Demon Axe, Chapter 12

For Daniel Mercer and his rock and roll crew, time moved slowly and painfully in the confines of their dark holding cell. Pain and disgust were etched on their faces as they ate spoiled bologna sandwiches compliments of the state. Tarantula Man held his sandwich meat and stared at it like it actually was a poisonous arachnid in his hand. His Islamic diet would never allow him to eat such rancid garbage, so he flushed his food down the toilet in the center of the cell and sat back down on the graffiti-covered bench.

The cell had been deathly silent for what seemed like hours (even though only one hour had passed). Every member of Demon Death Juice along with the two pro-wrestlers sat with a miserable and pathetic hunched over posture. As Bear Man tried to stomach the abomination he was feasting on, he piped up, “I know we’re prisoners who’ve been stripped of our freedom, but do we at least have the right to some mustard?!”

For Daniel, it wouldn’t have mattered if his sandwich was covered in an entire bottle of condiments. He took a bite out of the center and gagged so badly that he doubled over. He spit out what appeared to be a dead mouse, complete with teeth marks and sloppy guts.

“Oh god, dear god…” Daniel kept repeating to himself as he held his stomach and rushed over to the toilet. He vomited so hard that it sounded like he was laying down vocals for the first Demon Death Juice album. Another stream of masticated mush came up. And another. And another. Everybody sharing his cell looked on with horror before throwing their sandwiches on the floor in rebellion.

The Lord of the Pit wiped his mouth on his bare arm before slowly standing up and approaching the bars with a predator’s pace. He grabbed hold of them and yelled out to whoever would listen, “Whoever’s keeping us here has a shit load of explaining to do! You arrested us for no fucking reason and feed us these god awful sandwiches like we’re a bunch of goddamn dogs! We’ve been sitting on our asses for who knows how long, so whoever’s out there, you’d better get your ass over here and tell me what the hell’s going on!”

Daniel’s sentiments were echoed by his rock and roll troupe, all five of them sitting up and roaring like animals. They sat back down again at the shrill sound of metal banging on metal. Even the high and mighty Lord of the Pit backed away to the center of the room. The clanging and banging turned into something sharp being scraped across the bars. The prisoners winced and held their ears at the awful shriek.

The sharp metal object stopped at the entrance to the holding cell, where an oil lantern was lit and revealed a green-skinned man holding a machete and wearing a black monk’s robe, complete with a hood shrouding his face. The prisoner’s nerves were jittery and wild as Daniel said, “No way. You can’t be!” The robed figure flipped his hood back and revealed the sinister mug of Roger Zee, elven terrorist. His sharp-toothed grin sent chills up everyone’s spines. Even Daniel was struggling to say, “I’ll be damned” behind his quivering lips.

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen one of my kind before, Mr. Mercer,” said Roger in his grating voice. “I bet you’re wondering what the hell I’ve been doing this past month. I sure as hell wasn’t taking a nap. I also didn’t spend my time behind a computer raving like a teenaged lunatic. On the contrary, I’ve spent my last month of inactivity…getting to know some people around here.”

Daniel crossed his arms and said, “Let me guess: you’re the one who’s got Detective Henry’s balls in your pocket.”

“Not just his balls, my friend,” said Roger with a wag of his long-nailed finger. “The whole department. I’ve got more balls in my pocket than a game of billiards. Everybody in this god forsaken precinct has something to protect, something to hide, something to lose. I had no idea your city cops had so much to cover up. Racial profiling, racketeering, extortion, political embezzlement, this shit goes on forever. But then again, they can’t all be criminals who are willing to give me their puppet strings over some blackmail, right? Well, not all of them. But enough. Most of them are just hardworking family men who don’t want to see their precious demon seeds get hurt. I’ve got enough connections to take over this entire city if I wanted to.”

“All this just to bring things back to the good old days, huh?” said Daniel with a condescending smirk. “Well, the good old days weren’t all that good! In your so called golden age, bigotry was considered normal, death was the status quo, and beating your wife was an act of discipline. You want to bring that shit back to life? Not on my watch, motherfucker!”

Roger bent backwards and chuckled before saying, “And how is that any different than today’s world? Huh? Bigotry is still normal, death is even more normal, and beating your wife is still a shit load of fun! I’m not really changing much with my so called acts of terrorism. All I’m doing is speeding up the inevitable. Surely, your friend Tarantula Man knows something about this.”

Without his stage mask, Tarantula Man’s white hot angry expression could be seen from the moon. He approached the bars with breakneck speed and barked, “Don’t you ever talk about my religion that way! I am nothing like what you hear in your little bubble! I’m going to raise my kids to be respectful even when scumbags like you are hastening the inevitable as you say!”

Roger held his lantern and machete-holding hands up in defense and sarcastically apologized with, “Whoa, whoa, easy there, big man! I believe you when you say you’re going to raise your children right! Okay?” The elf leaned so close to Tarantula Man’s face that they were touching noses. “After all, if they don’t act proper, you can always strap a suicide vest on them.”

The Muslim rocker took a swing through the bars and got his arm chopped off at the elbow for his efforts. He howled in miserable bloody pain as he stumbled backwards on his ass with Bear Man and Lady Killer tending to his wound.

“Anybody else want to try that shit with me?! Anybody?!” Roger proudly challenged.

Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez, the two beefy wrestlers slowly stood up and took their places next to Daniel, who also had his muscles bulging and pulsating like blood bombs ready to blow. Sonia stared a fireball through Roger as she said, “If you still think beating women is a shit load of fun, let’s see you try that on me, bitch!”

“You don’t have your stupid little crowns anymore, amigo,” said Johnny while punching the bars. “Besides, it’s hard for someone like you to wear a crown with your brains leaking all over the fucking floor!”

“You fucked with my friends one too many times,” said Daniel, who was trembling with rage and ready to snap someone’s head off. “Up until now, I’ve been backing away from you anytime I had an opening. You chopped off my new friend’s arm. He’s never going to play guitar again because of you. And you, you’re never going to eat solid food again because your fucking teeth are going down your goddamn throat!”

Roger Zee laughed like a banshee and blew out the oil lantern, covering the holding cell in shadows once again. Daniel and his wrestler friends didn’t need the light to know where the elf was. They could smell his dick-licking breath from a mile away. The door opened so slowly that the hinges could be heard creaking and grinding.

Johnny, Sonia, and Daniel came out of the gates swinging like wild brawlers. They were certain their savage punches hit their marks, because they could feel the slimy flesh between their knuckles and fingers. Daniel even pierced his knuckle on one of Roger’s sharp fangs, causing a liberal amount of blood to flow from his hand. He didn’t give two shits and a flying fuck.

His veins were ready to blow like dynamite and he wouldn’t stop punching until he heard Roger let out a pathetic squeal of pain. “Ouch…ouch…no more…please…” Each cry for help was getting more sarcastic and it all crescendoed with evil hyena laughter that had everyone in the cell on edge. “My turn!” Roger shouted before the sounds of skin, organs, and bones being slashed pierced Daniel’s ears, causing the traumatized rocker to shriek a prolonged, “No!” and huddle to the ground in tears.

The oil lantern was alight once more and Roger waved the device around the cell to show Daniel that he was right to be traumatized and frightened. Pieces of his band mates and friends were scattered all over the cell with blood drenching the floor. Their faces were hardly recognizable with smashed skulls and popped out eyeballs. Daniel’s tears flooded down his face as he saw that his last circle of friends had left his earth forever.

He truly was all alone in this world. Every time he brought the metal scene back to life, it was taken away from him again. Every time he tried to have a positive thought, it was slashed to pieces. Every time he tried to live his life again, his happiness was ripped away from him like a teddy bear in a crying child’s arms.

Roger set the lantern down and petted Daniel’s hair in mock comfort while silently shushing him and whispering “sweet sounds” to him. “There, there, my little child. All is not lost. You can call me your friend anytime you want. You know what friends do when one of them is feeling down? We have some fun together. Good…old fashioned…medieval…fun!”

The lantern was blown out yet again and Daniel felt himself being dragged by his follicles across the bloody floor. He wished he had drowned in his own tears and in his fallen friends’ blood, for it would have been a friendlier ending to his story than whatever was about to happen to him next. “Just kill me already!” he pleaded. “Kill me, damn it!”

Having a Cold One

Whoever built a funeral home at the end of this abandoned highway was creepy, low, and rotten…and an imaginative guy. Casey Carter had a phantasmal grin on his face as he drove through here in his hearse with a dead body in the back. Some of his teeth resembled wolf fangs, others were golden or diamond-encrusted. His gray puffy horseshoe hair looked like a tumbleweed ready to blow down the highway as Casey drove with the windows rolled down. The smell of death was in the air that night, and that was just the mortician’s bloody lab coat and latex gloves. Heart-racing organ music played on his stereo and that gave Casey an even bigger grin, reminiscent of a wild animal ready to devour an injured rabbit.

It seemed as though it would take some serious plastic surgery to remove Casey’s grin, but all it took was a hard bump over a pothole and the deflation of his front passenger’s tire. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled demonically as he pulled over to the side of the empty highway. Once the hearse was stopped, he pounded on the steering wheel like he was in a championship boxing match. With hands as meaty and calloused as his, it seemed like an apt description. The undertaker let out a monstrous growl before throwing open the door and stomping towards the back to get the spare tire.

Corpulent Casey Carter fumbled with his keys so much that it looked like he was playing pocket pool. Maybe he was. He unlocked the back door and instead of reaching for the jack and the spare tire, his hideous smile returned as he gazed lovingly at the casket he was supposed to deliver. “Oh dear Beatrice, you are so radiant and beautiful even in death. You’re just like a ray of golden sunshine!” he whispered.

Speaking of radiant lights, a bright one shone from behind Casey while a gruff voice yelled, “You there! Put your hands up! Turn around slowly! That cutie girl is mine!” The undertaker did as he was told, but not without losing his jack-o-lantern smile, which complimented his bushy black and white eyebrows perfectly. His eyes widened with delight as he recognized the man who was holding him up.

With little more than a candle-lit pumpkin-themed lantern to reveal his features, the gray prison jumpsuit, slashed up face, and greasy brown hair gave away the profile of escaped convict Jay David, who licked his lips as if he just ate a bucket of fried chicken, all while gazing lovingly at the casket. With a prison guard’s pistol trained on Casey, Jay said, “Step aside, sweetie pie. That bitch is mine for the taking. I’m having a cold one tonight, motherfucker!”

Casey laughed like a demonic hyena and said, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds, Mr. David!” The prisoner’s demented slasher face turned into one of disgust. “Well, what are you waiting for? You clearly came here look for some fun. How many years have you been locked up? It must be so lonely in solitary confinement. Yes, you’re a popular guy on the evening news, but not so popular with the ladies. Well, the live ones, anyways.”

Jay laughed right back at him and said, “You’re a sick son of a bitch, I’ll give you that. If you weren’t taunting me right now, I’d probably have a beer with you. I’d probably crack the bottle of your head and throw you under the bus, but I’d still have a nice cold beer with you.”

“Now why would you do that to your best friend, Mr. David? Prisoners don’t like being around snitches like you. If you wanted to ‘have a cold one’ so badly, why don’t you just go back to jail?” chuckled Casey.

Jay squeezed the trigger and blew off a chunk of Casey’s hair, causing the mortician to drop to his knees and let out a few sarcastically frightened coos while holding his cheeks. Those coos turned to laughter and “Woo-hoo’s” as he slowly returned to his feet. He looked his adversary in his confused eyes and said, “Let me guess: you don’t miss twice?”

The convict rushed up to Casey and pressed the gun up to the old man’s scraggly chin. He said with clenched teeth and an itchy trigger finger, “Don’t you fuck with me, you goddamn nut job! You want to live to see another day? Huh?! Step aside, shut your mouth, and let me have the bitch in the box!”

Even at the threat of getting his head blown off, Casey chuckled, slowly stepped back, and said, “Okay, sweetheart, you win. The bitch in the box is all yours. But you have to promise you’ll let me watch. I love to watch!” The oratory ended with Casey blowing a wet kiss at his captor.

Jay squeezed off another shot and this time hit Casey in the arm, causing the old fart to double over and emit a blood-curdling scream as he kept his coat sleeve over his wound to stop the bleeding. The scream continued in the form of babyish crying, even going so far as to suck his thumb and call for his mommy.

“Yeah, and I’m the one with mental problems. Give me a break,” said Jay while shaking his head. He cast a hypnotic gaze at the coffin and crawled inside the hearse like he was possessed. “Alright, baby girl,” he said in a raspy whisper. “It’s just you and me versus the world. I’ve been waiting for this moment a long, long time. Jerking off just isn’t the same. Then again, neither is getting corn-holed in the showers. But you know that already. Of course you do, because you put me in that hellhole. Well, now that you’re dead, Miss Beatrice, you and I will be together until the end of the world. I love you, sweet princess. I love you so much!”

Jay set down his pistol and lantern and ripped the coffin lid off with hulking strength. Instead of a “bitch in a box”, he got a face full of green poisonous gas, which has him hacking up blood right away. The fumes got so bad that he tumbled out of the hearse and landed on his back. He violently coughed some more and even rested in a puddle of his own vomit, which tasted like rotten prison chow. Once he was done barfing and coughing, he was so lightheaded that he was ready to pass out in his own filth.

The convicted necrophiliac had his hands firmly held behind his back while cuffs were tightly bound to his wrists. “On your feet, you sick prick!” shouted a much less creepy version of Casey Carter. With one Herculean jerk, Jay David was pulled to his feet, but still had a head full of clouds.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming, did you?” whispered Casey, whose arm wound turned out to be a ketchup stain. “Bulletproof lab coats: what else will they come up with? Of course, you can’t get that kind of equipment unless you’re part of a special group, like I’d say, the Paulson City Police Department.”

“You’re…you’re a cop?!” said Jay as he breathed heavily with a sore throat and nose.

“For a guy who spent most of his life tricking the police, you sure are slow to catch on. You’re damn right I’m a cop. This whole thing was a setup. Like a moth to a flame, motherfucker. Like a moth to a flame!” Casey punctuated that last line with his in-character laugh before chucking Jay in the back of the now-clear hearse and locking the doors.

Accompanying Jay’s winded breathing were a girlish sob and kicking legs. “It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair!” he shouted as Casey got in the driver’s seat and pulled away. “Why can’t women say yes to me? Just three little letters! Y-E-S! It’s not that hard! I didn’t want to kill them, but they gave me no choice!”

Detective Carter slammed on the brakes and caused Jay to lurch forward headfirst into the “casket”, causing even more dizziness and heavy breathing than before, not to mention a small drip of blood. The cop said, “You know what? You’re probably just going to keep escaping from prison anyways. You’ve done it half a dozen times already. I don’t know why the prison guards keep doing the same thing over and over again. So you know what? I’m going to do them and the whole world a favor and deal with you myself. You and I are going for a ride. Not just any ride, but a nickel ride! Buckle up, sweet cheeks! It’s going to be bumpy!”

Jay shouted an extended, “No!” before Casey slammed on the accelerator and drove over the bumpy road, all with a flat tire, making this ride even more bouncy and miserable. Jay was hurled into the casket edges and hearse walls with such force that his bones shattered and deep gashes were forming on his body. Sparks from the flat tire grinding against the pavement shot inside the hearse and burned Jay like a branding iron on his fresh wounds.

By the time Casey reached his new destination, Jay Nathaniel David, a thirty-one-year-old rapist and murderer, looked less like an intimidating criminal and more like a pile of human wreckage. Blood and bone powder flooded the back of the hearse. Organs splashed against the walls. Teeth rolled around like dice in the most violent game of craps.

How did Detective Carter react to this? With a million dollar smile and a finger to his lips as he shushed the dead body and softly said, “Don’t tell a soul. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my bonus pay!”