PSYCHO
I
Gone Fanfic. All the characters are Michael Grant's. Plot is mine. Slightly OOC.
I hear him wake up. I hear his curses, his questions. I see the pain register in his eyes; I see fear mixed in there too. He gags, and spits out blood. I had punched him multiple times in the face. I could already see bruises forming. A smile tugs at my lips knowing that this is all my doing, knowing that I am the one who inflicted this pain upon him. It brings me joy at the thought that I am the one who broke him, that I am the one who brought fear into his eyes.
"Have a nice sleep, Sammie Boy?" I ask. "Or was it plagued with the thought of me whipping you to death, just like I almost did last time?"
I remember when I almost killed him in that power plant. I remember the surge of power that I felt as each blow connected. Good times.
It's fun to taunt him like this. But I know that the real fun hasn't even started yet. I smile again, a dark, twisted smile; my favorite kind of smile. I don't wait for a reply. Instead, I walk over to him and slap him in the face with my whip. Note to self: thank the Gaiaphage, and Lana.
I hear his sharp intake of breath. I see him bite his tongue. I am not satisfied with this; I want to hear him scream, to beg for mercy. I whip him again, harder this time and hear him scream. It's like music to my ears. I want to hear more music, so I whip him again, even harder than before. He shouts out again.
"You're a psycho, man," he screams "You can't kill me!"
He looks like he's about to pass out from fear. A warm feeling rushes through me. I am enjoying every second of this. I wonder what my parents would think if they were here. I'm pretty sure they knew that I was mental, but I don't think they could have foreseen this. No one could have.
"You really just figured that out?" "You're even dumber than I thought." Moron. "And what makes you think that I wouldn't relish every second of watching the life bleed out of you?" Maybe I hit him harder than I thought. Who cares? He's going to die anyway.
He struggles to come up with an answer to my question. Everyone in the whole freaking FAYZ knows that I wouldn't hesitate to kill a person, let alone Sam. He's probably one of the people I want to kill most, next to Diana. I would love to whip the crap out of her. But the Gaiaphage needs her, so I'm stuck with my fantasies.
"No answer, huh?" I say quietly. "I expected as much. Can we get on with the torturing?" I don't wait for an answer. I take a knife out of my back pocket. It's beautiful. Curved and sharpened to perfection .I've been waiting to use her for a long time. I throw it into the air and catch it. Sam's eyes widen. I laugh.
"Do you have any method of torture that you prefer?" I ask him. "I personally like to work with knives. More pain." I can't wait to start. I am as giddy as a five- year-old in a candy shop. It is so hard to contain myself. I grin at the sight of the great Sam Temple tied up and bloody.
I walk over to him, knife in hand. I thrust the knife down onto one of his fingers. It was not a completely clean slice, but I'm pretty sure it hurt like hell. He shrieks, so loudly that I almost cover my ears. Almost. I smile as I see his blood drip from the knife. The color is so beautiful, so dark and rich. If I were capable of love, I would fall in love with the color. I hear Sam's breathing become heavy. It starts to annoy me, so I stab him in his leg. His screams echo off of the walls.
"Please," he sobs, futilely trying to break free. Of course, he doesn't succeed. "Please don't do this to me!"
His begging is futile. I know he knows that I won't spare him. I spare no one.
"Shut it, you pathetic piece of crap." He really is rather irritating
Sam shuts up.
"Ahhh, that's better. Anywhere you would like to be stabbed?" I sound crazed. Like I belong in an insane asylum. I stab him again, this time in his left thigh. I pull the knife out and throw it on the carpet. The tears start to flow freely from his eyes. He begs for mercy, asking God to forgive him for all that he has done. But I don't care. I'm having far too much fun.
I almost forgot that I brought a suitcase full of weapons. Not that I need them, of course. I alone am a weapon. Just for the sake of creativity, I guess. I bend down and pick out a make-shift spear made with a knife and glass on top. They really have to manufacture these things. Very useful.
Sam's eyes are half-closed. Probably slipping into oblivion from all of the pain. I feel a flare of anger. I want him to experience every second of this. But, of course, there is noting that I can do. I just have to make the best of it while he is still awake.
I bring the spear up towards my face and inspect it closely. It's not perfect, but it'll do the job. I swing it up like I'm about to hit a baseball and bring it down on Sam's midsection. Blood oozes out from his wounds and some of it spatters onto my shirt. He clutches his, mid-section and screams louder than the other times. I laugh a mad cackle that belongs to an insane person. I probably am insane.
"Please stop," he screams. "I'll do anything!" He sounds desperate and helpless. Two qualities I love in my victims. "Anything! Just don't kill me!" His voice shakes with fear. He really thinks that I would show him mercy. How naïve. I love every moment of this.
I look at Sam. His eyes are rimmed red and bloodshot. It looks like he hasn't slept for days. Let's hope this makes him less likely to fight back. Not that I couldn't have taken him. Just because it would be easier.
This is just too great. It's funny how he thinks that there's actually anything that will make me stop. He's even more of an idiot of that stupid surfer friend of his. What was his name? Quinn. That was it. What a stupid name. That mother of his must have been deranged.
"Just shut up already. You're seriously annoying me right now." To make sure that he shuts up, I punch him hard in the mouth.
His hands immediately fly up to his face, like a coward.
I punch him again, and this time he goes unconscious. I grab the knife off the floor and clean the blood off it with my white shirt. I purposely wore white today because I think the two colors contrast nicely with each other. Now you can only see the blood, none of the white fabric.
I turn the knife over in my hands, looking closely at the instrument that will break Sam Temple. I force open his mouth and grab his tongue. Ew. Talk about disgusting. But it must be done. I bring the knife down and slowly try to cut away at his tongue.
Horror movie quantities of blood spill out from his mouth. The scent wafts up to my nose and I inhale deeply, savoring the metallic scent. He starts to squirm, so I punch him again. He's out cold. Finally the tongue falls from his mouth. Excellent. That'll shut him up for sure. I need to think of something else to do, so I go back to my suitcase of horrors.
I see a gun at the bottom of the suitcase. I usually don't like working with guns, because of the lack of creativity, but I was in the mood to go all action movie. Next to it I see a box of bullets. I killed a kid for these. He got too greedy, so I had to teach him a lesson. I didn't plan to kill him. I just wanted to seriously injure him. Oh well, killing two birds with one stone, I guess. Emphasis on the killing. It was funny to hear him scream. Eventually he got on my nerves, so I broke his neck. His cronies just dropped the box and ran away. Some friends.
I heard that these were the type that blew your prey's head up. But I don't want to kill him yet. Not just yet.
"Hmm… maybe in the foot or something." As I load the gun, I think about Astrid. Sam's know-it-all girlfriend with a "holier-than-thou" attitude. God, do I hate her. I would do anything to get my hands on her neck and just twist. It would be lovely to see her ugly face when she hears the news about her idiot boyfriend. It was his fault, anyway. He was just so easy to hate. He brought this upon himself.
I finish loading the gun, and I almost skip over to Sam. I wish I could video tape this or something, so I could experience the elation I feel all over again. I click the safety off and shoot him in the foot. He obviously felt it because he starts to squeal like a little girl.
"Have a nice nap, each second, I grow more and more anxious to see him dead, to see him bleed out. My voice must have portrayed that because he looks like he's about to soil his pants. Maybe he has already.
I saunter over to Sam. I look down to see that I was right. He did soil his pants. A small laugh escapes my mouth. It sounds wild and irrational.
"Ready to meet your demise, Sammie Boy? Any last words?" I'm sure he'll mention that annoying girlfriend of his.
To my surprise, he doesn't. He just goes completely silent. His crying and sniffling stop. I don't know how long I have been waiting to do this. It's like a dream. Sometime during this fun little torture session, I decided to burn him alive. I don't know when, but I like it. I grab the gasoline from the suitcase and get ready to work. I grin. This is going to be fun.