Anarchy lit his cigarette, the paper burning into a wave of smoke. His legs up, he drew back and inhaled as he watched her crawl away.
“Save your strength,” he said, smirking. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The woman, whose name was something like Maria or Marion—he couldn’t quite remember—stopped and lay flat on her belly. The knife in her back had finally defeated her.
“There you have it, folks.” Anarchy sat forward, took another puff, and blew it into a gray cloud. The postsex cigarette had always been his favorite. “Try not to feel too bad about it. You gave it some fight, after all. I’m almost impressed.”
As if by some miracle, Marion (yes, it was Marion—one of the others had screamed it when he’d dragged her away) reached across the dusty floorboard, dug her painted nails into the soft wood, and pulled herself a little farther. She was nearly at the door.
“Woohooo.” Anarchy laughed and stood, clapping. “You go, girl!” He stalked around her, watching her body shiver as each painstaking reach toward the door killed her a little more.
“P-Please,” Marion mumbled with what little strength she had left. Her arm relaxed as if she’d given up, and her cheek dropped to the floor in submission.
Anarchy—still loving his high school nickname—crouched beside her and looked into the dark, desperate pools of her eyes. There was something in there, genuine desperation to accompany her plea. “Please what, babe?”
Marion’s face contorted in agonizing horror. “Please… Hurts…”
Perhaps he could allow her to live and get her some medical attention. But what would be the fun in that? It wasn’t like he didn’t have two other women to fuck around with. Besides, this was a fun change of pace from stabbing drunks, burning down family homes, and other exciting pastimes. “It’s all right—it won’t hurt anymore.”
When he reached for the knife in her back and tugged on it, Marion’s eyes shot wide open. She grunted, unable to find words to voice her pain. Anarchy slid the blade out, found a new spot in her back, and plunged it in.
“How’s that?” he asked, watching her eyes close. “That should end the torment, no?” Once more, he took the knife from her back and stabbed her again. This time with a little more force.
Marion’s body finally stopped moving, the knife’s hilt protruding from her flesh. She was at peace now, whether she’d wanted to be or not.
Anarchy stood up straight, looked around the dusty old room, and rubbed his hands together. There was so much fun to be had.
And this was just the start.