Completing the Inventory

Richie didn't particularly like doing inventory, but he was aware of how lucky he was to find the job. Not only to find it, but to get passed the rigorous interview process. Richie knew the amount of dedication he had put into getting the job and the level of trust his new employer had to give him the job.Fuckin A' man, can't believe I've finally done it!

The interview was extremely difficult. Richie found the job on an underground website of sorts. After sending in his resume, there was a long delay in getting a response. The email arrived with an apology for the delay, explaining the necessity of the delay to ensure his interest. After he responded, Richie still wasn't sure if he would get the job or not. Surely there were a ton of candidates, so he tried to make his resume standout. He received a few more emails that asked questions about his qualifications, with the obvious intention of weeding out those that couldn't hack it. Oh, and the cops.

Richie looked over the list, most of it checked off. His first task was to inventory the tools. "Saw. Check. Scalpels. Check. Scissors. Check. Shovel. Check." He paused to muse at his own ignorance. I never would have thought to bring a shovel to every job. Richie chuckled and chalked it up to being a rookie as he finished up the alphabetical list.

He gleamed as he moved to the body parts, checklist in hand. I can't believe I'm actually working for a serial killer...and a good one! For as long as he could remember, that is all he ever wanted to do with his life. The very reason he chose psychology as his major in college was to understand the human psyche so he could have an insight into fear so he could bring it out in his victims. Now, he was finally getting to learn the ropes from a pro.

Richie wrapped up the body part inventory quicker than he expected. After looking over the list, he realized what was missing, made some notes, then proceeded out of the supply room to discuss his observations with his employer. Richie preferred the fear in his victim's eyes. His employer enjoyed lashing out with pure, unadulterated rage; he preferred blood and guts, the gore his drug of choice.

Richie tried not to appear so eager as he entered. "I've completed the inventory as you've asked."

"And?" the boss asked.

"Well, everything you listed was there. But, I noticed you only had one of each body part. While that is technically correct, physiologically, the left hand and the right hand are different. As are left and right feet, as well as eyes and all other body parts that come in twos. I just figured a man of your desires would aspire to have a more thorough collection," Richie concluded with a sly smile that curled at the corners of his mouth.

His boss returned the smile. "That is a very good observation. Come. Walk with me, let’s take a look at this inventory."

Richie piled in behind him, eager to discuss the inventory or anything his employer wanted to talk about. The boss looked over at the body parts, Richie's gaze followed. He looked up and down the shelves at the body parts as the boss walked over to the tools.

"Do you know the perfect tool for dismemberment, Richie?"

Finally! They were going to talk, he was going to learn. Maybe even teach a bit. A vile expression overtook Richie's face as he turned to discuss the good stuff.

The boss held a long scythe in his hand. Richie caught the glare of the blade in the light as it swung down around his feet, his legs completely severed above the ankles. Before he was aware of what was going on, Richie was sprawled out on the floor in a pool of blood. And pain, an immense pain that he never knew existed, burned at his ankles. Richie attempted to stand, only then realizing his feet were gone. He screamed, an evil incarnation of pain and fear that came from the bastard child of Satan and a banshee.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Richie screeched at the top of his lungs as his boss approached, the scythe in one hand, a tiny harpoon like tool in the other.

"A scythe, Richie, that is the best tool for dismemberment. It gives you the most torque." The boss choked up on the scythe a bit in his underhand grip, then swung the blade as to prove his point. Richie put up his right hand to shield his face, the blade catching him just behind the wrist; Richie's hand fell straight to the ground as blood spurted from his nub. More screams came from the bowels of Richie's stomach. "As for what the fuck I'm doing, I'm completing my inventory. Isn't that what I asked you to do?"

The boss stood on his Richie's right arm as he swung the scythe downward, lopping of Richie's left arm between the shoulder and the elbow. "We can get that hand off later," the boss said snarled. Dropping the scythe, the boss descended on Richie, removing his pocket knife to carve off his ears.

"Before I take your eyes, I'll let you indulge a bit." The boss grabbed a small mirror off the table, holding it so Richie could see his own face, stricken with fear, screams poured out. His boss held his head back by his hair with his right hand. The small harpoon pierced Richie's eyeballs unnoticed, the barbs catching as it was pulled out, one eye at a time.

The boss smiled. The smile widened as he thought about how good of an employee Richie had been, completing the inventory, just like he was asked.