Rock’s instincts served him well. He stared down the hallway that led to Geraldine’s room and the door cracked open ever so slightly. Geraldine’s door was never left open. It was always shut and locked. If the door was open, it was open for a reason.
The passageway beckoned him.
The insatiable lust to end his warped, lifelong odyssey possessed him. It was a desire that had unexpectedly arisen. Rock was living through a day he’d dreamt about, but he never believed his dreams might actually come true.
As the pain reminded him of his own mortality, Rock had already had a philosophical conversation inside his head. He’d accepted that he probably deserved to die. But in that same thought, he knew what was left of the families that remained definitely didn’t. His longing to achieve that small victory compelled him forward.
While Molly had stopped the rapid blood loss from continuing, the effects of what Rock had already lost began to haunt him. The sweat slid out of his pores and a stabbing sensation attacked his brain. His legs were tired as hell, but Rock forced himself down the hallway until his stride broke the threshold.
The room was empty all but for another partially open door opposite Geraldine’s bed.
To Rock, Geraldine’s bedroom was only an incubator for sin and trauma. One that had hatched so many mental and physical scars that it caused him to become confused. Confused as to the purpose of his existence, and, more broadly, confused as to the purpose of man as a species.
Upon entry, the room where his perverse perception of reality bloomed made his skin crawl. Rock could still smell the stench of Geraldine haunting the air around him. Her rotten, glaze-gushing cunt and the fermented hole below it remained as hideous as it was the day he’d first stuck his face into them.
He wanted attention, but not that way.
He wanted to be held, but not that way.
He wanted to be loved, but not that way.
Geraldine had turned him into the saddest kind of damaged goods. The kind that’s too fucked-up to realize it. When horror isn’t quite horror anymore, it’s just normal. And when awful isn’t quite awful anymore, it’s just life.
He looked back over to the fireplace. It remained an eerie reminder of when things had gone off the rails. When he’d become a marked man. He’d never asked for any of it, but it wasn’t like he had a say.
From the blackened fire pit that carried fragments of burned wood, Rock’s eyes glided up to the mantle. It was an area they’d drifted to many times before. While ensnared in the foulest of Geraldine’s sexual fantasies, Rock had been busy subduing his own.
The sweet thoughts of an otherworldly relief; he recalled them vividly.
The daydream always began with him stumbling upon Geraldine’s room unlocked. Then he’d somehow get his hands on the vintage Winchester rifle, Geraldine’s prize gun mounted over the mantle. While he admired the cocking lever and style of the firearm, the gun was far more than just an antique showpiece in his eyes. It was an escape.
The visions of methodically loading the rifle up and sticking the long barrel inside his mouth always ended the same. When he pulled the trigger, Rock felt the elusive relief that he’d sought wash over him. But having that fictional liberation ripped away each time he withdrew from the fantasy almost made the entire charade more trouble than it was worth.
He’d never found the willpower to snatch the rifle off the mantle before, but today was different. There was just one problem: the gun was nowhere to be found.
For Rock, in that very instant, everything had finally come to a head. The suppressed compilation of volatile emotions. The decades of second-hand decadence. The crippling sense of self-loathing. It all pointed in one direction: the secret closet.
He twisted his head away from the mantle and toward the belly of the beast. It was a place that Rock, regrettably, was more than familiar with. The dark realm of vanity that Rock knew to be Geraldine’s sanctuary. A place where her narcissism bred with her perverse infatuations to spawn her abhorrent moments of bliss.
She’s so predictable, Rock thought.
Geraldine had forced him to pleasure her among the innumerable mirrors on many different occasions. The hall of reflections was never an area Rock was able to find peace. He didn’t like the things he did inside. They felt wrong, but they were all he knew.
It seemed the more Geraldine grew to worship her own reflection, the more Rock grew to detest his. Only one good thing had come out of the torturous duration he’d spent between the mirrors: familiarity.
During his time inside, he’d become well acquainted with the layout. Focusing on the room itself helped to distract him from the more upsetting aspects of his time inside it. It was only a small nugget of information, but in the end, it might very well be the deciding difference in who walked out of that room.
Before Rock even entered Geraldine’s chambers, he’d felt weary, but upon crossing the entrance into her wicked walls, the feeling vanished. As he pushed his way into the hall of mirrors, Rock’s anger and urgency only inflated. He’d become the embodiment of wrath.
Geraldine remained tucked away in a small black cove at the rear of her maze of mirrors. It was a unique vantage point; one that placed her in a blind spot. The room filled with countless reflective surfaces remained blank. The imagery inside each mirror stretched on for what appeared to be infinity.
She patiently waited.
The only disadvantage of Geraldine’s strategy was that she wouldn’t be able to see if anyone entered the halls. She was relying on her other senses to hint at when the most opportunistic moment to pounce would be.
The faint sound of the door creaking echoed throughout the halls.
Geraldine cocked the lever of the rifle as quietly as she could. The mechanical noise still bounced around the room more than she would’ve preferred, but she knew, in just a matter of moments, the sound would be of little consequence anyway.
When she peered around the edge and caught a glimpse at the reflection, she saw her failure. The mountain of man that she’d botched. His bloody body was covered with Molly’s makeshift patching and his boxy face was adorned with slices that had just enough time to congeal. The puffy scar tissue on his chest displayed the capital letters that she’d violently engraved upon him to initiate their bitter bond.
She thought about Rock’s recent revolt and the anger inside blinded her. Now, the four letters couldn’t have held less significance.
Mine… he’s supposed to be mine! she thought.
Geraldine whirled around the corner lowering the rifle back at his wounded mid-section. She let a round rip off, but the bullet failed to penetrate Rock. Instead, his entire body fragmented and fell crashing to the floor.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” she yelled.
Geraldine stepped out into the hallway as a trail of smoke drifted from the barrel of the rifle.
“You said it, not me,” Rock mumbled.
His gruff words boomed around the space. The echo attached made it difficult for Geraldine to pinpoint his exact position; maybe Rock wasn’t as stupid as she’d perceived him to be. The raunchy memories of her relentless sexual escapades in the bizarre room reentered Geraldine’s mind. The absurd amount of time they’d spent there together was incalculable.
Another loud crash of glass clanged against the floor.
The noise only confused Geraldine. She hadn’t fired another round; she could only assume Rock was responsible for the sound of the damage.
“Silence! I made you who you are, you damn well better believe that I can ruin you just as fast!”
Geraldine popped around another corner of the maze and sized up her injured servant. She reloaded, cocked back, and continued the assault.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
Another three ripped out of the chamber in succession, but only yielded a disappointing mini-mountain of glass.
“You never did see me for who I was,” Rock said.
This time, when his voice boomed, it felt even closer to Geraldine. The creepy, sudden shift in location caused her to whip back around.
Before Geraldine had even aimed the rifle, another pair of back-to-back shots left the barrel.
Blam! Blam!
More shattered glass with the same lackluster results.
“Oh, I know exactly who you are!” Geraldine yelled.
“Do you?” Rock asked.
“You’re Rock Stanley! Not a Borden! Not a son! You’re nothing but a mutt! A worthless pile of misery! A defect! I tried my damndest to fix you, but it’s time to cut my losses!” Geraldine screamed.
As the chilling words left her wrinkled lips, Geraldine heard a heavy footstep. She pivoted back around holding the rifle steady, but Rock’s reflection was nowhere to be found in the mirrors. She took another step in the direction his voice had last come from, knowing he couldn’t be far.
She was right.
Having just heard the shots close enough to make his ears ring, Rock knew it was time to take his shot. His hand gushed blood from the mirror he’d punched through, but the wound was worth the advantage.
Geraldine had let her own familiarity and fondness for the hall of mirrors overshadow the most important detail of the room: Rock was the person who built it.
While she might’ve fashioned the blueprint, it was Rock who worked on the project night and day. It was Rock who spent months positioning the mirrors to gain Geraldine’s ultimate approval. It was Rock who knew of the rectangular stretches of dead space that separated the isles within the wicked hall.
Punching through the mirror had left several deep gashes on his right hand, but being able to slip behind the reflections gave him a chance. He didn’t have a gun, but the element of stealth allowed him to craft a strategy that might present Rock with the opportunity to neutralize Geraldine’s firepower.
Rock listened intently; Geraldine was light on her feet but heavy on her shit-talk. Each hurtful word she hurled inched her closer to violence. She might’ve been rich in the pocketbook, but Rock was tired of listening to the old hag write checks with her mouth that her ass couldn’t cash.
It was time to pay the piper.
The plan wasn’t an exact science, but Rock had her location measured up to the best of his ability. He was feeling even weaker than before. The new gushing cuts on his hand had fostered further blood loss. But nothing was going to prevent Rock from finally getting his hands on Geraldine.
“Remember that word on your chest! You’re mine! And no matter what happens, until the day you die, you will always be mine!” Geraldine yelled.
The familiar insults rang out in Rock’s ears. The pitch and volume of her words confirmed it; she was standing right next to him. The perverse lust for the countless daydreams of carnage he’d fantasized about now owned him. He wanted nothing but to ensure Geraldine’s hollow words would be the last she ever spoke.
Rock wound his good arm back as far as the tight space permitted. His yellow teeth ground against each other as his massive arm blasted through the black coating on the back of the mirror. Shards rained down slicing into his bare flesh, but it didn’t matter; he was a man possessed.
“Ahh!” Geraldine shrieked.
“Unless you die first!” Rock yelled.
The entrance was simple but spectacular. Rock bull-rushed his way through the void and knocked Geraldine’s brittle frame into a mirror on the opposite side of the hall.
Geraldine’s hip cracked against the floor, and the rifle slipped out of her grasp. The ensuing hail of reflective spikes showered her, creating various cuts through her dress and triggering blood to expel from the gashes on her face.
Rock kicked the gun away and watched it slide several yards toward the end of the hall.
When he looked back at Geraldine, she still hadn’t gotten her bearings back, but seeing her bleed was about the prettiest fucking sight he’d ever encountered.
Rock took pleasure in watching the instant confusion and fear as it suddenly conquered Geraldine.
She tried to shake off glass and shock. With her weapon out of reach, Geraldine knew she needed to leverage the only tool she still had at her disposal, her tongue. And with the wit of a magician unveiling a trick, Geraldine was suddenly a different person.
For the first time in their storied history, the evil hag of The Borden Estate spoke to him with a soft cautious approach. Wielding a calculated comfort the likes of which she’d never offered Rock before, Geraldine spoke as if she was talking to another person.
“Please, I—I was just upset. I didn’t mean what I said,” she begged.
The untruths were spewing in abundance, but Rock had known her long enough to understand the game. Her abrupt change in character was too convenient. The proof was in the actions. More than anything the witch could say, Rock trusted his gut; it reminded him that the bullets that burned inside it, were the ones that Geraldine had fired.
Rock bent over and clamped his mitts on each side of her skull. He savored the dread in her eyes as he lifted her quivering body off the floor. He’d made her body quiver many times before but never had he felt such satisfaction. The sweet sound of Geraldine’s rickety spine and old bones cracking echoed through the halls.
“But, I’m—I’m your mother!” she cried.
“And I’m a motherfucker,” Rock grumbled.
Rock hurled Geraldine forward, once again shattering the replication of the image she obsessed over. The force of the toss projected her so far that, not only did she explode the mirror she connected with, but she also burst through the one behind it.
As Geraldine hit the floor, a fresh peppering of razor shards sank deep into her facial tissue. The damage opened the floodgates, causing blood to rapidly pool under her head. Her shoulder was wrecked; an abnormal bulge inches from the joint signified its dislocation. The socket itself had shattered, and the fragmented bone lay divided inside.
Rock stepped through the opening behind her and back into the initial hallway. Just as they had when he’d entered the room, the collection of crusty dildos suctioned to the various mirrors sickened him. The mere reminder of her pleasure relit his rage.
His meaty fingers intertwined with Geraldine’s grayed locks. When Rock gripped the follicles, he did so with all of his might. He lifted Geraldine’s mangled body off of the ground only by her hair as she sputtered a mixture of groans and incoherence.
He positioned her at the midpoint of the mirror where she could gaze upon her brutalized face.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Rock asked.
As Geraldine’s wicked mouth shuddered, blood poured with a vengeance. But just before she was able to get a word out, Rock beat her to it.
“That was a rhetorical question,” he mumbled.
Rock smashed her face into the glass with unnecessary force. But it wasn’t as if he was thinking strategically any longer. He was now only powered by bitter emotions.
The slivers stabbed into Geraldine’s face, opening up her cheek. A hearty hunk of skin was left flapping on the side of her head. New glass shards pierced into her skull and were sandwiched between the ruined flesh.
But Rock wasn’t done.
He latched onto Geraldine’s slippery neck again.
Rock propelled Geraldine through the prior mirror with such excessive power, it caused new lacerations to cut his hand all to hell. One of his knuckles found daylight, revealing a bony whiteness amid the crimson. But the gruesome injuries changed nothing. Rock’s grip was true.
Without hesitation, he dragged Geraldine down to the next mirror beside them. As if she were a puppet, he propped her on her knees in front of her reflection.
Aimed between her eyes, a lengthy, orange dildo projected out several inches. The dried, cakey remains of her pleasure still littered the plastic shaft.
“There you are again, and look, one of your friends too,” Rock said.
Geraldine attempted to speak, but when she opened her mouth, a waterfall of warm red was her only response.
“It’s the love of your life, right? She probably deserves another kiss,” he said.
Rock sent her face into the mirror again.
Geraldine’s raspberry-lubricated lips aligned with the girthy toy. The hard plastic penetrated her mouth with such might that it knocked her dentures loose. As the dehydrated flakes of climax melted into the blood in her mouth, the tip of the toy stabbed her throat nearly reaching her tonsils.
With her oral cavity occupied by the phallus, the front of Geraldine’s raining face turned the mirror to pieces. The glass offered new slices, the extreme violence pushing her closer toward un-recognizability.
Once the dust settled, Rock acted with the haste of a marathon runner pushing forward with the finish dangling just a short distance away.
He dragged her to the next mirror and immediately put her head through it. The blood-slathered dildo suctioned to the glass pushed its way into Geraldine’s mouth, causing her dentures to eject from her mouth.
Rock hardly even noticed. The destruction of the room was music to his ears, just as the demolition of Geraldine’s face was candy to his eyes.
After several additional mirrors came crashing down, Geraldine’s face looked like a pork pin cushion that had been slashed to ribbons. It was now just a collection of meaty, wet globs that were randomly positioned.
In achieving the ghastly results, Rock had become the definition of red-handed. While even more of his blood drained out of his limb, he gawked at the broken mirror in front of him. Rock couldn’t help but notice the unique break calling out to him. Fate had seen to shatter the glass in such a way that left only a single, long shard of glass positioned upward like a stake.
Rock looked down at what was left of Geraldine’s head. The red oozed or squirted from nearly every direction. But he could still see that the well of blood that covered part of her face was bubbling.
Still hanging in there, Rock thought.
His lips twisted into a grin of gratefulness.
He was excited to see she was still fighting. A feeling of joy buzzed, knowing that Geraldine had stuck around long enough to feel what he had in mind.
“I know how much you love yourself. I’m gonna make your dreams come true,” he whispered.
Rock reached underneath her dress with his red hand.
It was difficult at first for Rock to get hold of her panties because of the surplus of blood coating his mitt. But after a moment, he was able to get around the elastic end and tear the crusty cloth clean off.
Rock could’ve never imagined a scenario where he’d be removing Geraldine’s underwear with genuine excitement. The vile symbol of his horrors smelled the part. The fetid aroma infecting the panties was like a big plate of rotten flounder and eggs left out in the sun for several days.
She’d taken everything from him. It was only right that he took everything from her.
Rock lifted Geraldine’s leaky, motionless body off the ground. He parted her haggard legs with such care and intention. When her body let go and Geraldine’s bowels emptied, it didn’t dissuade him in the slightest.
“Hurry now,” he whispered.
Once Geraldine’s rancid release concluded, Rock aligned her puckering pussy just above the spike. He tried to look into her eyes but couldn’t find them. Her face was too destroyed to make heads or tails of her anatomy any longer.
“I ain’t good at goodbyes,” Rock said.
He let his grip on her fail.
To Rock, it wasn’t just Geraldine’s body that he was letting go of, but the totality of his demons as well. All of his insecurities. All of his torment. All of his hate.
He’d found the unfathomable freedom of his dreams.
Rock watched on solemnly as the long spear of glass carved into her curdled meat curtain. As the shard carved deeper into her tunnel, Geraldine’s demonic hole swallowed it up. It was symbolic in a way. The reflective spike suffered the same fate that most everyone who came into contact with Geraldine Borden did.
The blood vacated her pussy in jailbreak fashion before the shard snapped off three inches inside her. But the glass that remained at the base of the mirror burrowed into the back of her thighs deep as a creep in heat.
When her body hit the floor, she fell onto her side.
While death wasn’t the ideal conclusion Geraldine sought that day, her life ended in a way that even she herself might’ve seen fit. Despite the rosy muddle she’d devolved into blurring out almost her entire field of vision, from the mirror across the hall, Geraldine was still able to get one final gander at herself.
