Author: Fabian Cortez PM
Peter's Back-Carl's Back, only one will survive, the horrific, psychological torment, of their mind. Rated for adult content. (COMPLETE) R+RRated: Fiction M - English - Horror/Suspense - Chapters: 19 - Words: 49,293 - Reviews: 113 - Favs: 3 - Updated: 08-25-04 - Published: 12-09-03 - id: 1467727
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
By Fabian Cortez
February 20th – 2004 Dick Masters Cabin – Woodsville Forest 22:15pm
He stood over their charred bodies in the bathtub; content that this had been the required punishment for their crimes. He'd put so much faith in her, even to the point of taking on her child; but he'd come to recognise the sly glances across the table. That of course and the neighbours sneering at him across their well groomed garden frontage told him everything he needed to know.
Well, there was indeed no question as to where they were getting it from, it was her. Sadly, but without doubt logically, it had to be as he was out all day at work. Her son would be getting his only influence from her too. There was nothing else for it. He couldn't live any longer, in the same environment, as people so blatantly and without necessary comprehension for their crimes sullying the public's outlook. Indeed they were even starting to try and intoxicate his outlook with their sordid view of the world.
He had decided earlier in the day how he would handle this situation. It would be quite simple. He knew she still had the key to the wood cabin, she and her adulterous dead husband used to share in the summer. So he had drugged them and taken them there. It had been simple for him to convince them that he wanted them to go for a weekend in the country. In their doped state of mind there was no argument; just a lot of laughter and joviality. As they had walked in to make ready for bed, he walloped them both in turn across the head with the brass poker used to make up the fire. He'd retrieved it, just seconds before from the brass ornamental fireplace tools holder, beside the log fire. He'd set that burning in the grate when they arrived.
"Go get ready for bed, while I get the fire going, then we can enjoy a night-cap before turning in", he'd told them. "After all it's been a long journey, and we were all up early this morning."
In their state of stupor, they hadn't seen him following on behind them, just seconds after they had got up. They carried on laughing and joking about nothing in particular, as they started to make their way down the small corridor to adjacent bedrooms.
Richard didn't have time to turn around, as the end of the poker pummelled into the top of his auburn haired skull, knocking him to the floor unconscious. Sarah carried on laughing at first as she thought her son kidding around in fun, until the now bloodied poker, smashed into the side of her skull and caused one of her deep blue eyeballs to cave in.
Luckily she was knocked unconscious immediately so knew nothing about it, at least not yet.
He dragged them to the bathroom, where he tied them up with wire and dumped them clumsily into the tub, and then soaked them with gasoline, ensuring before setting them alight, that he'd taken the sewing scissors from the basket in the lounge next to the television, gone back to the bathroom and cut out their tongues. They had after all been the main offenders, and had driven him to this.
A few moments later, he sat watching them go up in flames. They wouldn't flail about too much, as they were tied up and he had the fire extinguisher to hand to make sure the whole place didn't go up. They awoke within a minute of the flames taking hold, the wire ties around there wrists and ankles didn't let them get very far. All they could do was grunt gargled screams as there bodies were consumed by the blaze.
He had trusted them, and they had betrayed him. Him! Professor, Peter Willingham; he who had taken them on, when Dick Masters had been punished; when Carl Logan had vanished from the scene. He'd taken on his child. They had betrayed him, and he ensured that the country was not going to go down hill because of people like these. Not if he could help it.
He'd known there was something sick going on with them, his own wife and her son; it made him sick to the stomach to consider it; but the word was appropriate; incest, there could be no doubt. "They were to close for comfort way to close," he'd told himself this as he'd watched them burn. He'd only used enough gasoline to get the flames going on the hair and clothes, not completely burn the place down, but he remained cautious, after all he was going to have to spend the night.
In a couple of hours, he would dismember the bodies and build the log fire up with the remains. Anything left, he would dump into the ocean later the following day. The pieces would spread wide enough, to be almost impossible to put together. That was how he liked it. It had taken ten years for them to catch up with him the first time; this time who knew how long, if ever they would take. "Not even dental records would help on this one", he smiled to himself as he tossed the teeth he'd placed into a plastic sandwich bag, in and out of the palm of his hand. "Smashing time removing those" he thought aloud, "I will not make things so easy for you this time Logan, not this time." He concluded placing the bag into his pocket.
His disjointed thoughts returned to his now, deceased wife and her son; they were gone now and he was quite satisfied with himself. It was all done after all, in a nice and precise manner. Well precise enough, by the time he would be finished with everything.
He'd loved her once, he'd even taken to Richard, however what was done was a necessity, after all she had gotten rid of a child, his child; She had of course insisted that it was a miscarriage, her act had been almost perfect, tears, depression, oh she'd run the gamut of acting styles to try and convince him; he was way too observant for her though. He'd seen her during her time of supposed grief and isolation, laughing and joking with Richard, so many times; only to put on her, oh so tormented and torn up face, when he came in from work. Oh he knew all right. To many whispers behind closed doors, with her and that bratty son, that wasn't even his; convinced him of this. They would plot and scheme no more and he would sleep well on this night oh very well for the first time in a long time.
February 21st – 2004 Shawsburry Police Precinct 8:15am
"Hey Carl, you having coffee, or not?" shouted Christine Boswell, from across the office, by the precinct vending machine. "Oh yes thanks Chris, appreciate it."
From the Chiefs office adjacent, she could hear Chief Walker, singing the praises of his new golden boy to the District Attorney on the phone,
"Carl Logan." "Moved over from L.A, it seems. Yeah, for a quieter atmosphere, he has a record of arrests as long as my arm. Yeah we're damn lucky to have him, he's got his own pet project that he seems to want to pursue, yeah that's right as long as it doesn't interfere with his work here; no problem. So far nothing has. Okay sir will do. Thank you very much sir, 1:30 yes-sir I'll be there."
She couldn't listen to any more of Chief Walker sucking up to the D.A, why did they all do that? Stupid question really after all their jobs were on the line if they didn't. She sighed to herself and handed Carl his coffee "Here you go, cream with none, right? She enquired.
"Well this time anyway", he answered with a slight grin on his face.
He found her very appealing, her hair was blonde and worn in a bob style; she had blue eyes and a quirky appealing slightly crooked grin. To cap it all, she was very voluptuous and not to skinny, god he hated that. The thought of sleeping with very skinny women was to him, like making love to a bag of bones; most uncomfortable. He hadn't been with anyone since the loss of his wife and family, but now he was starting to get stronger. He didn't really understand it himself, but he was; now his eyes were firmly set on the voluptuous Christine.
"What's that you're working on there?" she enquired.
"Oh this, it's an old case of mine, Sickest, most evil man, I ever encountered. I was on his trail last year, then he vanished off the scene; you know, I completely lost him. Now I have this terrible feeling he's back. Somehow I feel it, he's going to surface again and he's going to continue what he calls HIS WORK. I can't prove it though, at least not yet, but I can smell it, he's here." He sipped his coffee in silent thought for a moment.
The silence was broken abruptly by Christine's interjecting
"What do you mean, HIS WORK Carl, what was his work?
End Part One