Page 58 of Cry Madness

TWENTY

“I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears!”

—Alice,Alice in Wonderland

“Oh, my fuckinggawd,” I drawl. “You stink, my dude.”

Virgil Adaway shit his pants, and I can smell the stench even through the fabric of the balaclava. He also pissed himself, but that unfortunate accident happened about an hour ago, when he was still duct-taped to the chair. I pulled out the drill, hit the trigger a few times, and this jerkoff peed all over himself even before I put that messy hole right through his hand.

Now, he’s hanging from the drainpipe that runs across the ceiling. We drove him all the way to the edge of Wonderland, to this grungy little shithole Roman keeps up on the mountain, where we do the terrible things. The ugly things. The things we can’t do at Stan’s Butcher Shop because we need more time and we make too much of a mess.

Here in the basement, it’s dingy and claustrophobic. We nailed wooden boards over the tiny, rectangular, lone window so the stink of sweat and blood—and now shit—is trapped in. That brown, runny river flows down Virgil’s legs, making a putrid brown glob of stinky grossness on the plastic sheeting we’ve got him suspended over.

“Should’ve kept his clothes on,” March remarks.

“Hell no,” I counter, using my black tactical knife as a pointer, gesturing to his limp dick. “The mess is worth his humiliation. Look at that sad, shriveled thing.” Laughing, I lunge at Virgil, nicking his flaccid…um, member…with the tip of the blade, reveling in his muffled whimper. “It’s like a teeny tiny pig in a blanket.”

We grabbed Virgil when he was leaving his filthy apartment on Harris Street. March had eyes on him for days. He’d overheard this slimy bastard bragging about his latest ‘conquest’ to Olly Elden the other night at Lords. Given the local hotspot’s proximity to Briar Rose, the place was Virgil’s favorite hunting ground. But this piece of trash didn’t realize that good ol’ Olly may be a good-natured fool, but he’s a useful listener who’s been on Roman’s payroll for years. So, when a scummy fucker like Virgil bragged about raping Sparrow Zanders, damn right Olly ran straight to Roman with that information instead of the police.

After all, Roman has a one hundred percent success rate of eliminating that sort of threat from Wonderland, whereas the legal system…?

Eh…

Regrettably, the cops aren’t as effective.

And that’s why March and I have this rapist hanging from a fucking drainpipe.

Careful to avoid stepping in the puddle of piss and shit at Virgil’s torn-up bare feet, I adjust the balaclava and steptoward him. “Oink for me, little piggy.” I poke his cock again, this time harder, drawing a satisfying stream of blood. “I said oink, pig.”

Virgil does his level best to comply with a feeble, “Oink.”

I’m sorry, but that’s just about the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, especially since after hours of screaming, his voice is hoarse as hell.

“Good boy,” I praise him. Then I pinch my nose and wave my hand in front of my face. “But goddamn, you sure made a mess.” Then, with a nasty laugh, I gesture at him. “Not so big and bad now, are you, Virgil? Look at you. Terrified. Shit dripping down your legs, bleeding like a sieve, and hanging there like butchered meat. Bet you’re hoping we’ll kill you to end your suffering. But I’m gonna tell you a secret.” I cup my mouth and whisper loudly, “We’re not going to do you like that.” Poking his limp dick again, I smirk at his whimper.

Furiously shaking his head, Virgil makes a racket, squirming on the pipe like a worm on a hook. He’s mumbling nonsense, none of which I listen to, although I catch the end of his babble. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Pulling a sad face, I give Virgil a false, sympathetic nod. “No, of course you couldn’t. You’re a trash critter. Rotten right down to the marrow of your shitty bones. And that’s why we’re having so much fun murdering you.”

“Please—”

“No, Virg, begging won’t save you. I bet it was the same way with Sparrow. Right? Did she beg you to stop when you raped her? Did she beg you not to hurt her?” When he remains silent, I stab him, relishing his howl. “Answer me!”

“Yes!” he wails. “Yes, she begged me to stop.”

“But you didn’t, and we won’t either.”

I swipe at himagain, opening a deep slash across his bony chest. His hiss is pure music. “You’re a fucking stain, Virgil.” One more strike has his scream echoing off the concrete walls of this basement.

March wheels over a black, four-drawer toolbox packed full of goodies. Well, goodie for us. What’s in there is going to suck for Virgil. “I’m thinking this.” He pulls out a hammer and raises it high to inspect the heavy tool. Replacing it, he takes out pliers before palming a nasty-looking cable cutter. “Or this?”

I slap the tactical knife on top of the toolbox. “Definitely.” Sifting among the hand tools, I grab a ball peen hammer. “Go big or go home, right?” I ask Virgil.

“No!” Virgil’s screech bounces off the walls. “No, no,no!”

“Fuck yes,” I counter as I step up to him, glad I thought ahead by wearing rubber boots. Everything we’re wearing is disposable—they’ll go right into a burn heap when we’re done. “Now, be a good boy and stay still so I can break the kneecap on the first hit.”

Of course, Virgil doesn’t stay still. He’s wiggling again, as if that’ll deter me from busting him up. It won’t, and when March grabs him from behind, snagging him around the waist, the man screams bloody murder before I even land the first strike. And when I do, cracking Virgil’s right knee, it takes a second for the pain to register. His eyes bulge and his jaw slackens, but then… Then his agonized screams ricochet throughout the confines of this tight space.