Red sprang between Misty and the Cirque boy to take Priss' hand, dragging her to the front of the assembled trio. Before she could get a grip on the seriousness of the situation, Red stuffed a scarf in her mouth and slapped more duct tape over it. He held her hands and looked into her eyes.
'Sit the fuck down. Do it nicely. Wouldn't want to mess up that gorgeous face, now would we?' His intent was clear in his duotone eyes, and she sat without further fuss. The zip tie was in place in the blink of an eye. After all, he’d been practicing for months.
He sat down in front of her and turned his head to the trio behind him.
'One more than expected, but it still worked out for the best. Now, you might be thinking, due to the arrangements here, that they’re your audience, right?' He saw the realization dawn in her eyes as tears seeped out and tracked the soft curve of her perfect cheeks. 'Right?' he asked again.
She nodded.
'Wrong!'
She jerked back at the cold maliciousness of that one word. He leaned in, close enough that she could feel and smell his breath. Strangely, it smelled of strawberries.
'Nothing?' he asked. 'The eyes didn't give it away?' He shook his head in disappointment. 'Let me tell you a story, Priss. It's a story of a boy and a girl and an abiding friendship.
'This boy and girl were the closest of friends. Had been friends since second grade. So young. So ignorant. But, I digress.
'The boy was a shy little bastard. Poor. But, kind and rather smart.
The girl was a shining beacon of youth and beauty with golden hair and eyes the color of a Montana spring sky. Rich. A little spoiled. But, also kind and understanding. Or, so the boy thought.
'They would play for hours on end during the summers of their young years. He would be goofy and funny and make her laugh until she hurt. She would make him see life in the most positive of lights. Until the age of twelve. When she began hanging out with more girls her age and level of society. Then, it seemed, the boy held little interest for her. She ignored him, hoping he would just go away.'
Red was really getting into the story, so much so that he was surprised to feel a tear of his own escape and track down the red and white of his makeup. He ignored it and continued to relate the story that had haunted him for all these years. He was happy to see she remembered now.
'One day, the boy felt he could no longer keep the truth inside and declared his love for the girl. Right in front of all of her new friends. The girl appeared shocked and angry, embarrassed by this boy whom she had known most of her life. With only a few words she threw him away like so much unwanted trash. Do you remember, Priss? Do you remember the words you screamed at me that day?' He saw her nod, her sobs only serving to irritate him.
''You're nothing but a clown! I never want to see you ever again!'
That was what you yelled out in front of everyone that day, Priss. You remember, don't you? Of course you do. Now. As for me, I never forgot. I never forgot a single moment I spent with you. Especially that moment when you ripped my heart from me and stomped on it for all to see.
'The last time I saw you, I just wanted to talk. I couldn't give up.
Looking back, I have no idea why I tried. And, look what it got me. Sand, literally, kicked in my face. In my eye. Damage done. I still have a little sight in it. Not much. But enough. Enough to see you for what you really are.' With that, he stood and pulled the box cutter from his pocket.
Priss was aghast at what was unfolding before her. If it were not for the horror of the situation she would not have believed it. Casey had always been a little strange, but she would never have thought him capable of this.
She remembered growing up with him, how sweet and kind he was.
He was so shy and introverted until he got around her, and then he became every bit the class clown. He was goofy and funny and so smart. But, then he had gotten clingy, overprotective of her. They were only twelve but his growing insecurities had pushed her away from him. What he said was true.
She had called him a clown in front of everyone. She had just had enough of his constant hounding of her. She had no idea it would lead to this.
She watched as he pushed up the sleeve on Thad’s right arm. Thad and Misty and the boy—she thought his name was Greg—looked as if they were only barely awake, like they’d been drugged or something. Their eyes appeared to roll back in their heads every so often and then they would try and refocus on what was going on.
Priss couldn’t help the tears. He had somehow gotten rid of all of her guests, so they were now on their own with him. Her heart pounded and she looked around for some way to escape.
“If you’re thinking of trying to get free, I wouldn’t count on it,” he said, turning back to her, catching her shifting her eyes this way and that.
“Besides, the fun is just getting started.”
Red turned back to Thad who was trying to focus on him but continued to sway back and forth. Red reached out and took the man’s wrist and slid open the box cutter.
“This is your throwing arm, isn’t it, big guy?” he asked. “All those awesome games you played in high school. Some of your fondest memories, right? Hell, how could they not be? Cheerleaders hanging all over you, grades never really a problem. I mean, you were an important guy, right?
How many trophies are in that high school case because of you, huh? Ah, the good old days. All those wonderful memories. Let’s make some more, shall we?”
In a movement practiced and swift, Red placed the box cutter blade against Thad’s forearm and sliced a line almost from elbow to wrist. Thad’s eyes grew wider, as if he were beginning to realize this was not some sort of hazy dream. With another smooth movement, Red sliced a line at the top and bottom of the first long cut. Priss was screaming into the scarf within her mouth behind him. He glanced back with his bloody smile and winked at her. She was sobbing breathlessly. He felt an age-old pang, but there was no turning back, now.
Reaching into his pants pocket, he retrieved a pair of thick needle-nosed pliers. Grabbing one corner of the sliced skin on Thad’s forearm, Red pulled downward, stripping the flesh from the muscle. Thad cried out and then passed out, falling over to one side in a heap, the blood oozing and flowing from his fleshless arm onto the carpet.
“Well,” Red commented, turning back towards Priss, “I would have expected more from a big, strapping guy like that. Bit of a pussy wasn’t he?” As Priss sobbed in silence, Red wiped the box cutter blade and pliers on his red pants. He watched Priss, wondering if this was enough. No. He’d made his plan. He would follow through. What was done was done. He cleared his throat twice, to get Priss’ attention.
“He’s pretty fucked up, huh?” he asked her, nodding his head toward Thad’s crumpled, bloody body. “Should make it easy on him, right? Show some mercy?” He nodded in agreement to his own query, reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny black and silver switchblade knife. With a click and swish, the blade snapped out, over six inches in length. Priss screamed out behind her gag, as Red lifted Thad’s head, paused only for a split second, and struck out with the switchblade and sliced the man’s jugular in one smooth movement, laying him back down on the floor to bleed out.
Red glanced back to Priss who looked as if she might pass out herself.
He reached into his one shirt pocket and retrieved a small plastic encasement covered in cloth. Leaning toward Priss, he snapped the vial to release the ammonia and placed it under her nose. Her eyes flew open and her head jerked back to escape the harsh, overpowering smell.
“Let’s pay attention, shall we?” he said, placing the smelling salts back into his shirt pocket. He placed a finger under her chin bringing her eyes to meet his. “One down. Two to go.” She jerked away in revulsion, and he noticed a strong contempt in those gloriously blue eyes. It hurt him to see it, but after all these years, he now saw such contempt as simple insurance.
He turned to the Playboy bunny.
“Misty,” he said to no one in particular. Then he looked back at Priss.
“Was she worth it?” he asked. “Was she worth throwing away all that we had? Our friendship? The love I had for you? Was she really worth it?” He watched as Priss shook her head violently, but he knew it was not in response to his question but in response to what she was coming.
“Head cheerleader. Beautiful girl, really. Probably doesn’t deserve this, but here we go.” Red ignored Priss’
