Kill the Cherry Page 6

It felt like the night was still as young as nine, post-midday; Spencer checked the time on his iPhone to find the display reading one in the morning. He could feel the fiery adrenaline rush through his veins, escalating fiercer in temperature the closer they arrived to their destination on the road. Willy drove back on the highway and took a southbound exit, driving for almost forty-five minutes through roads that revealed nothing but fields and fields and more fields dimly illuminated beneath the midnight starlit sky dominated by the sliver of light from the last-quarter moon.

  Finally Willy made a turn and took a drive down a dirt road through some trees, over a bridge, up and down a few hills until the highway or any sign of civilization behind them was no longer visible, and after approximately five minutes they had arrived.

  Big was the first instinctive word that entered Spencer’s mind once he saw the farmhouse. To think anyone would just bail out of a palace that you had to have paid a very hefty sum for was completely unfathomable. From the outside it delicate enough. Very sophisticated and well-kept. Aside from its size it was basically a simple house; something he thought his parents would like. It wasn't a mansion or something the wealthy would go for but still...perfect. It looked rickety, aging, lifeless, but innocent and pure—like something mistreated and abused that just needed some love to get it back on its feet. There was a nice wide front porch that went around the side, a swing hanging next to the front door. Apprehension began to take its toll now. It was too good to be true.

  It was a far cry from what Spencer imagined would be the place he'd kill his cherry. He always daydreamed about a dark alleyway with a homeless person or a prostitute, maybe some old barren warehouse near the railroad tracks or an airport where the roaring transportation would drown out his victim's cries and screams...but this place. Beautiful lush scenery—from what he could tell through the dead of night—an exceptional, innocent home that had looked like it was owned by a happy family. Talk about a mindfuck.

  “You can't be serious,” Holly said. “And you said nobody lives here anymore?”

  “Exactly,” Spencer chimed in. “A place like this deserted? I don't buy it. No real estate sign? No house sitter?”

  “I thought the same thing myself,” Willy said. “But I checked it out, I asked around to the few people who were aware of their existence said they weren't in touch with the everyday social world. They packed up and have been gone for over two months now. I'm telling you, we're straight.”

  Spencer looked over to Holly, just in time to see her giving him a smile. An odd one...one that expressed a strange hunger.

  “I didn't think I'd be saying this,” she said, “but I'm feeling so fired up. I can't elaborate.”

  She laughed. Spencer returned a smile affixed with waywardness.

  “I know, it’s like up until this point I was…kind of skeptical, you know? But now that it’s here, now that it’s gonna happen, I’m ready—ready to rock and roll, baby.”

  Holly wrinkled her nose and giggled.

  “I wasn’t sure how I was going to approach this, either,” she said. “This is my first time.”

  Spencer felt his eyes almost pop out of their sockets. Was what she just said some utterance or white noise from another dimension in his head? Did he hear that correctly? Did he hear that from this woman's lips in the real world? This fine young thing still has her cherry intact?

  “Looks like we’re gonna learn together, huh?”

  Holly shrugged. “I guess we are.”

  Spencer felt a sudden cry shooting up his throat and it had nearly blurted itself out had he failed to control himself properly. His heart was beating out of his chest, blood coursing feverishly through his whole body that he was feeling himself go numb. How could so many prodigies take place in the space of one night for just one man? The Powers That Be were looking down upon him and granting him, showering him with special privileges and favors—they saw promise in this one! A future! A Second-Coming! A—

  Willy almost made the both of them jump simultaneously right when he rapped loudly on the window behind Spencer, and then opened the door.

  “Yo, are we jumping the gun in here? Better think twice if you think I'm gonna let you get anything on my fabric interior!” Willy said, with an arm wrapped around Kirsten, joining her in a laugh. He nodded towards the house. “The party’s in there, dipshits!”

  Spencer and Holly both exchanged good-natured shaking of the head and rolling of the eyes and proceeded out of the vehicle.

  The two couples approached the front door of the house and without looking into it first, Willy stuck his hand into his pocket and brought out the key. Kirsten glanced at each one of them before barking a laugh.

  “How do you have a key?” Kirsten said.

  “I found it underneath the mat,” Willy said, holding a stare on her and keeping it paused for two seconds before he threw his head back in laughter. “I went to a locksmith.”

  “'You went to a locksmith?'” Holly said. “And they just made a copy for you?”

  “They just made a copy for me. Trust me, I have my ways.”

  “Let me guess,” Kirsten said. “The person working the counter was this corpulent, zit-faced, buck-toothed freak-of-nature chick?”

  “Her teeth were fine.”

  Kirsten wrinkled her nose.

  “Can this one key work on all the doors in the house?” Spencer said.

  “Have no idea,” Willy said, unlocking the door. “All I know is it’s spacious, it’s comfy, it’s cozy, it’s clean and it’s hereby confiscated!”

  The key reached home with a loud click and Willy pushed the door open. Both Kirsten and Willy howled in victory as they filed in through the door, arms locked around one another, embracing in a prolonged, hunger-filled French kiss.

  Spencer watched them in mild amusement as he casually pocketed his hands walking inside, and then mentally kicked himself for forgetting to let Holly in first. He immediately spun around, retreated out the door and making apologies before she was able to take a step for the door frame, stood to the side, and brought his hands out in a welcoming ladies first indication.

  “I’m so sorry,” Spencer said with a smile. “After you.”

  Holly smirked as if she found his clumsy first-date skills to be actually cute. He could see she found him to be adorable for trying so hard. Spencer wondered briefly if she thought this was his first actual date.

  “Thanks,” she said, “but I think I can do without an usher around here.”

  “Just being conservative; doing my part in this, ya' know?”

  Holly snorted and nodded.

  The interior of the place was still definitely in healthy shape; wallpaper still intact, the furniture still in good condition, some minor dust had been collected here and there, but no signs of any aging whatsoever. Except maybe the missing pieces that made a home a home. No picture frames nailed to the wall, none standing on any of the tables or bureaus, no personalized items or specific tastes of anything or any kind.

  They checked the kitchen where they found an assortment of old, expired boring food items—canned vegetables from bottom rung independent processors—that were scattered in cupboards, on counters and in the refrigerator, where it had carried a bowl of rotted fruit, gallons of month-old milk, and a pile of condiment packets from various fast food restaurants. The open container of Arm and Hammer on the top shelf saved the interior of this machine from a horrible stench.

  “Where did you say the little girl's room was again?” Kirsten said, buckling her knees. “I need to make a tinkie.”

  Willy directed her to the first floor lavatory down the hall. Kirsten looked over to Holly.

  “Yo, Hol’-meister, why don’t you come and tinkie with me.”

  Kirsten winked and smooched a kiss in mock flirtation, followed by an innocent chortle. Holly took the hint with a shake of her head and a smirk. Spencer watched her as she walked over to and stood by Kirsten. She was so natural, so naïve, so clueless; so bea
utiful. Such a waste. Then again, it wasn't a total waste—he knew it now. She was made for this; she was designed just for him. Like the ancient times when a princess is trained her whole life since birth to serve her future king husband—she was naturally born to be his.

  “We’ll be back,” Kirsten said, and they disappeared from the room.

  This was perfect. It was now time for the pre-show ritual; the moment to exchange a few final words of advice with your associate. Willy approached Spencer and slapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “This is it, man,” he said softly. “No turning back now. I'm geared up and ready to go, and you need to be to. Because if you don’t finish that bitch, I’m going to. And I don’t have a problem doing it. You sure you’re ready?”

  Spencer displayed a smile for his friend, and without thinking he placed both his hands on his shoulders. To reach out and grab someone like that, especially to somebody on Willy's level was unthinkable. The mood that was charging through his essence was making parts of him do things that were out of his control.

  “Willy,” he said in a quiet tone to match his. “I have been ready for this ever since I broke the skin on my mom’s nipple with my first tooth. I had a new special love for a different bodily fluid that I know only a woman could provide me with.”

  Willy, much to Spencer’s bewilderment, was struck with something that came to impact right to his face after what he had just said. His eyes widened in total shock, his jaw falling slowly until it reached the limit of its hinges; he remained beat and immobile from absolute awe. Spencer knew him long enough to tell when he was bullshitting or when he was dead serious. And if he was dramatically playing with his emotions right now, he was definitely steering away from a better, healthier profession.

  At least not for the first three seconds until a new emotion waved over him. His features began to rise...rise and shine. Willy broke out into a laugh that filled the entire house; his eyes were now glaring with excitement and giddiness, a bright toothy smile beamed across his lips, his hands clawed at his shoulders from the thrill and anticipation that was visibly taking him over. Spencer feared for a millisecond that he was about to do something that would blow their cover.

  “My nigga!” Willy almost shouted, but calmly brought it down to their secretive tone. “You’re a fucking natural! I can tell you that right now, man!” Willy looked over his shoulder, concerned the ladies might have come back to see what the commotion was; once he saw the coast was clear, he calmed himself by straightening the top of his shirt and then leaned in to Spencer to resume their heart-to-heart in a discreet volume. “Now remember, this is the evening that will define your entire life on this planet. It was like that the first time I wasted my first skank. She trusted me, liked me a lot, and when I felt the blade penetrate her chest…”

  The look in Willy’s eyes; the tone wavering in his voice; the way his hands began to tremble, Spencer was again worried he would lose all control, run down the hall and into the bathroom to do Kirsten right now, and if he did that, there would be no argument he would do Holly along with her, ruining the night for the both of them. Luckily he seemed to restrain himself and take composure of his voice.

  “...all five inches as I looked into her eyes. The eyes are where the fuck it’s at. It’s never worth it unless you look into the eyes, dude. Oh, and of course the shedding. All the beautiful, glorious blood they shit endlessly from their wound. Speaking of which, sometimes those nasty bitches shit themselves, so just to give you a heads up. Piss themselves or shit themselves, or both.”

  Spencer nodded, taking heed in all of his best friend’s words.

  “The bottom line here is don’t let any bullshit get in your way of enjoying this memorable occasion. Remember, this is the ultimate drug that will put all that street smack to shame. You’ll be taken to a different realm, carefree of the world surrounding you; you will walk tall, you will become a man of power, you will be a God, Spencer. Just remember to look into the eyes. When you do, you’ll be absorbing her soul. Devouring it.

  “It's the next level—it's what everyone wants...it's what everyone works for...it's what everyone lives for...it's what everyone needs...and this is the only way to achieve it. Why? Because every mother fucker that you and I see walking down the sidewalk is a fucking pussy! They're all afraid! Don't you see? It's the final level! Taking a life is equivalent to destroying a universe. Human beings are the strongest and greatest creation known to mankind in all the galaxy—well, men are. All the greenhorns are supposed to start with women; it's overwhelming at first, but it's only a warm-up before you move onto the men—and that is where the Tootsie Roll is beyond all that hard Tootsie Pop. You remember that one Vietnam movie when the captain killed that deranged colonel? And that guy was gargantuan—I mean large and in charge, even before he had an army of spearchucking Cambodians backing him up; he had an impeccable military record and a family and everyone looked up to him. And then one single man cut him to ribbons with a fucking machete! And what happened after? What happened after, Spence? He became the new colonel! He became the new Kurtz! Those psycho-native fucks were all of a sudden bowing to him! That's no unrealistic Hollywood exaggeration, that is for real!

  “There are several hundred species of animal that roam the world, then there are women, and then there is man! Why do you think Hitler referred to them the Masters of the Universe? When you master the master, what does that make you? Eternal! Say it with me, Spense! Eternal!”

  “Eternal.”

  “Eternal!”

  “Eternal!”

  “Eternal!”

  “Eternal!”

  Willy grabbed Spencer's shoulders again, tightening the squeeze and shaking him playfully until his head bobbed like a nodder figurine. He grinned and felt like he and his football teammate were in the locker room prepping themselves up for the Superbowl.

  “And speaking of historic icons,” Willy said. “Wasn't it Sun Ti-zoo that said that the instinct to kill is as common as the need to procreate?”

  Spencer thought about correcting his pronunciation of but didn't want to spoil the moment.

  “It's in all of us. Ti-zoo couldn't have said it better. It's even every one of us—even the ones who abhor the concept of violence. They say it's what makes the human race damned; I say it's even more damned without it! It's a part of us! We need it as much as we need the blood that runs in our veins to live; it's what makes us human. Back in medieval times, families got enjoyment out of watching live beheadings, the Romans watched people mangled and mauled by lions as gaily and happily as we would watch a ball game today. As time and human knowledge and morale evolved, we transferred this urge from real-life executions to absorbing that comic books, television, film and video games—fictional characters in a fictional world where no physical harm is done to anyone. You get what I'm saying so far? Man was so much more wiser and living life to its absolute fullest and rawest—basically just being human—and then the idiot box sucked all those impulses and appetites from us—“

  Willy clutched a fist in front of his heart, indicating real mightily emotion in this part.

  “—robbed us of our primal essence and leaving us a boring moronic mutant offspring of real hardcore bad-ass motherfuckers that went extinct before the twenty-first century.

  “You and I, Spence...you and I are unfortunate enough to be a part of this generation but very fortunate enough to have acquired a common sense more unique than you're average bear. Am I right, homie? We're gonna take that sense and take our knives and take those lives and then take a hand right to our crotches and say, 'You wanna suck the human part out of me? Suck on this while you're at it, you bitch-ass tricks!'”

  Willy held out a fist, Spencer bumped it even though he wasn't sure he was following him a hundred percent.

  “The bottom line here is through a genius, knowledgeable perspective...it's normal. It's totally normal. Everyone should be doing this. That's what separates us from them. You think you're diff
erent because you're the one who's not normal? It's actually quite the contrary. They are the coward motherfuckers who aren't normal...you're the one heading to the final level.”

  Spencer felt his heart increase in size, warming his innards to a comforting level, granting him a dose of confidentiality and comfort…he liked where this was going. He felt his mouth water, imagining those beautiful ambers of her looking at him, tearing and suffering from pain, betrayal, shock, the plea to make it stop and bring her back before the next world captivated her and swallowed her existence whole and erasing her from the face of this planet for all eternity.

  He settled his eyes onto Willy’s so they could lock securely to express his genuine determination.

  “Willy,” he said, “she can sprout anything out of any opening her body wants to…but as sure as I have ever been about anything in my whole life, I want to see her bloom…and I want to see her eyes…I want to go to that final—”

  Spencer stopped himself.

  “What?” Willy said.

  “What makes it the final level? How do we know there's not anything after this?”

  A smile widened across Willy’s face as he shook his head, staring disbelieving at his accomplice. Then he laughed.

  “That's a special privilege a rare few get, and we have the honor of finding out ourselves. If you're still willing to walk that path. Are you with me?”

  Spencer stared at the floorboards for a second or two, letting the thought ponder in his head. He instantly killed it off and looked back at Willy.

  “You better believe I am.”

  “That’s my man. Now quick, before they come back, let’s toast.”

  Spencer reached down to pull his right pant leg up and unbutton the ankle holster that carried his CRTK Ultima Hunter’s tactical knife that Willy had bought one for him and another for himself from a surplus store downtown—five inches of black steel lined with a razor-sharp serrated edge with a comfortable black leather grip—he said it would be just perfect for his first time.

  “Remember,” Willy said, “these bad boys aren't designed for this kind of practice, they don't have a fuller. So you gotta twist it to break the suction.”

  “Got it.”

  Willy and Spencer held out their weapons, blades up.

  “To the final level,” said Willy, wearing a proud smile.

  Spencer replied feeling that same smile of self-contentedness pull across his face.

  “To the final level.”

  They clinked blades.