Page 51 of Last Breath

I’ve given Malachi everything I am, but I’d held out that last spark—it’s now gone.

Breaking away, breathless, I turn to our friend. Where the blade was pressed on his neck, a slight trickle escapes down his skin. Moving the blade back, Joy grins.

“Don’t worry. It’s not the last of what I’ll spill.” Licking the long line of blood as it escapes, Joy rises on a shiver.

Fantastic. Truly, Joy is perfection.

Soon, Malachi will come looking for us, but with good reason, I want to see this through.

No way is this pock-faced fucker living.

Staying perfectly still, he doesn’t shift and does as directed. Listening as Joy pulls the button on his pants, the sound of his sobs is music to my devil’s ears.

As his pants hit the floor, Joy stands back, laughing loudly. She laughs so hard, it brings tears to her eyes. Wiping them away and getting her giggling under control, she takes a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have been afraid of that! Jeez, man, baby rabbits have bigger packages than you. That’s a waste.”

“Joy,” I say, gathering her attention. “Love, stop toying with your prey. You need to finish this.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll finish up.” Turning to the man with the tiny penis, she laughs again. “What’s your—” Pausing, her eyes perk up, a smile jumps across her features and she licks her teeth. An evil thought has crossed her mind. “Let me guess your name. I bet I can guess it.” Pacing the space in front of him, she says nothing more for a moment.

“Joy,” I warn, knowing Mal will want to search us out soon.

“We’ll be quick, won’t we…Curtis?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not my name.”

She tries again. “Jordan?”

“No.”

“Joy,” I caution.

Tapping the knife to the side of her head, she cuts her cheek. It’s only a nick, but enough that it bleeds well. Raising my hand to it, licking the tangy substance, Joy smiles. There’s an understanding in that smile. She gets my needs.

“Fine, Sal. Only one more guess, and then we’ll go.”

“Fine. One more guess.”

Staring at him hard, she finally says, “Mark. You’re definitely a Mark.”

Stiffening in my hands, he says, “I am. My name’s Mark Farly.”

“Oh, I’m good!” She dances in place. “It was nice to meet you, Mark, really. I can’t tell you how happy I was to meet the man that wanted to rape me on my first trip out of the state. Thanks, no thanks, fucker.”

With a fast move, swiping the boning knife across his minuscule pecker, Mark squeals like a little girl. With blood pumping out, spraying Joy’s torn clothing, her smirk turns up a notch. Her face lights up and she begins to dance around again, singing the song we’ve heard her murmur numerous times, “Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream. Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen...” Humming the rest of the tune to herself, I laugh.

Maybe her little monster is just as twisted as mine.

Knowing we need to hurry this before Mark draws attention to us, I ask, “May I, love?”

I don’t have to say anything more because Joy understands. Nodding and stepping to the side with a mock bow, Joy waves me on.

The floor is mine.

Pulling the knife from his shoulder, I quickly swipe it across his neck, the skin spreading wide. Mark falls fast, his body slumping to the slick floor.

Rounding on Joy, the look is surreal perfection. Blood, spittle from Mark, and a mile-wide grin. A happy harpy, a playful tigress, a sick and twisted soul, just like us.

“Oh, that was fun.”

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