Kabot stared at him quizzically.
"I can't do it with one hand," Henry
explained, annoyed. "I need you to get it started."
Mr. Kabot obligingly unrolled a couple inches
of tape. Henry took the roll from him, stuck the end to Mr. Kabot's
ankle, and then tightly wrapped the tape around his feet. Once that
was done, Henry taped up his hands and mouth.
Henry lowered the gun. All three of them sat
on the couch, looking terrified, but not so terrified that he
thought they might panic and do something stupid.
"You're all doing fine," Henry informed them,
walking over to their entertainment center. He shut off the
television. "Why do you watch that crap? Are you worried about
becoming too smart or something? I'm going to borrow your stereo,
if that's okay."
He bent down next to the stereo and ejected
the CD holder. He removed the CD that was already in there and
grimaced. "Kenny Rogers? Are you kidding me?" He flung the CD,
Frisbee-style, against the far wall, and then began to flip through
the CDs stacked next to the stereo. "Garth Brooks, Kenny Loggins,
Faith Hill...you can't be serious." Life was too short to listen to
hicks moping about their lost love.
He took his own CD out of his pocket,
tenderly placed it in the machine, and pressed play. At the sound
of the wonderfully familiar piano melody he turned up the
volume.
"That's me," he told the family. "I'm playing
that. Not bad, huh?" None of them acted as if they understood what
he was talking about. "It's mood music. Kind of mellow now, but
it'll pick up."
An electric guitar joined the piano. "That's
me, too. I did everything on this song but mix the tracks. No,
that's not right, I didn't do the drums, that was a drum machine,
but everything else was me."
Henry could feel the music boosting his
spirits a bit. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and took
out the hatchet. Mrs. Kabot gasped, but Henry put a finger to his
lips. "You'll like the vocals," he said. "I'm singing out of my
usual range, but it works."
He fondled the hatchet as
his voice sounded over the stereo. " Ferocity...ferocity...must control my own
ferocity... " he sang in a slow, soothing
manner. Yeah, this was doing the trick. It always did. Once the
song kicked into high gear with the next verse, the bloodbath could
begin.
" The feelings inside me...think I'll have to hide me...before
I unleash my (unleash my) ferocity..."
The electric guitar suddenly grew louder and
faster.
Henry raised the hatchet.
" Ferocity! Ferocity! Gotta be somethin' wrong with
me! "
As Mrs. Kabot and her daughter screamed
through their duct tape, Henry rushed at the man of the house and
let the poor doomed bastard have it. He chopped in time with the
pounding drumbeat, singing along with himself.
" Insanity! Brutality! Gotta love ferocity! "
Chop! Chop! Chop!
" Cruelty! Mean ol' me! Gotta love ...damn it!" Henry stopped singing and spat out some blood
that got in his mouth. God, he hated the taste of that crap. He
wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand and then went back to
work.
"Ferocity! Ferocity!"
Chop! Chop! Chopchopchopchop...
Not much left of poor Mr. Kabot. "Ferocity"
was almost over, but the CD actually had the same song on all
twenty tracks. Someday, when he finally retired from this business,
he was going to record a demo CD with all new cuts, but for now
"Ferocity" was the only song in his oeuvre.
Which was okay. It was a kick-ass song.
"Thanks for not trying to run away," Henry
told Mrs. Kabot and Trisha, who looked completely (but
understandably) freaked. "A lot of the time, people will be rolling
around on the carpet like idiots, as if they're actually going to
get somewhere with their feet all taped up. It bugs the hell out of
me. Show some dignity, y'know what I mean?"
When the song picked up again, he slammed the
hatchet into Mrs. Kabot's face. By the time it was done, she was
just as unrecognizable as her husband.
Henry dropped the hatchet on the floor and
stretched. There was a time
"I can't do it with one hand," Henry
explained, annoyed. "I need you to get it started."
Mr. Kabot obligingly unrolled a couple inches
of tape. Henry took the roll from him, stuck the end to Mr. Kabot's
ankle, and then tightly wrapped the tape around his feet. Once that
was done, Henry taped up his hands and mouth.
Henry lowered the gun. All three of them sat
on the couch, looking terrified, but not so terrified that he
thought they might panic and do something stupid.
"You're all doing fine," Henry informed them,
walking over to their entertainment center. He shut off the
television. "Why do you watch that crap? Are you worried about
becoming too smart or something? I'm going to borrow your stereo,
if that's okay."
He bent down next to the stereo and ejected
the CD holder. He removed the CD that was already in there and
grimaced. "Kenny Rogers? Are you kidding me?" He flung the CD,
Frisbee-style, against the far wall, and then began to flip through
the CDs stacked next to the stereo. "Garth Brooks, Kenny Loggins,
Faith Hill...you can't be serious." Life was too short to listen to
hicks moping about their lost love.
He took his own CD out of his pocket,
tenderly placed it in the machine, and pressed play. At the sound
of the wonderfully familiar piano melody he turned up the
volume.
"That's me," he told the family. "I'm playing
that. Not bad, huh?" None of them acted as if they understood what
he was talking about. "It's mood music. Kind of mellow now, but
it'll pick up."
An electric guitar joined the piano. "That's
me, too. I did everything on this song but mix the tracks. No,
that's not right, I didn't do the drums, that was a drum machine,
but everything else was me."
Henry could feel the music boosting his
spirits a bit. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and took
out the hatchet. Mrs. Kabot gasped, but Henry put a finger to his
lips. "You'll like the vocals," he said. "I'm singing out of my
usual range, but it works."
He fondled the hatchet as
his voice sounded over the stereo. " Ferocity...ferocity...must control my own
ferocity... " he sang in a slow, soothing
manner. Yeah, this was doing the trick. It always did. Once the
song kicked into high gear with the next verse, the bloodbath could
begin.
" The feelings inside me...think I'll have to hide me...before
I unleash my (unleash my) ferocity..."
The electric guitar suddenly grew louder and
faster.
Henry raised the hatchet.
" Ferocity! Ferocity! Gotta be somethin' wrong with
me! "
As Mrs. Kabot and her daughter screamed
through their duct tape, Henry rushed at the man of the house and
let the poor doomed bastard have it. He chopped in time with the
pounding drumbeat, singing along with himself.
" Insanity! Brutality! Gotta love ferocity! "
Chop! Chop! Chop!
" Cruelty! Mean ol' me! Gotta love ...damn it!" Henry stopped singing and spat out some blood
that got in his mouth. God, he hated the taste of that crap. He
wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand and then went back to
work.
"Ferocity! Ferocity!"
Chop! Chop! Chopchopchopchop...
Not much left of poor Mr. Kabot. "Ferocity"
was almost over, but the CD actually had the same song on all
twenty tracks. Someday, when he finally retired from this business,
he was going to record a demo CD with all new cuts, but for now
"Ferocity" was the only song in his oeuvre.
Which was okay. It was a kick-ass song.
"Thanks for not trying to run away," Henry
told Mrs. Kabot and Trisha, who looked completely (but
understandably) freaked. "A lot of the time, people will be rolling
around on the carpet like idiots, as if they're actually going to
get somewhere with their feet all taped up. It bugs the hell out of
me. Show some dignity, y'know what I mean?"
When the song picked up again, he slammed the
hatchet into Mrs. Kabot's face. By the time it was done, she was
just as unrecognizable as her husband.
Henry dropped the hatchet on the floor and
stretched. There was a time
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