“Not to mention having to get involved with a crime just to feed ourselves, and in the process being held hostage by a ring of sex traffickers,” added the man cheerily. He dropped Norm’s head and wielded a wooden baseball bat, presumably the culprit for the old man’s smashed knee cap.
Minnie reached out and traced a finger on Norm’s cheek, the pad of her forefinger soft against his quivering, sweating flesh. “But it all came right, Norm,” she told him silkily. “Everything turned out A-Okay.”
Norman shivered, the marrow in his bones aching as he sensed that in spite of her words, everything was most certainly not going to be okay for him.
Not in any way, shape, or form.
“What do you want with me?” he asked, forcing himself to look up, the question coming out of his throat like sandpaper as he waited for his fate.
With a small, gracious smile, Minnie took his chin in her fingers and squeezed as if she were showing her fondness for a small child. “We just want to return the favour.”
“You fuck Min, we fuck you,” the man towering above him explained, his rough fingers stroking the smooth edge of the bat.
“What?” Norman gasped, eyeing the baseball bat with dread. “No… please…”
Minnie tightened her grip on his chin so hard that the skin pinched and stung. She grinned, revealing her teeth like a manic clown from a bad horror movie.
“We insist.”
With that, she stood up and walked back around the table to the kitchen counter, where the large rifle gun lay in wait.
“Pull his trousers down,” she instructed her husband, her brow furrowing with concentration as she delicately lifted the weapon and rehearsed once again in her head the plan of action. Norman began to writhe on the table, now giving high-pitched shrieks of fear as he struggled and began to beg through his pitiful sobs.
“No… no, please,” he pleaded, hot piss spilling from his crotch and stinging the insides of his legs as the man roughly tugged on his trousers, exposing his arse to the cold air. “I didn’t even fuck you… it wasn’t me, I just…”
“Shut up!” snapped Minnie, spinning back around to him and nudging the top of his arse crack him with the point of the gun. “Just shut up.”
“Mum?”
Norman froze.
It was a child’s voice.
He heard Minnie take a breath and sigh impatiently. “What is it, Zach?”
“Lloyd shat himself.”
His male captor grumbled to himself. With a final movement, he tugged the trousers and underpants down to Norman’s ankles so that the old man was now lying face down and exposed from the waist down.
Then, the child’s voice again. This time, a high-pitched giggle chimed into the air, tinkling in Norman’s ears like an eerie nursery rhyme.
“Looks like he’s not the only one!” the boy commented, clearly referring to the naked old man who had soiled himself. Both of the boy’s parents fell about in fits of laughter. Mocking Norman. Enjoying and savouring his agony.
Norman squeezed hot, bitter tears of humiliation from his eyes and forced himself to look down at Norah again. She was dead, free of pain and fear, but there was nothing peaceful about how she looked.
“Ronnie, can you go?”
“What? No, I want to see this motherfucker explode.”
“Ugh,” Minnie tutted, rolling her eyes. She turned back to the child. “We’re in the middle of something at the moment, sweetheart. Can we trust you to change Lloyd’s bum just this once? We’ll be done soon, and if you do a good job, we’ll go out for a nice dinner somewhere. You kids can pick.”
“And can I get that tattoo kit as well?”
“Nice try, mate,” Ronne smirked, “not till your thirteen. You can give yourself blood poisoning with those things.”
The child shrugged, “worth a try,” he said before turning and scampering off down the hallway again.
When he was gone, Minnie approached Norman’s rear, eyes gleaming as she fingered the smooth edges of the gun. “Now, where were we?”
Instinctively, Norman clenched his buttocks. But it took far too much effort to keep up for long because the flesh and tissue around his old muscles were so damaged from the night in the woods. The night that he burned.
“Please don’t do this,” begged Normal, bawling now so that his entire body jolted with each broken cry. “Please just… leave me alone…”
“HAHA!” Minnie shrieked madly, positioning the end of the gun at the entrance to Norman’s wrinkled, shit-pasted anus. “Those words sound familiar, don’t you think, Ron?”
Ronnie stroked his chin and pretended to think. “Why, yes they do, Minnie. Now, where have we heard that before?”
“Oh yes,” Minnie said triumphantly, “now I remember. That’s what I said to you, Norman when you and your friend attacked me.”
Norman shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Now…” Minnie continued, ignoring him. She wedged the barrel between his cheeks, applying soft, slow pressure so that it slowly widened him. “Let me think. Norm, do you remember what you said next?”
“Please… please…”
“You told me,” Minnie breathed, pushing the gun further, “to shut the fuck up.” As the sharp edge of that final syllable escaped her lips, her trembling, clammy hands lost control, and she rammed the gun as hard as she possibly good into the filthy crevice.
“FUCK!” screeched Norman, the pain surging up into his chest as his legs juddered on the table. “PLEASE NO! STOP!”
Ronnie wordlessly placed his hands over Minnie’s, and the two shared a small, sad smile of mutual understanding. He bent his head, and she lifted her face upwards. Their lips met, their souls on fire as they felt the adrenaline coursing through their veins.
Remaining silent, enjoying the sweet, calming sound of Norman screaming, pleading, and sobbing, the couple forced the gun further into him. Again and again, they penetrated the man who had caused them so much pain, but in a sick, twisted way, had actually somehow helped them to find their true selves.
It wasn’t until spidery trickles of blood began to steep in
