Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

He places the bloody knife gently on the tabletop and chews on his bottom lip for what seems like an eternity. Then, without thinking, he raises a blood-soaked hand to his lips and gently nibbles on the tips of his fingernails with the skill of someone who had spent a lifetime perfecting the technique. Then, as quickly as he had checked out, he is brought back to reality with dramatic flair. Aghast, he reels back and stares with wide-eyed terror at his dripping hand, then promptly vomits.

“That’s the sort of evidence we DON’T want to be leaving behind right there,” a voice sarcastically grunts from a few feet away.

Jason drags his arm across his face, wiping the remaining vomit that coated his lips and wiry moustache with the sleeve of his jacket. “I-I-I… I didn’t mean t…”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU MEANT TO DO!” the man spits venomously as he strides to Jason’s side, grabs a handful of his hair, and slams him into the wall. Jason collapses to the ground in an unconscious heap. “WHAT MATTERS IS WHAT YOU’VE DONE! AND YOU’VE GONE AND FUCKED IT UP FOR EVERYONE!” he screams as he stomps his boot down onto Jason’s skull several times, until it caves in, leaving nothing but a mess of blood, flesh, and bone. He turns to face Jemma, a scowl deeply etched into his forehead. His lips curl up in anger, revealing his yellow-stained teeth. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT? HE COMPROMISED US ALL! HE HAD TO STAY! HE HAD TO BE PART OF THE DESIGN! IT WAS THE ONLY WAY!” he snarls, tossing his head back to clear the rusty red curls from his face.

“You never liked him,” Jemma spits.

His nose twitches as he runs a hand haphazardly through his hair and then smiles. “I don’t like any of you, never have, never will,” he slurs. “So, I think it’s pretty obvious what happens NOW if you don’t follow the FUCKING program!”

“And what if YOU decide to go off-script? Who judges YOU?”

He turns to Jemma with a movie star grin. “I don’t go off-script baby, because I write the script,” he says smugly, as he gives her an egotistical wink and thrusts his thumbs into his chest proudly.

She crosses her arms and nods towards Fabian’s bloody remains. “What does your script say to do about that? Did you write that into your story?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Of course, why wouldn’t I have a plan?”

“Then, what is it? How are we going to cover up this mess?”

“We’re not,” he declares proudly.

Jemma looks over to Fabian’s body and then to Jason’s. Her gaze settles back on Gordon. “W-W-We can’t leave them here like this. We all know each other. The first door the cops knock on will be mine, and then yours,” she stammers.

“No, they won’t start with your door,” he purrs.

“Y-You think they’ll come to yours first?” she asks as she turns her gaze back to Gordon, and stares down the barrel of a revolver.

“Maybe,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders and pulls the trigger.

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