I’m sorry for the delay, I hope everyone enjoys it!

Part I – https://honeymustard9.wordpress.com/2012/05/17/a-snippet-of-the-journey/

Part II – https://honeymustard9.wordpress.com/2012/05/26/part-two-of-the-journey-12/

“Are you going to kill me?” The woman mustered, her voice trembling in fear.

“I believe that is the plan” The man answered in his calm, high pitched rasp.

Blinking away the excess moisture building in her eyes, the girl swallowed the block of ice sitting upon her throat.

“Why are you doing this?” The woman breathed, her voice soaked in desolation.

“This is what I do,” The man answered in a measured tone, “Your fate was decided long before I entered the car.”

“You do not have to do it,” The woman breathed, “my father has money, he-”

The man burst through the woman’s plea, releasing bouts of high pitched, grating cackles that echoed through the car. “No, No, I have to do this.” The man finally managed, recapturing his composure, “Use your head, girl, I have a reputation to uphold here, and I cannot afford to make exceptions.”

Tears began to flow from the woman’s eyes,  “Were you paid to do this? If you were, I promise, whatever you have been paid, my father-”

You are not understanding me!” The man uttered, a newfound venom pervading his voice, “I care not about the money your father has, you are going to die, and I shall be the one to kill you.”

A line etched itself onto the woman’s expression, broken images of her sister’s body began to percolate through her mind. “Why me?”

“Why you?” The man answered, “I would not know, I do not burden myself with such impertinent information.”

The woman’s brow began to furrow with creases of skepticism, guiding the car into the right line of the highway, she continued her line of questioning. “Did you know my sister?”

The man paused, a smile growing on his expression, “How would I have met her?”

“It would have been through your..line of work” the woman choked out, “It would been about a year ago.” The woman replied, her voice lost in a distant place.

“I will need more than that,” The man replied, I see many women in my line of work, but, do not despair, for I always remember a pretty face.” 

The woman retched, his words piercing her ears like yellow nails upon a dusty chalkboard, the woman numbed to the world around her.

A pretty face” the woman heard the words again and again as if played over and over from a reel of a skipping tape.

A ravine of blood washes over the shattered glass sprinkled over the wooden floor, and pools around the rider’s minute tennis shoes. Exhaling several quick, deep breaths of air into the car’s exterior, the driver gazes upon her headless sister through a horror stricken memory- “I need more of a description, hair, eye color, or a first name, perhaps?” The man continued.

That woman’s face still from the memories passing before her eyes, the man shifted the subject of the conversation. “Well then, let’s talk about you.” The man continued, “I’ve long known that women of little substance keep their lives within the pockets of their purses, so, let us learn about who you truly are.” Reaching inside the woman’s leather purse, he extracts a pill bottle from the inner portion of her bag.

A smile wide upon his face, the man turns his gaze to the women before him. “And, what are these?”

Her ashen face lost in moving portraits from pieces of her horrid past, the woman withers in a world away.

“And, what are these?” The man repeated, a poison overtaking his voice.

Met again with silence, the man slams the steel of his pistol against the back of the woman’s skull. You will ANSWER me when I’m speaking to you, or I swear to god-“

“I’m sorry!” The girl released in a bloodcurdling scream. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!”

“The pills, please,” The man said again, his voice laden with contempt.

“They’re, They’re called Celexa, they’re an anti-depressant medication.” The girl finished, the ice cold pistol stuck against her head.

A glee overtook the man’s devious countenance, releasing bouts of high pitched, cackling  laughter, he tore into the woman in front of him.

Hahaha, you naive girl, you have never felt pain!”

The woman slammed her hand against her steering wheel, “You don’t even know me!”

“Oh, but I do know you,” the man cried, the joy clear within his voice. “You have no idea how long I’ve been your shadow. How long I’ve watched you in your sleep.” 

The last of the color draining from the woman’s countenance, she felt her voice leave her like the courage in her mind.

“Oh, I hate to change the subject,” The man began, but, I’m going to need you to take this next exit.”

“21A?” The woman asked softly.

“Yes, to the interstate.”

Directing the car to the exit to her right, the woman drove through a twisting on ramp that merged into the highway leading out of the city. Settling into the right lane of the highway, the woman’s eyes searched in desperation for aid within the roads around her.
“Where are you taking me?” The woman asked, hoping to form a strategy.

“Oh, I do not believe you could handle such treasured information.”

Stifling the frustration inside her, the woman shifted her hopeless gaze to a pair of passing lights in the highway beside her.

“Let’s talk about you.” The woman breathed, attempting to build her confidence.

“Me?” The man answered with mock surprise, “But, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, there is,” the woman began, “You haven’t even introduced yourself to me.

“There is no need,” The man responded, “you are the only reason that’s I’m in this car today, so it is your time to shine.”

“Stop it!” the girl screamed, “You chose to kill me, so tell me who you are!”

A smile flitted over the man’s expression, “Some know me as the Butcher.”

“The Butcher?” The woman asked, a coldness ebbing into her voice.

“Yes, you see, I have a habit of ripping the skin from my victim’s corpses-”

The driver’s body began to release a chain of violent convulsions-

The woman struck a match against the soles of her Nike tennis shoes, and guides the kindled light throughout the unkempt hall. Moving a foot toward the bedroom lying at the end of the dingy corridor, the scent of rotted meat burns into the woman’s tear filled eyes. Her gaze reaching the outer edges of the bedroom’s entryway, the woman finds the skin of her sister’s face hanging loose upon the wooden doorway. Unable to move her eyes from the soft, doughy wreath nailed upon the center of the bedroom door, the match hits the wooden floor amidst the rings of the woman’s grisly screams.  

The woman bursts from the scars of her anguished past, “Did you murder my sister?!”