No More Happy Birthdays

Part 6

Bo’s pulse was pounding in his head like a drum as he ran down the main street of Ambrose. The bitch was surprisingly fast, but he would catch up with her eventually. She definitely was not made for stamina. Judging from the size of her thighs, the young woman spent most of her waking hours on her ass. What Bo would have given to plug that big ass one more time before she died…
And what a pity that she was of no interest to Vincent. He even brought him to her, tied like a hog to a spit, and legs spread wide open. He had hoped such a bounty would finally drag the boy out of this phase he was going through. But the young man only shook his head and backed against the wall until he could find the door and exeunt. Oh well, Bo had thought at the time, locking the door and unbuckling his trousers. All the more for me.
The bitch’s blonde hair flashed in the moonlight as she ran. Bo kept his pace steady, knowing she would run out of steam eventually. All that weight had to have been weighing her down. With a sly smile on his face, he wondered if she would pass wind once she finally went down, blood pouring from every hole on her body.
In the brief moment that Bo Sinclair wondered where his twin brother was, he instantly saw him thirty feet away, struggling in the shadows of a porch while some green haired punk failed miserably at defending himself. Vincent, now with a brand new mask, had lost his knives at some point in the fight and was now breaking a flimsy, ancient chair over the dumb bastard’s back. Thank god his brother had finally come around. Three days after the brothers had shared a bed a second time, the deformed young man brought himself to work again, sculpting and carving, creating a new sculpture from the once broken male statue and crafting a brand new cover for his own imperfect visage. And yet Bo had this feeling that his brother was still avoiding him. Of course, Vincent had always liked keeping mostly to himself, and with a face like that, who would argue? But every time the twins crossed paths, there was uneasiness in the air nearly thick enough to feel with one’s own outstretched fingers.
Bo turned his attention back to his prey and continued to chase. Fortunately, the delightfully endowed cow somehow tripped and she hit the concrete with an audible slap. Wind knocked out of her, she could hardly crawl, and so Bo circled her like a cat observing a small creature it had maimed.
A familiar voice yelped in pain, causing the young man to whip his head in his brother’s direction, worry instantaneous within him. Awash in relief, he saw that Vincent was perfectly fine, despite a splintered rod from the chair now planted in his thigh. The attack only angered Vincent, and he expressed such by throwing the skinny little cocksucker through a window and onto a table. The punk’s body twitched slightly, hands reaching for only a few seconds at a blood soaked candlestick protruding from him before he completely expired.
Breath heavy, Vincent looked up and peered with one good eye through the hole of his mask, almost as though looking for approval. Bo allowed himself a small grin at his twin’s rekindled enthusiasm for the kill.
Bo’s interlude was brought to a screeching halt when he felt something thin, sharp, and BIG enter his foot. The painful thing had entered his boot and in his loud cry of agony, he could have sworn he heard metal scraping the concrete ground beneath him. He did not want to fall, but the pain left him with no choice. Hardly able to get his bearings straight past the fiery sensation shooting up his leg, he scrambled to stand, but the man could have been crawling like a caterpillar for all he knew. The cry escaping his lips was almost unfamiliar to his ears as the blade was roughly yanked out of his foot.
“Fuck… you…” he heard behind him as uneven footsteps approached. As he looked up, the limping woman raised one of Vincent’s lost knives. “FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT.”
The cow did not get any further. Vincent was upon her like a rabid mongrel. Catching his breath, Bo painfully got to his feet, his limp even worse than the girl’s had been. The girl in question was barely conscious now, and not even recognizable in comparison to how she had looked only a minute before. Vincent’s hand was drenched in blood by the time the vase in his hand shattered from the impact against the woman’s thoroughly decimated head. The final blow to the bloody mass of skull and gray matter ended with a bestial, choked scream which flowed out of the half-faced man’s mouth as though he were to become a wild creature himself. Harder to listen to still was the heavy breath which inspired Bo to think that his twin might just collapse and join the girl in death.
“Vincent?” Bo quietly asked, his caution a response to his brother’s state. He carefully came closer until he could reach the trembling man with his own hands. Expecting a violent jolt of surprise, he did not conceive that Vincent could become eerily still under his touch. In fact, Vincent leant against his brother as he stared at the corpse before them, groping fingers searching for support from the other man. Bo welcomed the contact and willingly placed his arms around the curled up figure.
“It’s okay…” Bo felt compelled to say, his voice calm and gentle. Stroking the long black hair, he sat there in the middle of the road with Vincent, whose grip on his arm remained strong and unwavering. Despite still wearing his wax mask, the disfigured young man finally turned and hid his face within the folds of his twin’s clothing. The two young men remained this way for an entire hour before they decided to do something about the bodies.
The cow with the decimated head was going to take several hours to fully encase in wax, and then more time yet to completely dry out. Thus, the skinny man with the green tresses went first, and Vincent took the time during the woman’s waxing to carve the man. Vincent’s fervor had been released through his skillful hands like never before and before he knew it, he was looking at the form of a man identical to that of the person once alive and running from him in terror. If only the blonde awaiting her own special transformation could be ready for his apt fingers.
Once both wax bodies were finally carved and polished to perfection, Vincent began to paint and dress them. Clothes had to be sewn onto the figures once they were dried and sculpted. As Bo observed his brother’s work, he suggested they use the snug jeans the woman had been wearing earlier, to show off her impressive rump. As predicted, Vincent only ducked his head timidly and selected a pleated black skirt from his collection of apprehended garments, along with a sensible pink sweater.
“Looks good,” Bo finally stated as he watched his twin come to the end of his work. Indeed the craftsmanship of the two figures was the best yet of Vincent’s display of skill. “Looks real good. I’d say they’re the best you ever done.” He clapped a friendly hand on his brother’s shoulder and this time, Vincent did not flinch or draw back. Instead he simply took a step closer to the other man, inches between where the two brothers stood, letting the hand remain on his shoulder.
All this time, Bo had carried doubt that whatever bond he had with his brother had been completely severed. But he had been dead wrong.


.
.
.
To be concluded...