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The Ride
Happy reading! R18VL
*****
THE RIDE BY RECHIANA
'Old habits die hard but sometimes they kill you.'
An overweight middle-aged Caucasian male with grey eyes and a greasy bald head drove his truck down an open road.
The cool wind from his window refreshed him as he stuffed his mouth with nuts. He pumped his fist to the metal blasting through his radio. His walkie talkie buzzed and he turned down the music.
"Yo Stevie, what's up?" he cheerfully asked and crushed some more nuts in between his teeth.
"How far long are you, Jones? You know that we have a deadline!" Stevie's raspy voice blasted through the speakers.
"Only two more hours and I'll be there," Jones replied and smirked at the sound of grumbling from the other side.
"Fine, just get here by then or you're fired." Stevie harshly threatened.
"Okki dokki," Jones replied and laughed at the mumbling that followed.
Jones changed the radio station with his greasy fingers and leaned back on his chair. His eyes focused on the road while his ears ignored the adverts playing on the radio.
'Good morning, this is Tom Edwards with more news concerning the recent killings in Kansas City. We have received word that more bodies of hikers have been found in the woods. All of them contained multiple stab wounds. Sheriff Roderick urges all residents to stay in doors and be cautious when out. He further states that - '
Jones turned the station back to Rock FM. His eyes spotted two slender women by the roadside. They appeared to be college students in their early twenties. He twisted his face in disgust as he observed them arguing. One of them hesitantly raised her hand but Jones drove right past them and grunted.
"With that killer on the loose, it's going to be difficult for me to find the right company for my road trip." Jones finished his nuts.
He pulled out a can of Red Bull when he saw a boy in a blue hood. Jones' eyes trailed his tiny figure, and he licked his lips. When the boy raised his hand to stop the truck, Jones exasperated in excitement.
"Today is my lucky day." Jones packed the truck by the roadside. He slid down the window and set his eyes on the boy hiding behind the shadow of his hood, "Where are you headed young man?" he asked, squirming in the inside and barely hiding his excitement. The boy said nothing but pointed ahead, "Good enough for me. Get in." he opened the door for him.
The two drove in silence. Jones regularly stole a look at the boy through his mirror and grinned deviously at himself every time. The boy still had his hood on but Jones could see his lips.
"These plump lips smell of innocence. I'll be sure to bite on them." Jones thought and fidgeted at the tingling sensation running through his body.
"What's your name kid?" Jones asked the boy, but he said nothing but crack his gloved fingers.
Jones's eyes longingly looked at them. He almost swore he could feel their warmth. Jones gripped his steering wheel tight just to stop himself from reaching out touching them.
"With hands like that, who wouldn't be in the mood for a handjob?"
The boy hid his hands away in the pockets of his hood as if he could hear Jones's dirty thoughts and faced straight ahead. This time around, Jones averted his eyes to the boy's legs.
"They are perfect enough to be wrapped around my waist." Jones grinned to himself.
"You don't talk much, do you boy? You can't even tell me your name." Jones let out a hefty laugh but the boy still maintained his silence. "No matter, I'll just call you Justin Bieber because you kind of look just like him." Jones involuntarily licked his lips.
This time, the boy lifted his head up and looked at Jones from the corner of his eye. Due to the hood over his head, Jones couldn't tell whether he was appalled or afraid. Regardless, Jones didn't care at all.
Jones could no longer contain himself. He parked the truck alongside the road and unbuckled his seat belt. With his left hand, he grabbed the boy's crouch and gave it a squeeze.
"Now this is what's going to happen; you will do everything I tell you to or else I will kill you." Jones threatened and leaned closer. He took a long sniff of the boy. "Oh god you smell so good."
The boy scoffed and grabbed hold of Jones's wrist. He squeezed it hard and Jones widened his eyes at his massive strength. The boy turned to face Jones and dropped his hood.
Jones's eyes stretched even wider and his face paled at the grown man smirking at him. He pulled his hand back appalled and the man burst out laughing.
"What's the matter?" he asked, Jones' heart fell into his stomach at the hoarseness it projected.
Truly, a man was before him. Jones gapped in disbelief at the dark shadow around his jaw. His eyes set on Marilyn Monroe tattoo on his rough neck. Jones could not keep his jaw up.
"Is it that much of a disappointment to you that I am not a 14-year-old boy but a 40-year-old man?" the man snickered sinisterly.
"Get the fuck out of my truck, you freak!" Jones blurted out spraying saliva and leaned back.
The strange man unbuckled his seat belt and pinned his knee on the chair while his hands spread apart—touching the windscreen and chair.
"You wanted to know who I am, didn't you?" he asked and reached into his back pocket.
"What are you doing?" Jones fearfully asked him.
The man brought back a dagger and laughed softly, "I am the nameless sadistic serial killer in these parts. Stabbing people is my hobby just as defiling children is yours. Now that the two of us have met, what is to happen?" The killer drew closer.
"Back away from me you son of a bitch." Jones blurted out with his hand protecting his face, and the other opening the door.
"No! You and I are scum! When scums meet, it's either they become friends or kill each other. You have already displayed your disgust for me so there's no chance of us ever being friends. Therefore, one of us has to fucking die and it's not going to be me!"
The killer dived at Jones and stabbed his hand. Jones screamed at the blade protruding through his palm. He pushed the killer to the side, hurried to the other door but screamed at the dagger piercing into his back. More and more stabs cut through him.
Blood splashed on the killers face and got onto the windscreen. The chair got stained as the stabs continued. The dagger landed on Jones's cheek, all over his hands and even on his chest. His thighs weren't spared either. The killer aimed for Jones eye but the dagger plunged into Jones's other palm instead.
Jones kicked the killer as hard as he could, and he fell out, landing hard on his back and hitting the back of his head on the tarmac. The killer rolled his side, chuckling despite his throbbing head. Using the tire for support, he slowly got back on his feet. He smiled deviously at Jones who just laid there semi-conscious all bloody and beaten and barely breathing.
The killer took a step forward but a sudden honk forced his head to jerk to the left. He opened his mouth to shout but his voice was drowned by the sudden bang of a bus hitting him. The killer's body fell to the tarmac and was run over by the bus. His squashy body rolled over on the road and came to a bloody halt. The driver skidded to a stop and the passengers looked out their windows horrified at the mushy red sight of a broken skull on the road.
Some of them followed the driver out while the rest stayed to call 911. Jones heard the sounds of their faint voices, but he was too weak to move.
His vision got darker and darker until he could no longer see any more. He felt his lungs giving up and his ribcage froze. Jones' head tilted to the side and blood poured out of his mouth. His lifeless eyes stayed open—facing the outside.
"Jones! Jones! Pick up you son of a bitch! Clients are waiting for your ass. I swear if you cost us another contract, you are fired! Jones!!" Stevie blasted through the speakers.
Moral of the story : Eventually, everyone meets their match. Never underestimate anyone.
© Racheal Tembo
*****
THE RIDE BY RECHIANA
'Old habits die hard but sometimes they kill you.'
An overweight middle-aged Caucasian male with grey eyes and a greasy bald head drove his truck down an open road.
The cool wind from his window refreshed him as he stuffed his mouth with nuts. He pumped his fist to the metal blasting through his radio. His walkie talkie buzzed and he turned down the music.
"Yo Stevie, what's up?" he cheerfully asked and crushed some more nuts in between his teeth.
"How far long are you, Jones? You know that we have a deadline!" Stevie's raspy voice blasted through the speakers.
"Only two more hours and I'll be there," Jones replied and smirked at the sound of grumbling from the other side.
"Fine, just get here by then or you're fired." Stevie harshly threatened.
"Okki dokki," Jones replied and laughed at the mumbling that followed.
Jones changed the radio station with his greasy fingers and leaned back on his chair. His eyes focused on the road while his ears ignored the adverts playing on the radio.
'Good morning, this is Tom Edwards with more news concerning the recent killings in Kansas City. We have received word that more bodies of hikers have been found in the woods. All of them contained multiple stab wounds. Sheriff Roderick urges all residents to stay in doors and be cautious when out. He further states that - '
Jones turned the station back to Rock FM. His eyes spotted two slender women by the roadside. They appeared to be college students in their early twenties. He twisted his face in disgust as he observed them arguing. One of them hesitantly raised her hand but Jones drove right past them and grunted.
"With that killer on the loose, it's going to be difficult for me to find the right company for my road trip." Jones finished his nuts.
He pulled out a can of Red Bull when he saw a boy in a blue hood. Jones' eyes trailed his tiny figure, and he licked his lips. When the boy raised his hand to stop the truck, Jones exasperated in excitement.
"Today is my lucky day." Jones packed the truck by the roadside. He slid down the window and set his eyes on the boy hiding behind the shadow of his hood, "Where are you headed young man?" he asked, squirming in the inside and barely hiding his excitement. The boy said nothing but pointed ahead, "Good enough for me. Get in." he opened the door for him.
The two drove in silence. Jones regularly stole a look at the boy through his mirror and grinned deviously at himself every time. The boy still had his hood on but Jones could see his lips.
"These plump lips smell of innocence. I'll be sure to bite on them." Jones thought and fidgeted at the tingling sensation running through his body.
"What's your name kid?" Jones asked the boy, but he said nothing but crack his gloved fingers.
Jones's eyes longingly looked at them. He almost swore he could feel their warmth. Jones gripped his steering wheel tight just to stop himself from reaching out touching them.
"With hands like that, who wouldn't be in the mood for a handjob?"
The boy hid his hands away in the pockets of his hood as if he could hear Jones's dirty thoughts and faced straight ahead. This time around, Jones averted his eyes to the boy's legs.
"They are perfect enough to be wrapped around my waist." Jones grinned to himself.
"You don't talk much, do you boy? You can't even tell me your name." Jones let out a hefty laugh but the boy still maintained his silence. "No matter, I'll just call you Justin Bieber because you kind of look just like him." Jones involuntarily licked his lips.
This time, the boy lifted his head up and looked at Jones from the corner of his eye. Due to the hood over his head, Jones couldn't tell whether he was appalled or afraid. Regardless, Jones didn't care at all.
Jones could no longer contain himself. He parked the truck alongside the road and unbuckled his seat belt. With his left hand, he grabbed the boy's crouch and gave it a squeeze.
"Now this is what's going to happen; you will do everything I tell you to or else I will kill you." Jones threatened and leaned closer. He took a long sniff of the boy. "Oh god you smell so good."
The boy scoffed and grabbed hold of Jones's wrist. He squeezed it hard and Jones widened his eyes at his massive strength. The boy turned to face Jones and dropped his hood.
Jones's eyes stretched even wider and his face paled at the grown man smirking at him. He pulled his hand back appalled and the man burst out laughing.
"What's the matter?" he asked, Jones' heart fell into his stomach at the hoarseness it projected.
Truly, a man was before him. Jones gapped in disbelief at the dark shadow around his jaw. His eyes set on Marilyn Monroe tattoo on his rough neck. Jones could not keep his jaw up.
"Is it that much of a disappointment to you that I am not a 14-year-old boy but a 40-year-old man?" the man snickered sinisterly.
"Get the fuck out of my truck, you freak!" Jones blurted out spraying saliva and leaned back.
The strange man unbuckled his seat belt and pinned his knee on the chair while his hands spread apart—touching the windscreen and chair.
"You wanted to know who I am, didn't you?" he asked and reached into his back pocket.
"What are you doing?" Jones fearfully asked him.
The man brought back a dagger and laughed softly, "I am the nameless sadistic serial killer in these parts. Stabbing people is my hobby just as defiling children is yours. Now that the two of us have met, what is to happen?" The killer drew closer.
"Back away from me you son of a bitch." Jones blurted out with his hand protecting his face, and the other opening the door.
"No! You and I are scum! When scums meet, it's either they become friends or kill each other. You have already displayed your disgust for me so there's no chance of us ever being friends. Therefore, one of us has to fucking die and it's not going to be me!"
The killer dived at Jones and stabbed his hand. Jones screamed at the blade protruding through his palm. He pushed the killer to the side, hurried to the other door but screamed at the dagger piercing into his back. More and more stabs cut through him.
Blood splashed on the killers face and got onto the windscreen. The chair got stained as the stabs continued. The dagger landed on Jones's cheek, all over his hands and even on his chest. His thighs weren't spared either. The killer aimed for Jones eye but the dagger plunged into Jones's other palm instead.
Jones kicked the killer as hard as he could, and he fell out, landing hard on his back and hitting the back of his head on the tarmac. The killer rolled his side, chuckling despite his throbbing head. Using the tire for support, he slowly got back on his feet. He smiled deviously at Jones who just laid there semi-conscious all bloody and beaten and barely breathing.
The killer took a step forward but a sudden honk forced his head to jerk to the left. He opened his mouth to shout but his voice was drowned by the sudden bang of a bus hitting him. The killer's body fell to the tarmac and was run over by the bus. His squashy body rolled over on the road and came to a bloody halt. The driver skidded to a stop and the passengers looked out their windows horrified at the mushy red sight of a broken skull on the road.
Some of them followed the driver out while the rest stayed to call 911. Jones heard the sounds of their faint voices, but he was too weak to move.
His vision got darker and darker until he could no longer see any more. He felt his lungs giving up and his ribcage froze. Jones' head tilted to the side and blood poured out of his mouth. His lifeless eyes stayed open—facing the outside.
"Jones! Jones! Pick up you son of a bitch! Clients are waiting for your ass. I swear if you cost us another contract, you are fired! Jones!!" Stevie blasted through the speakers.
Moral of the story : Eventually, everyone meets their match. Never underestimate anyone.
© Racheal Tembo
