralls? Oh yes. Security at the gates don’t search people on the buses. Snuck it in with my lunch. Five sandwiches in a paper bag to hide a sharp. I won’t eat them. I’ll throw it in the pond for the ducks.

She wouldn’t say no. Not with a shiny sharp waving in her face. She’d lie down. She’d submit. Right there in the smoke pit. Her jeans torn down, crying as I force my fist in to her asshole, the sharp on her neck. The workers falling around us, shot down by the sniper shots. All dead. I would slit her throat just to feel her ass squeeze around my fist.

Is the river cold, love?

The foreman asked me if my radio was on. I told him that the battery might be dead. He’s getting me a new one but I don’t think I’ll turn my radio on at all today.

I just don’t care anymore.

You shouldn’t have left me, cunt.

Rodney

Aug 19

Dear Dr. Andrews,

If you are reading this, I might be dead.

I tried. I tried and I failed. I’m bad. Bad Rodney! Very fucking bad.

No sleep again. My neighbor was on the phone again, arguing with his daughter over school and then with his wife over their daughter.

I hope they serve diced up newborn babies for dinner.

Tomorrow is my last day for this stretch. I get four days off. I get to go home during that time. You better hope I don’t, Dr. Andrews. I blame you. Your daughter is how old now? Nine? Ten? Old enough to bleed.

I hate this life.

I’ve decided to take the initiative, Doctor. I think I should. Tonight, I’m eating my supper. I’ll go back to my room. I’ll come on the wall and then wait until midnight.

Doctor, Rodney is dead. There’s just me now and I’m done trying.

Picking the lock won’t be hard and with the way my neighbor snores I’m sure he won’t hear me come it. I could sneak in undetected. After I gouge his neck open I’ll pull the throat out and ram the shreds into his mouth. With his cell phone I’ll take pictures. I plan to take many.

I was granted half a day tomorrow so I can drive home but I’m not leaving my camp at noon.

The kitchen carries plastic forks for us to take with our lunch. I grabbed a couple. Tonight when I kill my neighbor, I’m snapping the prongs of one fork into the keyhole to his room. That should make it impossible for the cleaning girl to unlock it.

If killing him gets me hard, I’ll come on the floor of my room. Tomorrow morning, I’ll come on the chair I have.

At noon, when I get back to the camp, I’ll wait in my room. The cleaning girl comes in the afternoon. I found out yesterday when I asked her about picking locks.

If she tries my neighbor’s door first, I hope she waits on reporting the jam and moves on to mine. Maybe she comes to mine first. Regardless, I’ll be in my room, in the closet. When she comes in, I’m slitting her throat. I’m cutting off her head and hands and leaving them in my full waste basket. Then I’ll jam my door with the second fork.

At this point, I’ll send the pictures of my mutilated neighbor to his daughter. I’ll send it with a message.

STAY IN SCHOOL, YOU COW! HAHAHA!

I don’t know what I’ll do then. Maybe I’ll go to the all-girl units. Pick the locks to those on night shift. Stab the sleeping girls in their stomachs and rape them as they die. Fill as many of them as I can with cum.

Maybe I’ll just wait for the smoke pit bitch to return from work. Follow her into her unit. Pick her lock and maybe catch her undressing. Rape her face at sharp point. I could ram my cock deep until she gags and pukes on my balls. Then I could cut her eyes out and shove them up her pussy so she can finally see herself the way everyone else does.

I could always just barge in to the kitchen and go on a massacre. Slice and dice! Kill as many fuckers as I can. Bodies crashing down on stewed virgin schoolgirls and abortion chowder. Kill everyone I can!

Either way, I’m going out with a bag. Like a sniper scaring away ducks as he takes out everyone in the smoke pit. Bang.

As for you, Dr. Andrew, if things go according to plan, I might not get the chance with you. That’s fine. When you read about it in the paper or see it on the news, when the finally fish Jenny’s corpse out of the river, I want you to remember this.

This is all your fault. You suggested I come up here.

I’m tired of trying.

Goodbye.

Rodney

Aug 20

Dear Jenny,

I slept great. Best since I got here.

Now that the snoring stopped.

I have a busy day ahead of me. It’s almost noon.

I just wanted you to know, before I do this.

Did you go to hell for leaving me?

If not, I’m coming to heaven to drag you down with me.

You can’t leave me, you cunt. You’ll be my bitch now.

For eternity.

Love,

Rodney

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Any comment or feedback is welcome.

Save the Princess

   The video circulated briefly on the internet through local forums. Within less than four hours, it disappeared. The original person to find it came across it quite accidentally, hacking at the Grieves' business e-mail. When he opened it and saw what it was, he knew he had something very big. Very secret. Something that would cost him his life.

A movie.

It was the same video playing on the monitor that night, in a large and dark office. The glow illuminated little, blinded by the light of the moon shining through the large panel windows over looking the city.

Seated at the desk, a man was silence. Nothing seen of him but the tiny fire of his cigar, the smoke disappearing in the darkness above. On the screen, a gritty and unedited video played, flickering in motion before him. In it, a slender and pretty blond was tied to a bed, submitted to the will of multiple masked men. Her naked body struggled against them. Her makeup ran with tears down her cheeks, eyes shut against the sight of her torment.

These men, they took her freely, violating every part of her. Every exposed orifice. Every inch of her flesh. The camera moved, panned and zoomed on each degrading act. Sodomy. Oral. Vaginal. She bled from the damage to her loins. Bruises on her thighs. Semen on her lips. Her breasts scratched and swollen.

Through it all, the sound was distant. Canned. The grunts and words of her assailants, controlling and cold. Her moans and gasps. The choking sobs from her throat. And whenever her mouth was free, she screamed or cried.

“Daddy!”

The rape lasted forty seven minutes and twenty three seconds.

On the surface of the desk, a letter sat open. The letters were cut from newspapers and magazines. At the centre was a sum. Fifty million dollars. On the top, the message began formally.

“Dear Mr. Grieves,” it said.

Beside the note was a picture, taken from a distant camera. Unseen, perhaps from a car or a van. In it, the blond was looking back, as if aware she was being watched, frozen on the steps leading to the front door of her school. A public school she convinced her father to let her attend.

Daphne Grieves. His only child and daughter. She was sixteen.

When the video stopped, ending with a frozen still of her face moments after her kidnappers urinated on it, the man in the chair sat back in his chair.

With the cigar to his lips, Mr. Grieves inhaled and blew out a cloud of ashen smoke.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Peter said.

That was Jim's best friend. His only friend. The students in their class called him Pissing Pete. In the third grade, during a swimming lesson, he urinated in the community pool in front of his peers. It was a stigma he would never scrub clean.

Jim sat in his room, surrounded by posters of horror movies. His desk was located underneath the basement room window. Upstairs, his mother was cooking supper. Pete stood beside him, staring in disbelief at the computer screen.

The Rape of Daphne Grieves is what the legendary video would come to be known as.

“I'm telling you,” Jim muttered thoughtfully, watching the movie. The shot was close as one of the men entered Daphne rectally. “This is the hospital.”

Pete sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pacing back before returning. “How can you be so sure, Jim?” He asked, pointing at the screen. “That could be anywhere.”

“The bed.” Jim said. He paused the movie. Daphne's torture froze in time. Her body twisted to the side, mouth around one. Another inside her. Jim touched the monitor, to the bed. “That bed. That's the only bed left in the hospital. I know. I go there all the time.” He tapped it. “That blood? It's not hers. It's this stain on the sheet. This was taken at the hospital.”

“Jim,” Pete said, looking away from the blond, his classmate, “why would kidnappers take Daphne there? Anyone stupid enough to jack and rape Grieves own daughter would be smarter to leave the fucking city. When Grieves sees this, he'll have every fucking cop, hitman and mercenary hunting this bastards.”

“Exactly.” Jim replied, turning to his friend, “and what a better place to hide than the hospital Grieves shut down. If you're being hunted by a fucking wolf, where do you go? To his den. Because it's the last place he would look.”

Pete pondered Jim's point a moment. His eyes kept coming back to the video.

From above, Jim's mother called for supper.

“I know this is the hospital.” Jim said. “I know that place like the back of my hand. This is where they did it, Pete. It might very well be where she is right now.”

Pete shook his head. “You are crazy.” He said. “There's no way-”

“No way to do it?” Jim interrupted angrily. With a click, the film resumed. Daphne's grunts came silently from his speakers. Her mouth pulled forcefully around a man. “This, Pete. This is happening right now. At the hospital. Daphne is getting raped and we know where.”

His friend tried to avoid watching it. Watching the scene. He couldn't. “Call Grieves.”

“How?” Jim slammed a palm on his desk. “No one calls Grieves. He owns this fucking city. Everything. You don't call Grieves. The man is a fucking ghost.”

“Then what are we supposed to do, Jim?” Pete shouted back. “Stop it?”

Jim turned back to the monitor and cradled his chin in his hands. His mother called once more from above.

The movie reflected off his glasses.

“Exactly.”

It was close to midnight. The two boys, students of the same public school Daphne attended, walked their bikes along the sidewalk. The city pulsed with nightlife, like a hive that never sleeps. In the industrial they were in, things were quieter. The hookers ignored them. Dealers only glanced. Two teens walking in the worse part of the city meant they had bigger issues than them. Bigger goals.

In Jim's coat pocket, his father's handgun felt heavy.

“So do we even have a plan?” Pete asked.

Jim failed to respond.

“Jim.” Pete hissed. “I get it. You like her. You want to save her. But dude, this isn't going to win her father's favour. Grieves doesn't like anyone. He's the kingpin. The big bad. Grieves will take Daphne away from you, send her to a private school and make sure that you never speak of this incident ever again.”

“Why?” Jim simply asked. “If I can rescue Daphne without Grieves having to drag it out... Imagine if your daughter is kidnapped. Being raped. Ransom or something. Imagine that a stranger comes along. A hero. And he saves your little princess. Why wouldn't you thank him?”

His friend chuckled sardonically. “Because it's Mr. Fucking Grieves, Jimmy.”

He shook his head. “He's also a father. And right now his daughter is being held captive.”

“So let Grieves pay the ransom.” Jim said. “Then Daphne will be fine. And we can go home instead.”

They rounded a corner. The hospital awaited them four blocks ahead. Abandoned. Silent. No lights. A black blotch in the skyline. Stars surrounding it. The fence a distant goal.

“I do this,” Jim said resolutely, “and Grieves won't have to worry. And he'll thank us for it.”

“And Daphne, right?” Peter added. “That's what this is about, am I right? You do this and you're the hero. A knight rescuing his princess. A princess you've been moaning over since she came to our school. A princess who doesn't even know you exist.” He nudged his friend as they walked. “Am I right? You're doing this to get her attention.”

Jim stared silently towards the hospital. They were only a few blocks away. No one was out on the streets. That part of the city was dead.

He never answered Peter. His friend was right. Since she came to his school, Jim's been in love with her. Daphne Grieves. The most popular yet untouchable girl in his class. The heiress of the Grieves empire. The daughter of their modern king. A crime lord's only child.

She never had reason to notice Jim before.

Once he rescues her, Daphne will finally see.

They followed the chain link fence. Behind it rose the four story hospital.

The Grieves Industrial Hospital. Shut down for years. Around the west end and along the parking lot, to the back. The fence had a weakness. A hole. A secret Jim thought only he knew.

Reaching it, they left their bikes and together slipped beyond the barrier.

They stalked quietly through the hallways, climbing not up, but down the stairwell. They kept to shadows in the abandoned hospital. Old papers scattered about. A overturned tray. Darkness. The only came from windows, the moon bright outside.

Jim didn't need to follow the wall directions towards their destination. He'd been to the hospital often. To escape his mother. To think. To hide. He knew the room. In it was an old operating table. A sheet still on it. A blotch of blood, as old as the dust surrounding them.

The operating room where the video took place.

Stopping before it, they froze. Pete breathed nervously. Jim's palms were sweaty. The gun in his hand felt heavy.

From the room came voices. Four males. From the edge, Jim saw them. Nondescript. Wearing ski masks. Tank tops. Jeans. One black. The others Caucasian. Was it only a day since they'd raped Daphne Grieves?

The table was empty.

The last thing these men expected was two kids bursting in, one armed. A fat one. A skinny one. Teenagers. Kids.

“Where is she?” Jim shouted, weapon aimed at them. Pete stayed back, near the door.

One of the men rose from a decrepit chair, hands raised passively. “Relax kid. Calm down.”

“Where is she?” He demanded again.

Near the wall was a video camera on a tripod. Beside it was a hospital tray. A laptop on it.

“We don't know what you're talking about.” The man said.

“I don't like this.” Peter whispered. “Let's just go.”

Jim indicated the bed sharply. His eyes felt hot and he was perspiring heavily. “Daphne Grieves. Where is she? Where the fuck is Daphne Grieves?”

The men didn't respond. They stared back at him. Pete touched his shoulder and he shrugged it off. Oblivious to his friend. To the sudden choking sounds. To the grip on his arm.

“Jim!” Peter coughed. Something warm on the back of Jim's head. Wet.

When he turned around, Peter was standing, eyes wide. His body rigid. A thick gash across his large throat. Blood sprayed out of it, hitting Jim by surprise, before the teen finally slumped down to the floor.

He was disoriented, Distanced. Was this Pete on the floor? What had happened? Pissing Pete?

In the doorway she stood, the moonlight from beyond a room bright on her naked form. Curved and shapely. Her breasts round and firm. Her lips red. Hair curled. A knife in her hand.

She sneered at him. His arms were heavy. His blood cold. Jim lowered his gun, stunned. Shocked.

“Pete?” He gasped.

On the floor, a puddle of blood had began to form away from his friend. He took a step back, shaking. He felt dizzy.

“Pete?”

A sharp sting. Darkness.

Jim's world slowly faded away.

Two years before. Jim was seated under a tree on school property. Students were walking packs towards the entrance. Fresh off the bus. From a parent's car. Their bikes. Pete, sitting alongside, bit into a Poptart.

“I've passed it about fifty times.” He said with a mouth full. “But I keep coming back to it. I think it's the story that really draws me in.”

Jim wasn't listening. Something had caught his eye. Pulling up from a distance down the road from the school was a black car. Tinted windows. A unique plate system. Polished and flawless. A man wearing a suit stepped out the driver side, walked around and opened the rear passenger door.

“Who is she?” Jim asked over his friend's meaningless banter.

Pete paused long enough to spot the blond walking proudly towards the school. “No way.” He gasped, coughing on the pastry.

All around the school yard, students stopped briefly, looking at the girl. Beautiful. Tall. Slender.

“Who is she?” Jim asked again in annoyance. He was sure he was the only one who was clueless.

Pete swallowed. “Only the richest and most powerful teen in the city, you dumbass.” He nudged Jim's shoulder tauntingly. “That's Grieves' daughter, Daphne.”

Jim was awed by her. “Daphne Grieves...”

“Talk about out-of-your-league, hey?” Peter said. He resumed his breakfast. Life resumed around them. “I would kill just to smell her panties.”

For Jim, time had frozen. There was no one. Only Daphne. Walking. Gorgeous.

And he was in love.

When he awoke, Jim was tied to a chair. Nude. The light in the room came from a halogen lamp. Brighter than the sun. His head ached horribly. Nausea hit him.

A shape stood before him. Curves he knew. Daphne.

“Fucking heroes.” Her voice seemed distant.

Shapes moved around him. Jim's throat was dry. “Pete?” He croaked.

“Your friend is dead, fucker.” Daphne said. “He's dead and you're next.”

Through the throbbing mist surrounding him, Jim saw the shadows move. Hands passing from one to another. Tools. He tried to move but couldn't. His wrists were bound behind the back of the chair. His legs restrained as well.

“I don't get it.” Daphne said. “They come here, like knights on white horses. What were they thinking?”

“Maybe they wanted a threesome with you.” Someone said. Another laughed.

A third spoke from behind him. “How they found us is the question. This fucker knew. He'd seen the video.”

“That was sent to my dad only.” Daphne snapped. “So if this little cunt found it...”

Fingers weaved into his hair and pulled his head up painfully. Jim could only grunt. Through the blur, he could see Daphne's face. She glared at him with the devil in her eyes.

“You fucking idiot. If you fuck this up...” She spat on him. “The plan was simple. A ransom note. A video to make it real. We could have been out of here. Daddy would have paid. Daddy would have sent the money.”

She let him go. His head dropped heavily. “You just had to come along and fuck it up.”

A sudden sting, hot as fire, pierced his chest. Jim gasped, eyes widened by the agony. The air escaped his lungs. He couldn't breath. In his throat was the metallic flavour of copper.

A second. A third. Jim realized that he was being stabbed. Stabbed repeatedly by Daphne Grieves.

Daphne, the girl of his dreams.

For a moment, her face was all he could see. Blond. Beautiful. Angry. And soon, nothing.

Only darkness.

Daphne sat on the bed, struggling with the blood on her hands. The cloth she was using failed horribly at cleaning it up.

One of the men pulled Jim off the chair and then drug him out of the room. The other two paced back and forth. On the desk, the laptop hummed softly.

“He hasn't called yet.” One of them said.

“He will.” Daphne snapped. “I'm his daughter. He'll contact us soon. If he doesn't...”

They looked at her.

“We cut off one of my fingers.”

The men exchanged glances briefly, completely missed as she struggled with cleanliness.

When the doorway darkened, she never looked up from her nails.

“Put that loser with his friend?” She asked.

When there was no response, she looked up. The other two men were staring at the doorway in fear, stepping back. As for Daphne herself, her face went sickly pale. She struggled to speak.

“No. No, he wouldn't. He's my father! I'm his daughter!”

Standing at the doorway was a man she knew little of but had seen often. A lanky man with a shaved head and piercings in his ear. A man she knew only as Bacca.

In his hand, he held her third partner's severed head by the hair.

“Allo love.” Bacca grinned. Behind him, a girl giggled.

Daphne could only shake her head in disbelief. “I'm his daughter.” She whispered. Tears came to her eyes.

“Aye, you are.” The man said. “And daddy sends a message.”

He stepped into the room and tossed the head aside. Following behind him were two more. A tall man. A girl.

They all carried handguns.

Bacca sneered. “He told us to tell you, love.”

“No deal.”

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Any comment or feedback is welcome.