securely. He next placed another piece over the boy's mouth so that it stretched from ear to ear, though he was careful to leave him plenty of room to breathe through his nose.
He also took a moment to remove the kid's wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
When he was finished, he slammed the trunk, got back in the car, and drove away.
Twenty minutes later he was getting off the interstate a few blocks from his house. Careful to obey the speed limit and making certain to avoid running the yellow light he encountered at the bottom of the hill, Sam drove straight to his house, into the garage and then closed the door behind him.
Tony, if that was really his name, was still unconscious. Grabbing the boy beneath his arms, he dragged him across the garage, through the kitchen and over to the cellar door. He propped it open, hefted the unconscious youth's body over one shoulder, and descended.
Once he reached the bottom, he unceremoniously dumped the boy on the floor, then went back to the car for the rest of his supplies.
When he returned, the boy was just starting to stir. Sam was already worn out; the thought of having to fight with the awakening youth quickened his pace. He double checked the tape that held the boy immobile, peeled off the piece that covered his mouth, and then reached for the gallon jug of Drano he'd brought down from the kitchen on his way.
Forcing the mouth of the jug between the boy's teeth, Sam poured the contents down his throat. When it was empty, he tossed the jug aside, retaped his mouth closed, and sat back to wait, chanting the required litany all the while.
It didn't take long.
One moment the boy was lying there peacefully, the next he'd gone into violent convulsions. His eyes popped open and his body retched in self-preservation, trying to heave up the contents of his stomach, but the gag simply forced it back down again.
Tony flopped about like a fish out of water, a horrible gargling noise issuing from his convulsing body.
It went on like that for another fifteen minutes. Sam used the time to start digging the boy's grave, occasionally glancing over to be certain nothing new was happening. He'd managed to get another sizable chunk of wood flooring torn up and had begun digging into the dirt beneath when he realised that the sounds coming from the teenager had stopped.
One look was all it took to assure him that Tony was dead.
Two down, five to go, a strange little voice whispered in the back of his mind.
It took him several moments to recognise that voice as his own.
The events of the last forty-eight hours were changing him, he realised, in ways he wasn't even aware of. What he did know was that he no longer cared about his fellow man, about concepts such as right or wrong, justice or injustice. All he cared about was saving his daughter. After that, anything else was secondary.
While he could realise intellectually that what had happened to Tony was a tragedy, he couldn't bring himself to care much one way or the other. Tony's death would help save his daughter's life.
That made all the horror worth it.
And with that thought looming in the forefront of his mind, Sam got back to work.
This time, he laid down another piece of plastic sheeting and performed the butchery right there on the cellar floor. He opened up his new copy of Gray's and carefully inspected the diagrams inside, giving him a good idea of what he was facing. He used one of the surgical knives from the set he'd picked up to make an incision starting just beneath the sternum and extending down into the top of the pubic region. Then he made two perpendicular cuts on either side, one running along the lower rib and the other just beneath the beltline. When he was finished, he simply peeled the flesh and muscle back like a banana peel on either side, exposing the internal organs.
A quick reference to the book's open page, a few minutes of hunting around to be certain he had the right organ, a snip and a slash
He also took a moment to remove the kid's wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
When he was finished, he slammed the trunk, got back in the car, and drove away.
Twenty minutes later he was getting off the interstate a few blocks from his house. Careful to obey the speed limit and making certain to avoid running the yellow light he encountered at the bottom of the hill, Sam drove straight to his house, into the garage and then closed the door behind him.
Tony, if that was really his name, was still unconscious. Grabbing the boy beneath his arms, he dragged him across the garage, through the kitchen and over to the cellar door. He propped it open, hefted the unconscious youth's body over one shoulder, and descended.
Once he reached the bottom, he unceremoniously dumped the boy on the floor, then went back to the car for the rest of his supplies.
When he returned, the boy was just starting to stir. Sam was already worn out; the thought of having to fight with the awakening youth quickened his pace. He double checked the tape that held the boy immobile, peeled off the piece that covered his mouth, and then reached for the gallon jug of Drano he'd brought down from the kitchen on his way.
Forcing the mouth of the jug between the boy's teeth, Sam poured the contents down his throat. When it was empty, he tossed the jug aside, retaped his mouth closed, and sat back to wait, chanting the required litany all the while.
It didn't take long.
One moment the boy was lying there peacefully, the next he'd gone into violent convulsions. His eyes popped open and his body retched in self-preservation, trying to heave up the contents of his stomach, but the gag simply forced it back down again.
Tony flopped about like a fish out of water, a horrible gargling noise issuing from his convulsing body.
It went on like that for another fifteen minutes. Sam used the time to start digging the boy's grave, occasionally glancing over to be certain nothing new was happening. He'd managed to get another sizable chunk of wood flooring torn up and had begun digging into the dirt beneath when he realised that the sounds coming from the teenager had stopped.
One look was all it took to assure him that Tony was dead.
Two down, five to go, a strange little voice whispered in the back of his mind.
It took him several moments to recognise that voice as his own.
The events of the last forty-eight hours were changing him, he realised, in ways he wasn't even aware of. What he did know was that he no longer cared about his fellow man, about concepts such as right or wrong, justice or injustice. All he cared about was saving his daughter. After that, anything else was secondary.
While he could realise intellectually that what had happened to Tony was a tragedy, he couldn't bring himself to care much one way or the other. Tony's death would help save his daughter's life.
That made all the horror worth it.
And with that thought looming in the forefront of his mind, Sam got back to work.
This time, he laid down another piece of plastic sheeting and performed the butchery right there on the cellar floor. He opened up his new copy of Gray's and carefully inspected the diagrams inside, giving him a good idea of what he was facing. He used one of the surgical knives from the set he'd picked up to make an incision starting just beneath the sternum and extending down into the top of the pubic region. Then he made two perpendicular cuts on either side, one running along the lower rib and the other just beneath the beltline. When he was finished, he simply peeled the flesh and muscle back like a banana peel on either side, exposing the internal organs.
A quick reference to the book's open page, a few minutes of hunting around to be certain he had the right organ, a snip and a slash
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