|SEALED UP IN VIRGIN STITCH
Author: Text-Addict PM
Peter has a psychic link to The Stitch, a psychopath who sews up the eyes & lips of his victims before splitting open their chests with a hacksaw, and taking their hearts as trophies. *FINISHED*Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Suspense - Chapters: 9 - Words: 10,789 - Reviews: 34 - Favs: 5 - Updated: 01-02-03 - Published: 12-08-02 - id: 1110613
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: This chapter contains a lot of gore and lovey-doveyness (I dunno which one's worse! Heh heh)… so, get ready with your vomit-bags and tissues. :-P
Nothing but thick black smoke veiled Peter's eyes as they fluttered open.
He didn't know what to expect.
Could The Stitch be lying dead on the floor?
Could he have missed?
Oh God, please let the bullet hit the fiend, for he didn't know if he could ever shoot again.
As his vision cleared, he saw his assailant, hunched over and panting like a mad dog. His hands clutched his thigh, and through his fingers flowed a stream of thick crimson, flooding through his dark clothes, dripping onto the carpet. The villain looked up. His face bore the look more of disbelief than pain.
"You actually shot me…" he hissed, and chuckled at his private little joke.
Peter was also in a state of shock.
After getting shot, he could still laugh?
Suddenly, The Stitch's smile dropped, and his eyes has a maniacal glimmer to them, like a werewolf that was about to pounce on its' prey.
Peter gulped hard.
"Nobody hurts me and gets away with it…"
Quicker than a bolt of lightning from the heavens, The Stitch leaped atop the still-befuddled young man, and wrestled the gun from his hand. Peter tried to put up a fight, but the Stitch terribly outweighed him. He could hardly breathe with the big lug on his chest. Being immobile from the waist down also didn't help things for the poor brunette. The fiend delivered several rock-hard punches to his face, and soon stars swam in front of his punching bag's eyes.
The Stitch flipped the young man over. From his pocket, he took out the twine, and bounded Peter's wrists behind his back, before flipping him to face him once again.
"This'll teach you…" he whispered into the young man's ear.
From the corner of The Stitch's brown eyes, he could see Adia trying to crawl away.
This was unacceptable!
He got off the heaving man's chest, and grabbed a fistful of golden tresses.
"You're not going anywhere, missy! You're going to fuckin' watch while I rip loverboy to shreds!" he screamed into her face, drenched with tears of horror.
He threw the elfin lass against a wall, where she slid down like the remnants of a squashed pawpaw after the same abuse. Usually, he would sew up the victim's eyes, but this time was different somehow. This time was special. For once, he actually wanted an audience.
"Now if you move, I swear I'll do him slow! And don't you dare close your eyes!"
The Stitch went back to the battered young man.
He kicked the gun far away.
He never liked guns, and after tonight's incident, he liked them even less.
The muscular assailant took out his weapon of choice- his bloodstained hacksaw. To him, there was nothing more special than the relationship between a man and his trusty blade. This relationship went back to the sacred times of The Knights Of The Round Table; the Ninjas and scimitar-wielding Moors. They were all legends in their own time… and their greatness was partly attributed to their breathtaking skills with the metals of might.
And now here he stood- the hacksaw in his hand.
He felt invincible.
And at that very moment, he was.
He straddled on the hapless young man's hips, and tore the man's T-shirt slowly from the belly up, until all that remained was his bare chest. He shot Adia a playful glance, and cooed, "Now here's the fun part."
"Please don't do this. Please…I'm begging you," Adia sobbed. "Take me instead."
"Self-sacrifice. Wow. That's pretty big of you. He must mean a lot."
"Yes, he does. Please… take me."
"…and because he is so precious is why I want him so bad."
The Stitch mercilessly toyed with the situation. He knew he had complete control, and he had no intention of letting either one of them live beyond the night. Adia dropped her head. All she could so was cry. Any glimmer of hope she had died right there. The Stitch could clearly see this, and gave a malicious cackle of triumph.
"Don't worry, little lady. You're next."
And on that note, he went to work. The Stitch slanted the hacksaw, and gave it one strong push into Peter's chest. The jagged teeth of the saw's first contact onto his victim's creamy skin oozed a trail of rich scarlet. Oh, how beautiful was the young man's screams of agony- raw and seductive. He closed his eyes, and enjoyed every decibel of the sweet suffering.
After the warped orchestra quieted, he gave a few more strokes down, cutting Peter's breastbone deep and long. After about 7 inches from the initial incision, The Stitch stopped sawing, and took a moment to marvel at his handiwork. There, squirming under him was a hapless young man, writhing in agony, squirming in his own blood. To The Stitch, this was definitely a Kodak moment, so he reached into his bag, and snapped a few shots for remembrance.
"Beautiful," he fanned the Polaroids dry, and looked over to Adia, who was still crying and trembling terribly. He slid the pictures into his pocket, and chucked sarcastically, "Hey, kiddo. I was wrong…THIS is the fun part."
The Stitch slid the chubby fingers of both hands into Peter's chest, and clawed it open. As the fiend gripped his still-beating heart with one hand and sawed the organ out with the other, Peter screamed his last scream. Suddenly, the commotion was replaced with utter silence, aside from Adia's sobbing.
The Stitch took his time going to his bag of goodies, taking his prize with him. He was utterly pleased with his new trophy, so his guard was down. His euphoria had put him in a dreamlike state, as he went to drop the organ into another one of his jars of miracle juice. Adia took that split-second opportunity to crawl over to her dying lover. There she sat, stroking the boy's auburn hair, now matted with sweat, blood and tears.
"No…" she sobbed hysterically. "Peter… don't leave me…"
She knew that these would be her last moment with him.
Foolishly, she hoped a miracle would happen; she hoped that he would magically survive albeit his heart was gone.
Those were just that- foolish hopes.
Tormented eyes gazed back into her teary ones.
He couldn't say anything, for blood also flowed out of his mouth.
However, his bloodied lips managed to form the silent last words…
I love you
And then, he let out his last breath.
With eyes still opened, gazing at the void above him, he was no more.
"NOOooooo….!!" Adia screamed, and hugged his lifeless body, drenching her own with his vermillion liquid. "No no no…"
The Stitch turned around to face the heart-wrenching scene behind him. He almost felt sorry for them. Almost. Alas, the devil in him was far more powerful than his humanity, for the thought of getting another trophy was more exhilarating than the thought of sparing the girl's life. He stood up, and walked ever so slowly towards the whimpering lass.
"Now your turn, little one."
"… just make it quick," Adia's broken voice whispered; her eyes stared straight into The Stitch's devilish orbs.
She figured that life without Peter was worthless anyway.
She would welcome The Grim Reaper with open arms.
And so, closing her eyes which were now swollen from so much crying, she was prepared for the worst.
Suddenly, the door was pounded, again and again.
"New York Police! Open up!"
Adia couldn't believe her ears. She looked up at The Stitch, who was also thoroughly startled. Like the coward he was, he dashed away from the shuddering victim. He packed all his trophies into the bag, and made his escape the same way he entered the apartment.
"Help! He's still here!!" Adia shrieked as her remaining hand frantically opened the locked door.
The cavalry burst into the apartment, armed with guns and bulletproof vests. All the commotion, in addition to the loss of blood, made Adia's head spin, until all she remembered was a police officer's sunglass-clad face asking her, "Ma'am, are you okay? Oh god... where did he go? Where did he go??"
Those words echoed in her ears while everything else turned to black….