Randy and Walter: Killers (8 page)

“Please, mister,” she pleaded with him, her eyes wide and aware. Aware of the smile that had faded away from the boge
y
man’s face. Aware of the horrible anger that stitched his face. His eyes seemed to burn into her. For a split second his grip loosened just enough for her to pry his hand off hers. She was free and she backed quickly away from him, never noticing just how close the steps were behind her. Her foot missed the first step and she fell backwards, her back and shoulders slamming hard onto the stairs.

Her body seemed like a slinky as it tumbled down the stairs t
o
wards the hard ground. When she reached the bottom, which was in a matter of seconds, her head slammed down onto the concrete below.

Her eyes teetered for a moment; she felt so much pain she thought she would pass out. Yet when she saw Randy calmly walking down the stairs towards her, she began to awaken. She tried to stand but by the time she finally got to her feet he was there.

She began to scream as he grabbed her by her waist and picked her up. She was kicking with every bit of strength she had left. He carried the screaming child up the stairs with no worries of inte
r
ference. With his free hand, Randy opened the front door and walked into his home, slamming the door behind him.

In time, her screams and cries were silenced forever.

157

RANDY AND WALTER
: KILLERS

Chapter 4

R
andy sat on the foot of his bed, naked and covered in the li
t
tle girl’s blood. Pieces of her flesh clung to his knuckles. His ere
c
tion had long since died, leaving his penis flaccid and useless. He held a cigarette in his hand. Every few seconds he would bring it to his lips and suck on it, taking in the smoke, the smoothness filling his lungs. Then he would softly exhale. His eyes were closed and tears fell down his face. He couldn’t help but hate himself. The gun sat next to him on the bed. He’d pulled it out of his closet ten minutes after finishing with the girl. He remembered buying it years ago before losing his job at the candle shop. He couldn’t remember now exactly why he’d purchased the weapon. It wasn’t a big gun, in fact to most male standards it was a rel
a
tively small firearm.

It was black with a wooden handle.  He wasn’t even sure what kind it was. He just knew that when he put it to his head and pulled the trigger, he would go away forever. The thoughts would go away, the memories of so many he’d hurt.

The ones that had loved him and left him. The ones he had loved and had hurt. He put his free hand onto the side of the gun and stroked it gently, having loaded it not long ago.

Just one bullet and it would all be over. No more memories. With his eyes still closed his mind went back to the little girl. He remembered slamming the door behind him, holding her as she screamed and cried for help. He brought the girl into his bedroom and roughly threw her against the wall. She’d slammed into the wall so hard the wall had cracked in several places, pieces of pla
s
ter raining down like baby powder.

Falling to the floor, she began to convulse as if she were a wind-up toy. Her eyes were rolling around in her head, her tongue hung out and to the side.

Randy picked the gun up and looked into its muzzle.

The girl blinked and her tongue went back into her mouth slowly. She looked up at Randy who gazed down at her like a predatory hawk would do to its prey. She started to cry. Randy knelt down to her and helped her stand up.

He remembered she wasn’t able to stand on her own. The girl had needed to hold onto the side of the bed, crying as her clothes were stripped off of her body. Randy remembered almost drooling over her.

He had found her almost attractive, only more to the touch. The small flabby curves in her body, the imperfections in her skin, were just as inviting as the flawless girls he’d taken in the past.

He remembered that her entire right side and half of her back was bruised. He must have broken something inside of her for the skin seemed to change colors when he touched it.

Randy put the cold muzzle of the black gun to the side of his head and cocked the trigger. A small piece of flesh still hung to his middle finger. It dropped to the bed with a silent squish that could only be heard by the sharpest of ears.

She was crying wildly as he laid her onto the bed and crawled on top of her after removing his own clothes.

He told her to touch it and when she refused, he slapped her in the face so hard she fell to her side. Then, she did as she was told, out of fear, out of what would happen if she didn’t obey.

As she did so, he’d used that same middle finger on her. It was very rough, like sandpaper. It was so rough that he pulled that piece of skin off of her body. The girl’s screams echoed throughout the house as he mounted her.

And now the screams echoed throughout his mind. In fact, the screams wouldn’t go away. They just got louder and louder. He remembered how he had silenced her.

His finger started to squeeze the trigger.

He had raised his hand far above his head and brought it cras
h
ing down onto her face. Over and over and over and over again until her face was no longer cute; she was no longer reco
g
nizable. Her skin broke open to expose the muscle and bone beneath it. Her teeth had come out of her mouth in pairs. She had long since stopped breathing. She was dead and Randy finished up quickly. The face he was looking down at was monstrous, and he had created it.

The gun dropped back to its place on the bed beside Randy who put his hands on his head and started to weep.

“You’re pathetic,” a voice whispered from across the room.

Randy looked up to see Walter standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with hatred. The two just stared at each other for what could have been all night but was only five minutes, maybe less. Still, time seemed to stop while these two monsters locked gazes. They could each see the hatred in the other person’s eyes. This was going to be more than a simple competition.

Walter was more than Randy’s competitor and both men knew it.

Walter turned around and left without another word as Randy dropped his head back into his blood-stained hands and continued to weep.

T
he night outside the house had bec
o
me day
.
Randy sat inside, the wi
n
dows locked and the curtains drawn so no one could see inside. He sat in the living room wearing only a pair of tattered blue jeans. He had once again cleaned his house, scrubbed the floors and burned the sheets alongside of the girl. As he sat there remembering his sordid past, he began to realize something. Walter had been right, he was pathetic. All of his life Randy had thought these things; fantasized about doing these terrible things. But now that he was doing them he wished he could stop. The things he was doing were pathetic. No real man would, could, ever do these things.

He was too much of a pussy to even kill himself. Which, he knew was something that would be better for everyone. He felt he didn’t belong, didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of the world.

It was at this precise thought when he remembered something he’d fo
r
gotten; something from long ago.

Somehow, this was all his mother’s fault. Her fault for not b
e
ing a good mother. For not behaving the way a mother should behave. As Randy sat on his couch, miserable and alone, he d
e
cided to find his mother. He would track her down and force her to apologize before he killed her.

He remembered where his home had stood so long ago before burning it to the ground. He also remembered the priest and remembered the church where so many terrible things had o
c
curred.

That’s it then. His mind was made up; he would find them both and kill them. He would make them pay; make them beg for forgiveness as he repaid them for what they did to him.

H
is home had once been located on the edge of town. It once stood between two other houses on
Maple St
. When he had burnt it down, the fire had spread to the other two houses and burnt them too.

What stood there now was a small, brick apartment building. The buil
d
ing looked deserted, decrepit. He would be surprised if anyone actually still lived inside of it. It had taken him nearly an hour to reach this part of town and the first thing he noticed was the difference in appearance.

At one time this had been the nicest part of town but now it was the oldest and nastiest section. Trash lined the streets and sid
e
walks and the homeless were seen lying around the ground. Some of them were standing near the building. In fact, only the apar
t
ment building was in this part of town. He remembered there being more to this area when he was young. Once there had been a flower shop and a drugstore alongside the houses. Now those too were gone. Nothing stood except the brick apartments; light shining through the windows.

So people did live in them. He couldn’t help but wonder if one of the tenants was his mother and the priest. Or maybe just one of them. Randy sat in his car in the gravel-filled parking lot next to the building and watched the windows. He hoped this would be easy, that he would see them right then. It appeared neither of them was here.

Then he saw someone he recognized in the top corner apartment wi
n
dow. An older woman was standing at her window, watching outside.

It’s a
lmost as if she was waiting for
me
, he thought. In fact, she seemed to be looking right at Randy. The elder he reme
m
bered had been his neighbor back when he was a child. She had lived right next to him.

Her name was Rose, but he couldn’t remember her last name. He’d known her only as Rose. She was an older, attractive lady with that strange and sexy teacher look to her. Now she just seemed tired and old, as if life had given up on her and left her behind to starve.

Perhaps the burning of her home had stung her. Maybe he had inadve
r
tently ruined her entire life by starting that fire. Randy took a breath and stepped out of the car. He walked up to the front of the apartment building and stepped inside.

It was even worse inside the building. Graffiti covered the walls; broken glass, pieces of trash and torn newspapers were scattered along the floor. The smell was the worst, though. A dead smell. It reminded him of the odor when he’d walked into a nur
s
ing home years ago.

Right away Randy knew this was a place for the elderly; the hallways and dark corridors home to the homeless. The two seemed to go hand in hand. Elderly and the homeless. Perhaps it would be best if Randy burnt this place to the ground and all its tenants along with it. First he had to know if Rose knew anything of his mother or the priest.

Walking to the end of the hall, he found the staircase leading upward. It was a cemented staircase with a black rail on the side. The cement was stained with colors of vomit, spilled beer and liquor. On his way up, he even spotted a red stain that looked a lot like blood.

He had to walk up three flights to reach the top of the building. Here the atmosphere was a lot worse. The smell had become intensified as though all the elderly up here had died and their bodies had dried up
, to now resemble
prunes. The walls, the floors, even the ceiling was stained. In some places a black fungus had taken hold. Water dripped casually from places in the ceiling. Even the homeless wouldn’t be caught dead up here. Only the most elderly, the saddest most depressed elderly were here; the ones who had been left all alone.

Lights flickered on and off sometimes
,
stay
ing
off for nearly a minute before
comi
ng
on
once again
to
illuminate the nast
i
ness surrounding Randy. He finally reached the door and when he did, the smell became overpowe
r
ing. The stench of dead animals, shit and vomit stung his nose to the point he thought his nose hairs would burn off, followed closely by his nose itself.

Right before he knocked on the peeling, green wooden door, it opened. Slowly, so slowly it opened. Rose stood there in the doo
r
way, face to face with him.

So she had been watching him and she had recognized him.

That was when he saw the blood.

It was pouring down her dress, and as he stared he could see something had been stuck inside of her. She started to fall towards Randy who caught her as quickly as he could. She was heavy so he lowered her to the ground. She looked up at him with black eyes, a doll’s eyes; almost dead eyes.

An awful stench was rising from her. The woman had shit he
r
self when she was stabbed. Her grey hair was also matted with blood. She opened her mouth to talk, yellowish teeth smiling back at him.

“He told me to tell you nothing,” she croaked.

“Who?” It was a stupid question, Randy already knew.

“He said he was your brother. But I want to tell you something. She d
e
serves what she gets for what she did to you. And so do I.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I knew what was going on between you and your mother. She told me, almost bragged about it. She told me before she left how much she had come to hate you.”

Tears started to fill Randy’s eyes.

“She said you reminded her of Frank
,”
Rose continued. “
Her husband. She told me of the priest and that she was going to leave.”

Randy closed his eyes, remembering the last time he saw them both as she continued. “They both went to Burman. The town next to this one. It’s a two hour drive. You’ll find their house on
Liden St.
next to a church. They’ll both be there. You must hurry. He’s already headed there. If he reaches them first he’ll win. You can’t let him, boy. He’s evil. You’re a good man.”

“No, I’m not. I do terrible things.”

She pulled his head towards hers and whispered as she took her last breath.