| Horror and Thriller Fiction posted August 14, 2017 | Chapters: |
...17 18 -19- 20... 
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A love story with a difference
A chapter in the book Miscellaneous stories
Pacific Palms
by CD Richards
Character Contest Winner
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.
The ice pick slowly rotated as it buried itself an inch deeper into Liam Weston’s skull. An explosion of brilliant white light seared the backs of his eyeballs, while the throbbing in his temples felt like his head was going to burst open, sending a crimson cascade of blood and brain matter all down his £4500 Savile Row suit.
You fucking whore!
He stared unbelievingly at the notebook screen. He couldn’t accept what was in front of him, despite it being the seventh time he had read it that day:
Dear Troy,
I simply can’t wait - I’ve been anticipating this for months, and now the night has finally arrived! I’m trembling like a little schoolgirl. Try to be here around seven, and it’s probably best if you park around the corner – the neighbours here aren’t exactly known for their discretion. Don’t forget the Dom Perignon!
Love,
Sandy.
Ten years. That’s how long he had spent every waking moment of his time adoringly worshiping his former high-school sweetheart. Lavishing every fine thing that his seven-figure portfolio manager’s job allowed upon her. Not that she needed it – her job as an account rep for one of the largest pharmaceuticals in the country didn’t exactly pay peanuts.
But that’s not enough, is it, bitch? Nothing is ever enough for your kind.
And then there was Troy. Childhood best friend Troy. Current handball buddy Troy. The same Troy he’d loaned ten grand to when he wanted to go out on his own in the mortgage broking business. THAT Troy –
the one who dated my wife before I did, for Christ’s sake!
How fucking stupid am I?
He’d only seen the first signs around three weeks ago. He’d turned up at the local for after work drinks with his wife before they took in their usual Friday night movie – “date night”, they called it – but he’d arrived 15 minutes earlier than usual. Just in time to find Sandy and Troy sitting at opposite sides of a cosy corner booth, foreheads almost touching, giggling like a couple of juveniles. That stopped pretty quick-smart when Sandy looked up and saw Liam making his way over.
Can anyone say “deer in the headlights”?
“Look who happened to drop in, darling.”
“And I must be going, Wendy will rip me a new one if I don’t get the shopping done and be home in time for dinner. Later, you two love birds.”
Love birds? Seriously? Couldn’t get out of here fast enough, you slimy turd.
Then, of course, there were other signs. Like when Sandy was in the bath and her cell phone rang. “Incoming… Troy.” He’d never given Troy his wife’s number, and she’d never thought to mention Troy had it.
How long has she had it locked with a PIN code?
And what a coincidence that Gerry, Sandy’s brother, had just happened to arrange for Liam to visit tonight – of all nights – to go over some of his options contracts, and help him with his hedging arrangements.
Blood is thicker than water, right Gerry?
What a stroke of luck the pocket diary containing her poorly encrypted passwords had fallen from Sandy’s Louis Vuitton handbag this morning as she tripped on the bottom stair. How boring Liam’s day could have been without her pathetic, adulterous drivel to read. And what possible reason could she have for keeping her email inbox empty? When he’d hacked in this morning, along with the quarterly electricity bill and an email from BodyFit, her SMTP server had delivered the final piece in the puzzle – all the evidence he needed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As he rolled his silver Mercedes S500 to a stop, Liam saw the orange glow on the verandah of the home he shared with Sandra at 225 Appian Way.
At least he’s considerate enough not to stink out my house after sticking it to the love of my life. Hope he’s enjoying it.
Killing the engine and lights, he unbuckled and stepped out of the vehicle. Opening the trunk, he removed two items – one of which he stuck in his belt, and the other he gripped in his right hand as he crossed the street.
From his position at the far end of the porch, Troy Donovan was unaware of Liam as he crossed the lawn between the two cocos palms and mounted the verandah steps. He didn’t hear anything at all until Liam was only a few feet away. Hearing the faint footstep behind him, Troy turned, a brief look of recognition appearing on his face. “Liam…”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sandy Weston had been almost at the front door when she heard the first noise. Fearing Troy had tripped and hurt himself in the dark, she hurried her pace. By the time she was half way down, she could make out the shape of her husband’s 6’2” 185 lb frame standing over a form lying on the boards. A hand reached up as the second swing connected with the side of Donovan’s head with a sickening thud. A strangled, confused cry tried unsuccessfully to materialise as she rushed toward her husband. Unable to speak, she flung herself upon him, but he shrugged her off like a rag doll as he smashed the skull of the now limp form of Troy beyond recognition. The still-glowing butt of the cigarette on the ground shed an eerie light on the dark red pool that was slowly spreading on the porch timbers.
Struggling to her feet, sobbing uncontrollably, Sandy forced her throat into reluctant compliance. “Liam, why? What d—“
“Shut up, you bitch.” Liam tossed the bat into the gardenia bush and removed the filleting knife from his belt.
“Honey, NO! I love y—“
Liam thrust out his left hand and grabbed a fistful of his wife’s honey blonde hair.
She looks beautiful, for a slut.
Before the thought had completely formed, he jerked her head back, exposing her throat to the moonlight, and drew the knife across it from ear to ear. As he looked into Sandra’s eyes, Liam didn’t see fear, not even anger. What he saw could best be described as total incomprehension. He gazed into them for what seemed an eternity, but was perhaps a few seconds. Her mouth moved as if she were conversing with him, but not a sound came out, other than a faint, wet gurgle. Then the eyes changed, their vacant stare signalling that Sandra had left the building. Liam let go of her hair, and she crumpled to the ground.
Still clutching the knife, leaving a bloody trail behind him, Weston slowly walked the twelve feet to the front door, and stepped inside. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to call the police, and have them send the ambulance to remove the filth from his front porch. As he reached the study door, he gripped the brass knob with his left hand and twisted, simultaneously pushing it open.
Before he could reach for the switch, the room was flooded with light. Around two dozen voices simultaneously raised in greeting – “SURPRISE!” With a feeling as if he had fallen asleep and woken up on another planet, Liam gazed dumbly around the room. He saw his own parents standing next to Sandy’s on the left hand side of the room. Several work mates were directly in front of him. On the wall behind them was a large gold banner, emblazoned in red with the words “Happy 10th Anniversary Liam & Sandra”.
It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for the shouting and laughter to die down. The sight of Liam with a fishing knife in his hand, covered in blood and gore ensured that. As the looks on the faces of the guests changed to horror, Liam raised the knife, and placed it below his left ear…
* * * * * * * * * *
In the office of Donovan Mortgage Solutions, a phone sprang to life. After two rings, the facsimile machine automatically answered. No one was present to read the fax as it appeared:
Attn: Mr Troy and Mrs Sandra Smith
From: Pacific Palms Resort
Your booking for 14th August is confirmed. Your room will be available from 2 pm. Please feel free to check in any time after this. If arriving after 10 pm, please use the intercom to notify staff of your arrival. We hope you have a wonderful stay, please enjoy the complimentary champagne and chocolates you will find in your room. Congratulations to the happy couple!
The ice pick slowly rotated as it buried itself an inch deeper into Liam Weston’s skull. An explosion of brilliant white light seared the backs of his eyeballs, while the throbbing in his temples felt like his head was going to burst open, sending a crimson cascade of blood and brain matter all down his £4500 Savile Row suit.
You fucking whore!
He stared unbelievingly at the notebook screen. He couldn’t accept what was in front of him, despite it being the seventh time he had read it that day:
Dear Troy,
I simply can’t wait - I’ve been anticipating this for months, and now the night has finally arrived! I’m trembling like a little schoolgirl. Try to be here around seven, and it’s probably best if you park around the corner – the neighbours here aren’t exactly known for their discretion. Don’t forget the Dom Perignon!
Love,
Sandy.
Ten years. That’s how long he had spent every waking moment of his time adoringly worshiping his former high-school sweetheart. Lavishing every fine thing that his seven-figure portfolio manager’s job allowed upon her. Not that she needed it – her job as an account rep for one of the largest pharmaceuticals in the country didn’t exactly pay peanuts.
But that’s not enough, is it, bitch? Nothing is ever enough for your kind.
And then there was Troy. Childhood best friend Troy. Current handball buddy Troy. The same Troy he’d loaned ten grand to when he wanted to go out on his own in the mortgage broking business. THAT Troy –
the one who dated my wife before I did, for Christ’s sake!
How fucking stupid am I?
He’d only seen the first signs around three weeks ago. He’d turned up at the local for after work drinks with his wife before they took in their usual Friday night movie – “date night”, they called it – but he’d arrived 15 minutes earlier than usual. Just in time to find Sandy and Troy sitting at opposite sides of a cosy corner booth, foreheads almost touching, giggling like a couple of juveniles. That stopped pretty quick-smart when Sandy looked up and saw Liam making his way over.
Can anyone say “deer in the headlights”?
“Look who happened to drop in, darling.”
“And I must be going, Wendy will rip me a new one if I don’t get the shopping done and be home in time for dinner. Later, you two love birds.”
Love birds? Seriously? Couldn’t get out of here fast enough, you slimy turd.
Then, of course, there were other signs. Like when Sandy was in the bath and her cell phone rang. “Incoming… Troy.” He’d never given Troy his wife’s number, and she’d never thought to mention Troy had it.
How long has she had it locked with a PIN code?
And what a coincidence that Gerry, Sandy’s brother, had just happened to arrange for Liam to visit tonight – of all nights – to go over some of his options contracts, and help him with his hedging arrangements.
Blood is thicker than water, right Gerry?
What a stroke of luck the pocket diary containing her poorly encrypted passwords had fallen from Sandy’s Louis Vuitton handbag this morning as she tripped on the bottom stair. How boring Liam’s day could have been without her pathetic, adulterous drivel to read. And what possible reason could she have for keeping her email inbox empty? When he’d hacked in this morning, along with the quarterly electricity bill and an email from BodyFit, her SMTP server had delivered the final piece in the puzzle – all the evidence he needed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As he rolled his silver Mercedes S500 to a stop, Liam saw the orange glow on the verandah of the home he shared with Sandra at 225 Appian Way.
At least he’s considerate enough not to stink out my house after sticking it to the love of my life. Hope he’s enjoying it.
Killing the engine and lights, he unbuckled and stepped out of the vehicle. Opening the trunk, he removed two items – one of which he stuck in his belt, and the other he gripped in his right hand as he crossed the street.
From his position at the far end of the porch, Troy Donovan was unaware of Liam as he crossed the lawn between the two cocos palms and mounted the verandah steps. He didn’t hear anything at all until Liam was only a few feet away. Hearing the faint footstep behind him, Troy turned, a brief look of recognition appearing on his face. “Liam…”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sandy Weston had been almost at the front door when she heard the first noise. Fearing Troy had tripped and hurt himself in the dark, she hurried her pace. By the time she was half way down, she could make out the shape of her husband’s 6’2” 185 lb frame standing over a form lying on the boards. A hand reached up as the second swing connected with the side of Donovan’s head with a sickening thud. A strangled, confused cry tried unsuccessfully to materialise as she rushed toward her husband. Unable to speak, she flung herself upon him, but he shrugged her off like a rag doll as he smashed the skull of the now limp form of Troy beyond recognition. The still-glowing butt of the cigarette on the ground shed an eerie light on the dark red pool that was slowly spreading on the porch timbers.
Struggling to her feet, sobbing uncontrollably, Sandy forced her throat into reluctant compliance. “Liam, why? What d—“
“Shut up, you bitch.” Liam tossed the bat into the gardenia bush and removed the filleting knife from his belt.
“Honey, NO! I love y—“
Liam thrust out his left hand and grabbed a fistful of his wife’s honey blonde hair.
She looks beautiful, for a slut.
Before the thought had completely formed, he jerked her head back, exposing her throat to the moonlight, and drew the knife across it from ear to ear. As he looked into Sandra’s eyes, Liam didn’t see fear, not even anger. What he saw could best be described as total incomprehension. He gazed into them for what seemed an eternity, but was perhaps a few seconds. Her mouth moved as if she were conversing with him, but not a sound came out, other than a faint, wet gurgle. Then the eyes changed, their vacant stare signalling that Sandra had left the building. Liam let go of her hair, and she crumpled to the ground.
Still clutching the knife, leaving a bloody trail behind him, Weston slowly walked the twelve feet to the front door, and stepped inside. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to call the police, and have them send the ambulance to remove the filth from his front porch. As he reached the study door, he gripped the brass knob with his left hand and twisted, simultaneously pushing it open.
Before he could reach for the switch, the room was flooded with light. Around two dozen voices simultaneously raised in greeting – “SURPRISE!” With a feeling as if he had fallen asleep and woken up on another planet, Liam gazed dumbly around the room. He saw his own parents standing next to Sandy’s on the left hand side of the room. Several work mates were directly in front of him. On the wall behind them was a large gold banner, emblazoned in red with the words “Happy 10th Anniversary Liam & Sandra”.
It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for the shouting and laughter to die down. The sight of Liam with a fishing knife in his hand, covered in blood and gore ensured that. As the looks on the faces of the guests changed to horror, Liam raised the knife, and placed it below his left ear…
* * * * * * * * * *
In the office of Donovan Mortgage Solutions, a phone sprang to life. After two rings, the facsimile machine automatically answered. No one was present to read the fax as it appeared:
Attn: Mr Troy and Mrs Sandra Smith
From: Pacific Palms Resort
Your booking for 14th August is confirmed. Your room will be available from 2 pm. Please feel free to check in any time after this. If arriving after 10 pm, please use the intercom to notify staff of your arrival. We hope you have a wonderful stay, please enjoy the complimentary champagne and chocolates you will find in your room. Congratulations to the happy couple!
Character Contest Winner |
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