Mother's Boys Read online

  “All right! She is alive!”

  The car shook, and grunts drifted in from outside. Squealing in protest, the driver’s door peeled open. Samantha looked to her side. The overhead light blinked on, the electrics somehow surviving the crash. Her rescuer leaned in, the light reflecting in his glasses. He smiled.

  “Glad to see me now?” he asked.

  Samantha’s head fell back. The throbbing pain in the front of her skull seemed to swell in an angry storm cloud with lightening flickering inside its darkness.

  The slender Samaritan had little trouble easing over her and unclipping the seatbelt. It sucked back into the wall of the car with a rattle. He tried to slide his arm around her back but failed to force his hand behind her limp body. She felt him trying to push her forwards, clumsily poking her in the kidney.

  Samantha groaned. “…hurting…”

  He looked down at her and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

  “Fuck me, Spence, what you doing to the poor girl? Feeling her up?”

  His lips pulled back to form a cold sneer. “I’m doing the best I can! She’s too heavy.”

  Paddling in the shallow waters of consciousness, Samantha let the comment go.

  “Let me do it,” said another voice. Her fumbling rescuer stepped back and out of sight. A second later, the car lurched to the side. “Not much room in here.”

  The fat guy from the bar leaned in, surveying her with beady green eyes. His breath smelled of beer when he whispered to her.

  “Be still, sweetie. This will all be over soon. I’m gonna get you out of here before it blows. You know, like in the movies and stuff.”

  Smiling, he coarsely grabbed her right wrist, her skin enfolded in his fleshy palm. Groaning with effort, he manoeuvred out of the car, carrying her like a rag doll.

  Her torso emerged from the wreckage and met the cold night air. The plump guy pulled her entirely free, and Samantha’s feet thumped the ground. After dragging her away from the car, he let go, and Samantha’s head struck the ground with a thud. The patch of road tilted like a funhouse floor. Her eyelids flickered.

  “Ouch!” said a male voice.

  “Yeah, that had to hurt!” said another.

  “Shut up, guys.” The hard voice quickly silenced the others. “A car could come by anytime.”

  Samantha, lying spread-eagled on the cold tarmac, tried to raise her head. She rested it back and swung her eyes open as footsteps approached.

  Johan looked down at her.

  “Say sorry, boys.”

  “What?” came another voice. Samantha presumed it was the guy with the long, blonde hair, the only one of the trio from the bar she hadn’t seen yet.

  “I said, ‘say sorry.’ I promised the girl an apology after you idiots knocked wine on her. So, say sorry.”

  The three grumbled almost apologies like sulky teenagers.

  “There. I told you I’d get an apology.” He crouched beside her and studied her face.

  “H-Help… me…” she said. Her vision blurred around the edges, framing his face.

  He reached down and stroked a finger across her forehead, sweeping aside the plastered hair. He pulled his bloodied finger away and held it up to his face.

  “You seem fine to me,” he said and stood.

  “Don’t… don’t leave me!” she pleaded, struggling to sit up.

  He laughed. The way it echoed in the tunnel made Samantha think of monsters living in caverns deep underground.

  “I’m not going to leave you,” he said, his laughter subsiding. “I thought we were a twosome?” He shook his head with a smile, looking amused. “We are gentlemen and wouldn’t dream of abandoning a damsel in distress.”

  He faced his comrades.

  “Guys, get her in the car.”

  2.

  Johan winced as he urinated, holding his penis with his thumb and forefinger. The skin burned. A welcomed pain. An earned pain.

  He yawned and shook out the last few amber drops. After flushing the toilet, he walked to the sink to wash his hands. Looking into the mirror while he vigorously rubbed the soap, Johan examined the bags under his eyes and the sparse spread of frosty stubble on cheeks and chin. Pure white on his pale face, it was only noticeable close up. He decided not to bother shaving.

  He scratched soap into his skin and around his fingernails. He held his hands for inspection and frowned. Rinsing them under the steaming-hot water, he soaped them up a second time.

  Yawning again, Johan rinsed his hands and wiped them dry on a towel. They passed inspection. He scanned the bathroom before he left to be sure none of the guys had made a mess. Happy that the loo remained clean, he opened the door and stepped out.

  The bathroom led directly into the living room, where the boys had spent the night. Spence and Kev still played on the Playstation, both sitting on the worn-out sofa, their gaze glued to the flickering images on the TV screen. Kev took up most of the space, leaving Spence to lean over the arm.

  “Glad to see none of you women had the nerve to steal my seat,” said Johan, stepping over Richie and the girl to get to his armchair. He dumped himself in the seat, sighing with comfort. “Whose turn is it next?”

  “Winner stays on,” said Spence. He sniffed and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

  “Not the game,” said Johan. He nodded towards Richie, whose blonde hair swayed on his shoulder as he thrust in and out. “That.”

  “Jeez,” said Spence. He paused the game and scratched his head. “I was on before Rich and you had a bash before me. Must be you, Kev.”

  Kev snorted. “Pass. I’m shattered. Besides, I think I’m running on empty.” He glared at Spence, who had restarted the game without warning. “Sneaky bastard.”

  Johan rubbed his chin and glanced over at Richie and the girl. She’d regained consciousness in the early hours of the morning, so they’d had to gag her. She stared up at the ceiling while Richie pounded away. The wet smacking drowned out the noise of the TV. Her face appeared wrinkled, an illusion created by the dried semen splashed on it. Johan considered picking it off later, like he loved picking dried glue off his fingers.

  Obviously, he’d have to wash his hands immediately after.

  Richie cried out and arched his back. His convulsions quickened, and his body trembled in orgasm. Panting, he slowly leaned down and kissed the girl between her small, pert breasts.

  “All done?” Johan asked.

  “Oh yes,” said Richie, climbing off her.

  Johan peeked between her legs and smiled, watching the white trickle emerge from her folds and drip on the floor. She looked red raw. Still feeling the acidic burning of his own sensitive area, he felt sorry for the girl…for a second.

  “She love it?” he asked Richie.

  “I think so. You enjoy that, love?”

  The girl stared upwards, motionless.

  “Hey! I asked you a question.” He prodded her in the thigh with his big toe without a reaction. “Think she’s gone, Johan.”

  “Shit,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought she’d be a fighter.”

  From his experience, Johan knew only half their women turned out to be fighters. The other half, the girl lying on his carpet like a corpse for instance, kind of…turned off. They just came to terms with it and took their reward. They all loved it, whether they kicked and screamed and shouted, or lay rigid, like they were carved out of marble. Either way, they got what they deserved.

  Richie pulled on a pair of jeans and disappeared into the kitchen. The girl stayed put, lying still. Johan wondered if she’d severely injured herself in the crash. Her eyes seemed too glazed over, like she was on drugs or in a coma. He turned back to the television.

  “Richie’s done, Kev can’t be bothered and I’m feeling a little tender, if you know what I mean,” he said, scratching his groin. “Spence?”

  “No thanks. I don’t like it when they go cold.”

  The living room had grown steadily untidy throughout the night. Em
pty beer cans stood stacked against the sofa and armchair. An open pizza box, containing a few nibbled crusts, lay on the floor. The room smelled of sweat, semen and cigarette smoke. Johan considered putting the woman to good use cleaning the flat.

  “Then that’s it. Fun time over. Hey! Girl!”

  She lay gazing at the ceiling.

  “Hey!” Johan called again. “Lazy bitch. I’m talking to you.”

  Her eyelids flickered.

  “You can go now,” he called over the din of the TV. “Go on. Off you go.”

  The girl shook and slowly turned her head to look at him. She bit against her gag.

  Johan swept a hand through his white spikes and turned back to the TV. “I won’t give you a second chance,” he muttered.

  Kev laughed and elbowed Spence, who shot him an angry side-glance.

  The girl rolled over and tried to push herself up off the carpet. Her arms tottered, but had enough strength to lift her up like she was performing a press up. Her legs buckled, and she landed on her knees, sitting up.

  Johan found it strange to see her move after all this time.

  She tentatively climbed to her feet and stood with her arms wrapped around her body.

  “If you’re waiting for your clothes,” said Johan, “you’ll be waiting a very long time, and I might change my mind about letting you go. In fact…” He turned and looked her up and down. “I think I feel an urge coming on…”

  The girl bolted down the short hall that led away from the living room. The three guys turned to watch. Her bare feet pounded across the carpet, her hair streaming out behind her.

  As she approached the kitchen door with arms out and cries escaping from beneath the cloth gag, Richie stepped into the hall, carrying a steaming mug. Trying not to spill his drink, he stared at it, concentrating.

  Johan smiled and sat up.

  The girl, too fast and too panicked to stop, ran straight into Richie. She knocked the mug back against him and carried on past. Hot, brown liquid splashed onto his bare chest and belly.

  “Yeow!” he cried, wiping the coffee off his skin with his free hand. “Fucking hell!”

  Johan, Kev and Spence burst into laughter.

  “Bastards!” Richie shouted back at them. “You let that happen on purpose!”

  He turned his back on them and surveyed the girl, who had reached the front door and pulled at the locks.

  “Clumsy bitch!” Richie shouted and flung the mug at her. It bounced off her head with a thunk! More coffee splashed out on the wall, her shoulders and her back. The girl trembled in the corner. Richie vanished back inside the kitchen.

  Johan wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “That was great. Talk about timing!”

  Kev sniggered, his stomach and cheeks wobbling. “Rich won’t be pleased with you,” he said through his laughter.

  “Don’t care,” Johan replied. “He’s a big girl anyway. Oi! Goldilocks!”

  Richie reappeared, dabbing a tea towel against his chest and clutching a butcher knife. “What?”

  “You all right?”

  Richie peered down at the red patch of skin deepening over his chest and lean stomach. It looked like the shape of Spain. He looked back up and met Johan’s concrete eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s nothing. And this…” he dropped the tea towel and brandished the knife, “will make me feel a lot better.”

  Johan raised an eyebrow. “A knife? Of all the things in the kitchen, you choose a knife?” He shook his head. “Disappointing.”

  The girl continued to cower in the corner. Her fingers fumbled with the lock.

  Richie swept the knife through the air. “Does the job.”

  Johan sighed and stood.

  “Look, you’re going to fuck up my carpet. Again. You know how much these bitches bleed. Get her in the bath.” He kicked Kev’s foot. “You can help. Spence too. I’ll be in the kitchen, looking for something special.”

  “All right!” said Spence and leapt up.

  Johan walked through the lounge, shooting the girl a wink as he passed, and entered the kitchen. Glancing around and searching through drawers and cupboards, his gaze fell upon a shiny object hanging on a hook. He rubbed the stubble on his cheeks, considering the possibilities.

  “Perfect,” he whispered and grabbed the handle.

  Johan walked through the flat and back into the bathroom, impressed the boys had forced the screaming girl inside without breaking anything. Spence and Kev held her down in the bath by the shoulders. Richie stood over her, still pointing the knife.

  “Look what I found…” said Johan and held up the object. Light glinted off its sides, emphasising the holes and razor sharp edges.

  “A…cheese grater?” said Richie. He grinned. “A fucking cheese grater! Sweet! It reminds me of that night years ago when S—”

  “Shut up,” Johan snapped. “I don’t want to talk about that. Ever. We have work to do.”

  He approached the bath, and the boys parted to allow him space. Leaning over the whimpering girl, he whispered.

  “You women. Always so obsessed with looks, aren’t you? Well, I think we need to make an example, don’t you?”

  He lowered the grater and pressed the side against her cheek.

  She bucked and tried to turn. Kev grabbed a fistful of hair and held her tight.

  “Thanks, Kev,” said Johan, and dragged the grater down.

  The girl shrieked.

  Shreds of twisted skin tumbled from the bottom of the utensil, and blood poured across the metal. Johan, wincing from the high-pitched wailing, pumped the grater a few more times. He enjoyed the rough feel as it bit through the girl’s face. He pulled it away. It looked like an animal had clawed her cheek off.

  “Not so pretty now,” Johan said.

  The boys laughed, and Spence reached into the bath, grasping her face and delving his fingernails into the exposed flesh.

  “Should have turned the other cheek when we came along, babe.”

  The girl’s eyelids fluttered.

  Johan lowered the grater past her stomach, eager to finish his lesson before she passed out. Richie held her knees apart, and Johan held the metal teeth inches from her slit.

  “This got you in a lot of trouble tonight, girl. Hasn’t this been the source of all your troubles? Better to teach it some respect.”

  He scraped the grater across her labia, instantly drawing blood and peeling back pink skin like strips of raw bacon.

  The girl released a final screech and fell silent, limp in Kev and Spence’s hold.

  “Shame,” said Johan, shredding away more of her sex. Bicep aching, he pulled back and examined his handiwork.

  Her vagina was a ruin of blood and mangled flesh. A dollop of semen, probably Richie’s, oozed out, pink and foamy.

  Johan dropped the grater between her legs with a clatter on the bath enamel. “Finish her off, mate.”

  Richie seemed to swell with pride and licking his lips, he lowered the knife to the girl’s destroyed genitalia.

  Johan watched the blade thrust in. Satisfied, he headed for the sink to scrub his hands.

  “Make sure you guys dump the body somewhere further this time,” he said, turning on the taps. “This part of the city is full of squalid buildings and riddled with hiding places. But please, put some fucking effort in.”

  He picked up the soap and proceeded to scrub.

  3.

  Willing the sun to stay suspended in the sky a few hours longer, Natalie slid down from her seat in the window and entered her small kitchen, depositing her empty mug in the sink. She’d spent an enjoyable day at home, starting with a lazy morning in bed with Simon, which had quickly become a very non-lazy morning when he’d woken up. Their one year anniversary celebration had started very early. After he’d gone to work, Nat had watched a little TV, vacuumed, washed last night’s dishes and read the first hundred or so pages of her new novel.

  She walked back into the living room and sighed.

  The b
ook rested on the arm of the sofa, face down with its pages fanned out to keep her place. It looked so inviting, and she felt tempted to read a quick chapter. Through the window, the beginnings of twilight crept up behind the high buildings. She stared at her reflection. Piercings in her ears, nose, eyebrow and lip winked like stars in the dying light.

  Wonder what mother would make of all this, she thought, grinning at the dark punk in the glass. Her mother had always shown such disdain for alternative types, labelling them all as filthy hippies, stinking goths or spotty punks. Funny, as she’d usually been the one that reeked of sweat and alcohol.

  “Damn it,” Nat muttered, heading into her bedroom. She hated the impending doom of six’ o’clock. Her shift at Ginelli’s started then, and she’d hate every minute until she knocked off at eleven.

  The bed sheets were still tangled and unmade after the eventful morning spent between them. She decided to leave it. If she didn’t have time to read, she didn’t have time to make the bed.

  She opened her wardrobe and took down the uniform, a white blouse and black skirt, from a hanger. She swapped this with her My Chemical Romance t-shirt and tasselled dungarees, and after a few finishing touches to her heavy makeup in the bathroom mirror, put on her coat and grabbed her bag. After checking that her apartment door was securely locked, Nat walked down her corridor to the elevator.

  She rarely saw any of her neighbours in the cramped hallway that ran the length of the building. It wasn’t a bad area to live in, but it seemed the other residents knew something she didn’t. They stayed behind locked doors.

  Only when coming home at night did she wish for some company, or at least a sound from inside the other apartments, just to ease the feeling of emptiness.

  A sign on the elevator revealed that it was broken again. Nat groaned and turned towards the stairway door. Grateful she only lived on the fourth floor, she hurried down the steps, her high heels striking the tiles and echoing up the stair well.

  God, I wish Simon were here, she thought. These stairs always creep me out. Probably all those horror films where someone is always chased up a stairway like this, round and round and round.