NIGHTMARES

Frank's bruised bleeding legs can't hold him up any longer and he collapses against his future murderer who just snickers and lets him fall so his aching head slams into the wet concrete again. Screwing his eyes shut and panting with fresh pain he prays for unconscious or death to take him away to that numb white place of peace in the sky but he can still feel the hard ground under his beaten body and the blood soaking through his clothes...so much blood... Lorna's blood...
Her screams of agony are still echoing in his mind and he wants to cover his ears and shut them out but his hands are still bound behind his back and the rope bites into his black and blue wrists, pinching and bleeding as the screams go on and on and maybe it's his own voice screaming now, raw and senseless with horror and pain. Then a leather-clad fist slams into his jaw and everything spins and he can't shout or move or speak or do anything. He never could do anything right. He couldn't save Lorna when she was begging him for help and now he's going to die too. He's useless, he's nothing! He's a stupid trouble-making moronic liability and he fucking DESERVES to die here tonight!

The assassin grabs his prisoner's arm, stretching the deep cuts he carved into Frank's inked skin earlier and re-opening the wounds as he drags him carelessly over the basement floor like a bag of garbage. Frank can’t struggle anymore and doesn't have the strength to try. Woozy from blood-loss and concussion, he sinks rapidly into a cold exhausted haze as gray clouds cover his eyes and the will to live drains out of his heart along with the blood running down his limbs. He can’t even cry now.
With a muffled grunt, the killer dumps him on the blood-slicked concrete next to Lorna’s corpse and her thick slippery blood smothers his cheek and his hair, swallowing him up in gore, but he’s too far gone to do anything about it. His heartbeat sounds sluggish and slow, pounding tiredly in his ears like distant drums as his breaths become fainter and shallower and the room starts getting dark.
The murderer slides a gloved hand into his jacket and pulls out a large black revolver with a silencer fixed to the barrel. Frank sees the gun but his mind can’t connect it to an emotion or a thought or anything real as a flurry of spots and shadows flood his heavy eyes and the world falls away.

***
The killer watches through his helmet's visor as Frank loses consciousness and sighs with disappointment. It’s no fun if they don’t beg for their life. Oh well, fuck it. It's time to go. Tightening his grip on the gun, the monster aims it at his final victim’s forehead and prepares to pull the trigger.
Then - CRASH - he hears a sudden noise from upstairs.
Someone else is in the house.
“Fuck,” the killer gasps, spinning around and licking his lips in agitation, tasting sweat on his skin. It’s too hot inside this fucking helmet. If only his Boss didn’t have such strict rules about his operatives revealing their faces. Even to the dead.
Still aiming the gun at Frank, the killer turns away and lifts his visor, listening hard for further noises…
There: footsteps on the creaking floorboards overhead and they're too light to belong to Dave Mackenzie, that big dumb lug. This is someone new who's about to wish they’d never set foot in this house tonight. Grinning with excitement, the murderer revels in a rush of adrenaline at the thought of a fresh victim falling right into his lap. Maybe tonight won’t be such a disappointment after all.

Listening closely to the muffled movements from above, he glances down at the blood-drenched kids lying at his feet; fuck the rules about them seeing his face. Like it matters now. The Mackenzie girl is dead – total worm-food - with her chest ripped open spilling jellied gore onto the concrete. Her boyfriend is still passed out which is nice cuz he's finally stopped fucking crying and screaming like a stuck pig. The stab wounds in his legs are still bleeding and he'll be dead soon too even if he doesn't get his pretty little face shot off. Nice.

Turning away, the assassin creeps quietly up the basement steps and pauses in front of the door leading into the main house to take off his helmet, revealing his prison-scarred face and grey eyes. Pressing his ear to the door he hears the intruder’s footsteps coming closer. They seem to be making their way straight to the basement. He needs to use the element of surprise. Grasping the door handle, he listens intently with a sly grin sliding up his jaw. The intruder is almost on the other side of the door now and they're walking slowly and hesitantly, breathing hard. They sound scared. That’s good.
Quick as lightning the killer yanks the door open and slams the butt of his revolver into the startled face of the man on the other side.

With a cry of pain, the intruder crumples back into the shadows of the house and hits the floor, dropping a metal pipe as his hands rush to his broken nose. Growling victoriously, the killer grabs him by the front of his coat and throws him violently down the basement stairs where he lands hard in a groaning heap at the bottom.
Softly closing the door, the killer leaps down the stairs in an instant and drags his new victim to their feet, pressing his gun to their head while he gets a good look at them. It’s another young one, probably in his late twenties and he's about half a foot shorter than the killer, with longish black hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes that are now dazed and shining with pain. Blood is gushing from his small nose and his ragged breathing suggests a few busted ribs from his trip down the stairs.
Sneering in satisfaction, the killer cocks the gun and watches his new plaything flinch in panic. “Are you a cop?” he snarls.
“N-No,” the guy gasps, blood running into his mouth, “Oh fuck!”
“What’s your name?”
“I…um...”
“What’s your FUCKING NAME?”
“Gerard!”
“Oh, so you’re Gerard,” the maniac smirks, lowering the gun a little, “You’re the one who’s been calling and trying to find his little friend Frankie, huh?”
Gerard’s eyes widen in surprise and the killer shoves him backwards so hard he falls on his ass in the congealing mess of the girl’s blood. With a strangled cry, the younger man skitters away from her jagged crimson corpse and slips in the gore, tumbling onto the body of his friend Frank. With horror-struck eyes, he opens his mouth to scream but only a croak comes out. “Congratulations, Gerard,” the killer crows, “You found him!”

***
With pain throbbing through his face and chest, Gerard stares down in agony at his best friend’s battered body and nearly bursts into tears. Sprawled stiff and motionless on the bloodied concrete, Frank is barely recognisable as the handsome little ball of energy and heart that he was a month ago before his nightmares even began. His torn clothes are hanging off his frail body and his bruised skin is smeared red and butchered with cuts and deep oozing wounds. Trails of darker blood are drying under his nose and at the corners of his mouth and his closed eyes are ringed with purple shadows and sunken into his head under a matted curtain of wet hair. He looks like a broken doll. He doesn't look alive anymore... Choking back a hot lump of grief in his throat, Gerard reaches out with quivering fingers to touch Frank’s face but he can't bring himself to make contact. Frankie can’t be dead...No, no, please no, god NO! Trying desperately to stop his hand from shaking, he drops it onto Frank’s chest and presses his palm into the blood and vomit-soaked t-shirt... and he can't feel him breathing.

Notes

((Dun dun dun... sorry this chapter's so short.
I'm a bit stuck on something coming up that I want to change but don't know how
so I just posted what I have so far.
I love you all for still reading this insane shit!
Please comment, if you like commenting. xx))