The Midnight Hour

By Dakota Kirkpatrick All Rights Reserved ©

Horror / Thriller

Chapter 3

Two Months Later

I stood, staring at the three gravestones. The tears have all but dried on my cheeks, the pain inside has turned. No longer is grief what I feel, I need more. The police have not found the three men responsible for destroying my life, taking my family away from me.

They say they have no leads, no case to build. There were no prints or trace of them at the scene, they covered their tracks well. That’s not good enough, they must pay for what they’ve done, and I’ve been watching, waiting to find them. The man who revealed his face to me, I have tracked down. I followed him down to the industrial park where he stays in an old broken-down motel building.

According to the motel owner his name is Dean Myers, he is staying in room 203 with his brother Joe. No doubt Joe was in on it as well. I park my car just off the road where I can see them coming and going. The brother looks just like him only a few years younger.

As I stare at the tombstones, rage floods through me. They will pay. I turn and walk through the fresh cut grass towards my car. The spring air is crisp with a smell of rain coming. The wind flows through the sky, pushing the darkened clouds my way, they hover overhead with purpose. The rain sprinkles down washing away everything it touches.

The sky goes dark under the clouds, thunder creeps through the sky shaking the earth. Tonight, I tell myself, tonight I will make my move.

The hours tick by as I wait, sitting in my dim lit house. I load round after round into the mag of my 9mm handgun, it’s not for them, more of a backup plan. Shooting them would be too easy, too quick, no it’s not what I’ll use. I shove the handgun into the back of my waistband, pulling my white t-shirt over it.

I grab a small bottle labeled chloroform from my pocket and soak a rag in its contents, this will be step one. I stuff the rag in my pocket, then hop up from the table. I grab my old leather jacket and throw it on. I grab my car keys from the small key hook by the front door, and head out on my way.

I quickly walk out to my car, hop in and start the engine. I stomp my foot on the gas and fly down the road. I pass by tall skyscrapers and businesses as I go through the never sleeping city. Cars rushing by me as I go, I drive straight through, heading into the garbage side of town where all the crooks seem to stay.

The city falls behind me as I enter the industrial park, power plants and run-down houses flood the streets. Trash is piled on the roads from years of littering and neglect. The crumby old motel quickly approaching ahead. I park along the curb, just close enough to watch their room.

The large gravel parking lot is empty besides a few broken down cars. The office manager has already left leaving the walkway to the rooms without light. The dim shine from the street lights shine just enough to see their door.

I sit and wait, watching for one or the other to leave so I can pick them off one at a time. Adrenaline flows through me in anticipation, excited for my own sick justice I have in mind.

I watch as seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours. No movement yet. The lights in their room suddenly turn on, casting their shadows on the curtains. The two of them are both in there, it’s only a matter of time now. Every night since I have been watching them, the older one usually takes off around three in the morning. I’m banking on that happening now, then I’ll nab the younger one, get him to talk, get him to squeal.

Like clockwork, three a.m. strikes on the dot and their door swings open. The older one Dean, steps out the door, looking back and forth in some paranoia before walking to his beat up pickup truck. He hops in and starts it, a shockwave of screeches shoots from it. Black smoke filters out the tailpipe as he backs up, leaving the parking lot.

He turns onto the road driving right passed me, I stare at him in the truck as he goes. I swear our eyes meet, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even know who I am. Oh, but I know who he is. I watch in my rearview mirror until his tail lights fade in the distance. Now is my time, I swing my door open and march through the darkness towards their motel room.

My heart is pounding in my chest, the reality sinking in the closer I get. I stand right outside the door. I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then plunge my foot into the door sending it splintering open. Joe trips to the floor startled by my entrance, sprawling to a crawl as I approach him. His eyes wide, as he looks at me, he knows exactly why I’m here.

I send my foot flying into his chin, landing with a crack. Blood spurts out his mouth, a tooth accompanying it. He flops down face first on the old brown carpet, I quickly yank the rag from my pocket and smash it over his nose and mouth. His eyes roll back in his skull as he inhales the fumes. His body goes limp and flails onto the floor.

His brown hair covers his face as he lays there. I grab hold of his stained white tank top with one hand, another on his faded blue jeans and begin dragging him from the room. I pull his body through the gravel parking lot over to my car, then throw him in my trunk.

I grab a few zip ties from the glove box and bind his hands and feet together, just in case he wakes before I’m ready. I slam the trunk shut, and hop back in the driver’s seat, quickly speeding off down the road.

I drive a few miles out of town into the old country roads where farms used to thrive, as the farmers left the area they also left all their old barns, that’s where I am taking him.

I pull up in front of a weathered old red barn, leaving the man in the trunk as I set up my secret little torture station. I slide the barn door open; the smell of old hay and chicken crap floods the air.

Pieces of straw still cover the ground, I have been here before. Last week I came here and set up a large table in the middle of the barn, perfect size for a man. I have restraints attached to each side ready to hold him still. I have placed a second small table beside it, several metal tools lay upon it, ranging from knives to a corkscrew, and a small vial of acid I came upon, and of course a standard hack saw.

I also obtained a large glass box, prepped for delivery, if you know what I mean. Everything seems to be in place, time to get started.

I head back towards the car, scanning the surrounding area, don’t need any interruptions. I pop open the trunk, Joe is still unconscious. I heave his body out of the trunk, letting him slam on the ground. I shut the trunk then grab hold of his legs and begin dragging him towards the barn.

I lift him up and set him on the table, leaving his arms and legs zip tied. I connect the restraints to his wrists and ankles as back up in case he squirms too much. I place a large strap restraint over his gut, pulling it tight.

I smack his face, trying to wake him. His skin is clammy with sweat, the feeling makes me sick. I grab the vial of acid and drip a drop on his hand. His skin blisters and disintegrates under the small drop, revealing muscle tissue. His eyes shoot open with a shriek of pain.

“Scream all you want, no one will hear you out here.” I say.

His face strained and scared, looking left and right shaking in a panic.

“Do you remember me?” I ask.

He gives me a weak nod.

“So, you know why you’re here then.”

He lets out a whimpered nod.

“I know you and your brother were there. Who was the third man?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says.

I crack a smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

I grab the hack saw from the small table, and start sawing on his left ankle. Blood sprays out over my face, the rusty blade grinding slowly against his bone. He screams in agony, tears filling his eyes as he grits his teeth.

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk!” He screams.

I pause, his ankle dangling by a few shreds of flesh.

“Give me a name!” I shout.

“H… His name is A… Alex.” He stutters.

I smack his dangling ankle, severing the skin that held it in place. The foot smacks the ground with a splash of blood spilling from it. He lets out another shriek.

“Where? Where can I find him?” I demand.

He whimpers, his body shaking, skin turning pale white.

“I… I don’t know.” He whispers.

“Fine, have it your way.” I laugh.

I grab a large knife from the table, jamming into his ribs. Crimson drips from the blade as I slowly pull it from him.

“Oh, I bet that hurt, trust me. I know from experience.” I laugh. “Tell me did that jog your memory? No?”

I grab the vial of acid and drip several drops across his stomach. I watch as it eats away his flesh in a blistered mess.

“How bout now?” I ask.

His body writhes, shaking as his eyes roll back in his skull.

“Well, shit.” I say to myself.

He stops shaking as his body goes unconscious in shock.

“Well, guess we will have to move on to Dean then.” I laugh, grabbing the hack saw once more.

I place the saw blade across his throat and begin sawing away. Blood squirts out dusting the ground with a red mist. His head plops to the ground with a thud, I throw down the hack saw and pick up the lifeless head by the hair. I place the head in the glass box and shut it tight.

I walk out of the barn, leaving the body to the crows. I place the glass box in the passenger seat and hop in. I start the engine and begin heading back towards the motel.

“It seems I have a package to deliver.” I laugh.

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