winedime3
confetti connoisseur
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- 648
click, click- hmmmmmm
Dennis flipped on the light of "his" rental storage unit.
The unit he'd picked was 10 feet wide by 10 feet long- just big enough to move around in, and mostly empty, save for two makeshift work tables he'd set up parallel to each other in the center of the room.
He started for the tables, the bag in his hand rustling as it slapped against his leg, only to be deposited carelessly on the second table beside what appeared to be one of those food grade vacuum sealing machines as soon as it was within tossing distance. Dennis fiddled with his iPhone, and after a moment, he lowered it onto the second table with a soft clack, allowed a moment of stillness to settle over the space, and then mashed down on the 'play' button. There was but a single song on the playlist chosen, set to play on a loop.
A melodic chime tinkled out softly.
Dennis turned slowly to the table opposite him and looked down with a measured inhale. The eyes staring up at him were lifeless yet full of emotion. Sadness, fear, hate. The redhead on the table had put up a decent fight, and to his disgust, he'd enjoyed her thoroughly as she'd thrashed beneath him just a few hours prior, but as always- it had to come to an end.
As the piano started, Dennis moved methodically back to the second table and grabbed a tray. On it was a circular saw, a metal stake, a hammer and a pair of gloves. He placed the tray beside the woman's head, a bemused expression striking his features as he regarded her again. He reached for the gloves and began to work his fingers into them, sucking his teeth as if responding to something the woman had said.
"Well maybe if you hadn't been a worthless whore, just like my mother, then maybe you wouldn't be here now would you... oh, what was your name again? Rochelle? No- no, no, no- Rachel! That's right, Rachel!...Did you ever consider that one, Rachel?" He stroked the woman's hair. "No, no- Of course you didn't. Ssh, ssh. It's ok.." He assured her, moving to grab the hammer and stake.
Dennis lined the point of the stake up with the woman's shoulder joint. With the beginning of the violin, he drove the hammer down into it, exhaling huskily as the bones let out a resounding crack. It was better when they were alive, at least a little, but this particular scenario hadn't afforded him the luxuries he'd become fond of. Still, he continued down Rachel's limp arm, torso, and then leg, cracking each of her joints and relishing deeply in the sounds that accompanied the blows with the same sickening satisfaction, even groaning audibly at times, before moving over and working his way back up the opposite side of her body. By the time he'd finished, a light sheen of sweat coated his skin, both effort and excitement the cause, and he frowned slightly as he returned to stand beside Rachel's head. Not from the sight or her mangled corpse, but rather, because he'd run out of joints to crack.
The strings started to taper out and then back in again and Dennis moved to grab the circular saw behind him, swaying slightly as the piano and violin began their intricate dance together. As Dennis cut on the circular saw and dug it into the flesh at Rachel's shoulder, the volume on the track seemed to increase to a deafening level though it had not been touched. Having already smashed the bones at the joint, the blade cut through the remaining tendons and ligaments with surprising ease and Dennis found himself thinking briefly of buttered bread, before moving down the woman's arm, torso and then leg, much in the same fashion as he had with the stake and hammer. The blood splatter was far less extreme since Rachel wasn't participating, but he enjoyed it just the same. He even found the patterns that had been produced on his white t-shirt were sufficient enough- so far as trophies went anyway, which was one thing he had been deeply concerned with walking in.
He went into a sort of trance as he worked. The volume and intensity of the music fueled his motions, and he moved through the process with practiced fluidity.
Before long, what was once a vibrant young woman had been rendered down into a dozen or so more manageable pieces, just waiting to be packaged up and disposed of. He intended to dispose of the trash in various dumpsters and salvage yards as he continued along his route, but first he'd needed to get the various sections bagged up to ward off the smell of death or decay.
Dennis wrestled angrily with the plastic bag he'd brought in, muttering curses under his breath as he struggled to first remove and then open the pack of vacuum sealable bags within it. When he'd finally got the box open, in frustration, he threw it against the metal wall with a loud thwarp.
This only served to exacerbate his paranoia, and he paused repeatedly from this point forward, sure he'd heard the voice of someone else just outside the storage unit he was occupying.
After yet another moment paralyzed stiff, the violin continued its taunting volley. The staccato of the notes was typically something Dennis scrubbed his workspace spotless to, but today Dennis resumed his practice fervently, shoving pieces of Rachel into the bags, sealing them shut using the food grade vacuum sealing machine on the second table, and then haphazardly shoving those bags into a duffel bag he'd used earlier to bring in Rachel and the other items he'd needed. Finding Rachel's head to be particularly difficult to fit into the vacuum sealable bags, Dennis hurriedly wrapped it in the grocery bag he'd walked in with and tucked it possessively under one of his arms, but not before dropping it onto the ground no less than three times. He surveyed the mess he'd left behind with wide eyes, caring little about the blood that dripped slowly from the table down onto the floor, as he didn't intend to return to this specific facility ever again anyway. He couldn't now, thanks to Rachel.
No matter, he'd find a new place to work, and a new Rachel. The right one.
Despite his trepidation, Dennis was careful to time his departure so that he'd just arranged the duffel bag containing the pieces of Rachel, and the tools he'd used on his shoulder, and stopped beside the door to take one final look back at the storage unit, as the melodic chiming of the song sounded again, signaling its end. With a final satisfied shudder, he tightened his grip on the head beneath his arm to reach down with one hand and reposition himself, while he shut off the light with the other.
Dennis flipped on the light of "his" rental storage unit.
The unit he'd picked was 10 feet wide by 10 feet long- just big enough to move around in, and mostly empty, save for two makeshift work tables he'd set up parallel to each other in the center of the room.
He started for the tables, the bag in his hand rustling as it slapped against his leg, only to be deposited carelessly on the second table beside what appeared to be one of those food grade vacuum sealing machines as soon as it was within tossing distance. Dennis fiddled with his iPhone, and after a moment, he lowered it onto the second table with a soft clack, allowed a moment of stillness to settle over the space, and then mashed down on the 'play' button. There was but a single song on the playlist chosen, set to play on a loop.
A melodic chime tinkled out softly.
Dennis turned slowly to the table opposite him and looked down with a measured inhale. The eyes staring up at him were lifeless yet full of emotion. Sadness, fear, hate. The redhead on the table had put up a decent fight, and to his disgust, he'd enjoyed her thoroughly as she'd thrashed beneath him just a few hours prior, but as always- it had to come to an end.
As the piano started, Dennis moved methodically back to the second table and grabbed a tray. On it was a circular saw, a metal stake, a hammer and a pair of gloves. He placed the tray beside the woman's head, a bemused expression striking his features as he regarded her again. He reached for the gloves and began to work his fingers into them, sucking his teeth as if responding to something the woman had said.
"Well maybe if you hadn't been a worthless whore, just like my mother, then maybe you wouldn't be here now would you... oh, what was your name again? Rochelle? No- no, no, no- Rachel! That's right, Rachel!...Did you ever consider that one, Rachel?" He stroked the woman's hair. "No, no- Of course you didn't. Ssh, ssh. It's ok.." He assured her, moving to grab the hammer and stake.
Dennis lined the point of the stake up with the woman's shoulder joint. With the beginning of the violin, he drove the hammer down into it, exhaling huskily as the bones let out a resounding crack. It was better when they were alive, at least a little, but this particular scenario hadn't afforded him the luxuries he'd become fond of. Still, he continued down Rachel's limp arm, torso, and then leg, cracking each of her joints and relishing deeply in the sounds that accompanied the blows with the same sickening satisfaction, even groaning audibly at times, before moving over and working his way back up the opposite side of her body. By the time he'd finished, a light sheen of sweat coated his skin, both effort and excitement the cause, and he frowned slightly as he returned to stand beside Rachel's head. Not from the sight or her mangled corpse, but rather, because he'd run out of joints to crack.
The strings started to taper out and then back in again and Dennis moved to grab the circular saw behind him, swaying slightly as the piano and violin began their intricate dance together. As Dennis cut on the circular saw and dug it into the flesh at Rachel's shoulder, the volume on the track seemed to increase to a deafening level though it had not been touched. Having already smashed the bones at the joint, the blade cut through the remaining tendons and ligaments with surprising ease and Dennis found himself thinking briefly of buttered bread, before moving down the woman's arm, torso and then leg, much in the same fashion as he had with the stake and hammer. The blood splatter was far less extreme since Rachel wasn't participating, but he enjoyed it just the same. He even found the patterns that had been produced on his white t-shirt were sufficient enough- so far as trophies went anyway, which was one thing he had been deeply concerned with walking in.
He went into a sort of trance as he worked. The volume and intensity of the music fueled his motions, and he moved through the process with practiced fluidity.
Before long, what was once a vibrant young woman had been rendered down into a dozen or so more manageable pieces, just waiting to be packaged up and disposed of. He intended to dispose of the trash in various dumpsters and salvage yards as he continued along his route, but first he'd needed to get the various sections bagged up to ward off the smell of death or decay.
Dennis wrestled angrily with the plastic bag he'd brought in, muttering curses under his breath as he struggled to first remove and then open the pack of vacuum sealable bags within it. When he'd finally got the box open, in frustration, he threw it against the metal wall with a loud thwarp.
This only served to exacerbate his paranoia, and he paused repeatedly from this point forward, sure he'd heard the voice of someone else just outside the storage unit he was occupying.
After yet another moment paralyzed stiff, the violin continued its taunting volley. The staccato of the notes was typically something Dennis scrubbed his workspace spotless to, but today Dennis resumed his practice fervently, shoving pieces of Rachel into the bags, sealing them shut using the food grade vacuum sealing machine on the second table, and then haphazardly shoving those bags into a duffel bag he'd used earlier to bring in Rachel and the other items he'd needed. Finding Rachel's head to be particularly difficult to fit into the vacuum sealable bags, Dennis hurriedly wrapped it in the grocery bag he'd walked in with and tucked it possessively under one of his arms, but not before dropping it onto the ground no less than three times. He surveyed the mess he'd left behind with wide eyes, caring little about the blood that dripped slowly from the table down onto the floor, as he didn't intend to return to this specific facility ever again anyway. He couldn't now, thanks to Rachel.
No matter, he'd find a new place to work, and a new Rachel. The right one.
Despite his trepidation, Dennis was careful to time his departure so that he'd just arranged the duffel bag containing the pieces of Rachel, and the tools he'd used on his shoulder, and stopped beside the door to take one final look back at the storage unit, as the melodic chiming of the song sounded again, signaling its end. With a final satisfied shudder, he tightened his grip on the head beneath his arm to reach down with one hand and reposition himself, while he shut off the light with the other.
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