Nico drove the van with a cigarette stuck between his fingers. Luke sat shotgun, his own cigarette burning, giving its smoke to the open window. Tommy sat on an old milk crate in the back of the van. He hated smoking.
The three amigos, the body boys, the clean-up crew, whatever they were called, the job was the same. Whatever the boss said. That was it, plain and simple. If the boss said, ‘go kill that guy’ they killed him. If he said, ‘rape this girl and get rid of her body’ they did it. Obedience and loyalty; that was the way to get ahead in their organization. Over the years, since the three of them were teenagers, they’d done it all, arson, murder, kidnapping, rape, extortion, assault, you name it, they did it.
That night was no different. Mike was filming another sick fucking movie where the main attraction wasn’t expected to get out alive. That was where they came in.
Sally had called them the night before letting them know they were on for Saturday night. All three were happy to have the work. Since the night they raped that light-skinned chick, they really hadn’t done much. They didn’t even get to dispose of her body properly, having left that to Sally.
Nico sped down the street. They were going to be early, but that was ok. In their line of work it was better to be early, than late.
“You think we’re gonna get to fuck again?” Tommy asked, leaning forward, his arms against the two front seats.
Luke rolled his window and tossed his cigarette butt. “Not sure, so I hope you didn’t whack it today.” He smiled at his buddy sitting behind him.
Tommy laughed, “I did, but trust me,” he grabbed his crotch, “the ole braciole is up for another round.” He thought back to the things he’d done to the last girl. “Besides, something living is always better than your hand.”
Nico stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, a tendril of smoke still rising. “Don’t tell that to Sally,” he said, the man’s name feeling gross on his lips.
“Don’t even mention him,” Tommy said.
Neither of the three of them liked Sally, but they respected him. Well, maybe respect wasn’t the right word. No, they feared him, and rightfully so.
Sally was a butcher, a monster with no conscience who’d kill for fun. The rumors about his lust for dead girls started out funny. Then rumors came in from every angle and couldn’t be ignored. When they saw him drag the corpse inside the suitcase into the Conex box, they knew for sure.
“Yeah, he gives me the creeps and I’ve done bad fucking shit,” Luke said.
“Well, he’s probably going to be there tonight, so get him out of your fucking brains,” Nico said, looking at his passengers. He never saw the dog.
“Oh, shit!” Tommy said, pointing toward the windshield.
Nico looked up, and saw the black dog standing in the middle of the road. It didn’t flinch at the massive work van barreling toward it. He slammed the brakes, locking them up and cut the wheel. The dog looked at the out-of-control vehicle, its eyes flashing red just before it ran into a dark alley.
The van went into an uncontrollable slide as Nico fought to maintain traction.
Tommy bounced around the back, not being fastened in. His head bounced off the metal walls, slicing his scalp.
The tires bit hard, digging the rims into the asphalt. The van found purchase in the roadway, starting it rolling.
“Fuck!” Nico yelled, bracing against the steering wheel. He could feel the van starting to tip, the center of gravity shifting. There was nothing he could do; he was just along for the ride.
As the van flipped, the impact shattered glass and popped open the rear doors.
Tommy felt weightless, like he was an astronaut in zero gravity. Except he wasn’t in space, he was flying through the air in the back of a van. He grasped for anything he could as he flew toward the open rear doors. Smooth metal mocked him, not giving anything to grip onto. He flew from the van, seeing it tumble away moments before striking the telephone pole. His chest took the impact first, folding his body in half. The force of the collision snapped his kneecaps, breaking his legs so hard he kicked himself in the face. His mangled corpse came to rest on the curb, twisted and broken.
The van rolled again, glass and bones breaking alike. Finally, it came to a rest on the driver’s side door.
Nico was in pain, but that meant he was alive. It wasn’t bad at first, the shock and adrenaline dulling it, but then it hit him. The dashboard had collapsed on his legs, snapping them both at the middle of his femurs. Waves of nauseating pain rolled over him like the ocean, each rising in intensity. His face was a bloody mess from the broken glass, but it all seemed to miss his eyes. Something dripped on his face. The pain in his legs made him want to ignore it, but human curiosity got the better of him.
Luke hung from his seatbelt, dead. During one of the many rolls, his head had poked out of the window just enough for it to catch the ground. The force partially decapitated him, ripping his neck open to make him look like a macabre Pez dispenser. The skin on his face was pulled back, making his eyes bulge and bleed. His neck rested at such an angle, Nico could see into his mangled throat.
Nico listened, hoping for the first time in his life, the cops would show up. Anyone that could help. The dead van groaned. Glass tinkled, still falling from shattered frames. The engine hissed and ticked, fluids dripping like the blood from Luke’s neck. The sounds of the city seemed miles away as Nico lay in agony.
Then, he heard a sound. Footsteps crushing bits of glass, walking toward the van.
“Help,” he croaked. Even taking deep breaths hurt his injured body. He looked through the missing windshield, watching a shadow grow smaller as someone approached. “Call an ambulance,” Nico moaned. A pair of legs walked into his view. A woman’s legs.
“Oh my god,” she said, crouching down to look through the crumpled opening where the windshield used to be. “Are you ok?” she asked, looking at his bloody face and the mangled corpse of his passenger.
Nico looked at the black-haired woman with disgust.
“Does it fucking look like I’m ok?”
“No,” she said, taking in the carnage in front of her. “It does not.” Her eyes tracked back to his face. Instead of brown or green, they were red.
✽✽✽
Talia could smell the blood as she walked up to the van. The crash was a little more violent than she’d expected. One of them was thrown clear, his body twisted up somewhere down the road. Even from the street, she could see the passenger was clearly dead, his head ripped open. Gristle, meat, tendons and windpipe smiled at her. She smiled back.
“Help,” the driver croaked to anyone.
Talia was coming, but she wasn’t there to help. When she’d touched Sally, just before he stabbed her, she saw them. The three of them and the things they did to Simone. The pain they inflicted on her body and spirit, before leaving her in the clutches of a madman. She wanted them to suffer, but two of them got off easy. The third, the one who bit off her friend’s nose, would not.
“Call an ambulance,” he moaned, his injuries apparent.
Talia crouched down. The scent of his blood was intoxicating, but his fear and pain was divine. If she could bottle that scent, she would inhale it every day. She would bathe in it, fuck in it and kill in it.
“Oh my god,” she said, taking in the bloody carnage. The dashboard was twisted and must’ve hit just right for it to pin the driver’s legs. The angle he was at gave her the impression his legs were broken, but she was going to find out for herself. The passenger hung by his seatbelt, with his shredded neck giving up the goods in way of his life blood. Drops still fell, hitting the driver’s neck and shoulder. “Are you ok?” she asked, suppressing a giggle. He was clearly not ok, but little did he know it was going to get much worse.
He shot her a disgusted look. “Does it fucking look like I’m ok?” he spat.
Talia looked him over. “No, it does not.” She felt her eyes changing, but she kept her beautiful form. Her hand flew out grabbing the man by the wrists.
‘There were other girls. Back alley abortions. Crying woman refusing to kill her baby. A length of rope around her youthful neck. Water lapping her skin as crabs enjoy the soft bits of her eyes and tongue. Shootings, stabbings, car fires…Simone. The look of fear on her face. Pain. Her nose broken and ripped off. Pain inside of her from him, his violation of her body.’
The fear in his face turned almost juvenile. Like that young kid being yelled at by an adult, their face morphing into a tearful, almost grin, before bursting into tears.
Talia gripped him even tighter, feeling his bones shift under her hellish grip.
“No, please. My legs—they’re broken,” he begged, looking down at his pinned and broken femurs. Through tears he grit his teeth, steeling himself against the waves of pain already crashing over him.
Talia’s eyes burned red. Hot fire scorched her soul and she knew this piece of human garbage would be feeding his own fires soon. Slowly, she pulled.
“Ah!” he screamed, his wail echoing off buildings. No one was out to hear, or if they were, they were minding their business. That was more than likely, but Talia had a feeling luck was on her side. His femurs ground against each other, jagged and uneven bone grating with a hiss.
Talia smiled and pulled. His wrists were starting to go loose and she knew they’d dislocate soon. Expertly, she shifted her grip, wrapping her fingers around his forearms.
“Please,” he begged, snot and blood running down his face. He wanted to pass out, needed to pass out, but his body held onto consciousness.
Talia pulled harder this time. She had places to be and others to visit. The skin of his thighs, pierced with bone, began to give way. It tore like wet cloth, yielding to her unholy strength. It tore, but did not rip free. She steadied herself, feeling him slipping away into the blessing of unconsciousness. She put everything into it, and pulled one last time.
It wasn’t his legs to finally give out, it was his abdomen. His body ripped in half, his belly-button the epicenter of his evisceration.
Talia fell back, still holding his arms. The upper half of his body followed, leaving his mangled legs, loops of intestines and puddles of blood behind. Something splashed as shards of glass tore through his already bloody shirt. She looked into his eyes, just as they were finally fading.
✽✽✽
The pain was unbearable. Nico felt his body tear, overloading every nerve he had. Suddenly, he was on the road, but knew that wasn’t good. This…demon stared at him, his life finally ending. She looked down at him with red eyes. He couldn’t help but stare into them. If he had another scream left in him, he would’ve used it then. Her eyes intensified, flashing from red to an almost orange, like flames. In those eyes he saw his fate in the fires of Hell.
