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Text File | 1994-03-26 | 21.2 KB | 527 lines

@BEGIN_FILE_ID.DIZ Contains: violence, murder @END_FILE_ID.DIZ MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM Another Exciting Adult Text File From: MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM [[[[[[[ [[ [[ [[ [[ \[[[[[\ [[[[[[\ \[[[[[[ [[[[[[\ ^[] [[\\\[[ [[ [[ [[ [[ [[ [[ [[\\\\ [[ [[ ^[] [[___[[ [[ [[ [[ [[ [[ [[ [[____ [[[[[[ ^[] [[ [[ _[[[[[_ [[ [[ [[[[[[_ _[[[[[[ [[ _[[ MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM They said lightning only strikes once. They were wrong. Where there's THUNDER...there's LIGHTNING! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM WARNING: This text file contains material of an adult, explicit, possibly VIOLENT sexual nature. If you are uncomfortable reading material of this kind, please delete this file immediately. Under no circumstances is this file to be read or poessessed by persons under 21 years of age. --------------------------------------------------------- BBS Filename: Sisrape 13--The Face of Death Lewdness Level: Extreme (Violent scenes) Classifiction: Youngstuff/violent --------------------------------------------------------- SISTER RAPE By Thunder CHAPTER 13: The Face of Death It was almost over. Just a few more loose ends to tie up, and he'd be done. The rest he'd earned through his cooperation and silence would finally be achieved. For her. xxx "Please, Mark, you can't leave me out here!", June pleaded. Then, more rationally, "Your father--I'll tell him." "No you won't", Mark laughed. "Because he isn't going to be around to tell it to. See, by the time you get back...well, he won't be alive anymore." June gaped in shock. "You're not..." "Yes I am", Mark laughed, climbing into the car. "Have a good walk, MOTHER." He started the engine and pulled out, his mother running after him. It was almost comical, this slight, lovely woman who'd made him this way, was now running after him, totally out of control. He was still laughing when the car appeared behind her. It was a big black Caddy, with tinted windows. Fancy car--and it was moving straight at his mother. As if the driver didn't see her--or wanted to run her over. Without even thinking, Mark hit the brakes. The other car kept coming. He lept out and yelled to his mother to get out of the way. Too late. June had only just started to turn when the car hit. She flew through the air, crashing into the pavement right behind Mark's car, her body lying twisted, broken and bloody at his feet. The other car stopped as well, the driver's door swinging open... And Death stepped into view. Mark froze, staring at the hideous skull atop the shoulders, at the rictus grin and the empty, dead eye sockets. It was Death, like in every story he'd ever heard. Tearing his eyes from the sight of it, Mark lept into the car and took off, flooring the gas. The other driver slowed to swerve around June's body and put a little distance between them. Mark drove like a madman, ignoring stop signs and squealing around corners in his rush to get away. It was several miles later when he finally looked up in the mirror, half expecting to see the other car closing fast, Death at the wheel. But it was gone. He slowed, not wanting to risk attracting a cop, even out here. He had to chill out and think. This was not part of his plan! Think, think, think. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Okay. First thing was first. He had to get his father out of the way first, like he'd planned. Then come back and get his mother's body and hide it before somebody got suspiscious. Then he'd run, and hide, where the cops and nobody else would ever find him... "WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE!", he shouted, slamming on the brakes so hard the car skidded several feet. "Just wait a damn minute! This was Death following him! Death! Who could go anywhere, no matter what! Where did he think he could run to? Where could he hide? "Hold on, Mark, get it together", he cautioned. "Think man, think! If that guy is really Death, he wouldn't need a car, would he? No way! He wouldn't! No way, he's got to be somebody else. He's got to be flesh and blood, man. Just somebody in a mask...but those eyes..." He shook his head. "No way. Just a mask. Whoever it is, he's as real as I am. And that means he can die, right?" Suddenly he realized how silly he'd look, sitting here and talking to himself, if somebody came along. Worse than that, he was beginning to doubt his own sanity. Taking his foot off the brake, he hit the gas and eased back up to speed. Okay, first thing was first. He'd take care of the original plan, then handle this. Whoever it was in that mask, he wasn't going to win. If he wanted to play Death, he was going to get a nice, close look at it for real. He glanced at the dashboard clock. Almost five. His father would be home soon. Mark wanted to get there and be waiting. If Marianne or one of the girls got in the way, it would serve to show them who was in charge. That brought him back to the here and now. Whoever had hit his mother had done it intentionally; and then they'd come after him! But who? He could think of probably a thousand nameless faces that would want him dead. Parents, uncles, friends, just about anybody connected to one of his numerous victims. Thanks to the mask, he didn't know. Yeah, but...how did they know he'd be out here? He sure hadn't told anybody, and he hadn't seen anybody following him, either. In fact, this was the first time he'd come out this way in a while! It didn't make sense. His first thought was to get home. One thing at a time, right? Just handle it one thing at a time. It was just past five when he pulled up to the house. The front door was locked--a good sign. At least his father wasn't home yet. That would give Mark time to plan. He shoved the door open-- And stopped dead at the sight before him. Arrayed throughout the living room were the girls and Marianne. They all were just sitting there, but there was something very, very wrong. Because they were all very, very dead. The stench of death had begun to fill the house already. Mark put a hand over his mouth, feeling sick. Whoever had done this had also killed his mother. It had to be. He suddenly realized that one other person might just do it. Somebody else who might have a reason. His father. It made sense. His father wasn't stable to begin with--and now he'd really lost it. And for all Mark knew, he was already here, waiting... He turned and bolted, racing out to the car. He had to get away, FAR away, from here. Just as he jumped in, his car phone rang. Quickly he snatched it up. "Yeah?" "Mark..." Mark froze. "Who is this?" "Mark..." "Who the fuck is this?" "Mark...help me..." Instantly he recognized the voice. Max. Master of drugs, Mark's private agent when it came to selling his snuff and porn flicks. "Max? What the...?" "You...have to help me...been shot..." "Who? By who?" "You have to help me...I can help you...stop him..." "Max, where the fuck are you?" "The docks...near the abandoned pier...Warehouse 23..." The phone went dead, the line buzzing in Mark's hand. He slammed the phone down and roared off, heading toward the docks. xxx Even by day, the docks were a dangerous place, gloomy and filthy, so dangerous even the homeless and the cops stayed away. A rat scurried away as Mark climbed out of the car, his gun drawn. A figure stepped out of the shadows of a nearby warehouse and hurried toward him. The move was so unexpected, Mark almost shot him, until he saw it was Jimmy Cault. "Mark, man, what are you doing here? Where's your father?" Mark held up his hand. "He's lost it, Jimmy. He killed them all. Everybody." "Yeah, I know. First he tells me to go pick up Julie and give her what for, then he says no, don't go, then he calls me again and tells me to go do her brat sister and get lost. Paid me a hundred grand each to do it. I was supposed to meet him here to collect. Weird, man, he never works like that." Mark scowled. "Never mind that. You armed?" "Yeah." Jimmy held up the small pistol he'd used to kill Julie. "You think he really killed them?" "Yeah, my mom too, and now he wants me. I think he got Max here and shot him, too. Only he managed to warn me." "Shit!", Jimmy swore. "I don't--" Jimmy suddenly stumbled, a bright red patch blossoming on his chest. For a moment he looked down at it, then collapsed. Mark dove for cover, unsure of just where the shot had come from. Silenced, no doubt; he hadn't even heard it. "Looking for me, Mark?", his father called, his voice echoing off of the empty buildings. Mark crouched low, looking around. "Inside, Mark. Come and get me...if you can." Keeping low, Mark ran for the door. He was no cop and no soldier, but he'd seen enough TV to get the idea of what to do. The door was open just enough for him to slip inside. Quickly he moved to the shadows, keeping out of sight. "Oh come on, Mark, you can do better than that", his father taunted. "Poor Max is waiting for you to come help him. But I guess you don't care about that." "Fuck you!", Mark shouted, dodging out of the shadows and scruncing down behind an old wooden crate. "It's your ass I want! You're fucking nuts!" "That I am, Mark. And you know why? You made me that way." Mark looked around, listening. His father's voice echoed, but seemed to come from directly ahead. Keeping to cover, he moved forward, while his father taunted him. At last he came up to a partially open door, seperating the warhouse into two halves. His father sounded to be just on the other side. It sounded like Max was there too, moaning or something. He couldn't make out the sound; it was muffled. Spotting movement on the other side, he swung around and opened fire. One, two, three shots ripped into his father's body as he stood helpless against them. It wasn't until he doubled over against the I-beam he was standing against that Mark realized his father couldn't have been speaking. Because he was gagged. Somebody had tied him to the I-beam and gagged him. And now, he was dead. "Nice shooting, Mark", his father's voice said from off to his left. He whirled around and came face to face with Death. Mark let out a gasp and raised his gun. Death just stood there calmly, then raised one hand, which held a pistol in it, and pulled the mask off his face. Dressed in a black suit and sunglasses, offset only by his pale white face and hair, Max looked like death himself. He stared at Mark, then held up one hand, showing him a small box he held. "Like it? It's a neat little toy I picked up. Changes one's voice quite nicely, once you set the pitch and all." He tossed it to the floor at Mark's feet. "It sure fooled Jimmy." Mark looked from Max to his father. "What?" "Jimmy carried out his orders perfectly. Just a test, to make sure this worked. He thought I was your father...and so did you." "It took time, of course, and money, which you so generously provided. All those years I worked with you, soiling my hands to gain precious insight into you. At first, I didn't even know you were the one I sought. But once I found out...it was just a matter of time from there. I began to observe you, all of you. Wiretaps, bugs, hidden microphones. I knew everything that went on. And when the time was right, I began. Your father came first." Max sighed, folding his hands. He didn't seem to care that Mark was aiming a gun at him. "Brad, it's Max. Look, I think something is up with Mark. Can you meet me down at Warehouse 23 on the docks? It's the only safe place. Thanks." He shrugged. "And he came. Right to me." "I don't get this shit, Max. What the fuck are you doing?" "Setting right what went wrong, Mark. Wiping out the damage you've spent the last year creating." "You killed them all?" "All but Shannon. My guess would be she lucked out, Mark. A shame, too, I wanted to get her and finish this totally. But I don't think she'll live long enough now for it to matter. At least, not without a family to shelter and support her any longer. She'll probably wind up prostituting herself and dying of some drug overdose someplace. Because of you." "My mother! How'd you know I'd be out there, Max?" "Easy. A simple tracking device. I didn't want to lose sight of you, Mark." "Guess you lucked out. I'm just curious, Max. Why? Money? Power? Somebody hire you, maybe?" "You want an answer, Mark...but you won't get it. Not until just before you die. Slowly. Very slowly." "Like hell I will!", Mark shouted, opening fire. Three bullets caught Max in the chest, knocking him flat. He hit the floor hard, his gun clattering away across the cement. Mark kept squeezing the trigger, but he was out of bullets. Shaking, he slowly lowered the gun. Then started to laugh. He'd killed his father, like he'd planned--and one upped Max, who was out to kill him! Man, this was too much. Letting out a whoop of triumph, he turned and started through the door. Something shuffled behind him, and a powerful hand wrapped around his throat. Suddenly he was being jerked back, a thick, foul smelling cloth was jammed over his face. His vision swam as he grappled with his attacker. Just before he went under he heard Max say, "Bullet proof vest, Mark..." xxx Mark shook his head to clear it. He was sitting up, he could tell that much. And strapped so tightly into that position he could only move his head. Also, much to his chagrin, he was...naked. A rat scurried across his line of vision, then darted away as Max appeared from the shadows. "Well, finally awake? Good. You're dead weight when you're out of it." "What the fuck is this?", Mark asked, wincing a little at the heavy leather straps holding him in the chair. "The end, Mark. Welcome to the Chair. You've been charged, tried and convicted by a jury of One. Me. And as judge, I sentence you to death." Despite his predicament, Mark wasn't afraid. Not yet, anyway. "Bullshit. If I disappear, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do, Max. Sooner or later the cops'll find out." "Oh, I know that, Mark", Max sighed. "In fact, I've arranged for them to do just that. In the meantime, I'd like you to see something." Reaching inside his jacket, he removed his wallet, and from that, a snapshot. Max held the picture in front of Mark's face. It was a picture of a girl in a scout uniform, a little girl of about seven. "Recognize her, Mark?" Mark nodded. The first girl he'd ever snuffed on film. He remembered doing it. "She was my daughter, Mark. Michelle. Missy, she liked to be called. Just seven years old. One day, she went out to sell cookies...and never came home. I remember when they found her body. After the rats had gotten to it. I lost it then, Mark. Lost it." He sighed. "It took me a long time to find out what happened to her. I lost my wife over it, Mark. She couldn't take it. Put a gun in her mouth and blew her brains out." He hefted his pistol. "This gun. I thought it would only be fitting to use it now." He smiled, the first smile Mark had ever seen on his face. It was NOT pleasant to see. "So do it then", Mark hissed. "You got me, do it!" "Can't", Max stated. "No bullets." Mark laughed. "Ha! So what are you going to do now, huh? Huh?" "Oh, something very special, I've been saving just for you, Mark. Tell me, have you ever seen the movie 'The Serpent and the Rainbow'?" "Why--yeah, I saw it", Mark answered, feeling a LOT less cocky than he had a second ago. "W-Why?" "Remember the scene when they have the doctor strapped down in the chair, and the witch doctor wants him to scream?" Mark swallowed hard. "Yeah." Max turned to the table behind him and picked something up. Turning around, Mark could see he now held a mallet and a long, thick iron spike. "I want to hear you scream, Mark." Mark had scene the movie, and he sure didn't have to repeat any of the lines. He was already screaming. Max grinned, looking not unlike death. He pressed the tip of the spike against Mark's left nut. "Not good enough, Mr. Harris", he said, mimicking the man in the film. And brought the mallet down. EPILOGUE The gates to Restful Groves cemetery normally stood closed at midnight, but Max paid them no heed, driving his car straight through them. Even in the darkness, he had no trouble finding the grave. He shut the car off and climbed out, climbing the low hill to the grave. By the light of the full moon he knelt and read the stone in front of him. MICHELLE TIFFANY MAXMILLEN, 1977-1984 THE LIGHT OF OUR LIVES TAKEN FROM US BEFORE HER TIME REST IN PEACE OUR BELOVED DAUGHTER A small laugh escaped Max's lips. Max. Maxmillen. Mark had never known. He doubted, seriously, Mark had ever known Tiffany's last name. Nor had he ever cared. "He's gone, honey. You can rest now", Max said quietly. "He'll never hurt anybody again." Settling back on the ground, he pulled the gun out of his pocket. He'd lied to Mark about there being no bullets. There was one left. As he lifted the gun to his temple, Max briefly wondered what, if anything, would become of Shannon Harris, the only survivor. He guessed it didn't matter anymore. Keeping his eyes fixed on the stone, he cocked the hammer. And joined the darkness. THE END ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi. 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