Horror and Thriller Fiction posted March 18, 2016 | Chapters: | Prologue -1- 2... |
Molestation leads to revenge. This is the start of a novel.
A chapter in the book Buttons
Buttons
by jusylee72
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.
Background Years of editing is helping this novel. Please let me know what you think. |
My name is Joe.
I work in a Button factory.
I design buttons.
Vibrant colors,
glimmer and shine,
demure yet refined
pulling together garments.
Serving a purpose society demands.
Sometimes in life.
Sometimes in death.
I picture people who have been,
well let's just say,
not nice to me.
Their lips buttoned shut now.
Chosen especially for them.
For Father Mac,
the priest at my school,
I picked black onyx buttons displaying an inlaid pearl cross.
The blond, stuck up waitress, deserved cheap, glittery fasteners.
For my boss, I picked dull, ugly big buttons illustrating his stupidity
And for my Mother......
______________________________________________________________________
Mary Virginia
The nuns at Our Lady of Guadalupe insisted on calling her by her full name "Mary Virginia".
Jokes began in middle school.
"Virgin", the boys taunted her.
"Can I help you get rid of that "Virgin Image?"
"Jesus Christ Mary, let's try the real way for a baby boy."
Her parents and teachers assumed from that point on she would end up in music school and on the concert stage.
Her parents were so disappointed when she told them she wanted to study forensics and journalism. She wanted to be a policewoman or a writer. Possibly, write true crime stories.
Mary started to make decisions on her own. She secretly opened a bank account in her name.
There is no divorce in the Catholic World, at least not at this point. She wasn't brave enough to approach that subject yet.
Luckily there were no children. It wasn't really luck. The pill works whether your husband knows about it or not. She knew she was breaking the church's rules but for some reason, it didn't bother her. Bill was too selfish to care, however, he once said, "See, you don't know how to be a wife. You can't even get pregnant?"
Mary took a few writing courses at the local university. She wanted to write true crime stories. She lucked into an experimental study. The New York Police public relations office was sponsoring the study. Students were allowed to ride around with real detectives to follow local stories. Mary hand-delivered her application. The committee loved her. "You can start next week. Go to the station and ask for a Detective Delaney."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe
I think my mother only knew cliches.
I am practically sure she never had an original thought in her head.
Stand up, boy.
Boys don't cry.
What are you blubbering about?
You want a reason to cry?
Pussy, that's what they call boys like you.
And my favorite,
Button It Up, Boy.
Ironically, there was a button factory in the next county. When I moved out I knew I wanted a job there. I wanted to know how buttons were made. I wanted to check out the colors, dimensions, textures.
I hid the fact that beneath my awkwardness was intelligence.
I quickly learned to turn off my tear ducts. Scientifically, they respond to emotion or irritants but my eyes didn't cry. I didn't stand out. I blended in like tears do in the sea.
Some learn on small animals, birds, squirrels, baby kittens but I jumped right in.
You probably think my mother would be my first but I needed practice.
The first one was the easiest and the hardest. The sewing came after they were dead.
Mom deserved much better.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Delaney
Sergeant Delaney knew he would be a cop from the age of five. With a name like Delaney, it just seemed destined. Now, he had been assigned a young writer by the name of Mary Standish. Public relations says said to treat her as one of the detectives. She would take notes and make suggestions in the cases. Why do I have to deal with this amateur?
Delaney followed orders and sent her the details from the first death, Father Mac Murphy. Now, there was a second murder, a similar pattern. The suspect buttoned their mouth shut. He told her to meet him at the crime scene.
The blond was beautiful, well as beautiful as a dead Barbie doll could be. It was the neatly stitched buttons that caught his eye. Glittery, silver buttons, sewn into her lips. Five to be exact. Equally spaced. Shining in the sun. They pulled her lips up into a gruesome smile.
A couple found her while they were on an early morning jog. They noticed something glittering from a block away. As they jogged closer the reality set in, The husband called 911. They were standing to the right next to the cop car, the first one to respond. The girl was crying, obviously scared to death. The body propped up against the dumpster showed that the killer made no attempt to hide her. It was proudly displayed next to a dumpster, making sure that the sun caught her smile.
She wore short shorts and a checkered shirt, tied at the waist to show her belly. It too had been buttoned shut. Delaney recognized it as the uniform from Shorties Bar and Grill. It was a knock off on the more famous "Hooters". There was one close by the scene. He put that on his short list go visit. Mary arrived on time in her blue crown victoria.
She stared at the body. It was an early summer morning but the saturated heat in New York created a nasty spell. She took the small jar of Ben-gay gel from her bag. She dipped in and put it lightly on her nose. She had seen that in "Silence of the Lambs". While it didn't eliminate the smell, it definitely helped.
She felt a tug on her stomach, both good and bad. It was a feeling close to stage fright, a mixture of fear, hope, desperation and excitement.
She had only met Delaney once before this, and he did not seem eager to have her on his team. He stood and looked at Mary directly. "Okay, this is it. Let's see if that Master's Degree taught you to evaluate a real murder."
"She looks to be between 19 and 25. She is in great shape and works out. Her nails are meticulously manicured, except for the pointer and second finger on her left hand. She was probably left handed and used that hand to defend herself. She has been strangled with some sort of a small rope, probably a nylon one, since there are very few fibers in the neck area. She lifted the corpse's shirt. Her abdomen had been carved open and buttoned shut, the same silver ones. The crime didn't happen here. This is just the drop zone and she smells like bleach."
Pretty good thought Delaney. Not great but a good beginning. The medical examiner arrived. Estimated time of death was 8 to ten hours. It was now 8:30 a.m.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe
She did die without too much pain. At one point I thought of doing what I had to do to her while she was still alive but when I saw in her eyes the involuntary pleasure as I entered her, I felt some small feeling for her. I put the rope around her neck and gently told her, "It's okay, I have some awful things I have to do to you so it is better that I kill you now. Otherwise, it will be just too painful. I truly am trying to save you that."
I know enough about science to know I have to cover up DNA. My skin is probably on her, maybe under her nails. I should have used a condom so that has to be dealt with too. I did buy spermicide I needed to make sure my little tadpoles didn't have a chance. According to the church, I shouldn't use this. I felt a brief moment of guilt. But she was dead, therefore she could not be a proper oven. So I think it was okay to kill the little guys before they got frustrated trying to find an egg.
But what if one of my little guys was so strong it already swam up the sea. That meant I had to carve a portion of her body away. Sorry, not allowed to leave girl parts.
I put her in the bathtub. Filled it with bleach. I cleaned her fingernails and soaked them in the tub for an hour. I put her head underwater to make sure she was well disinfected before I began carving. I didn't really enjoy this part, but it was a necessity. The bleach water turned a nice shade of pink. I've always liked pink.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I work in a Button factory.
I design buttons.
Vibrant colors,
glimmer and shine,
demure yet refined
pulling together garments.
Serving a purpose society demands.
Sometimes in life.
Sometimes in death.
I picture people who have been,
well let's just say,
not nice to me.
Their lips buttoned shut now.
Chosen especially for them.
For Father Mac,
the priest at my school,
I picked black onyx buttons displaying an inlaid pearl cross.
The blond, stuck up waitress, deserved cheap, glittery fasteners.
For my boss, I picked dull, ugly big buttons illustrating his stupidity
And for my Mother......
______________________________________________________________________
Mary Virginia
The nuns at Our Lady of Guadalupe insisted on calling her by her full name "Mary Virginia".
Jokes began in middle school.
"Virgin", the boys taunted her.
"Can I help you get rid of that "Virgin Image?"
"Jesus Christ Mary, let's try the real way for a baby boy."
"How about an ejaculate conception!"
Mary became convinced Nuns on the playground were deaf. They never seemed to hear the verbal assualts.
The secret reason for the insults rarely surfaced.
Not only beatiful, she had talent.
It began with her voice.
In middle school, chosen by the choir director, Mary sang her first solo.
Her voice, innocence, pure, clear, holy, loving.
Her debut at the Christmas concert, "What Child Is this", brought the audience to tears.
She didn't notice the boy in the back of the catedral.
Mary became convinced Nuns on the playground were deaf. They never seemed to hear the verbal assualts.
The secret reason for the insults rarely surfaced.
Not only beatiful, she had talent.
It began with her voice.
In middle school, chosen by the choir director, Mary sang her first solo.
Her voice, innocence, pure, clear, holy, loving.
Her debut at the Christmas concert, "What Child Is this", brought the audience to tears.
She didn't notice the boy in the back of the catedral.
Her parents and teachers assumed from that point on she would end up in music school and on the concert stage.
Her parents were so disappointed when she told them she wanted to study forensics and journalism. She wanted to be a policewoman or a writer. Possibly, write true crime stories.
Her father nixed that idea. "That is not the image I want for my daughter. Besides it is dangerous." Her father simply didn't understand. "I won't pay for it. You can do it if you want but not on my dime."
Mom would plead with her, "You need to be a music teacher. You need to sing. God gave you this talent. You must use it. Besides, what kind of man is going to want a detective for a wife. You must think about your future."
So, she went to music school.
She sang.
Her audience loved her.
Her mother's prediction came true. She became an opera singer. She found a man who claimed to love her and they were married.
-------------------------------------------------------------
"Joe's Narrative"
I love my small house. One bedroom is adequate. I have no pictures on the wall. That is a frivolity I don't need. What use are pictures of people who supposedly care about me? I do have a new manly recliner, but mostly I buy from goodwill. I have better things to do with my money than buying expensive things.
That waitress had no idea who she was dealing with. She made the choice to be the victim. All she would have had to do is smile at me, pay some attention to me, give me good service. Well, she's smiling now, isn't she?
I went to one of my favorite restaurants. My waitress was more interested in the jock table next to me.
"What do you boys need from me today?", implying she was ready for anything.
A few snickers from the boys showed their interest in her.
"And I mean drinks, you naughty boys."
You could tell she would offer more if the tips were good.
It took her a full fifteen minutes before she even noticed me and then only because I spoke.
"Ma'am, I need a drink please." She looked up annoyed at the interruption to her conquest.
"Hold on sir. I'll be right there," she turned and reluctantly took my order. She still would have been alright except for her one last attempt to get the jock's attention. She thought I didn't see. There was a mirror over the bar. Since my back was turned to her she used vulgar sign language. She caught the boys eyes, then held up her pinky and pointed to me. She was estimating the size of my manhood. Sorry, Sweetie, that small gesture set your future, or should I say lack of future. Later that very night, she would have the pleasure of discovering just how big I truly am.
It was easy to pick the trashy, silver, glittery buttons for her. I keep jars and jars of different colored buttons in my closet, all different sizes, shapes, and styles. Some cheap and trashy, some extravagant and expensive. Just like people.
---------------------------------------------------
William Standish
With a beautiful, young, opera singer as his new wife his conducting career exploded. Places would double book them, the up and coming director and his beautiful diva Soprano. Mary was a definite business asset.
It took her about six months of marriage to realize he was in love with her voice, not her.
The criticism started quickly, as soon as they got home from their honeymoon. At first, he tried to be nice about it.
"Dear, did no one ever show you the proper way to load a dishwasher?"
"The house really does need your attention. Details, sweetheart, details."
"My mother did it this way." Gradually the comments became harsher,
more frustrated, more demanding
"You don't get it, do you? How could someone be so stupid?:"
"Did you have a maid growing up? Don't eat too much, we don't need a fat soprano?"
'Go back and change, we have an image to maintain? "
The sex was perfunctory. It was when he wanted, where he wanted and how he wanted. It was occasionally pleasing to her, but not often and then only when she pretended it was with someone else. She remembered what the priest had told them when they were young. "Your husband is the leader of the household. You must make him happy. When your husband asks you for "Marital Relationships" you must accommodate him."
Her logical mind questioned this. Why is a priest who supposedly never had sex telling me how to handle my sexuality? Her upbringing made her follow the teachings. She sincerely tried to make it work. She tried to be a good wife.
At first, the "Opera Duo" was hired nationally and internationally. They performed in Italy, Germany, France. The first four years of marriage were a whirlwind of travel, exotic places, late parties, star treatment. Slowly, the opera gigs started to happen less and less.
The opera companies loved her voice, her demeanor, her professionalism, but they found her husband temperamental, too quick to anger. Many musicians refused to work with him. His ego wouldn't allow her to take jobs on her own, so her career also suffered.
Mary was secretly pleased when William decided to go on a sabbatical to Europe. He would be gone for six months. Teaching at an Ivy League school as "Artist in Residence". This sabbatical came with a large stipend and it was plenty for him to live on in Europe.
She pretended to care as she drove him to the airport. Inside her heart was singing for the first time in years. When he called and explained they wanted him to stay another two years, she faked tears and acted like it mattered. "Whatever you want dear?"
Mom would plead with her, "You need to be a music teacher. You need to sing. God gave you this talent. You must use it. Besides, what kind of man is going to want a detective for a wife. You must think about your future."
So, she went to music school.
She sang.
Her audience loved her.
Her mother's prediction came true. She became an opera singer. She found a man who claimed to love her and they were married.
-------------------------------------------------------------
"Joe's Narrative"
I love my small house. One bedroom is adequate. I have no pictures on the wall. That is a frivolity I don't need. What use are pictures of people who supposedly care about me? I do have a new manly recliner, but mostly I buy from goodwill. I have better things to do with my money than buying expensive things.
That waitress had no idea who she was dealing with. She made the choice to be the victim. All she would have had to do is smile at me, pay some attention to me, give me good service. Well, she's smiling now, isn't she?
I went to one of my favorite restaurants. My waitress was more interested in the jock table next to me.
"What do you boys need from me today?", implying she was ready for anything.
A few snickers from the boys showed their interest in her.
"And I mean drinks, you naughty boys."
You could tell she would offer more if the tips were good.
It took her a full fifteen minutes before she even noticed me and then only because I spoke.
"Ma'am, I need a drink please." She looked up annoyed at the interruption to her conquest.
"Hold on sir. I'll be right there," she turned and reluctantly took my order. She still would have been alright except for her one last attempt to get the jock's attention. She thought I didn't see. There was a mirror over the bar. Since my back was turned to her she used vulgar sign language. She caught the boys eyes, then held up her pinky and pointed to me. She was estimating the size of my manhood. Sorry, Sweetie, that small gesture set your future, or should I say lack of future. Later that very night, she would have the pleasure of discovering just how big I truly am.
It was easy to pick the trashy, silver, glittery buttons for her. I keep jars and jars of different colored buttons in my closet, all different sizes, shapes, and styles. Some cheap and trashy, some extravagant and expensive. Just like people.
---------------------------------------------------
William Standish
With a beautiful, young, opera singer as his new wife his conducting career exploded. Places would double book them, the up and coming director and his beautiful diva Soprano. Mary was a definite business asset.
It took her about six months of marriage to realize he was in love with her voice, not her.
The criticism started quickly, as soon as they got home from their honeymoon. At first, he tried to be nice about it.
"Dear, did no one ever show you the proper way to load a dishwasher?"
"The house really does need your attention. Details, sweetheart, details."
"My mother did it this way." Gradually the comments became harsher,
more frustrated, more demanding
"You don't get it, do you? How could someone be so stupid?:"
"Did you have a maid growing up? Don't eat too much, we don't need a fat soprano?"
'Go back and change, we have an image to maintain? "
The sex was perfunctory. It was when he wanted, where he wanted and how he wanted. It was occasionally pleasing to her, but not often and then only when she pretended it was with someone else. She remembered what the priest had told them when they were young. "Your husband is the leader of the household. You must make him happy. When your husband asks you for "Marital Relationships" you must accommodate him."
Her logical mind questioned this. Why is a priest who supposedly never had sex telling me how to handle my sexuality? Her upbringing made her follow the teachings. She sincerely tried to make it work. She tried to be a good wife.
At first, the "Opera Duo" was hired nationally and internationally. They performed in Italy, Germany, France. The first four years of marriage were a whirlwind of travel, exotic places, late parties, star treatment. Slowly, the opera gigs started to happen less and less.
The opera companies loved her voice, her demeanor, her professionalism, but they found her husband temperamental, too quick to anger. Many musicians refused to work with him. His ego wouldn't allow her to take jobs on her own, so her career also suffered.
Mary was secretly pleased when William decided to go on a sabbatical to Europe. He would be gone for six months. Teaching at an Ivy League school as "Artist in Residence". This sabbatical came with a large stipend and it was plenty for him to live on in Europe.
She pretended to care as she drove him to the airport. Inside her heart was singing for the first time in years. When he called and explained they wanted him to stay another two years, she faked tears and acted like it mattered. "Whatever you want dear?"
Mary started to make decisions on her own. She secretly opened a bank account in her name.
There is no divorce in the Catholic World, at least not at this point. She wasn't brave enough to approach that subject yet.
Luckily there were no children. It wasn't really luck. The pill works whether your husband knows about it or not. She knew she was breaking the church's rules but for some reason, it didn't bother her. Bill was too selfish to care, however, he once said, "See, you don't know how to be a wife. You can't even get pregnant?"
Mary took a few writing courses at the local university. She wanted to write true crime stories. She lucked into an experimental study. The New York Police public relations office was sponsoring the study. Students were allowed to ride around with real detectives to follow local stories. Mary hand-delivered her application. The committee loved her. "You can start next week. Go to the station and ask for a Detective Delaney."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe
I think my mother only knew cliches.
I am practically sure she never had an original thought in her head.
Stand up, boy.
Boys don't cry.
What are you blubbering about?
You want a reason to cry?
Pussy, that's what they call boys like you.
And my favorite,
Button It Up, Boy.
Ironically, there was a button factory in the next county. When I moved out I knew I wanted a job there. I wanted to know how buttons were made. I wanted to check out the colors, dimensions, textures.
I hid the fact that beneath my awkwardness was intelligence.
I quickly learned to turn off my tear ducts. Scientifically, they respond to emotion or irritants but my eyes didn't cry. I didn't stand out. I blended in like tears do in the sea.
Some learn on small animals, birds, squirrels, baby kittens but I jumped right in.
You probably think my mother would be my first but I needed practice.
The first one was the easiest and the hardest. The sewing came after they were dead.
Mom deserved much better.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Delaney
Sergeant Delaney knew he would be a cop from the age of five. With a name like Delaney, it just seemed destined. Now, he had been assigned a young writer by the name of Mary Standish. Public relations says said to treat her as one of the detectives. She would take notes and make suggestions in the cases. Why do I have to deal with this amateur?
Delaney followed orders and sent her the details from the first death, Father Mac Murphy. Now, there was a second murder, a similar pattern. The suspect buttoned their mouth shut. He told her to meet him at the crime scene.
The blond was beautiful, well as beautiful as a dead Barbie doll could be. It was the neatly stitched buttons that caught his eye. Glittery, silver buttons, sewn into her lips. Five to be exact. Equally spaced. Shining in the sun. They pulled her lips up into a gruesome smile.
A couple found her while they were on an early morning jog. They noticed something glittering from a block away. As they jogged closer the reality set in, The husband called 911. They were standing to the right next to the cop car, the first one to respond. The girl was crying, obviously scared to death. The body propped up against the dumpster showed that the killer made no attempt to hide her. It was proudly displayed next to a dumpster, making sure that the sun caught her smile.
She wore short shorts and a checkered shirt, tied at the waist to show her belly. It too had been buttoned shut. Delaney recognized it as the uniform from Shorties Bar and Grill. It was a knock off on the more famous "Hooters". There was one close by the scene. He put that on his short list go visit. Mary arrived on time in her blue crown victoria.
She stared at the body. It was an early summer morning but the saturated heat in New York created a nasty spell. She took the small jar of Ben-gay gel from her bag. She dipped in and put it lightly on her nose. She had seen that in "Silence of the Lambs". While it didn't eliminate the smell, it definitely helped.
She felt a tug on her stomach, both good and bad. It was a feeling close to stage fright, a mixture of fear, hope, desperation and excitement.
She had only met Delaney once before this, and he did not seem eager to have her on his team. He stood and looked at Mary directly. "Okay, this is it. Let's see if that Master's Degree taught you to evaluate a real murder."
"She looks to be between 19 and 25. She is in great shape and works out. Her nails are meticulously manicured, except for the pointer and second finger on her left hand. She was probably left handed and used that hand to defend herself. She has been strangled with some sort of a small rope, probably a nylon one, since there are very few fibers in the neck area. She lifted the corpse's shirt. Her abdomen had been carved open and buttoned shut, the same silver ones. The crime didn't happen here. This is just the drop zone and she smells like bleach."
Pretty good thought Delaney. Not great but a good beginning. The medical examiner arrived. Estimated time of death was 8 to ten hours. It was now 8:30 a.m.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe
She did die without too much pain. At one point I thought of doing what I had to do to her while she was still alive but when I saw in her eyes the involuntary pleasure as I entered her, I felt some small feeling for her. I put the rope around her neck and gently told her, "It's okay, I have some awful things I have to do to you so it is better that I kill you now. Otherwise, it will be just too painful. I truly am trying to save you that."
I know enough about science to know I have to cover up DNA. My skin is probably on her, maybe under her nails. I should have used a condom so that has to be dealt with too. I did buy spermicide I needed to make sure my little tadpoles didn't have a chance. According to the church, I shouldn't use this. I felt a brief moment of guilt. But she was dead, therefore she could not be a proper oven. So I think it was okay to kill the little guys before they got frustrated trying to find an egg.
But what if one of my little guys was so strong it already swam up the sea. That meant I had to carve a portion of her body away. Sorry, not allowed to leave girl parts.
I put her in the bathtub. Filled it with bleach. I cleaned her fingernails and soaked them in the tub for an hour. I put her head underwater to make sure she was well disinfected before I began carving. I didn't really enjoy this part, but it was a necessity. The bleach water turned a nice shade of pink. I've always liked pink.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Horror Story Writing Contest contest entry
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