Flesh and Blood

Please excuse the late addition of chapter five. I was on a plane for eight hours and then sick with a cold. Fucking plane.

Proceed, fellow perverse friend.

5
Sneaking about through the foliage, Three Finger spotted his conquest. Positioned parallel to his vehicle was a sleek red convertible Cadillac, its silver front bumper no longer perfect and spotless. The car had perfectly hit the open door of the blue car! Granted, the driver’s side door had now been torn cleanly away from it, it was less damaged than the red machine lying prone beside it.
Standing in the road was a Lesser whore, jabbering on a cellular phone like a squirrel. She wore tight clothes which left nothing to the imagination and had an impressively painted face. What Three Finger liked about her, however, was that she wore shoes with tall, narrow heels. She would be incredible fun to chase down and ensnare, and the scrawny man imagined her shrill voice would sound much sweeter when she screamed.
Sitting in the back seat was a young male, dark in skin and clearly annoyed, most likely with the whore. They argued without pause for the ten minutes that Three Finger took in planning how to separate and fell them. His whole body was tense in the position he had bent himself into and he grew increasingly agitated in having to stay still so long, but he dared not to make a sound yet, not until they were apart, and then, all he needed was a second.
Just when the Lesser whore had given up on her phone, complaining the pair must have entered a dead zone, her companion climbed out of the car and rudely excused himself to go urinate on the blue car which had caused their troubles. Three Finger then made himself known, rising from his hiding place and startling the oblivious young man out of his wits. Cursing loudly, the boy could only see a silhouette in the shade of the trees, but figured this gangly looking thing standing six feet away from him was the owner of the bigger car and from first glance, easy to intimidate.
The skinny man knew this area of woods and could outrun the young male even in the clearest of terrain, and without so much as a greeting, he took off like a shot, followed ironically by his prey. The whore screeched after him to come back, but was mostly ignored. And like nothing at all, Three Finger had given the man the slip, leaving him turning about frantically, unaware of where his Cadillac and companion were.
Yet Three Finger knew exactly where the vehicles and remaining prey were, and he found them right where he left them. The Lesser in the decorative clothes was not calling for her friend, more angry than frightened. That would soon change. The hunter saw no point in staying quiet anymore, and had plenty of time to play with her in the case that her cohort by some chance found his way back through the following of echoed, terrified screams. His act of throwing stones several yards to the left and right of him made the whore wheel around, silent now and appearing unnerved. She screeched once again for the young male, but no one responded, except for the figure which seemed to now be everywhere at once. Frantic now, she ran to her convertible and inserted the key, no longer caring that the bumper would scrape against the road if driven. She took once last chance to look around, but found no source of her tormentor.
… Not until he landed in the front passenger’s seat and stabbed the hand holding the keys.
Three Finger was right when he guessed that the Lesser whore’s screams would be so heavenly. Her agony was coupled with her fear upon seeing him and she struggled, one hand useless while the other inadequately tried to deflect his advances. Lightning quick gestures made his knife a blur and the whore shrieked again when her painted face was cut deeply below the eye. Howling with delight, Three Finger teasingly flicked the blade out again and again as his prize fumbled with the door, too stupid to realize she could climb effortlessly out of the topless car. Finally, she fell out and hit the ground hard as the door swung open. A line of saliva hung carelessly from her attacker’s cracked lips and he gurgled out hungry, playful noises as he stepped out of the Cadillac. Whimpering, the whore stood and tried to run, desperate to survive.
She tripped on the skinny heels of her shoes and a very obvious pop sounded from her ankle as she went down. Crying out in pain, she forced herself back up when she saw the freakish thing advancing on her. Giggling insanely, Three Finger hardly ran at first, prancing along like a deer and enjoying every moment with his prey. One of the heels of her shoes broke and she stumbled again, though this time she did not fall, and she ran in panic into the woods, hoping to elude the hunter there.
No such luck. Three Finger loved this game and relished in her sobbing breaths and flailing arms. He finally beat her to a clearing and came out from behind a pine tree, leaving her one last scream before he slammed a rock into the whore’s face. She fell, unconscious and bleeding from a broken nose. Applauding himself in triumph, the scrawny man dragged the limp body through the forest floor, over logs and sharp stones, giggling all the way back to the two parked vehicles.
The distorted couple found their way back into the scarlet convertible, taking use of the driver’s seat. Fondling the soft, ample flesh, his tongue darted out and licked up the blood dripping from her nostrils and cheek. He then suckled the red nectar from her gouged hand and rubbed up against the stick shift, groaning and undulating with abandon. At this point, the whore’s male companion finally found his way back to the vehicles and stopped dead in his tracks. Still shaken by the thought of being lost in the woods, he stood agape at the sight of his motionless friend, possibly dead, and at the mercy of a feral, crudely imagined creature, masturbating from blood and the contact with the car’s phallic handle. Three Finger made sure to give one of his most delightful gapped grins as he stood, gazing down at the young man who looked ready to wet himself. Licking his cracked lips, the hunter gave a low, menacing growl of hunger and watched as the man turned heel and ran for his life. Screeching into the August air, Three Finger grabbed a bowie knife and hurled it. A splattering whack followed and the male stopped, collapsing as his eyes went dead like the rest of him.
When the young woman opened her eyes again, dusk was approaching, and she discovered she was no longer in the red Cadillac. The sweat-stained rag tied as a gag made her realize the awful thing which had chased her was no horrendous dream. Her breath increasing in pace, he struggled against her bonds, wincing at the tightness of the wire her captor had used. Anxious to escape, she lost her balance and fell on her side and accidentally yelped in surprise. For all she knew, the monster was right behind her, and she squirmed in the dirt, trying with all her might to somehow get away.
She stopped was her outstretched hands brushed up against something familiar… hair – a beard in truth – and the softness of a face. Eager to wake her friend in hopes that he could help her, her fingers searched along his head, giving an attempt to awaken him. But her hands stopped and her heart nearly stopped at the cold metal stuck in his skull, and the sticky blood which adhered to her fingertips as she reeled away. The man was dead.
And her problems were just beginning.