Liars into Lessons Part 4

by Rhys B. Crabtree 2 years ago in fiction

Part 4

Liars into Lessons Part 4

I don't take my time with the harlot because the sound of someone dropping the toilet seat down clicks through the silence of the apartment and let's me know that at least one of my main targets is awake. Which annoys me because she is an adulterer, which I loathe nearly as much as I do liars, and as such she deserves the slow, painful death that befits her kind. Unfortunately, I just cannot take the chance that playing with her will alert the remaining two to my presence.

Oh well. We don't always get what we want.

Her eyes widen even further as she struggles to pull my hand from her mouth. I roll my eyes at her miserable attempts to dislodge me. It's pathetic, like she isn't even really trying. Reaching down I pull the dildo out of her cunt, dig my fingers into her cheeks just above her jaw and shove that dildo down her throat when her mouth pops open. She gags immediately, body heaving with the sudden loss of air, swallowing convulsively around the intrusion as though that'll get rid of it. I slam my hand down on the flat end of the toy with enough force that I hear the tendons and ligaments of her jaw snap. Her cry of pain is muffled, hands clawing at my arms with increased fervor. But she's in pain and made stupid with it so she doesn't do anything besides make me sneer at her.

Had she been a monster like me, she would know to go for the ears and nose of her attacker or the soft bend of the elbow, not claw and slash at the forearms. You won't succeed in shit all doing that.

But she isn't a monster like me, she doesn't have the past or experiences or training I do. So naturally, she just scratches at me and kicks her legs about like a fish out of water. In the midst of her pointless flailing, her left knee manages to snap the laptop closed, her headphones going flying off the foot of the bed as that same leg catches on the wire and jerks it. If I wasn't so disgusted with her, I would be impressed.

Having had enough of this and knowing I'm risking being caught out before I'm ready to be, I punch her in the face square on her nose, a spurt of blood arching through the air as my fist pulls away. As she snorts and splutters, choking now not just on the lack of oxygen but her own blood, too, I snap her neck. Such a waste. I had had plans for her. Oh well, I know I'll see her on the other side of the veil; I'll get what I want from her then.

Cocking my head to the side, I listen intently. When all I hear is the soft grunts and splashes of someone having a bowel movement, I let go of the harlot, watching with amusement as her lifeless body drops limply back to the bed. Just imagining the reactions of the police when they arrive and find her with a snapped neck and broken nose, dildo shoved down her throat and her jaw dislocated makes me giggle. I stifle it before it can get out of hand though and make for the bedroom door, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.

I don't know which of my main targets is in the bathroom but I am not too concerned. These are the liars I know well, after all. The ones whose secrets, lies, truths, weaknesses, and strengths I have spent years cataloging. Whose triumphs and hopes and dreams I know as well as I do my own. I know the failures that devastate them and the ones that make them stronger. I know the greatest fears they speak of and the ones they don't. I know what gets them off and what disgusts them.

For all that they think they have secrets, that they are mysteries wrapped in enigmas, they aren't.

I learn each person that I allow into my life in ways they haven't even dreamed of. I memorize them. Because one day I may find myself using that knowledge to teach those that cross me a very bloody, very painful lesson they shouldn't have to be taught.

So it's not worry that has my muscles twitchy and tense but rather the heady rush of anticipation. This is what I have been looking forward to since I'd walked up onto the porch. This is what I've prepared for. And it is finally happening.

The hallway facing door opens, spilling the muted yellow light from inside across the carpet just as I'm squatting down to pick up my pint glass. I freeze, waiting, wondering why the occupant chose to exit on this side of the bathroom when it connects into the bedroom at the end of the hall.

But it makes sense when a tall, gangly male steps out, a hand rubbing sleepily at his face. No doubt he was planning to visit his whore for an early morning romp. Too bad for him she's dead.

Shame, I should have left her bedroom door open if only to see his reaction to what the lamplight still illuminated. But no, I'd closed it, wanting to close off a potential avenue of escape for when the hunt begins.

He catches sight of me and freezes, clearly caught completely off guard by someone squatting in the hallway. Slowly, I straighten up to my full height, deciding to abandon getting my glass just yet. I'll end up using it for this one's death blow, but now isn't when that moment will happen.

I watch as he squints, shuffling a step closer to get a better look at my half-lit form. The second it dawns on him who I am, I'm moving towards him. By the time he's begun to form the syllables of my name, I'm grabbing him by his hair and slamming his head face first against the wall. He falls to the floor in a boneless heap, leaving a red streak down the wall in his wake. He isn't dead, not yet, just knocked out cold. As I'm reaching down to stage him against the wall, I hear my other liar call out from their bedroom.

"John?" His boyfriend's voice is thick with sleep. The mattress creaks as he climbs off it, the floor whining in protest as he stands up and walks closer to the bedroom door. "Was that you? Are you okay?"

I smile, slow and sweet and full of danger. Game time.

Rhys B. Crabtree
Rhys B. Crabtree
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Rhys B. Crabtree

Originally from the Mississippi Gulf Coast (USA), I now live in the Lowcountry of South Carolina (USA) with my husband and three cats. I am currently working on my larger series which can be found at

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