Violent Kisses and Violent Minds
Chapter Fifty Nine, part two
Chapter Fifty Nine, Part Two:
Travis froze, taken aback. What was that? The man had just been telling his eerie little tale of his stalking business, when he had burst out with a random question. His voice had sounded different, confused.
Whatever was happening, Travis took the opportunity in the man’s sudden confusion to flee up the stairs, struggling to take them three at a time. Barging into Matt’s room, Travis was horrified for only one slight second to see Sonny and Derek naked, bodies pressed together, in the middle of making love. They looked up from their doings to see Travis, panting, wide-eyed, and then, with an audible gasp from Sonny, the man, running towards them, his hood still in place.
“Run!” Travis screamed at them. They picked themselves up from the floor and, seeing nowhere else to go, the three of them pressed themselves up against the back wall of Matt’s room, Travis thinking firstly to grab a hockey stick that lay abandoned above Matt’s wardrobe, back from the days when he played hockey as an elementary school kid.
“Stay back, you sick son of a bitch!” Travis yelled as the man approached them, taking slow, suspenseful steps. He flung the hockey stick out in front of him as he spoke, holding it poised ready to use.
“Travis, now young Travis, hasn’t your mother ever told you to watch your language?” The man drew the knife out in front of him, slicing the air with its deadly sharp blade.
“Just stay away from us!” Sonny screamed from between Derek and Travis, unclothed, frightened, ashamed and shuddering with the sudden cold.
“Oh, Sonny, Sonny, Sonny. Don’t you look like a little treat tonight? I could just gobble you right up.” The man seemed to find this funny, and laughed his odd laugh once again.
Travis lunged at the man with the hockey stick then, but the man’s reflexes were too quick. He ducked to the side and the hockey stick missed his head by mere inches. Travis didn’t have time to let out his desired groan of frustration before the man slipped a caveman’s club from an inner pocket of his hoodie and hit Travis once over the head with it, knocking him out cold.
Travis slid down the wall to the floor, an even flow of blood trailing down the side of his head from the initial club wound.
“Now, who’s next?”
Travis froze, taken aback. What was that? The man had just been telling his eerie little tale of his stalking business, when he had burst out with a random question. His voice had sounded different, confused.
Whatever was happening, Travis took the opportunity in the man’s sudden confusion to flee up the stairs, struggling to take them three at a time. Barging into Matt’s room, Travis was horrified for only one slight second to see Sonny and Derek naked, bodies pressed together, in the middle of making love. They looked up from their doings to see Travis, panting, wide-eyed, and then, with an audible gasp from Sonny, the man, running towards them, his hood still in place.
“Run!” Travis screamed at them. They picked themselves up from the floor and, seeing nowhere else to go, the three of them pressed themselves up against the back wall of Matt’s room, Travis thinking firstly to grab a hockey stick that lay abandoned above Matt’s wardrobe, back from the days when he played hockey as an elementary school kid.
“Stay back, you sick son of a bitch!” Travis yelled as the man approached them, taking slow, suspenseful steps. He flung the hockey stick out in front of him as he spoke, holding it poised ready to use.
“Travis, now young Travis, hasn’t your mother ever told you to watch your language?” The man drew the knife out in front of him, slicing the air with its deadly sharp blade.
“Just stay away from us!” Sonny screamed from between Derek and Travis, unclothed, frightened, ashamed and shuddering with the sudden cold.
“Oh, Sonny, Sonny, Sonny. Don’t you look like a little treat tonight? I could just gobble you right up.” The man seemed to find this funny, and laughed his odd laugh once again.
Travis lunged at the man with the hockey stick then, but the man’s reflexes were too quick. He ducked to the side and the hockey stick missed his head by mere inches. Travis didn’t have time to let out his desired groan of frustration before the man slipped a caveman’s club from an inner pocket of his hoodie and hit Travis once over the head with it, knocking him out cold.
Travis slid down the wall to the floor, an even flow of blood trailing down the side of his head from the initial club wound.
“Now, who’s next?”