Death Row Apocalypse (11 page)

And so it was that a few weeks later I found myself visiting the woman—let’s call her Ms. X for the time being. It was a Friday night, and it was one of the few nights that she didn’t have any guests or visitors. This worked in my favor, and I began planning my night’s entertainment. The kill would be a lengthy endeavor, for my overactive imagination had come up with something a little unique this time, and the earlier I started in the evening, the better.

Not unattractive, she was of average looks and would, based on her looks alone, have made an average wife for an average partner, though in many ways I guess she made the perfect undercover agent type. That is, she was average in every way, from her average height to her average build, her average 34C breasts, so that one could be forgiven for not noticing her at all. She could pass you in the street, and when questioned a little later you would deny her existence completely.

My instructions had been clear. She must be taken out, along with the remaining IKSM cell members. She must be the first to be eliminated, and the hit must appear to be the work of a serial killer, or at the very least a total maniac. That part would be easy, and besides, I ask you, how often does someone offer to employ you to do the things you do best? This would be my dream job, and I considered asking whether dental was included. Hey, I’m allowed a sense of humor too.

Dressed in jeans, a white blouse, and a pair of pink furry slippers, she was a little too cutesy for my liking, and in fact if you asked me, the getup was a little strange for a terrorist. I didn’t know that many terrorists at this point, and so I really had nothing to compare against.

She was completely unaware when I entered her somewhat lavish home the following Friday evening. The house had two stories, with the master and guest bedrooms and bathrooms on the upper floor, and living room and kitchen on the ground floor. I had figured out the basic layout using a little reasoning and window counting. Talk about luck!

That night turned out to be an ideal night for the event, not only because of the lack of visitors but because a storm hit the likes of which had not been seen since the days of the Ark. The weather really set the mood for the night and would thankfully mask the sins committed with thunderous claps and blinding lightning. With no sane person out that night, from outside in the wind and rain I watched her through a narrow gap in the living room curtains without fear of discovery. I wore a long black waterproof hooded jacket; its surface looked as slick as oil as it glistened in the rain.

Thunder and lightning surrounded me in the dark, and from time to time, as lightning struck I could see my shadow projected on the patio doors. Had she seen me? I was concerned for only a moment that she might have seen my shadow. I watched her closely, but she gave no indication that she had seen me. She got up from the couch and, taking a wineglass with her, she headed first to the adjoining hallway, then onward into the kitchen. When she had completely disappeared from view, I knew it was time to make my move. I was about to break the glass panel in the door but stopped and considered testing the door handle first and couldn’t believe my luck: it was unlocked. Oh boy, this was too good to be true!

It was in the kitchen that I found her with her back toward me, refilling her wineglass. I was soaked in rainwater and dripping all over the white-tiled floor, and even though the thunderclaps concealed my approach, I was still surprised that she did not hear me as I came up behind her. She let out a yelp and sent the glass flying across the room when she reacted instinctively, bringing up her arms and hands in an attempt to fend off my attack. Fast though she was, she was still too slow to prevent me from placing my arm around her neck and locking it with my left arm while I squeezed and put pressure on the back of her head with my left hand. Fighting to free herself from my grip like some coked-up cat, she kicked and scratched at me, but luckily my jacket managed to protect me from her assault. With her neck locked under pressure, the blood flow to her brain was reduced to a trickle, and within only a few more seconds she became unconscious. I had prepared a chloroform-soaked cloth and now drew it from the protective plastic ziplock bag. Placing the cloth over her nose and mouth, I pressed for some thirty seconds, ensuring that she would remain asleep just long enough to allow for me to prepare her for her death.

From the kitchen knife rack I removed a large cleaver and three very sharp knives. I also found a plastic trash bag from under the sink and took the items upstairs to the bathroom. I turned on the light and placed them in the washbasin and began to run a hot bath. As it filled, I decided to have a quick look around the upper floor. That turned out to be a complete waste of time. There was nothing of interest and my search proved to accomplish nothing more than confirm she was indeed alone at home.

I went back downstairs to the kitchen and picked up Ms. X. Putting her over my shoulder, I took her upstairs to the bathroom and remember thanking any god that might be listening that she had kept herself somewhat slim. It would have been impossible for me to carry her upstairs had she been, say, fifty pounds heavier!

It was now one o’clock in the morning, and I wanted to be gone from here by six, so there wasn’t a moment to lose. I went to the master bedroom and got undressed. I folded my clothes neatly, placing them on the bed, and hooked my soaked jacket over the edge of the door to dry. I returned to the bathroom naked and then carefully undressed Ms. X. This woman had seen some violence in the past. Her stomach and ribs were covered in thick scar tissue, and a couple of telltale scars, indicating bullet entry and exit points, were visible just below her collarbone.

I slid her into the steaming bathtub and turned the faucet off. Taking a knife from the basin, I then reached down between her thighs to her crotch and pressed the knife blade against her uppermost thigh. The skin resisted for a second before giving way to the incredibly sharp edge of the blade. Entering deep into her flesh, the knife’s tip finally hit bone, at which point I pulled the knife down toward her knee, cutting through skin, fat, muscle, and veins, all the while scraping along the bone’s length. At about halfway down her thigh, I stopped and pulled the blade from her leg. Somewhere along the knife’s path I had managed to cut open her femoral artery, which caused a massive crimson cloud to blossom from her thigh. If my research was right, then Death would take her in under three minutes.

It was time to wake her. The amount of chloroform I had subjected her to earlier would keep her unconscious for only ten minutes. I knew: I had practiced. Splashing cold water on her face and slapping her hard across the cheeks failed to wake her, and I was about to give her another good slapping when her eyes flickered open. She was barely conscious, but that was okay. That was all I wanted, for tonight she would be my audience, if only for three minutes.

“Hello. Good evening, my dear. It’s time for you to die. I’m curious. Do you have any idea what awaits you in hell?” I said.

She remained quiet. Unable to control her head, she responded more like a rag doll than a human being. I guess I must have used a little too much chloroform, or perhaps her drunken lolling was due to the blood loss. I pressed on regardless.

“No idea, huh? Well, me of course. I’m the devil and have come to drag you to the fiery pits of hell. But first we have to prepare you. And I’m going to have some fun with you.”

With the knife held between my teeth, I stepped into the bathtub and sat on her thighs, with her hips now between my knees. The hot bathwater, now a deep crimson, covered my legs and crotch in this most intimate of positions, and I wondered briefly whether she was as turned on as I was. I decided not to ask as I thought this would be a little inappropriate. Instead, I took the knife from my teeth and pressed the sharp edge of the blade against her flesh. The skin held together for the briefest of moments, then parted, welcoming the steel edge like a lover opening to a mate.

I opened her up from her solar plexus to her left hip and then again to her right hip. The hot water and blood loss made it impossible for her to react to the cuts I had made as she fought to stay conscious. I folded back the large triangle of flesh and began to carefully cut and remove a part of her intestine as she watched in horror. I had her full attention now but sensed she would not be here for too much longer, and as if on cue her eyes began to flutter and fade once more. Her arms and legs began to twitch and her eyes closed as she started to leave this world and head for the next. But I wouldn’t let her go just yet. I lent in face-to-face and slapped her cheek as hard as I dared. Her eyes and mouth opened with a gasp as she searched and found my eyes.

“See you in hell, bitch,” I said.

Taking the severed piece of intestine in my hands, I bit deeply into it as she watched. The effect was stunning. Her already-alarmed eyes now opened wider still, so far that I imagined for a moment her eyes would actually pop out of their sockets. I had truly freaked her out with that last vision of hell on earth, a vision that would fill her mind and soul as she descended to the depths of hell. I spat out the flesh and wiped my bloody mouth on my arm. I was amazed that her heart still pumped. She continued to demonstrate just how much she wanted to live, and I wondered whether her last victim, the young boy, had his life ripped from him by her or by one of her minions. Ms. X’s eyes began to close for probably the last time. The bathroom lights flickered off, along with the power to the rest of the house, as lightning and thunder struck simultaneously. Its brief light illuminated our embrace, and I reached into her and rammed my hand up toward to where her heart lay feebly beating. Feeling her lungs on either side of my searching hand, I pushed further upward. Ms. X’s eyes flew open with a start, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream for the first and last time that night as I gripped her barely beating heart in my fist and crushed the pulsating muscle between my fingers until I felt it beat no more. Lightning struck once more as I released the dead muscle from my grip, whereupon the house lighting resumed normal operation.

Pulling my arm from her body, I stepped out of the bathtub, and she slid a little further down the length of the bath. As her head began to disappear underneath the water, I tenderly placed one hand under her neck to prevent it from going underneath, an action which I have to admit was a strange thing to do. She was dead, so why in God’s name did I do that? It wasn’t as if she could possibly drown.

The bathwater was now a deep maroon, and its luscious color reminded me just how thirsty I had become. Ms. X’s silky jet-black hair floated in the water like fine strands of oil, along with her bobbing intestines and buoyant breasts. It was a strangely peaceful scene, and one that I had thoroughly enjoyed creating. To be honest, earlier when I saw that she had very little time remaining in this world, the urge to punish her for hurting the boy had hit me hard. I’m not used to emotions that intense and couldn’t resist the temptation in stopping her heart with my bare hands. Maybe I’m more human than I thought.

Ms. X’s skin, once dark and exotic, was now pale and lifeless. As I write this, I wonder whether the dead prune up in the same way as the living when they are submerged in water for long periods of time. I could kick myself for not having waited a little longer to find out. Instead, I pulled the plug and watched patiently as the bloody water drained away, leaving her somewhat bloodless corpse lying in the bottom of the tub. The bathroom was now my playground, and as I pulled her from the tub, the last rivulets of pinkish water disappeared from sight as they flowed away. It was now time for my fun to start in earnest. The plan was daring and would likely be exhausting. In any case, it certainly would be a challenge, even for me.

My objective was to remove all of her internal organs piece by bloody piece. For the budding morticians amongst you, I started with removing the transverse colon, followed by the small intestine. As these are rather long, I cut them at regular one-foot lengths, and though I was careful I still managed to spill digested contents over the floor. I should have thought further ahead and taken a mask with me, for the smell coming from the intestinal remains was almost too much to bear. Pushing on with tears forming in my eyes, I placed the segmented parts into the trash bag and breathed a massive sigh of relief when I had thrown the last of the foul-smelling organs into the bag. In a similar fashion I continued removing and cutting away each organ in turn, perhaps not with the skill of a surgeon but certainly as effectively as any mortician. Working up and into her body cavity, I removed the stomach, spleen, and liver, then also placed these in the growing trash bag. With no small amount of effort, I reached up and into her chest, and with both my hands deep in her chest, I worked blindly. I relaxed and, laying my head on her cooling breasts, I finished slicing through each of the large arteries to finally liberate her heart.

Had I not killed her, she would have in all probability lived a long and healthy life. Her heart was free from fatty tissue and looked to be in prime condition. In fact, had I been so inclined, I’m sure it would have tasted very good. The final hurdle was upon me now: removal of her lungs was indeed a challenge and would have been better met with a bone saw to cut open her rib cage. Nevertheless, I removed each of her lungs and dumped them into the trash bag with only relief on my mind.

This was the first time I had ever attempted such a feat. Removing all the internal organs was fascinating, and I had thoroughly enjoyed getting my hands dirty. As I sat on her hips, her still-warm bodily fluids covered my arms, feet, and calves. I felt the irresistible urge to rub the tacky fluids into my skin and bathe in her remains. But I resisted that particular temptation, no matter how tantalizing the prospect. I promised myself that next time I would do something a little less extravagant, or maybe I should bring a couple of beers with me and make a night of it.