Slasherazzi (5 page)

Two nights passed with the whole of Tampa abuzz about the latest killing. With the pictures supplied to the local papers, the media had run amok with speculation and fearmongering. Police cars patrolled the streets well into the night, illuminating the darkness with their flashing blue and red lights.

One in particular, an undercover car, had been driving around the same neighborhood for at least an hour before finally pulling in to a convenience store. The officer killed the engine before wandering inside. The arrogant bastard hadn’t even thought to lock the car doors. Too bad for him.

I scanned the parking lot before creeping along the shadows to where he had parked and slowly opening the back door enough to climb in behind the driver’s seat. I brushed away the trash littering the place—empty packets of chips, soda cans, and other things—then crammed myself into the small floor space, my knees folded to my chest. With my black clothes, he wouldn’t see a thing until it was too late.

The driver's side door clicked open, and my prey slumped down behind the wheel, placing a plastic bag on the passenger seat. The door snapped shut. Vibrations shook the car as the engine revved. I took the thin wire wrapped around one hand and began to loop it around the other, leaving enough slack between them to capture my victim.

As the car moved forward, I rose quickly and slipped the wire around his neck, pulling it tight. He sputtered and choked, clawing at the line as his face turned red. His wide eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror, and I chuckled. A black mask hid my features from sight, only two small holes allowing me to watch in amusement as he fought for breath until there was only a harsh rasp escaping his throat. I loosened my hold just a little, and he drew in a long breath.

He continued to stare at me in the mirror but didn’t answer. I pulled the wire tight, and his body jerked. “I asked you a question. Disobey me, and I might just forget that you need to breathe. Do you understand?”

He nodded, and once again, I allowed him to breathe. “Who are you?”

I shook my head. “Surely, you have more intelligence than to ask that of a masked man. Take a left out of here.” He did as I asked, stopping at a set of traffic lights moments later. “Straight ahead, then take the next right.”

“Where are we going?” His hands shook against the steering wheel, and his eyes darted from side to side.
Beneath the black wool, my jaw clenched and eyebrow twitched. I pulled a little on the wire, hoping he would get the message. He closed his mouth and kept it shut for the rest of the drive until we came to a halt outside an old warehouse. Having arrived at our destination, I yanked hard on the ligature. His body bucked, his hands scrabbling to gain some purchase. He found none, and soon he went slack. I dropped the wire and checked his pulse. It beat softly beneath my fingertips, almost a ghost of a heartbeat, but still there.
With one of his arms over my shoulders, I dragged his limp body into the nearest building, his feet trailing on the ground behind us, and laid him down gently on a large wooden table before reaching for the rope and tape I knew were on the dust-covered desk. I set about restraining his wrists first, tying them to the table legs, then his legs and ankles, until I was sure there would be no easy escape. With his body spread tight across the wooden surface, I unbuckled his belt and jerked it through the loops of his pants. Next were the clothes, which easily came off when faced with the sharp edge of my trusty knife.
Only his tight red boxers remained when he finally groaned and attempted to roll over onto one side. There was a moment’s pause before his eyes shot open and he wriggled and squirmed in a vain attempt to free himself.
“What’s the big idea?” he yelled.
“Thought we might have a little bit of fun,” I replied, twirling the knife in my hand where it was clear to see.
“You said if I did as you asked—”
“I said you would make it out of the car alive, and you did,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. “I made no guarantees as to what would happen once you stepped outside.”
“You won’t get away with this,” he shouted, still twisting his wrists to try and free them from the tight ropes.
I brought the knifepoint down to his cheek. His body froze beneath its touch. “Do you know who I am, Detective?”
“Slasherazzi,” he answered.
“Well done. Perhaps you do have a few more brain cells than I originally anticipated.”
“Fuck you,” he spat.
“Or not.” I drew the blade down his cheek, and his jaw clenched. A tiny river of crimson welled to the surface and began to trickle across and down toward his ear.
“How about we play a little game I made up?” I asked. He scowled at me, his eyes almost burning with rage in the dim candlelight. “The rules are quite simple. I want you to tell me what you think you know about me. And for every statement you get wrong, I choose a body part to cut open.”
“You’re a sick fuck,” he answered.
“Correct, but I think that’s a given.” I placed the knife at his side and turned to kneel and rummage through the knives and ropes in my bag before finally reaching the black case that sat at the bottom. I lifted it out and popped open the fastenings.
“What is that?” the detective asked.
I chuckled and slipped the camera from its holder and into my hand. “Just a quick before image. I do hope you’re not too camera shy.”
He turned his head away, and I took the lens cap off before bringing the camera to eye level. The flash illuminated the room for a brief second, then all was dark again. I set the camera down on a nearby table and picked up the knife once more to trail the point along the ridge of his ribs.
“Now, let’s get back to the real fun. Start talking, Detective.”
“If I talk, you’ll just kill me,” he replied.
“While I can’t say that’s untrue, I am going to kill you regardless.” I pressed the blade harder into him, tracing a crimson line along the underside of his ribcage. He hissed and balled his hands into fists, his body tensing. “But the longer you refuse to talk, the more time I’ll have to spend loosening you up.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it tight. I snickered, finding his resolve to be quite amusing. “More fun for me then.”
I started with a line down the center of his chest, from the dip in his collarbone to the waistband of his boxers, leaving behind a thin trail of blood that welled to the surface, the crimson liquid slowly seeping outward. The detective gave a muffled groan, sucking in his lower lip in an attempt to keep quiet. The next cut was a wavy line, the blade digging deeper into the soft flesh of his stomach, as I brought the knife up and around to his side.
A drum beat within my skull. Pounding. Each thud becoming louder than the last, and more urgent. I drove the knife into his flank, only an inch of steel penetrating him, and the first scream was torn from his throat. The ragged sound resonated within me like the moans of a sexual partner urging me onward, making my blood run hotter and faster, and my breath hitch.
I picked up the camera again and began to snap a few pictures of my handiwork, leaning down to get a close-up shot of the beautiful strokes decorating his body, the crimson contrasting against his olive skin. The camera clicked, and a flash filled the room for a split second before the motor inside whirred in preparation for the next image. The detective screwed his eyes shut and turned away.
“Are you ready to talk now?” I asked.
He shook his head. “They’ll come looking for me soon if I don’t check in.”
“So you think by keeping quiet you have a chance of being rescued?” I lined the viewfinder up with the detective’s new hole, but the tiny puncture didn’t make for much viewing—a small amount of blood and a neat tear. I reached out with my free hand, extending one leathergloved finger to probe his new orifice. His body jerked as I slipped my digit inside, wriggling around inside to force the cut open wider. He grunted through clenched teeth, the flesh tearing and leaking out hot blood.
I withdrew my finger and captured an image of the newly formed valley before setting the camera down. “I’ll ask you again. What do you know about me?”
“I know we’ll stop you,” he said, his gaze meeting mine.
“And you’re doing such a fine job of that so far,” I replied, grabbing the hilt of my knife and slicing into the muscle of his upper left leg. He responded with a sharp cry, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp movements. “Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t seem like tonight is your winning night.”
I continued slicing into the dark skin, a mixture of shallow cuts and the occasional plunging of steel, severing tissues and creating a deep well of blood. Roughly a half hour passed, and still the detective remained silent, save for the melody of moans and screams. More pictures followed; souvenirs of our time spent together. If only that night could have lasted forever, but like the sand in an hourglass trickling away, the detective’s blood seeped from him, counting down to the end of our play date.
“I get the impression you’re not taking our game very seriously, Detective. Perhaps it’s time to up the stakes a little.”
I traced the knife over the outline of his rather sizeable bulge beneath the thin red fabric, and his body went deathly still. I hummed between my lips and closed my eyes for a moment, my body shuddering at the thought of how much I would enjoy taking the blade to it.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“You’ve seen the other victims, haven’t you? Surely, you must know what’s going to happen next.”
“Please,” he begged. “Please, don’t.”
“You know how the game works, Detective. Why don’t you explain to me why I find the prospect of mutilating your dick so fascinating? Give me a good enough answer, and I might just consider leaving it intact for a while.”
Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, and his body trembled. I played the edge of the knife down across his ball sac before digging the point in. “No answer is just as bad as a wrong one, Detective. I suggest you start talking quickly.”
I slipped the blade beneath his boxers and began to tear them away. He squirmed and shuffled around, but the cloth soon came off, exposing him completely to the humid night air. His dick wasn’t what I’d call huge, but there was certainly plenty to play around with. I took the shaft in one hand, gripping it tightly while bringing the edge of the blade down to rest against the purple head.
“No,” he gasped, his eyes wide enough to reveal a full circle of white around the deep brown irises.
“Tick-tock, Detective. Time’s running out,” I reminded him.
“You’re gay,” he blurted out.
I furrowed my brow and stared him in the eyes for a moment. He gazed back, as though attempting to study my reaction, though the mask would reveal little information for him to grasp at.
I held the blade steady and smiled. “Go on.”
“All your victims were males in their mid-thirties. Ssame age as you, I bet.” He paused, audibly swallowing. When I made no move, he continued, “You’re using the men as substitutes for the person you really want to kill.”
I closed my eyes and groaned. “Basic criminology. Anyone could have guessed that from watching a few crime shows. You can do better than that, Detective. Or is that title merely for show? Maybe you just rode into the force on your family’s coattails?”
“H-how…?”
I snickered. “Of course, I did my research before planning our little date. Now, start giving me some real answers before I get bored and accidentally slip.” I tilted the blade slightly, catching the ridge of his cock head to emphasize my point. He sucked in a sharp breath and drew in his lower lip as blood trickled down the metal surface in a fine line.
“You’re angry at him,” he said quickly. “You want revenge on this person. He must have done something to really hurt you.” Another pause. I tilted my head to one side, waiting for the rest of his answer. My fingers clenched tighter around the hilt of the knife, almost shaking with the effort to hold it in place. “He…raped you.”
I lifted my arm and drove the blade down into his leg. He screwed his eyes shut and screamed, the sound barely registering over the deafening pulse in my ears. I took a deep breath, then another. It did little to abate the thundering drum that beat within me.
I turned to the nearby table and picked up a wooden chopping board and a small meat cleaver that I had bought the previous night, along with a few others bits and pieces I thought might come in useful in the future.
“You know nothing,” I spat at the trembling man. His cheeks drained of color upon seeing the next instrument in my arsenal. His body bucked up and down; though with the tape binding his limbs, the flailing did little more than disturb a small layer of dust that coated the floorboards. I placed the cold metal across his bare stomach.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Just a little experimenting,” I replied, lifting up his limp cock in one hand and placing the cutting board across the top of his legs. His body went rigid, fists clenching and veins protruding from his arms. The lump in his throat bobbed as he swallowed. I stroked him slowly, running my fingers down to the base of his dick. “Do try and relax, Detective. There’s nothing you can say or do now that will stop me. Might as well accept your fate.”
The soft meat grew slowly as it filled with blood. He groaned, his eyes screwed shut, and the first tear rolled past his temple. His muscles twitched and spasmed, his limbs pulling tighter against the restraints.
“No, no,” he muttered between sobs. “Why me? What do you want from me?”
I laid his semi-hard dick across the board and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the cleaver. “It was never about you.”
With one swift swing, I brought the blade down. It sliced easily through flesh and hit the board beneath with a chop. The detective opened his mouth wide and yelled, the sound sending a soft shudder down my spine. The head of his cock rolled across the board, leaving a trail of blood, then came to a stop with the slit facing up. More blood flowed from his shrinking appendage, running off the edge of the chopping block, down the insides of his thighs, then outward across the wooden table.
I took a deep breath, the burning rage within subsiding under the delicious chorus of his screams and the thick, crimson stream. Lifting my arm, I struck again. Another slice joined the first like pieces of raw salami. My pants grew tighter, the musky scent of sweat and blood setting my veins on fire.
“Please, God. Stop.”
“God?” I raised my arm a third time, taking off a smaller chunk than before. Smiling, I chuckled quietly. “I guess you could call me a God. After all, I decide who lives and who dies, and carry out their executions. But your prayers are wasted here. Only one of us leaves this room alive tonight, and from where I’m standing, it seems certain that will be me.”
He opened his mouth but could manage nothing more than a choked sob.
“Tell me, Detective. Could you bear to live like this? Imagine never being able to be intimate with a woman again. Though I guess you could always bend over like a good little bitch instead.”
I scooped up the chunks of flesh in my gloved hand and placed them to one side. He turned his head to watch, but quickly screwed his eyes shut.
“I could end your miserable existence for you right now,” I said, bringing the cleaver up to draw it lightly across his throat and leaving behind a long smudge of blood as though marking my next target. “Is that what you want? To be free.”
He nodded gently, his lips pressed into a tight line.
“Then let me grant you this one wish. You asked what it was I wanted from you. Your death, nothing more.”
“They’ll find you,” he whispered, the edges of his lips creeping upward. “The whole force…the FBI…”
I leaned in closer to put my mouth next to his ear. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for. With this one blow, I’ll make sure my name is in every paper and every station this side of Florida. There’s no way even
he
will be able to ignore me then.”
“Who?” he asked, more of a labored breath than an actual word.
“You know, I never did tell you whether or not you were right about me,” I mused, furrowing my brow. “Since you’ve entertained me tonight, I’ll let you in on a couple of secrets. Am I gay?” I shrugged. “Perhaps. I certainly enjoy the company of men, though with most, I’d rather do things that would give them nightmares.”
Sweat poured from his brow as he fought for each breath, his eyes straining to watch me.
“And as for why I so enjoyed slicing your cock like a piece of luncheon meat, you were halfway there. It’s true there is one person I’m after. You were right about what
he
did to me, but that’s not all.” I reached down to squeeze the bulge in my pants and groaned. His head drooped to one side, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. I nudged his cheek with the cleaver, and his gaze snapped back to me.