As Talia lied in bed, she didn’t think sleep would come after the night she had, but with a couple glasses of wine, she finally began drifting away.
The shrill, piercing sound of her phone ringing ripped her from the fringes of slumber. She groaned, looking at her alarm clock. It taunted her with the red numbers, 2:15 am.
“Fuck,” Talia said, pushing a piece of hair from her mouth. She was warm and cozy, but the phone kept ringing. Just as she prepared to throw the covers off, it stopped. Talia sighed, readjusting the covers and pillow, chasing her sleep.
The phone began ringing again.
Talia threw the covers off, putting her bare feet on the cold floor. She was pissed and if it was a wrong number, she was going to lose her shit.
“Hello,” she said, the sleep making her voice sound husky.
“Talia,” it was Simone.
“Simone?” Talia asked, her fatigued brain trying to sort out the voice on the other end. She knew it was Simone, but she sounded odd. Like she’d been crying.
“I’m so sorry about earlier. I freaked out and shouldn’t have yelled at you.” she blurted.
Talia appreciated the apology, but didn’t need it at 2 am. She could tell that Simone had not only been crying, but sounded like she had snorted a bunch of cocaine.
“It’s ok, Simone. It was a stressful day for everyone,” Talia leaned against the counter, closing her eyes. “Let’s talk tomorrow. Go get some sleep.”
Simone sniffled and laughed through her tears. “Sleep? I don’t think I’ll be doing that for a while. I can’t get the image of you with that fucking whip out of my mind.” She took a hard snort. “I ordered up some more coke and just wanted to give you a shout before it came.”
Talia knew her friend was on a bender. That scene fucked her up and Talia felt a twinge of guilt. Hell, she didn’t even know she had that much in her. It would be days before she saw Simone again and hopefully she didn’t do anything stupid, like call the cops. Talia could hear a knock on the door through Simone’s phone line.
“I gotta go, my snowman is here,” she laughed, a maniacal laugh.
“Ok, call me—,” the line went dead, Talia listening to nothing. The dial tone beeped in her ear and she hung up. She was worried about her friend, but her bed was calling. She’d talk with Simone tomorrow.
✽✽✽
Simone hung up her phone and walked to the door. She stopped, checking her breath and making sure her tits were just visible enough. She wore a cami tank top that had just a little support to lift her breasts. Not that she needed it, but sometimes Jerry, her dealer AKA Snowman, would enjoy a look. She would fuck him for free blow, if he was down for it, but he had higher-ups he answered to. Occasionally she’d blow him and he’d knock the price down, but never for free. Not even for pussy. Oh well, hopefully he was up for a quick blow job.
“What did you bring for mama?” she asked, opening the door.
Sally punched her square in the nose.
Simone had never been punched before, let alone by a grown man. Her vision swam, starbursts lit up her eyes. The thin bone shattered, releasing a torrent of blood over her cute, pink tank top. She stumbled backwards, her heel catching the rug. Simone’s arms flailed as if she could grab air. Her ass hit the hardwood floor, jarring her broken nose.
She looked up through watery eyes as 3 more men pushed into the room, grabbing her arms. One dropped a duffle-bag at the door before rushing her.
She kicked, her little feet finding hard muscle, but the men didn’t stop. The ripping sound of duct tape sent her spiraling into panic.
“Fucking hold her head,” the man with the roll of duct tape said.
Another guy grabbed Simone’s head, his grip causing her brain to throb. Pain, pressure and fear coursed through her body. She shook her head, avoiding the strip of tape. Her teeth, red from the blood running into her mouth, gnashed, biting at the man’s hand.
“Little cunt,” he said, avoiding her snapping jaws.
Simone pushed and thrashed, but one of the men had her in a bear hug from behind. She tried to hit him in the face with the back of her head, but only succeeded in hurting herself.
“Gentlemen, can we hurry this the fuck up?” A familiar voice said.
Simone looked at Mike as he walked in behind Sally. He closed the door and locked it.
Simone knew she was in trouble, her vigor and will to live reignited. She kicked again, hitting the man with the tape in the thigh. She let out a scream, an ear-piercing wail of desperation. It wouldn’t matter, but the sound was annoying.
Sally looked at his boss, who nodded. He walked over to the thrashing woman, and with serpent-like quickness, reached out and grabbed her broken nose.
“Now, listen to me,” Sally said, his voice never wavering. “This is fucking happening, one way or another.” The bone shards shifted, causing fresh tears to spring from Simone’s dark eyes.
She wanted to scream, to kick him right in the nuts, but knew that would be the worst mistake of her life. No, the worst mistake had already been made when she aligned herself with them.
“This guy is going to stuff a rag in your little cock-sucking mouth and tape it. If you bite or you’re fresh, I’m going to cut your tits off. Do you understand me?” His shark-eyes gazed into her soul.
Simone nodded as gently as possible. Her nose leaked like a sieve, the blood running onto Sally’s hand.
“Gag’er,” Sally said.
The tape guy grabbed a rag from his pocket. “Open up,” he said, smiling.
Simone’s eyes looked to Mike, but he was too busy checking his nails. She opened her mouth. The rag tasted like nothing, but it was rough and dry. It soaked up all the spit and blood in her mouth, drying her tongue. The duct tape was placed over the rag and wrapped around her head, into her hair. He wrapped it around twice and ripped it off.
Sally let go of her nose.
“There,” he stared at her, a flat smile on his face, “was that so hard?”
Simone rough swallowed, blood and the taste of fabric running down her throat. The men grabbed her arms, pinning her wrists together. Within seconds both arms were bound. One of the men grabbed a kitchen chair and sat her down in it. He stared at her, his eyes drinking her in, lust and violence shimmering in their inky pools.
“Ok, set it up quick. I have shit to do,” Mike said moving into the open living room.
One guy stayed with Simone, who was trying to talk through the gag. She waved her arms in a futile gesture, but didn’t become violent. Her broken nose was more than enough and she hoped if she played along, she might be able to survive. Then, they opened the duffle bag.
Two men moved her coffee table out of the way and placed a large plastic tarp on her rug. They used the same tape around her wrists and head to secure the tarp to the floor.
Simone jumped up, pushing against her captor. He shoved her down with ease, kicking her legs out, slamming her into the chair.
The video camera was taken out next and set up. Mike walked over to it, checking the frame. Her apartment had excellent lighting.
“Ok, boys,” Mike said, peering through the viewfinder, “masks on and clothes off. Let’s shoot this thing.” Sally stood at his side, the faithful guard dog he was.
The two guys with the tarp pulled pantyhose from their pockets and put them over their heads. Their faces mushed and contorted, making them unrecognizable. Within seconds they were nude, semi-erect cocks bobbing.
“Come get this little skank,” the third one said, keeping Simone pinned to the chair. “She’s a feisty cunt alright,” he sneered at her. “Gonna be a good time, ain’t cha?” He smiled.
Both nude men came over and began groping Simone.
She bucked and fought as one man pinched a nipple through her shirt.
“Oh, yeah. Fight back, bitch. I like when they fight,” he said, slapping her breast.
The third guy was masked up and naked, stroking his cock, which was fully engorged.
“You guys ready?” Mike asked, looking at them.
One of them grabbed Simone’s face, staring into her terrified eyes. Blood and snot bubbled from her nose.
“Are you ready for your scene?” he asked her, squeezing her cheeks. His breath smelled like cigarettes and his nostrils were coated with cocaine residue.
Simone’s tears flowed, but nothing could save her.
He lifted her by the face, the pain causing her to rise, and began pushing her toward the tarp.
“Action!” Mike yelled, hitting record on the camera.
Simone stood in the middle of the men; her arms bound. She turned, trying to fend the masked men off, but it was no use. They were toying with her like a cat with a mouse.
“Come on, don’t be a prude,” one said, reaching for her shirt. His fingers caught in the material, pulling it taught, exposing her tits. “Those are a nice set, sweetheart.” He brought the other hand in taking hold of the shirt to rip it.
Simone, in her last act of defiance, kneed him in the nuts. The smack of her bone striking bare flesh resounded in the room.
He let go and fell, clutching his injured manhood.
Simone’s happiness was cut short as strong arms grabbed her from behind and raised her hands overhead. The third guy stepped in and punched her in the stomach.
The blow to the nose was painful, but the body punch was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Her guts felt like they were coated in lava. Breath, which was hard to come by thanks to the gag, rushed from her nose. Pain folded her up. She wanted to curl into a ball of flesh and die, if only to escape the pain.
It was just the beginning.
“You fucking cunt!” the man with the injured testicles spat. He tried to straighten up, but still maintained a slight hunch. He stepped forward, leery of Simone’s knees.
She struggled not to vomit from the pain. The thought of attacking again wasn’t to be had.
He grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back, exposing the pain mask on her face.
“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” He pulled his mask up slightly, just exposing his teeth. He clamped them over her shattered nose and bit.
Simone’s world turned electric with pain. The fire-snake burrowing in her abdomen seemed insignificant compared to the agony in her face.
The man bit and ripped, like a fucking dog with a bone. The others held Simone still so his carnal jaws could have maximum effect on the skin, bone and cartilage. With a final tear, like wet canvass ripping, he tore her nose off.
He spat the chunk of flesh that was once her nose, onto the ground.
“There,” he said with bloody lips, “now we can fucking begin.” He pulled the mask back down.
Simone was in Hell. Her vision swam from the pain and it was only starting. She was still clothed, but that would soon change.
“Get this bitch naked. She needs a good dose of cock to settle her down,” the guy holding her said.
Simone’s blood soaked her shirt. The gaping hole where her nose used to be oozed and bubbled gore down her chest. Rough hands grabbed her tank top and ripped.
The sound of the shirt tearing apart was similar to the sound her nose made. At least this one didn’t hurt.
Her bare breasts were slick with cooling blood. Simone barely remained conscious, hanging on by a thread.
“A little small for my liking,” one of them said, palming one of her tits. He lifted it, letting it fall. “But,” he said, grabbing a nipple in between his thumb and forefinger, “her nipples are awesome.” He pinched—hard.
✽✽✽
Mike watched through the viewfinder. The men ravaged her, doing things that would make normal people cringe. He was far from normal—watching, thinking of how much money his movie was going to make. He pulled away and looked at Sally.
“You’re up,” he said, shivering at the thought of watching his bodyguard at work.
Sally’s face split into a smile as he stepped into frame. He took his suit jacket off, tossing it on the couch.
“Hey man, your face,” one of the masked men said, pointing to his own masked face.
Sally turned to him, his dark eyes freezing him in place. “Do I look like I fucking care?” Sally pulled his razor from his pocket.
The men backed away from him as if the blade was meant for them.
Simone, battered and bloody began to scoot away from him.
“Fucking hold her,” Sally said. He didn’t yell; he didn’t have to.
The men exchanged glances, wondering if they should listen. No one wanted to fuck with Sally, but they didn’t want to be near him. They’d all heard the rumors about him. Sure, some had to be fake, like that he fucked corpses, but some were true. He was a fucking butcher and that razor was his favorite.
Simone slid in her own blood, scurrying from him.
“Not so fast,” the bravest of the three men said, grabbing her by her hair.
“Yeah,” another one said, grabbing her legs. He nodded to the last guy to help. Both men grabbed a leg each and the three of them brought her back to the tarp. The guy with her hair let go and grabbed her arms. He pulled them above her head and knelt on her fingers. Her small bones ground underneath his knee.
Sally straddled her, squatting down as if he were going to take a shit. He held the blade in front of her face.
Simone’s eyes followed the shiny edge as it danced in the light of the apartment. Ragged, bloody breaths wheezed in her nose hole.
Sally touched the flat edge of the razor to her cheek bone.
Simone shivered, trying to control her breathing.
He ran the dullness down her face, over the duct tape and down the hollow of her neck. He was silent, calculating the cut that would soon come. The blade hissed over the goose-bumped flesh of her left breast. Gently, he circled her erect nipple. With a flick of his wrist, he sliced it off.
Simone saw her nipple tumble town her breast, landing on the tarp. Her brain was slow and the pain receptors were already overloaded. Then, the pain came. She screamed into the gag. Blood filled the bare spot where her nipple had been. Fresh gore mixed with the old on her skin.
Simone, her vigor renewed with another shot of adrenaline, bucked, trying to get Sally off her.
He didn’t smile at her futile attempt, rather, his blade took another chunk, this time from the areola. Blood and fat, butter yellow, peaked from the slice.
Simone thrashed, trying to kick, but the fight was out of her. The energy was sapped. She wanted to die and die fast.
Sally, not by mercy or pity, but by lack of time, answered her prayers. He put the blade under her jawline, just below her ear and looked at Mike behind the camera.
Mike was running out of tape and battery and needed the show to end. He nodded at Sally.
Sally put pressure on the blade, watching it bite into her soft flesh. A merciful death would’ve been a quick slash, opening veins, arteries and windpipe in one pull. Sally wasn’t in the business of mercy. Slowly, he pulled the blade across her neck.
Simone’s flesh yielded to the steel, laying open under it. She struggled, but her head was held again. She tried to look into Sally’s eyes, but he was focused on the blade. He stared lovingly at it.
Blood poured from her ruined neck. The wounds she’d suffered earlier were nothing compared to the fresh cuts. Sally reached her windpipe. The tough cartilage gave him a little resistance. He put pressure down, the ribbed tube yielding to the sharp steel; they always did.
Simone wheezed. Her severed airway strained to fill her lungs. Instead they found nothing but blood and fear. Simone tried to take a breath, but it was futile. She thrashed with everything she had left, which only accelerated her death.
The blade continued its trek, severing the rest of her neck, spilling more blood.
The terror in Simone’s eyes faded with her life.
Sally stood, looking down at the corpse. The slit throat smiled at him blood red and happy.
“Cut,” Mike said, and just in time.
One of the masked rapists pulled his mask off and puked, barely missing Simone’s corpse.
Mike turned the camera off and looked at the scene in front of him. It wasn’t his first snuff film, but watching Sally work had a way of getting to him.
“Clean up, get dressed and let’s get her the fuck out of here,” Mike said.
Sally wiped his razor on Simone’s torn shirt, finding a bloodless spot. He cleaned his hands on a throw blanket on the couch before putting the razor away.
“Bring the body and camera to the docks,” Mike said, lighting a cigarette. “You know the spot, right?”
“Yeah, we know,” said one of the guys, who was in the process of getting dressed.
The puking guy had stopped and was wiping his mouth with his hand, flicking errant chunks of vomit on the floor.
“Good, we’ll meet you there,” Mike said, letting Sally open the door for him.
The two men walked down the hallway to the elevator. The doors dinged and opened. Sally hit the button for the main floor as the doors closed.
Mike put his cigarette out on the floor and looked at his man. “I thought you were going to fuck her too.”
Sally, slowly like an owl, turned his head. “I am,” he said, looking straight again.
Mike shivered as the elevator touched down, letting them out.
✽✽✽
Mike and Sally sat down by the docks. The stench of the river, something New Yorkers were used to, wafted into the open windows of the car. The men sat in silence, listening to the replay of the earlier baseball game.
Sally flicked his cigarette out the window and lit another.
The moon hung fat in the night sky, bathing the Conex boxes in silver. Most people, the layman, thought the best way to dispose of a body was to weigh it down and dump it in the river. Yes, that’s a viable option, but better ways always presented themselves.
Mike’s boss had a very high stake in the docks and ports around the city, this little section being one of them.
The Conex shipping container in front of them was scheduled to be loaded soon and sent to China. Before going to Simone’s, Sally had an empty barrel set up inside ready to receive its gruesome cargo.
Headlights flashed at the gate.
“‘Bout fucking time,” Mike said, getting out of the car. He adjusted his jacket as the van drove toward him.
The van, with its headlights off, bounced along the uneven roadway to the Conex box. It slowed to a stop, the brakes whining. The three guys from earlier exited and opened the back door.
Sally got out and walked around, looking in the van.
A massive piece of luggage sat on bare metal in the back.
“There she is,” one of them said, dragging the bag out. “She was a tiny thing, so we didn’t have to cut her up.” The bag hit the ground with a thump.
The other two joined him, one holding a smaller bag.
“Here’s the camera. The tape is in there,” he said handing the bag to Sally.
Sally unzipped it, looking at the camera and tape. He nodded, closed it. Sally pulled an envelope from his pocket; their cut.
“Here,” he handed it to the guy closest to him. “Now leave,” he said, walking forward to grab the suitcase.
The guys all looked at each other, watching Sally grab the handle and begin wheeling the luggage.
“Let us help you,” one of them stepped forward.
Sally looked up at him. “Leave,” he said, continuing to pull the bag. He didn’t strain, but he took his time. “You might have work tomorrow night. I’ll call you. For now, fuck off.”
The men didn’t argue. Nothing good could come from that. They hopped back into the van and left.
Sally stopped by the car and put the camera bag on the front seat.
Mike was sitting in the passenger seat smoking another cigarette, looking out at the river beyond the shipping container. He had the radio off, listening to the waves lap the trash-strewn shoreline.
“You gonna be long?” Mike asked Sally.
Sally rubbed the suitcase, his skin hissing over the zipper.
“Give me a few minutes. That’s all I ask.”
Mike dismissed him with a wave. “Whatever,” he said, “I don’t fucking want to know.”
Sally grabbed the handle, preparing to pull again. “No, no you don’t.” He dragged the luggage into the darkness of the Conex box.
Mike listened to the night come alive. The sound of the water, the chirp of crickets…the sound of flesh tearing.
Grunts, animalistic rutting sounds echoed from the Conex box. Ripping, tearing of flesh joined the sound of sex. Fuck, tear, chew.
Fuck.
Tear.
Chew.
Mike’s blood ran cold. He knew what Sally was, but it didn’t make things easier to hear. Mike had been in this business since childhood. He’d seen and done stuff nightmares were made of, but nothing compared to the man in the shipping container. Mike turned the radio back on, not caring what played. He needed something to drown out the sounds.
Fuck.
Tear.
Chew.
Minutes later, Sally emerged, a demon from the black mouth of Hell. He opened the door and got in the car.
Mike could smell him. Sex juice and blood. Bile and shit.
“Better?” Mike asked, for some unknown reason.
Sally turned and looked at him. The moon lit his face. He smiled. Not his usual grin, no this was a wide, clownish smile. For a purpose, for effect.
Sally’s teeth were red, his gums stained like he’d been eating fresh strawberries his mother and he used to pick before she realized he was a fucking monster. A chunk of meat was stuck in his front teeth; a tan slice of skin.
“Oh, much better, thanks for asking,” Sally said, putting his bloody hand on the gear shift. His nails were caked with blood, the beds dark with it.
Mike looked away from the man as the car left the shipping yard.
The sun was lightening the sky, leaving the clouds streaked with pink. Like a fine mist of blood.
