Read and deride, my fellow bookzekees.
Distractions
“You know, I'm not even that bothered anymore,” Candice says, staring across at her best friend, Helen, sat in the front passenger seat of the Ford Mustang. “Guys come and go, and let's face it, he wasn't the greatest guy in the world, anyway. It was always more of a crush, than a fascination.”
“He was pretty damn hot though, you have to at least give him that,” grins Helen.
“No, I'd say more lukewarm than hot. I mean, okay, his face was nice and all, but you never saw him naked. No muscle tone, nothing you really want to get your hands on, you know?”
“Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? You've cut him loose, and now it's onto the next guy.”
“So where do you want to go?”
“Let's check the map, shall we?” Helen reaches over into the back seat, retrieving the large pull-out road map of Europe. “Where are we now?”
“We've been here four days, and you don't know where we are?”
“No, but then it's all such a blur, we could be anywhere.”
“True. We are currently leaving Trieste.”
“That's Italy, right?”
“Christ, Helen, yes it's Italy. Didn't you notice the language?”
“Hey, it's all Greek to me.” Helen laughs, as she smoothes down the creases in the map. “How about Slovenia? It's not that far.”
“What the hell is in Slovenia?” Candice asks, pushing the growling car into another gear.
“Not much, really, but we could go to Lub...uh, jana?” Helen says, struggling over the pronunciation of the Slovenian capital of Ljubljana.
“Okay, you direct, I'll follow.”
The two twenty-two year old girls head North-East towards the Italian border. The powerful car glides along the Italian highways, eating up the miles with ease. A hot sun is just setting as they drive on the E70 towards Ljubljana, passing through the huge lorry park that makes up Fernetti, on the Italian – Slovenian border.
The road trip they are on, is all part of a year-long celebration to mark the successful completion of university. The money necessary to make this trip happen is, of course, supplied by wealthy parents. After just scraping passes, Helen and Candice don't actually care about the future. What concerns them is the right now, the immediate fun they are in search of. It really doesn't matter, at some point they'll just find some rich husband to take care of them. It's the way it still works in the apparently classless modern England. Even if husbands aren't forthcoming, and the two girls have no desire to settle down for a long time, Mummy and Daddy have enough money to see they never want for anything in their entire lives.
Before the evening gets too late, they manage to make Ljubljana. The sixty miles, or so, from town to town is quickly and hungrily eaten up by the four litre engine of the new Mustang, a present given to Candice for her twenty-second birthday. Her father plays soccer for Manchester, and has more money than he can ever spend.
“This car is great.” Helen observes as they enter the outskirts of Slovenia's capital city. “Wish my Dad would get me something like this.”
“Well, if he played for someone better than Sunderland, he just might.” Candice responds in a familiar taunt. The other girl decides to let it go, she really cares nothing for football.
“Where shall we stay?” Helen asks, moving the conversation on.
“Do they have a Hilton?”
“I don't know. Looking at the place, I'd say no.”
“Perhaps we should have researched this a little?”
“No, it's okay, we'll just ask someone where the best hotel is.” Helen decides, making her friend pull over when they see a group of people on the street.
“Shit, that guy is hot!” Candice observes, as the group of people walk towards the red car.
“No, he's not, are you blind?”
They have a little difficulty understanding the Slovenian accent, but at least they all seem to have some understanding of the English language. After a short exchange of words, they are directed to the Hotel Lev, on a street whose name they don't understand. They fire up the engine on the car, and locate the hotel fairly easily, the directions being explicit and direct.
The hotel is plush, easily five stars, and they are pleased with themselves as they enter the twin room. There is no need for them to share, they could easily afford a room each, but after three years of sharing at university, it just feels right to continue the tradition.
“I call the bed nearest the window.” Candice shouts, sprinting across the large room.
“You always get the bed nearest the window, bitch.” Helen says good-naturedly.
“You should be quicker.”
The porter brings the bags up to the room, they choose not to tip him, deeming him unworthy, he's simply not attractive enough. Then it's to the task of preparing themselves for a night out in their new-found town. It takes them several hours before they consider themselves ready, heading out of the hotel at just before ten.
“What language do they speak here?” Candice considers as they stroll through the town.
“Uh, Slovenian?” Helen chirps, laughing at her friend's stupid question.
After several bars, they eventually manage to find themselves in Orta Bar, sitting on stools. They are both quite drunk now, and are more confident than normal. It takes them little time to attract the attention of a group of local boys.
“Hello,” one of the boys says, in a heavily accented voice.
“Oh, hi.” Helen beams back at him. She can already tell this boy is attracted to her, can already sense she could take him anywhere she chose. Guys just don't consider girls scary, beyond the initial nerves of actually approaching and talking to them.
“I'm Boris, what is your name?” Boris asks, trying to appear casual.
“My name is Helen, Boris. It's nice to meet you. Do you want to buy me a drink?” Helen smiles directly at him, instantly making him become a little flustered.
“Yes, of course.” Boris is only too willing to part with his cash, hoping that an intoxicating beverage will lead directly to sex, but Helen has her own plans for him.
Candice is taking a back seat tonight, letting her best friend steal the spotlight, it's been the other way round plenty of times before. She plays the shy girl tonight, the one who would be hard work to coax into bed. Most guys tend to give up, after a few halting attempts, the effort is too much, and they would prefer to just get annihilated with their friends.
Helen is revelling in the attention, taking the focus of several boys at once. She is constantly peppered with offers of drinks which, of course, she's not going to turn down. She's already picked her partner for tonight though. Boris was the first to make a move, so she'll choose him, just for his audacity. She gradually makes it known to the others who demand her attention, that she's not interested. No words are necessary, no direct rebuffs, she's an expert at body language, and can use this to signal her intent on Boris.
The night wears on, and soon it's time. Helen nods at Candice, who understands the signal, moving away from the bar, as if heading to the toilet. Instead, she ducks outside and hails a taxi. A cab pulls up and she issues the instruction to return to the hotel.
Back inside, Helen leans in and whispers into Boris's ear, inviting him back to her room. Boris is only too eager to agree, there's no need to fear for his safety at a girl inviting him back, for what undoubtedly means sex.
They step outside together and Boris shouts down a taxi in his native tongue. Together, they step into the taxi, and almost immediately, Helen is kissing him, stroking his chest, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
Boris is desperate for her as they enter the hotel lobby, and Helen smiles over at Candice, sipping a beer in the hotel bar. When they enter the elevator, taking them up to the third floor, Helen pushes herself into Boris, feeling his arousal against her. She smiles as she kisses him, thinking of what she will do to him. She's not that excited yet, he's still dressed, after all.
The elevator doors open, and she leads him by the hand down the corridor.
“Wow!” Boris exclaims when they enter the bedroom. The ostentatious room is nothing but impressive, and Helen considers that he has never seen such opulence. He stares at her as she reclines on her bed, inviting him over with a finger, tracing her tongue over her lips. The boy, barely old enough to drink, excitedly walks towards her. As she lays back on the bed, he climbs on top of her, leaning down to kiss her, not noticing her hand reaching towards the bedside cabinet.
Helen trails her other hand down his back, gripping his buttock, pulling him down onto her. She can feel his arousal pushing against her, desperate for release. Boris responds by moving his hands onto her breasts. She can feel his hot breath as his breathing increases, the blood pushed through his veins by a rapidly beating heart. The adrenaline is coursing through him now, the timing is right.
Helen tenses the muscles in her free arm, the one not gripping the boy's buttocks, and thrusts the needle into his bicep, sliding straight through the thin fabric of his shirt, depressing the plunger on the syringe as she feels the needle penetrate flesh.
As is usual, Boris's eyes flash open for a second, but he's too lost in the moment to register what is happening. All he can tell is that something has just hit his arm, probably thinking it accidental, probably thinking he's turning the girl on so much, she's not in control of herself. Within seconds, his eyes are fluttering, but he continues to kiss her, probably wondering why his erection is beginning to go down. It doesn't take long before he collapses onto Helen, all control and thoughts fading, fading, gone. She sighs as his weight slumps down on her, thinking that the worst part of this is the tenderising she receives as they fall down.
With her usual, impossibly perfect timing, Candice opens the hotel room door. She strides over to the bed, and smiles down at Helen, still trapped beneath Boris's unconscious body.
“Another one down,” she grins, helping her friend shift the Slovenian and laying him on his back. “Shall I cuff, or do you want the pleasure?”
“You take his arms, I'll do the ankles.” Helen replies, still catching her breath.
“He's a nice one, I have to admit,” Candice stares down at Boris's peaceful face.
They cuff Boris's prostrate body to the bed, making sure there's no way he can break free. Next, they use scissors to cut off his clothes, being careful not to slice, or nip the skin. Before long, Boris is naked, secure and will soon be awake again. He will have a pounding headache, but a little water and some aspirin should help with that.
The two girls sit on the unoccupied bed and share a drink, searching through their luggage and extracting the tools they require.
“Where did you get that knife? It's beautiful,” Helen admires as Candice twirls a jewel-encrusted handled knife, expertly throwing it in the air and catching it.
“In Trieste, whilst you were still sleeping. I though you'd like it. I was going to give it to you as a present, but I changed my mind.”
“Oh well, watching it will be gift enough. Is this guy going to wake up?”
Slowly, Boris opens his eyes. The room is blurry and his head pounds. He can only think that he drank too much last night, that someone may have laced his drink, before realising he can't move. The first thought is that he has suffered a stroke, or been paralysed in some terrible accident. He tries to call out, the first instinct to call for his mother, but then he notices his mouth is restricted. Some material is biting at the corners of his mouth, causing an uncomfortable pain. As his vision begins to clear, he remembers the room, then he remembers the girl, then the fear grips him. He's cold, and knows he must be naked, although the feeling is still to fully return to his body.
“Hey,” Helen says, coming to stand over him, leaning her face down towards him. “You awake? There's a good boy.”
Boris tries asking what's happening, but all that emits from his mouth is a vague muffled noise. Helen smiles down at him and begins to undress in his vision, making him think is all some sort of game. He can feel himself hardening as she removes her bra and knickers, straddling him, staring into his eyes as she sits on his stomach. He can feel her heat on him, can feel her moving slowly towards his groin. He considers that this isn't so bad, after all. It's a little bit kinkier than he would like, but still, it's not so bad.
He realises he can actually move his head, the drug has worn off completely now, and he turns to try and see the time, hoping there's a bedside clock. Instead of seeing a clock, he sees Candice grinning over at him. She is fully dressed, but looks intensely aroused, the flush on her cheeks betrays that much. The fear is back, there's something about the look on her face that portrays a hunger that goes beyond sex. His head snaps back to Helen, above him, rubbing herself against his skin, beginning to enjoy herself. He convinces himself that this is still a game, that he's going to walk out of her confused, but satisfied.
He lets out a gasp as she impales herself on him, but then there's something he doesn't expect. Some other sort of heat on him, this one not at all pleasant.
Helen grins as she watches the knife slice through the flesh of Boris's stomach, easily cutting through layers of skin, slicing fat, and muscle. He bucks convulsively, his hips rising and falling in a fast rhythm, pushing against Helen's groin. She rubs herself against him faster, pushing herself towards a climax.
Boris's eyes flash around in their sockets, his screams held and muffled by the gag. His stomach is torn, but not enough to bring death just yet. The heat and stench from him fills Helen's nostrils, as she orgasms against him.
The pain fills Boris's mind, eliminating the possibility of all other thoughts. Tears are welling in his eyes, streaming down his face. He can feel his consciousness again begin to falter, welcoming the calming blackness, praying that it will remove him from the situation.
Knowing what's happening, Candice rises from the other bed, walking casually over. She holds another liquid filled syringe, plunging it into Boris's neck, pumping in a stimulant, forcing him back to hellish wakefullness.
“It's not sleep time yet,” she grins down at him, almost lovingly stroking his cheek. She brushes her hand over his lips, a caring look in her eyes, before he catches the glint of steel in her hand.
“You are gorgeous,” Candice says as she brings the knife to his right cheek, letting the blade slice a careful line down his face. “I'm going to make you even more so.”
The only words that are in Boris's mind are; please don't, in both English, and Slovenian, but all he can do is cry as he feels his cheeks being cut apart. The gaping wound in his stomach is somehow distant now, his mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time.
Helen giggles as she dismounts him, coming to stand alongside her friend, as she disfigures Boris's face.
“What is it with you and cheeks?” she asks.
“There the best part, don't you think?”
“That knife is beautiful.”
Boris bucks on the bed, trying to break free, the pain is intense, and he needs to be able to move, to cover up. He struggles so hard that he dislocates a shoulder, and breaks an ankle. The sound of the self inflicted pain delights the girls. They could stand here all night watching him struggle, but the desire to touch him is too much to resist.
Candice lifts a small hammer from her bed, and twirls it in her hand, dancing back over to watch Boris's restricted struggles. He doesn't even seem to register her, bending down to within inches of his disfigured face. The bed beneath him is beginning to become soaked with his own blood, and he has long since defecated, excrement mixing with urine as he lost control of his bladder simultaneously.
Candice presses the small hammer into the exposed flesh of his cheeks, coating the tool with sticky blood, before raising it and slamming into down into the cheek bone, causing it to shatter. The bone caves in so badly, the bottom of the eye socket is fully exposed, bloodshot and darting about in panic.
“God, I love this!” Helen blurts joyously, as she pushes a hand inside the stricken boy's stomach, clutching his organs and squeezing.
Boris's consciousness is beginning to falter again, another shot of the stimulant will not work this time, his brain is trying to shut down, the blood loss is becoming too much. The two girls are too experienced at what they do to miss the signs, they know they haven't got long left, before the boy's life slips away.
The final act is one of severance, is the destruction of the boy's ability to breathe. Boris's head is madly flailing from side to side, his brain rocking inside his skull. Candice grips either side of his jaw, making the head become still in her surprisingly strong hands. She hooks her palms under his chin, and forces his head back, exposing the neck, the delivery system of oxygen and blood to his brain. As she pushes up, causing the Adam's apple to protrude, Helen straddles his chest, bringing a butcher's knife to rest aside his throat. She leans forward, her weight behind the blade, before sweeping it across, the cut running deep, almost cutting down to the spinal cord. The rip is so severe that the convulsing of the boys body, as he sucks in blood drenched air, almost causes the cord to break.
The girls scream in delight as they watch Boris choke to death, blood spurting from his severed carotid artery, the windpipe clearly visible as it draws in blood, gurgling and spurting, filling the voids of his lungs. The movement of the dying boy is almost like a dance, some practised routine. They smother themselves in the last of his cooling blood, leaning into other each and kissing.
As Boris shuts down, he can distantly hear them giggling, telling each other of their love for the other. The end for him is a relief, he has been praying that it would be over for so long, it seems.
As the girls look down at the now still body, they take photos on their mobile phones, saving them amongst the pictures of countless other young men. They aim to kill at least one of each Nationality, at least in the countries they consider civilized. The trip has so far taken them to nine European countries, but it didn't start with the holiday. They have been killing for pleasure with each other, soon after they became friends.
“Do you think we'll ever get enough?” Candice asks, as they carry the body into the bathroom.
“No way. I can't think of anything more beautiful,” Helen shakes her head, turning on the shower, setting the dial to hot. They wash the blood off the boys body, careful that his intestines don't spill out of the carcass, they don't want to make too much mess. They turn him flat on his stomach on the wide shower tray, letting the blood drain from the body, keeping the shower running over him, as they return to the bedroom in order to clean the luxuriously soft bed.
“He was gorgeous, though,” Candice remarks as they remove sheets, rolling them into each other, catching as much of Boris's bodily fluids and excretions as possible. They return to the bathroom, putting a plug into the bath, and running scalding hot water into it. When the tub is full of steaming water, they throw the sheets in, letting them soak overnight. The blood will be drawn out by the water, it's still fairly fresh and will soon dissolve into the water. The mess that came out of the boy's arse is almost liquid, as it normally is, and this will break up and float amongst the sheets.
As usual, they have booked three nights at the hotel. They will keep a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door at all times, making sure that room service doesn't enter. If some overly attentive maid came in and witnessed the scene, it would be all over for them. The scandal would ruin everything, landing them with an indeterminable jail sentence, but also shaming their families into withdrawal from the public eye. Discovery is not an option.
The boy's friends will be concerned for him when he doesn't show up the next day, but the problem is easy to overcome. Boris's mobile phone is in his clothes, they will simply send a text message to his friends, explaining that he's going to spend some time with the girl. The difficulty in this is the language, but turning on the laptop, surfing to a translation website, to which they have a subscription, entering the words in English, and the language to convert to, will solve the problem.
Helen knows the names of some of the friends he was with, she will just send the message to one, or two of them. They will discuss it with each other, and by the time they start to worry, because they haven't heard from him again, the two girls will be out of the country, onto the next young man.
The mattress is still clean, they made sure to cover it with a thin sheet of plastic before hand. They made sure to tie the boy on top of the sheets, and the duvet, knowing that they would soak up the fluids.
In the morning, they will remove the sheets and duvet from the tub, inspecting them, and using detergent to remove any lingering, or obvious stains. The bed clothes will be hung over the bath, drip-drying, before they remake the bed with them. The boy will require a little more attention.
Helen and Candice close the bathroom door, leaving Boris alone in the dark, before they get into bed together. They giggle as they recount the evening, talking over the best parts, before eventually falling asleep.
The last of the blood drains from Boris's body, vanishing down the drain, being rinsed by a slow stream of slowly cooling water. The muscle have tautened, the brain liquefying, the process of slow decay already beginning. The body appears almost translucent, the head limply hanging from the few strands of skin, tissue, and the fractured and twisted spinal cord.
Helen opens an eye, staring into the darkness of the night, imagining the boy raising to his feet, opening the bathroom door and standing over her, tears dripping onto her face. She turns to Candice, sleeping soundly, and drapes an arm over her, taking confort in the warmth of her friend. A tear escapes her as she closes her eyes, and tries to catch some sleep.
Dead boys don't walk around in the dark.
There isn't a lot I can say
There isn't a lot I can say about this, other than to just go through it and point out the bits that seem awkward, so that's what I'm going to do.
“You know, I'm not even that bothered anymore,” Candice says, staring across at her best friend, Helen, sat in the front passenger seat of the Ford Mustang. “Guys come and go, and let's face it, he wasn't the greatest guy in the world, anyway. It was always more of a crush, than a fascination.” This doesn’t fit in with the rest of the story, if they go through guys like they appear to do later on, then why would they be upset about a guy going, or even speak of it at all?
“He was pretty damn hot though, you have to at least give him that,” grins Helen.
“No, I'd say more lukewarm than hot. I mean, okay, his face was nice and all, but you never saw him naked. No muscle tone, nothing you really want to get your hands on, you know?”
“Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? You've cut him loose, and now it's onto the next guy.”
“So where do you want to go?”
“Let's check the map, shall we?” Helen reaches over into the back seat, retrieving the large pull-out road map of Europe. “Where are we now?”
“We've been here four days, and you don't know where we are?”
“No, but then it's all such a blur, we could be anywhere.”
“True. We are currently leaving Trieste.”
“That's Italy, right?” This belies their intelligence later, because at first they seem like a couple of bimbos, but their intelligence is magnified towards the end. I am not sure if this is a good or bad thing, as it does throw the reader off the idea that they are capable of being the villains, but you could note that they are smart in some ways.
“Christ, Helen, yes it's Italy. Didn't you notice the language?”
“Hey, it's all Greek to me.” Helen laughs, as she smoothes down the creases in the map. “How about Slovenia? It's not that far.”
“What the hell is in Slovenia?” Candice asks, pushing the growling car into another gear.
“Not much, really, but we could go to Lub...uh, jana?” Helen says, struggling over the pronunciation of the Slovenian capital of Ljubljana.
“Okay, you direct, I'll follow.”
The two twenty-two year old girls head North-East towards the Italian border. The powerful car glides along the Italian highways, eating up the miles with ease. A hot sun is just setting as they drive on the E70 towards Ljubljana, passing through the huge lorry park that makes up Fernetti, on the Italian – Slovenian border.
The road trip they are on, is all part of a year-long celebration to mark the successful completion of university. The money necessary to make this trip happen is, of course, supplied by wealthy parents. After just scraping passes, Helen and Candice don't actually care about the future. What concerns them is the right now, the immediate fun they are in search of. It really doesn't matter, at some point they'll just find some rich husband to take care of them. It's the way it still works in the apparently classless modern England. Even if husbands aren't forthcoming, and the two girls have no desire to settle down for a long time, Mummy and Daddy have enough money to see they never want for anything in their entire lives. Good, realistic interpretation of what a person feels after completing exams, I suppose you were once getting annihilated after exams yourself…; )
Before the evening gets too late, they manage to make Ljubljana. The sixty miles, or so, from town to town is quickly and hungrily eaten up by the four litre engine of the new Mustang, a present given to Candice for her twenty-second birthday. Her father plays soccer for Manchester, and has more money than he can ever spend. I don’t really like the way you associate the pair with possibly famous people, it removes some of the believability of the piece.
“This car is great.” Helen observes as they enter the outskirts of Slovenia's capital city. “Wish my Dad would get me something like this.”
“Well, if he played for someone better than Sunderland, he just might.” Candice responds in a familiar taunt. The other girl decides to let it go, she really cares nothing for football.
“Where shall we stay?” Helen asks, moving the conversation on.
“Do they have a Hilton?”
“I don't know. Looking at the place, I'd say no.”
“Perhaps we should have researched this a little?”
“No, it's okay, we'll just ask someone where the best hotel is.” Helen decides, making her friend pull over when they see a group of people on the street.
“Shit, that guy is hot!” Candice observes, as the group of people walk towards the red car.
“No, he's not, are you blind?”
They have a little difficulty understanding the Slovenian accent, but at least they all seem to have some understanding of the English language. After a short exchange of words, they are directed to the Hotel Lev, on a street whose name they don't understand. They fire up the engine on the car, and locate the hotel fairly easily, the directions being explicit and direct.
The hotel is plush, easily five stars, (five star) and they are pleased with themselves as they enter the twin room. There is no need for them to share, they could easily afford a room each, but after three years of sharing at university, it just feels right to continue the tradition.
“I call the bed nearest the window.” Candice shouts, sprinting across the large room.
“You always get the bed nearest the window, bitch.” Helen says good-naturedly.
“You should be quicker.” This scene is excellent in that it totally removes any aspect of menace from the two characters, leaving the reader open to be surprised later on.
The porter brings the bags up to the room, they choose not to tip him, deeming him unworthy, he's simply not attractive enough. Then it's to the task of preparing themselves for a night out in their new-found town. It takes them several hours before they consider themselves ready, heading out of the hotel at just before ten. Bi-ach!
“What language do they speak here?” Candice considers as they stroll through the town.
“Uh, Slovenian?” Helen chirps, laughing at her friend's stupid question.
After several bars, they eventually manage to find themselves in Orta Bar, sitting on stools. They are both quite drunk now, and are more confident than normal. It takes them little time to attract the attention of a group of local boys.
“Hello,” one of the boys says, in a heavily accented voice.
“Oh, hi.” Helen beams back at him. She can already tell this boy is attracted to her, can already sense she could take him anywhere she chose. Guys just don't consider girls scary, beyond the initial nerves of actually approaching and talking to them. This is a rather obvious hint at later developments, and I think it should be removed.
“I'm Boris, what is your name?” Boris asks, trying to appear casual.
“My name is Helen, Boris. It's nice to meet you. Do you want to buy me a drink?” Helen smiles directly at him, instantly making him become a little flustered. Forward…
“Yes, of course.” Boris is only too willing to part with his cash, hoping that an intoxicating beverage will lead directly to sex, (a little naivety goes a long way) but Helen has her own plans for him.
Candice is taking a back seat tonight, letting her best friend steal the spotlight, it's been the other way round plenty of times before. She plays the shy girl tonight, the one who would be hard work to coax into bed. Most guys tend to give up, after a few halting attempts, the effort is too much, and they would prefer to just get annihilated with their friends.
Helen is revelling (reveling) in the attention, taking the focus of several boys at once. She is constantly peppered with offers of drinks which, of course, she's not going to turn down. She's already picked her partner for tonight though. Boris was the first to make a move, so she'll choose him, just for his audacity. She gradually makes it known to the others who demand her attention, that she's not interested. No words are necessary, no direct rebuffs, she's an expert at body language, and can use this to signal her intent on Boris.
The night wears on, and soon it's time. Helen nods at Candice, who understands the signal, moving away from the bar, as if heading to the toilet. Instead, she ducks outside and hails a taxi. A cab pulls up and she issues the instruction to return to the hotel.
Back inside, Helen leans in and whispers into Boris's ear, inviting him back to her room. Boris is only too eager to agree, there's no need to fear for his safety at a girl inviting him back, for what undoubtedly means sex.
They step outside together and Boris shouts down a taxi in his native tongue. Together, they step into the taxi, and almost immediately, Helen is kissing him, stroking his chest, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
Boris is desperate for her as they enter the hotel lobby, and Helen smiles over at Candice, sipping a beer in the hotel bar. When they enter the elevator, taking them up to the third floor, Helen pushes herself into Boris, feeling his arousal against her. She smiles as she kisses him, thinking of what she will do to him. (Ooh, a multitasker) She's not that excited yet, he's still dressed, after all.
The elevator doors open, and she leads him by the hand down the corridor.
“Wow!” Boris exclaims when they enter the bedroom. The ostentatious room is nothing but impressive, and Helen considers that he has never seen such opulence. He stares at her as she reclines on her bed, inviting him over with a finger, tracing her tongue over her lips. The boy, barely old enough to drink, excitedly walks towards her. As she lays back on the bed, he climbs on top of her, leaning down to kiss her, not noticing her hand reaching towards the bedside cabinet. Good use of suspense.
Helen trails her other hand down his back, gripping his buttock, pulling him down onto her. She can feel his arousal pushing against her, desperate for release. Boris responds by moving his hands onto her breasts. She can feel his hot breath as his breathing increases, the blood pushed through his veins by a rapidly beating heart. The adrenaline is coursing through him now, the timing is right.
Helen tenses the muscles in her free arm, the one not gripping the boy's buttocks, (is this sentence really necessary?) and thrusts the needle into his bicep, sliding straight through the thin fabric of his shirt, depressing the plunger on the syringe as she feels the needle penetrate flesh.
As is usual, Boris's eyes flash open for a second, but he's too lost in the moment to register what is happening. All he can tell is that something has just hit his arm, probably thinking it accidental, probably thinking he's turning the girl on so much, she's not in control of herself. Within seconds, his eyes are fluttering, but he continues to kiss her, probably wondering why his erection is beginning to go down. It doesn't take long before he collapses onto Helen, all control and thoughts fading, fading, gone. She sighs as his weight slumps down on her, thinking that the worst part of this is the tenderising (Tenderizing) she receives as they fall down.
With her usual, impossibly perfect timing, Candice opens the hotel room door. She strides over to the bed, and smiles down at Helen, still trapped beneath Boris's unconscious body.
“Another one down,” she grins, helping her friend shift the Slovenian and laying him on his back. “Shall I cuff, or do you want the pleasure?”
“You take his arms, I'll do the ankles.” Helen replies, still catching her breath.
“He's a nice one, I have to admit,” Candice stares down at Boris's peaceful face.
They cuff Boris's prostrate body to the bed, making sure there's no way he can break free. Next, they use scissors to cut off his clothes, being careful not to slice, or nip the skin. Before long, Boris is naked, secure and will soon be awake again. He will have a pounding headache, but a little water and some aspirin should help with that.
The two girls sit on the unoccupied bed and share a drink, searching through their luggage and extracting the tools they require.
“Where did you get that knife? It's beautiful,” Helen admires as Candice twirls a jewel-encrusted handled knife, expertly throwing it in the air and catching it.
“In Trieste, whilst you were still sleeping. I though you'd like it. I was going to give it to you as a present, but I changed my mind.”
“Oh well, watching it will be gift enough. Is this guy going to wake up?”
Slowly, Boris opens his eyes. The room is blurry and his head pounds. He can only think that he drank too much last night, that someone may have laced his drink, before realising he can't move. The first thought is that he has suffered a stroke, or been paralysed in some terrible accident. He tries to call out, the first instinct to call for his mother, but then he notices his mouth is restricted. Some material is biting at the corners of his mouth, causing an uncomfortable pain. As his vision begins to clear, he remembers the room, then he remembers the girl, then the fear grips him. He's cold, and knows he must be naked, although the feeling is still to fully return to his body.
“Hey,” Helen says, coming to stand over him, leaning her face down towards him. “You awake? There's a good boy.”
Boris tries asking what's happening, but all that emits from his mouth is a vague muffled noise. Helen smiles down at him and begins to undress in his vision, making him think is all some sort of game. He can feel himself hardening as she removes her bra and knickers, straddling him, staring into his eyes as she sits on his stomach. He can feel her heat on him, can feel her moving slowly towards his groin. He considers that this isn't so bad, after all. It's a little bit kinkier than he would like, but still, it's not so bad.
He realises he can actually move his head, the drug has worn off completely now, and he turns to try and see the time, hoping there's a bedside clock. Instead of seeing a clock, he sees Candice grinning over at him. She is fully dressed, but looks intensely aroused, the flush on her cheeks betrays that much. The fear is back, there's something about the look on her face that portrays a hunger that goes beyond sex. His head snaps back to Helen, above him, rubbing herself against his skin, beginning to enjoy herself. He convinces himself that this is still a game, that he's going to walk out of her confused, but satisfied.
He lets out a gasp as she impales herself on him, but then there's something he doesn't expect. Some other sort of heat on him, this one not at all pleasant.
Helen grins as she watches the knife slice through the flesh of Boris's stomach, easily cutting through layers of skin, slicing fat, and muscle. He bucks convulsively, his hips rising and falling in a fast rhythm, pushing against Helen's groin. She rubs herself against him faster, pushing herself towards a climax.
Boris's eyes flash around in their sockets, his screams held and muffled by the gag. His stomach is torn, but not enough to bring death just yet. The heat and stench from him fills Helen's nostrils, as she orgasms against him.
The pain fills Boris's mind, eliminating the possibility of all other thoughts. Tears are welling in his eyes, streaming down his face. He can feel his consciousness again begin to falter, welcoming the calming blackness, praying that it will remove him from the situation.
Knowing what's happening, Candice rises from the other bed, walking casually over. She holds another liquid filled syringe, plunging it into Boris's neck, pumping in a stimulant, forcing him back to hellish wakefullness.
“It's not sleep time yet,” she grins down at him, almost lovingly stroking his cheek. She brushes her hand over his lips, a caring look in her eyes, before he catches the glint of steel in her hand.
“You are gorgeous,” Candice says as she brings the knife to his right cheek, letting the blade slice a careful line down his face. “I'm going to make you even more so.”
The only words that are in Boris's mind are; please don't, in both English, and Slovenian, but all he can do is cry as he feels his cheeks being cut apart. The gaping wound in his stomach is somehow distant now, his mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time.
Helen giggles as she dismounts him, coming to stand alongside her friend, as she disfigures Boris's face.
“What is it with you and cheeks?” she asks.
“There the best part, don't you think?”
“That knife is beautiful.”
Boris bucks on the bed, trying to break free, the pain is intense, and he needs to be able to move, to cover up. He struggles so hard that he dislocates a shoulder, and breaks an ankle. The sound of the self inflicted pain delights the girls. They could stand here all night watching him struggle, but the desire to touch him is too much to resist.
Candice lifts a small hammer from her bed, and twirls it in her hand, dancing back over to watch Boris's restricted struggles. He doesn't even seem to register her, bending down to within inches of his disfigured face. The bed beneath him is beginning to become soaked with his own blood, and he has long since defecated, excrement mixing with urine as he lost control of his bladder simultaneously.
Candice presses the small hammer into the exposed flesh of his cheeks, coating the tool with sticky blood, before raising it and slamming into down into the cheek bone, causing it to shatter. The bone caves in so badly, the bottom of the eye socket is fully exposed, bloodshot and darting about in panic.
“God, I love this!” Helen blurts joyously, as she pushes a hand inside the stricken boy's stomach, clutching his organs and squeezing.
Boris's consciousness is beginning to falter again, another shot of the stimulant will not work this time, his brain is trying to shut down, the blood loss is becoming too much. The two girls are too experienced at what they do to miss the signs, they know they haven't got long left, before the boy's life slips away.
The final act is one of severance, is the destruction of the boy's ability to breathe. Boris's head is madly flailing from side to side, his brain rocking inside his skull. Candice grips either side of his jaw, making the head become still in her surprisingly strong hands. She hooks her palms under his chin, and forces his head back, exposing the neck, the delivery system of oxygen and blood to his brain. As she pushes up, causing the Adam's apple to protrude, Helen straddles his chest, bringing a butcher's knife to rest aside his throat. Why a butchers knife, why not the first blade?She leans forward, her weight behind the blade, before sweeping it across, the cut running deep, almost cutting down to the spinal cord. The rip is so severe that the convulsing of the boys body, as he sucks in blood drenched air, almost causes the cord to break.
The girls scream in delight as they watch Boris choke to death, blood spurting from his severed carotid artery, the windpipe clearly visible as it draws in blood, gurgling and spurting, filling the voids of his lungs. The movement of the dying boy is almost like a dance, some practised routine. They smother themselves in the last of his cooling blood, leaning into other each and kissing.
As Boris shuts down, he can distantly hear them giggling, telling each other of their love for the other. The end for him is a relief, he has been praying that it would be over for so long, it seems.
As the girls look down at the now still body, they take photos on their mobile phones, saving them amongst the pictures of countless other young men. They aim to kill at least one of each Nationality, at least in the countries they consider civilized. The trip has so far taken them to nine European countries, but it didn't start with the holiday. They have been killing for pleasure with each other, soon after they became friends.
“Do you think we'll ever get enough?” Candice asks, as they carry the body into the bathroom.
“No way. I can't think of anything more beautiful,” Helen shakes her head, turning on the shower, setting the dial to hot. They wash the blood off the boys body, careful that his intestines don't spill out of the carcass, they don't want to make too much mess. They turn him flat on his stomach on the wide shower tray, letting the blood drain from the body, keeping the shower running over him, as they return to the bedroom in order to clean the luxuriously soft bed.
“He was gorgeous, though,” Candice remarks as they remove sheets, rolling them into each other, catching as much of Boris's bodily fluids and excretions as possible. They return to the bathroom, putting a plug into the bath, and running scalding hot water into it. When the tub is full of steaming water, they throw the sheets in, letting them soak overnight. The blood will be drawn out by the water, it's still fairly fresh and will soon dissolve into the water. The mess that came out of the boy's arse is almost liquid, as it normally is, and this will break up and float amongst the sheets.
As usual, they have booked three nights at the hotel. They will keep a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door at all times, making sure that room service doesn't enter. If some overly attentive maid came in and witnessed the scene, it would be all over for them. The scandal would ruin everything, landing them with an indeterminable jail sentence, but also shaming their families into withdrawal from the public eye. Discovery is not an option.
The boy's friends will be concerned for him when he doesn't show up the next day, but the problem is easy to overcome. Boris's mobile phone is in his clothes, they will simply send a text message to his friends, explaining that he's going to spend some time with the girl. The difficulty in this is the language, but turning on the laptop, surfing to a translation website, to which they have a subscription, entering the words in English, and the language to convert to, will solve the problem.
Helen knows the names of some of the friends he was with, she will just send the message to one, or two of them. They will discuss it with each other, and by the time they start to worry, because they haven't heard from him again, the two girls will be out of the country, onto the next young man.
The mattress is still clean, they made sure to cover it with a thin sheet of plastic before hand. They made sure to tie the boy on top of the sheets, and the duvet, knowing that they would soak up the fluids.
In the morning, they will remove the sheets and duvet from the tub, inspecting them, and using detergent to remove any lingering, or obvious stains. The bed clothes will be hung over the bath, drip-drying, before they remake the bed with them. The boy will require a little more attention. All this future tense is making me think of the end of every episode of Poirot…
Helen and Candice close the bathroom door, leaving Boris alone in the dark, before they get into bed together. They giggle as they recount the evening, talking over the best parts, before eventually falling asleep. Yay!
The last of the blood drains from Boris's body, vanishing down the drain, being rinsed by a slow stream of slowly cooling water. The muscle have tautened, the brain liquefying, the process of slow decay already beginning. The body appears almost translucent, the head limply hanging from the few strands of skin, tissue, and the fractured and twisted spinal cord.
Wow wow! Anticliamaticism alert! This last bit is just annoying, and too long, I know they killed him so why the epilogue? Just throw in a bit about moving shadows or shallow breathing coming from the bathroom and end the story.
Helen opens an eye, staring into the darkness of the night, imagining the boy raising to his feet, opening the bathroom door and standing over her, tears dripping onto her face. She turns to Candice, sleeping soundly, and drapes an arm over her, taking confort (Comfort) in the warmth of her friend. A tear escapes her as she closes her eyes, and tries to catch some sleep.
Dead boys don't walk around in the dark. (a good parting shot)
Nice, but that’s all I got on this.
Ah poop! The commentary was
The commentary was supposed to be in red so it was distinct!
Damn I guess you will just have to sift through it.
Wow!!! I should look at this
I should look at this sober.
Me too : @
Yeah,
Another difficult story to critique....
God, the mouth has really given you the most thourough review a person could ask for, hasnt he?
Hes a smart boy, and usually does such a good job at these kind of things.
Theres a few spelling errors and backwards words, such as other each (each other). most of the errors are things like her
Candice says, staring across at her best friend, Helen, (Who) (Or who had been sitting or was sitting) sat in the front passenger seat of the Ford Mustang. “Guys come and go, and let's face it, he wasn't the greatest guy in the world, anyway. It was always more of a crush, than a fascination.”instead of here, mostly just the missing of the letter rather than large patches of misspelled words like you'll find in my crappy stories.
This isn't to bad of a story....ha, I wonder how these two got to be so sick, if it was mutual or something they decided together.
One thing im not convinced of is that soaking the blankets in the hot water will rid them of the blood. Ive never spilled that much blood on anything before so im not an expert, but the few blood stains i have had have been very difficult to remove with out the aid of some seriously harsh chemicals.
Even when fresh, blood sits heavy in most fabrics. Thjis story of yours brings up a lot of questions in me. I wonder if any police are on to these girls yet....poor boris, I actually feel kinda bad for the guy, lol.
Your peice has a feel of being a little rushed, or like its an outline for a finished product. What i mean is they went here, they foiund themselves here, this happend, and they did that....
Its a little different form what im used to so in no way am i saying its wrong, its just a little....I think there could be more detail. They find themselves in orta bar, they are suddenly quite drunk....
ok, I see, but i want to see more.
however, this suggestion will probably extend the lenght of this story by A LOT>>>>
These are some mean girls.....
I bet you thell get caught eventually.
Actually this is a good thing, its not often that a story makes me think about it after im done reading it, and yours usually have that effect on me. Im stiill wondering who killed rosa.
I like reading your stories leland. They make me think.
I disagree with the mouth, you should leave the last part in, it gives the act of the murder and the leaving of him in the tub to rot overnight some realism. (not that it lacks realizim, because it doesnt...)Dead boys dont walk around in the dark....not sure i like that last line, but it fits at the same time.
But why is helen crying! Does she actually feel bad for the boy, or about what shes done.....like i said, you have the gift of making me wonder and think.
Its pretty good. I would suggest another go over it though. Edit the missing letter and the wierd sentenses and it will be a lot better. The tone is good, the grammar is great, but the speed of it seems rushed, like you wanted the idea out before it went a way. Oh, and dont read my entry, it sucks. Good thing we get up to three, right....????lol.
I'll give it a rating too. i forgot to rate the other one too i think.....hummmm....
Looking forward to more entries from you leland, as well as everyone elses.
And yes
Ah, thanks. I didn't notice
Something is wrong with the
I don't like this sentence:
“No, but then it's all such a blur, we could be anywhere.”
It's a total cliche, one of those "the audience is dumb, so we have to explain everything for them" sort of lines. It's not necessary.
"Smooths" does not have an "e" in it.
I'd change "the two twenty-two year old girls" to something with one less "two" in it, like "the pair of twenty-two year old girls."
I really dislike the paragraph beginning with "The road trip they are on..." It's needless exposition, again. This is the sort of detail that should come out in the writing, the interaction of the characters, not something you spell out like this.
When you say the hotel is "plush," I assume you mean "posh," unless you guys use the word "plush" in a different way than Americans do.
There are a fair number of grammatical mistakes, too: misplaced commas, ending a quote with a period when you have an additional clause after it, etc.
"Indeterminable" should be "interminable," if you mean to imply that it will be never-ending rather than ambiguous.
Now, the actual torture/murder scene is done quite well, and their plans to clean up the mess seem plausible enough. Overall, it's a decent story and I think it adds shades to the girls' characters, enough that you don't need any of the expository paragraphs explaining their background or anything. Have some faith in your readers!
One thing that does concern me is the lack of motivation here. The only motive I can see is a couple of vapid rich girls getting their jollies by killing young men. What is their pathology? Is there some real reason why they do it? Or does it just amuse them? If you intended those to be open-ended questions, that's fine, but then as a story it doesn't seem to stand that well on its own. It does what it does but neglects to fill in a lot of blanks. I think, instead of the exposition early in the story, you could replace those with some hints about what will come later, and clues to what drives them.
Actually, smoothes/smooths is
Also yes, plush means something which is posh, actually the poshest. In England you would probably describe an expensive hotel as plush, more than posh.
Well, then you can ignore
Second shot at this and I am
Summery: I am not a fan of Horror so grains of salt needed. As per normal your writing is technically good. You execution of the story is laacking in that you gave away your intentions a little early and the whole clean up thing was a little like reading a police report. I would shorten clen up to one para. Basicaly how they cleaned up. The first thing though is a matter for taste when you give away the plot matters to me but may not to a horror fan. At "Cut him loose" my instincts told me the girls were not right but thought this was due to a fellow writing female characters. Oce my thoughts had drifted that direction I soon found other inconsistancies that caused me to think the girls were anything but what you were trying to lead me to believe. You could counter act this some by having them victimized a bit by the border crossing and or by the people giving directions to the hotel.
It is not entirely impossible for this type of killing to exist but nearly so perhaps more so now then ever in history. Two female sociopaths as partners. More likely one would be male and most likely to be lone male then anything else. I say this because the clean up need not be so complex even when a body turns up like this one it would point to a male psycopath. The policew would probably beat a confession out of one of his friends before they even looked at the girls. Us "boys just can't believe a woman would do that :)
I hope this gives you an idea of how to better this story or strengthens your belief it is a good one as is.