Wayne Stephens sat at the metal table with a hook ended blade in his gloved right hand, the weight and feel of the stainless steel and bone handle almost perfectly balanced in his grip. As he turned the blade and caught the dull light overhead he could hear moaning from the adjacent room. Years of pent up frustration and planning have culminated into this final act, a deep breath and a sip of his tepid coffee from his dirty ceramic “I love Fishing Mug” and as he places it back on the table he hears a satisfying “ping” of ceramic on metal and his chair slides backwards dragging the feet across the old gray blue mottled linoleum floor. He is a huge man and walks with a slight stoop, favouring his left side because of a spinal birth defect that causes more embarrassment than pain. His hair long and straggled was gathered with a rubber band, mimicking a shaggy pony tail, that looked more at home on the back of a work horse that a man! His eyes were alert, but behind them the years of suffering and torment gave them an almost otherworldly glint and malevolent stare as he made his way towards his life’s work.
The metal door slid with ease as he grabbed the chrome handle and pulled it to his left, exposing him to the smell of sweat, fear and excrement from the expertly made slaughter room.
“Are we all comfortable” he said softly with an ever so slight lisp to his captive audience.
He was met with grunts and spitting of curses and abuse from the four hanging and chained naked bodies’ one in each corner hanging over a drain. He removed the bags and gags from them and surveyed his work.
“Who in the fuck are you? And what are you doing to us” a male voice spat at him.
The blade in his hand swept at speed past the mans face and slice his right nipple to the floor. Wayne held a finger to his lips and made a shhhh sound.
“No-one can hear you scream or yell so don’t bother, this room is sealed twice and twenty feet underground” Wayne told them. Three men and one woman hanging naked and shaking from cold, fear and shock, looked at their captor. The woman Rose Taylor looked at him studying his features and said “Wayne! Is that you?” a man on the opposite corner squinted. “Oh my god it is you, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” The man, Jake Ferguson now had a bitter tone to his voice and looked at the assembled in the room and then he instantly said those magic words as a smile spread across his face.
“Guys I think this arrangement is some sort of sick revenge thing the ‘tard has dreamed up”
Wayne moved closer placed the drill at Jakes temple and said let’s see who the retard is after I am finished.
© Copyright 2016 Ian Dawn. All rights reserved.
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