The Truthful Lie -- Chapter 2

THE TRUTHFUL LIE
By: Darkinyron

Chapter 2 -- Pain or Pleasure?

The clock read 1:07 AM when headlights flashed into the driveway. Throwing off her blankets in a worried panic, Trisha flipped around in her armchair and opened a curtain of her living room window. It was Jeff’s truck, and from the looks of it he was alone out there. The light inside the cab showed no other silhouettes in the leather seats.

“Oh no,” Trisha thought aloud as she rushed to her door. “Something’s wrong. Where is her car? Where is she?”

The frantic pounding startled a shriek out of her, and for a moment she stared at the locks blankly, afraid of who or what may be on the other side of the door. For all she knew, the Creeper could have taken both of them and come back for her, posing as a normal human in a cloak as it had in the past. Memories flooded her mind like a river of blood, but she pushed them away; this was not the time to dwell in the shadows of the past. She snapped out of her temporary state of fear and whipped the door open.

“Jeffrey!” she breathed, the fear fleeing as she placed a hand over her chest. “Come in, before it gets you!”

“Trish! Help...I can’t find her,” he replied, stepping in and drying rain off of his face with a sleeve. “One minute she was heading off to the bathroom, next thing I hear her screaming for help. I tried to get in, I’m so sorry, I tried.”

“Just tell me what happened.”

“Like I said, I was waiting for her to come back when she started screaming my name. That man had her and was barricading the door with his body. Damn, he was heavy. There were three of us beating on that door and it wouldn’t budge until he ran out the window.”

“Did you call the police? Go looking for her?”

“We did, there were no witnesses. No fingerprints, footprints, nothing...” Jeff sighed heavily, catching a warm breath from inside the house, realizing he had been holding it the whole time. “I feel like this is all my fault. I should have been more protective. She told me everything about the argument you and her had, and I just shrugged it off like nothing. I had no idea that there was really a serial killer out there.”

“Don’t say that! We don’t have time for this now. We have to go looking for her. It’s our only hope...He may have spared her so far.”

“What? How do you know—?”

“You know what I’m talking about! Get in the truck...I’m going with you.”

Trisha turned and trotted into the kitchen; at that moment one of Jetseta’s brothers emerged from his bedroom, rubbing the back of his head and yawning.

“What’s going on?” he asked groggily. “What’s all the noise for?”

“Jetseta’s missing,” Trisha replied quickly, coming back with her tiny purse. “Jeff and I are going to go looking for her.”

“This again?” the teenager whined. “Mom, she runs away all the time....”

“Not this time,” she sighed. “She’s in serious danger...She needs our help.”

They left the boy standing in the hallway, confused to ponder the hurried conversation on his own. He shook his head, figuring it was only his mother’s wild imagination acting up again, and headed back off to bed, worried about nothing. To him, Jetseta was just as crazy as their mother, and an attention-seeking bitch. Why waste any energy on someone like that?”

* * * * *

Jetseta’s state of mind had fallen into shambles before the worst part even started. She no longer cried as the creature used her for his selfish desires. She refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her fear and misery. Sure, she could not stop the supernatural scent of fear that was radiating from her, but she could at least stifle what she did have control over. Being the rebel that she was, she wanted desperately to piss him off.

They say when you piss a serial killer off, you make them afraid of you because you managed to accomplish that much. They say that when you push aside your fear and stand up to them, they don’t know what to do anymore. Can I pull it off? Can I be strong and—!

Before she even felt the pain, the tearing of live flesh flew into Jetseta’s ears followed by the sensation that her entire pelvis was being ripped apart. Her bones screamed, her feminine places already mutilated by....Bone? Horns? She had no time to consider; the rending shrieks and spasms of pain shot through her, finally bringing themselves to life under the monster’s wrath. She felt a hot rush of blood escaping her torn vagina, and another slash—sounding like the tearing of wet cardboard—as the man raping her yanked himself out and grunted. She didn’t need to see to know that blood was gushing out of her like water from a hemorrhaged pipe. The burning, not even calmed by her endorphins’ futile attempts to relax her body, shot up into her higher abdomen as he tore through her again, this time holding there as if waiting for a reaction.

She couldn’t hear the screams that she had promised herself to control. Her fingers gripped against the wall with nothing to curl around. She wished she had something, anything, to bite her teeth into to concentrate the pain into something else. The Creeper may as well have been using that cold dagger on her, for that is what it felt like. There had to be some form of spikes on his member, but whatever they were, she didn’t care. She needed to survive, but she knew that the only way she could would be to endure this.

If she was lucky, maybe he’d give her something afterwards so she wouldn‘t bleed to death.

Her mind seemed to black out as he continued, taking her against the wall as if she were just another one of his dead corpses. She felt like a rag doll, all tattered and useless, ready to be thrown away when there was simply nothing left. Her physical dilapidation didn’t seem capable of getting much worse.

Jetseta just kept her eyes shut, willing away the tears as she bit into her lip, not even noticing the blood that had begun to trickle from beneath her teeth. The Creeper’s heated growls came to her ears in place of screams, growing quieter as her body fell into and out of consciousness. She didn’t want to stay awake anymore, no matter what the ending of this would be. Her body didn’t care. It fought with itself, with the Creeper’s wet and throbbing member, and with her brain to keep her aware of her situation, so that she wouldn’t pass out. It was stubborn; it couldn’t grant her this one wish.

He flipped her around, violently, cracking her head against the wall. Her body finally quit. She fainted, falling limp just as her captor stuffed himself back inside her in full climax. His skull-wings flared fully and he roared with desire. His warped head tilted back and his eyes closed while he finished, his howls dying only as he ran out of air.

The Creeper held himself there, catching his breath with overused lungs for a few moments; all the time his victim remained unconscious but at least alive. He pulled out and let her crumple into a heap of bloody flesh as he relaxed. His cloak waited nearby, but he didn’t bother with it, yet. He waited for the girl to open her eyes before leaving, and after about twenty or so minutes, she did.

It seemed like hours had gone by when Jetseta’s body allowed the light to seep back into her eyes. She blinked, staring at the floor for a while before any state of mind returned. She was too tired to move, too tired to wonder about the pain between her legs and what had happened. It was all she could do to look around without craning her neck to follow her sight.

She saw the silhouette of her attacker kneel down in front of her, but he did nothing else for a while. His breathing was calming still, telling her that they hadn’t been there long as well as that life still lingered in her body. She felt trapped inside of it. She wanted out, to just pass on from this hell to the next available spot of hope. In here, she had none.

“Can you get up?” he croaked.

“No,” she mouthed, no sound able to escape with all her exhaustion.

A slight snarl followed some time later. She remembered he was still semi-blind with those cataracts and probably hadn’t noticed her response at all. He picked her up, carried her over to one of the tables, and plopped her onto it with ease. She hissed as the pain resurfaced and a fresh, but less intense flow of blood began from her lower half.

She didn’t even care that he stood over her and stared at her naked form. Would it do any good to remain embarrassed at this point? She shivered, although the searing wounds inside her were on fire. She curled up in a ball, half hoping that she would just fall asleep and die a peaceful death of blood loss. It wouldn’t happen, she guessed. The creature had even said it wasn’t her time to die, and most serial killers were smart enough to know how much their victims could handle. Fatigue grasped at her and willed her into a painful sleep of terrifying nightmares and dreams of alternate endings to this that would never come.

He waited until Jetseta’s breathing became thick with slumber before moving. He pulled his cloak loosely over himself and pocketed the dagger that had been resting on that same table. He then took another robe—a cleaner one—and tossed it over her to stop the shivering. He stood there for a few more minutes to monitor that breathing as if afraid it would arrest at any second. After a while, he was sure that she would be stable for now, and walked out of the room, placing his old hat on his head on his way out.

* * * * *

It was over three hours later that Jeffrey returned to Trisha’s house, the sobbing mother drifting in and out of sleep from her mental fatigue. She stared up at the sky—the moon in particular—with a shotgun in her hand, hoping that she would see that homicidal bat searching for more victims. Shooting it would do no good, she remembered, but she needed to get her anger out on it somehow. Maybe if she were lucky enough she’d blow off one of its wings and make it tumble into a mound of jagged rocks.

“Will you be okay tonight?” Jeff asked.

“If you could stay with us, I would appreciate it,” Trisha replied, not looking at him. “My husband left us...I’d feel more safe if we stayed together in a group, the boys and us.”

“Alright,” he agreed softly, parking and shutting off his truck.

Inside, the two teenagers were already waiting, the television playing the news. They shook their heads sadly when asked if they had heard anything, and as Trisha and Jeff removed their spring jackets, the four came together in a tight group-hug and shared their worried sobs...

* * * * *

It was a while later, possibly days, when Jetseta woke up. She remained still for a while to just mentally catch up on what had happened, where she was, and what she was doing there. She examined her surroundings and came to the simple conclusion that she had been moved to a new room, one which was much drier and warmer.

She was dressed in a fresh, grey robe that was far too large, but she didn’t mind. She was comfortable and alone, and this relieved her for the time being. The pain seemed to have ceased; as she peered into the robe at herself she found that a black goo had been applied inside of her and over her wounds, and the blood was gone. She was numbed below, but didn’t complain. She closed it and looked up at the ceiling, half-expecting to see bodies lining the walls like in her mother’s tales. There was nothing, just bricks and a sealed skylight at the top. It was daylight out, and Jetseta greeted the sunshine happily.

“Good, good, you’re awake.”

Startled, Jetseta’s eyes shot in the direction of a shadowed corner where the Creeper was staring at her. He was matted with blood, as usual, and was chewing on a piece of cartilage as if it were gum.

“Go away,” she barked. She shut her eyes tightly with the hopes that eventually she would hear his footsteps fading into another room, but only the opposite occured as he approached. Her muscles clenched inside and her heart rate elevated, but she wouldn’t be afraid anymore. She had to get out of this, to see her family again, to pacify their concerns that undoubtedly had begun.

It was a while before the Creeper stuck his face back against her. He began his ritual smelling of her, concentrating in the same areas of her body that he had before, but at least showing no interest in raping her again, yet. His lip curled several times; when this happened he would linger in that area, sniffing deeper before moving on.

Jetseta was too tired to fight, or even care. It would take her days, maybe weeks to recover fully from all the mental and physical trauma that this being had put her through. That is, if nothing else happened.

“Can I have some water?” she asked randomly. Her kidnapper didn’t seem to expect anymore words out of her this day, and stared blankly for a moment. His eyes were still not replaced, but she noticed a large gaping wound where part of his left shoulder was missing, which wasn’t even bleeding. It was black and crusty, and as he moved particles of dust evaporated from it and disappeared into the unfiltered air.

He didn’t even appear to feel pain as he left and collected a bucket of water for her from another room. He was gone for only a minute or so, for she heard water running but her dry mouth made it out to be an eternity. He returned, carrying that metal bucket in his left hand, and it looked as if the entire arm would rip off at any moment.

“Erm...Thank you?”

He cocked his head at her as she sat up, but again failed to reply. He set the bucket beside her with a heavy clank! and went on sniffing as she reached in and drank some. The water tasted old and hard, full of calcium and other metals. She was too tired and weak to complain; it was all she could do to move her sore body into position just to reach in there.

He growled slightly as he began smelling between her legs, and instinctively she tensed. She didn’t want him burying his nose in there especially, or anywhere for that matter. Would he rape her again if he was not satisfied with the scent?

For a moment he lingered there, as if trying to locate a hidden aroma and decide what he would think of it. His upper nostril flared open and closed a bit more than it had in the short past she had known him, but it didn’t seem to be helping much. Frustrated, or so it seemed, he stood up and walked back out of the room.

* * * * *

Later that same night, Jetseta was startled out of another uncomfortable sleep by the raspy, high-pitched screams of bloody murder—literally. She sat up and looked around; a few candles had been lit around the room in random places. The bucket of water was still beside her, and as she turned in its direction she saw the Creeper in the back room, right in front of the doorway. A young woman was squirming and crying out desperately for help, but of course, to no avail. Blood began squirting from the back of her chest and went flying across the room as an artery was severed by the same dagger Jetseta had seen earlier.

The Creeper shoved the woman over what looked to be an old car’s framing and proceeded to open the wound further. He held her down with an elbow and slowly pulled the skin away, ignoring her screams as if she were already dead. The woman had no more room to squirm, but it didn’t matter as her strength grew thin. One of the monster’s claws reached in and manually shifted her scapula and ribs aside as if they were simple rubber before gripping a bleeding lung and severing it from her body. He smirked at the blood that sprayed into his face, some even hitting him dead in the eye as he stuck part of it in his mouth. He let it dangle there for a moment, and looked over at Jetseta.

A thin whimper escaped Jetseta’s mouth and she stared at the Creeper, standing there looking at her, holding the lung by a large blood vessel that had come out with it. Tears strolled down her face like waterfalls, and the bile rose from her stomach so fast she didn’t even feel it. She dumped all the puke she had, all over the floor so violently she fell off the edge, right into it, taking a few glass bottles with her that were caught in her robes.

She heard the warped laugh of an extremely old man behind her, but she knew it was just the aged lungs that could no longer carry much air inside them. His laugh came in fits, sounding like he had advanced emphysema and would fall dead at any moment.

That is until she heard the gurgling...She crawled out of her vomit and stood, staring at him as he swallowed the lung as if it were a spaghetti noodle—it just slid right down his throat. He then dug back into the woman—who was now far dead—and managed to separate the other bleeding lung without creating another slash. He then looked back to Jetseta, whose face had the paled pigment of illness, and wiggled the dead organ at her to create a Jell-O Jigglers effect. The blood that rained onto the floor seemed to only add to it, and for a second she heard Bill Cosby’s voice in her head advertising ‘A Kid’s Favourite Dessert’.

Another need to vomit, but her empty stomach only wretched a bit of slimy bile that dripped onto the floor as she buckled over. The Creeper downed the other lung and stalked over to her. She heard those heavy black boots and glared up at him.

A sick grin was plastered on his face. She knew what he wanted now. For all she knew, killing that poor woman and tearing her torso apart could have been a turn-on for him. She gasped and backed away, slipping in her own repellent stomach-fluids and falling face first in them.

He hoisted her back up and tossed her over the table, tearing off her robe and his own and proceeded to violate her again.

And again...

...And again.

And she didn’t think he’d ever stop.

The amount of blood she assumed she’d lost frightened her more than the rapings themselves, for without the precious fluid she had no chance against this creature.

Blood kept her going...But it wasn‘t successful in any of the other cases.

Crimson. The colour associated with life and death. Which was it going to choose when she stood on the line between the two realms for certain? The light of day that greeted her through escape, or the light of the path to Judgment?