Can You Hear Me Now?

Chapter 9

  'Sitting in his basement with his first victim, the handsome writer...' NO! I scribbled the line from my journal that would have been transferred to the typewriter. I looked up to where Mr. Underwood was hanging by his wrist. He may or may not have passed out on the ride from the bar. It was that, or the blow delivered to his head from the car door. That's more of a likely story, seeing as there was a gruesome gash running across his forehead.

His clothing was battered and bloody, but these were not his worst features by far. I may have broken four of his fingers in the process of stringing him up in the rope clad chains. I've written enough novels to know that just using chains draws unwanted attention from random company that likes to pop up. The boy will end up waking and want to struggle to fill his heart's desire to escape and the chains will make the most God-awful loud noise. His wrists may also be rubbed completely raw, which explains the drying blood that was running down his forearms.

I pursed my lips before glancing back down at my journal. Writing this scene will have to wait. I flung the journal towards the staircase. Furthering my deduction, a flurry of grunts and moans echoed off the walls. "FINALLY! I thought you'd never wake up. Maybe the blow to the head was a bit much." I shrugged, pondering the last thought.

I stood and slowly drug the uncomfortable metal chair over to the discombobulated young man. The chair had no rubber stoppers, so the legs of the chair against the floor made a sound eerily close to nails sliding across a chalkboard. Straddling the chair, I eased the legs down onto the floor before reaching up to slap the boy in the face once. His bloodshot orbs shot open in shock.

"Luc-Luci-Lucifer! What the hell is this?" He began struggle. I sighed taking a knife that I strapped to my ankle and pointed it at his neck.

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" I growled. His stilled instantly. Satisfied with his compliance, I stuck the tip of the knife at the underside of his forearm. I applied pressure, but just enough to draw a bit of blood. His breath hitched at the pressure and I could practically hear his heart quicken. It doesn't help that his bleeding won't stop immediately with the alcohol in his system.

Marshall Underwood glared at me. I stood and sauntered behind him, out of his peripheral vision. Pulling his own chair up, I switch the chains off of the hitch above him and onto the hitched 7 feet behind his chair. His arms are now stretched straight behind him and he's seated into the chair. I looked at my side table that I had Levi bring down yesterday. Its surface now covered in various sharp objects.

This was it. This is what the book is about. It's all coming together now.

"Now Marshall. You know why you're here." I muttered letting my fingers glide over handles of my few paring knifes.

"Ahaha!" I grinned in his face before standing to kick my chair over to the side.

He struggled.

"Ah, ah, ah. That's of no use to you my good sir! Why you're never leaving this house again. That is- until I'm done with you. Even then, you'll never taste the air around this house again!" I giggled slightly.

"Oh my. You've got that silly look in your eye again." I sighed. Reaching beside the table, I grabbed a cup full of gasoline and a funnel. "Stop those thoughts right now." I muttered wafting the fumes towards him. His mouth snapped shut audibly.

Picking up my recently dictated blade, I shove into Mr. Underwood's kneecap. "Scream or I'll pop it clean off." I proposed. And boy did he. "Meh, I lied." I responded to his cries of agony by turning the knife and moving it side to sides. This is all so surreptitious.