Author: Y. M. Miller
Date: 2024-11-09 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Liam, a twenty year old man is sick of wiping asses for a living, so when he applies for a position at a local restaurant, he sees a way out. He meets the beautiful Abby- Barmaid, seductress, abductor and his world falls into chaos. She likes men like him...she also likes cheese, boiling hot cheese and the way it sizzles through flesh.

Human Soup

YM Miller

Unveiling Nightmares Press

Copyright © 2024 by YM Miller

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the publisher’s prior written permission, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Crystal Baynam (Dark Illustrations)

Contents

Prologue

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chaper Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chaper Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

About the author

Prologue

Jizz and shit stains were Liam’s life. He couldn’t hack it any longer. If someone asked him a few years ago what his life would become, this wouldn’t have been it. Working in the nursing home had seemed alright initially, but the shiny sheen of a new job made him wish he’d got something else. Hell, anything else would’ve been better. A fish factory, a swinger bar, an escort for cougars.

Liam knew this shit wasn’t it.

He knew that being a nursing assistant was no job for a twenty-year-old boy. He hadn’t the experience, the will, or the desire to continue wiping saggy brown eyes for a living. His gag reflex wasn’t worth a shit, and some of the older ladies would thrust their hips up toward him as he changed their adult diapers. The white discharge would’ve had him running for the hills if their saggy beef curtains hadn’t put him off. What the hell had he been thinking?

He’d thought about going awol and leaving the job, but he needed the money desperately until he’d secured another. Leaving school with nothing but some passed-down trauma and a general hatred of authority figures had done nothing for his job prospects. At one point, he’d aspired to become an engineer, but his dyscalculia had shat all over that idea.

What was Liam supposed to be…a disappointment? Well, he supposed he’d won at something then because that’s all he was to his mother. They had a strained relationship, worked nightshift, and she sat on the couch all day shooting drugs. Her veins were so weak that she’d make a cancer patient look like the incredible hulk-he laughed at the joke; they surely had the green complexion already due to the levels of radioactive material running through their ruined bodies.

Liam shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, kicking a crushed can down the empty alley. He’d cried off from his night shift, unable to take yet another night of old people screaming at him for the toilet, expecting him to hold their false teeth while they painted the toilet bowl a sickly yellow. He was so sick of this shit.

Early in the evening in New York, he had nowhere to go. All his friends attended University or had settled down with girlfriends and boyfriends. He was that end piece of bread in a loaf- nobody wanted it. He could’ve gone to a bar and got shit-faced, or he could’ve continued to kick around the streets, becoming more depressed with his situation.

Dusk in New York was weird; it was dark enough to see the shadows that stretched a little too far. The darkness cut into the streets like a scar. Danger could be found anywhere in New York City; oftentimes, you wouldn’t even need to go looking-it was more than capable of locating you.

He’d quickened his pace when he realized where he was. The Lennox is an abandoned warehouse that even the cops refuse to go to. The banging sound of metal on metal made his pace evolve into a full heterosexual run – all trauma and overthinking.

Turning the corner, Liam was hit in the face by a sheet of soggy paper. Peeling it away from his skin, he read the flier. HELP WANTED: KITCHEN ASSISTANT, NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY. THE LEAKY LADLE, ENQUIRE WITHIN.

The address was only a few blocks from his current position. Kitchen work wasn’t exactly easy work but it had to be better than wiping shitty asses for a living. Divine intervention or was he clutching at straws due to his dire financial situation? He wasn’t sure, but he was going to walk over to The Leaky Ladle and speak with the manager. He had skills and he was damn sure he would get a position to utilize them.

Standing in front of the dingy building, he couldn’t quite believe what he was looking at. New York City could be a shit hole, but this, this was real underground-level shit. The glowing neon red sign was missing the L and E, so it read as The Leaky Lad…what a depressing start. The darkened windows, creaky doors and dilapidated roof looked like a murder scene waiting to happen. It’s a Ted Bundy training facility, for sure. What the fuck was Liam doing here?

He’d known exactly what had led him there. Money and keeping his hands free of bodily fluids. He didn’t want to be known as the cum rag any longer.

The cacophony of laughter and raucous discussion could be heard when a rather drunk man crashed through the steel doors. It sounded lively enough, but as Liam knew, looks could be deceiving. It might look like a crack den, but it could just be its rough appeal. Liam was sick of the flying judgments on his own character, so he should have just taken the place at face value. It couldn’t be all that bad, could it?

The aroma of roasted meats floated down the alleyway. He couldn’t quite place the spices but it was mouth-watering. It’d felt like months since he’d had a decent meal, all his wages swallowed by his mother’s drug habit. He wanted to care for her and make everything all right, but she didn’t do herself any favors. Being off her face at two p.m. and vomiting all over her clothes was not cutting the motherly figure that she believed she continued to exude.

Mothers could be shit, and his was all that and more, but she was all he had left.

Pushing forward, he breached the entry to The Leaky Ladle. Liam was desperate. The noise he heard earlier came to a standstill. Everyone stopped talking, a stranger in their midst, fresh meat if you will. In the hazy yellow light, eyes widened and mouths slack, they took in the feeble form of Liam Cook, a boy of Irish decent and as thin as a twig. He was an outsider and they salivated at his standoffish nature.

The quiet continued. Liam stood stock, still unsure of how to proceed. The patrons, happy that Liam posed no direct threat to their drinking games, went back to their supping. Liam still didn’t know if he was in the right place. It felt like all kinds of wrong atmosphere, the aroma which stank of rot and yeast, the barmaid that hadn’t been able to take her eyes away from him, even while pulling pints and mixing drinks. As the young kids would say, the vibe felt off.

The Leaky Ladle looked like the kind of place where you didn’t ask too many questions in fear of being shanked as soon as your back was turned.

As he approached the bar; the woman wiped her hands on a dish rag concealed under the bar. Liam wasn’t entirely sure how to extract the words from his brain and make his mouth verbalize them. He’d never been great with women and this stunning woman was like nothing he’d ever seen before. She was the kind of woman who would devour him for breakfast- spitting out his grisly bones when she was done.

“What can I get you?” she asked with an immaculately raised brow.

“ummmm…the job…I…came here,” Liam stuttered, unable to look her in the eye, mentally chastising himself, he bit into the skin inside his mouth. Blood dripped onto his tongue; it was oddly comforting.

“You’ve came about the job? Excellent. Dave is going to be ecstatic. Come round the bar and I’ll take you to him.” Her voice was like honey, dripping with sweetness. He’d let her do anything to him. She had the kind of voice that reminded Liam of those old nineties chat hotlines, the ones where dirty old men phoned up and jacked off to women exactly like the bartender.

Rushing to the other side of the bar, eyes downcast, Liam bumped into the beautiful woman. Soft and voluptuous. His cheeks instantly reddened as he looked into her cerulean blue eyes. He felt the stirrings of an erection, and in an attempt to control it, he thought of all the saggy bodies he dealt with on a nightly basis. It worked, for now.

“Sorry.”

“That’s alright hun. I’m Abby.” She held out her hand, wrinkle and blemish-free. It was refreshing. He wished he could control his dirty thoughts, once again he’d found himself imagining what she could do with those hands. How it’d feel to have them wrapped around his pulsing…

Get your mind out of the gutter.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He took her hand in his. It was soft but intimidating.

He pulled his hand away as the bar broke out into laughter once more, self-conscious that the patrons witnessed his pathetic attempt at flirting. On closer inspection, he realized a fight broke out between two men playing pool.

“Follow me.” Curving an index finger, Abby motioned toward the back room. Being the gentleman that he was, he let Abby go first with him following closely behind. Not too close that he could be accused of stalking but far enough away that he could inspect her magnificent ass jiggling in her tight jean shorts. Her lips were painted crimson reminding him of Dracula’s brides, he wasn’t sure why, maybe because she looked like she could suck the dirt straight out the carpet. Although trying to appear friendly, Abby’s smiles were predatory. She might want Liam, but he had the sneaky suspicion it was only as her next meal.

Why did he always attract the psychos?

Abby rapped on the wooden door. A brass plaque engraved with Office stared back at him. With one screw missing, it hung at an angle. Funny, Liam had started to wonder if he had one screw missing by coming here. So many red flags, Liam was starting to feel like a matador.

“Come in,” a gruff voice shouted from the other side. Liam immediately stood straighter. He tried to school his face in some semblance of a smile. Come on dickhead, act normal, just for once.

Abby pushed open the door and more or less pushed Liam into the room. A room that took his breath away for all the wrong reasons.

The room was suffocating. Liam coughed, tried to clear his throat but it was impossible, a combination of dust and mould latching onto his oesophagus. He continued coughing into his hand, phlegm coating his palm. How embarrassing.

“This is Liam, he’s here about the job.” Abby didn’t wait for a response, the door slamming shut behind her. Liam jumped in response.

“Don’t mind her. We’re understaffed, she needs to be at the bar.” Dave muttered. A limp cigarette hung from his mouth; his teeth hideously yellow. Liam took two steps back. The man was at one with his environment. The room and Dave stunk of old sweat, stale cigarettes, and something far worse: blood. Gazing around as discreetly as he could muster, he couldn’t locate the source of the odor.

If Liam had alarm bells installed in his head, then they would be blaring. The room should have RUN spraypainted on its walls. Liam however, was much too desperate to listen to his stupid overthinking brain.

“Oh…okay,” Liam said almost in a whisper. What else could he say?

“So, you’re here for the job. Well, take a seat boy, don’t be shy,” Dave said slyly, his teeth made Liam want to vomit. He’d seen cleaner-looking shit in his day job. Motioning to the torn seat in front of the desk, Liam wondered if the legs would hold him. Bent and misshapen, was everything in this room decrepit?

Sitting down gingerly, Liam was relieved when it didn’t fold like a cheap deck chair. Going between crossing his legs at the knee and clasping his hands, he willed his body to get a fucking grip. He wasn’t exactly exuding confidence. He was acting exactly like everyone believed him to be- a pathetic little boy.

“Right, so to business. What can I tell you about the job? It’s basically a kitchen assistant post. You’ll be doing everything from washing pots, brushing and mopping the floor to assisting the chefs with service. How does that sound?” He shut his laptop and clasped his hands together.

“Well, my experience is mainly in care work. I have no hospitality experience but I’m a quick learner and need a change.” Liam projected his voice. The realization that he needed this job, he needed to leave care-it had eroded his very soul. The thought was sobering.

“We’re not bothered by experience. It’s on-the-job training.” Standing up, Dave offered Liam his hand. Looking down at it, he cringed so hard he feared his eyes had sunk into his skull. Dirty fingernails and bloody knuckles made him gag, but he forced his own soft hand into Dave’s. He crushed Liam’s hand in his, a sign of dominance, of control? It seemed totally unnecessary.

“When can you start?”

He let go of his hand and Liam rubbed the tension away, willing the blood flow to return to normal.

“I guess anytime. I don’t think my work really deserves to be notified. It’s like working for the devil,” Liam mused.

“Excellent, well, why don’t you come and see the kitchen and we can take it from there.”

Liam wasn’t sure what it was but the Leaky Ladle was fucking weird. Dave, the owner, hadn’t asked to see a Resume, a reference or anything in between. It wasn’t like any job he’d interviewed for before. Was he being paranoid, or was there something more at play? He couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe the mold was infecting his brain.

As they walked through the quiet corridor toward the kitchen, the overhead lights blinked on and off. Liam pulled his jacket tighter around his body. Dave waddled in front of him. At a rough estimate, Liam put a weight of over three hundred pounds on Dave. It was that goose waddle, the limp that spoke of tired knees. Dave was a ticking time bomb. Maybe he sampled way too many portions of their specialty- sticky fries.

Dave pushed open the door to the kitchen and allowed Liam to step inside. What the fuck was going on? It was weird, the staff looked dead. Sure, there were people preparing food but not in the conventional sense. Nothing was conventional at all.

As he turned around to accuse Dave of all kinds of atrocities, a cloth was pressed against his mouth. Hard. He tried to fight him off, but couldn’t. The monstrous weight of the owner was no match against Liam’s measly one-hundred-and-fifty-pound frame. Liam was down and out.

Chapter One

Liam awoke chained to a metal bar. Groggy from being drugged, he peeled his eyes open slowly. It didn’t help the image that assaulted his senses. A dark room. Dank, cold and sterile. Painted white, at one point. Blood and mould mixed together to make a horrific potion. The mould worked its way up from the baseboards in spirals, like the veins in a corpse. Don’t even think about corpses.

Liam had woken up to a nightmare. The room, pitch black except for the singular lightbulb swinging from the ceiling. The shadows lengthened and made Liam swallow bile that seemed to be running a gauntlet between his stomach and throat.

Corpses. At least eight of them. All chained to the same metal pole Liam was. Dead was the understatement of the century. The victims had undergone a level of decay where it would be impossible to identify them. Each one chained up like a grotesque display of humanity. See what the human body can do. See what happens when you fuck around and find out.

The skin slack and pale, almost translucent, hung from their bones. Almost resembling leather. Bile transformed into a real upchuck. Segments of diced beef and carrot exploded from his mouth, soaking his crotch. He really should’ve skipped on that delicious stew his best friend; Faye had prepared earlier that day.

What day was it? Liam was confused as shit. He could’ve been out hours or days, hell even weeks. He had no earthly clue what day it was. Going by the stench coming from him-he’d hazard a guess of days. He wasn’t fresh. The body odor wasn’t exactly fragrant.

Now fully awake, Liam began pulling on his restraints. The noise made him jump. The room was silent, so the clanging noise of metal made the shit nearly evacuate out of his colon. No noise from the group of mutes over there. The attempt at humor was poor at best and plain disrespectful at worst. It was the fear making him act like a dumbass. It reminded him of the time he said something inappropriate to his aunt when he was nervous, and the brain-to-mouth filter didn’t operate. His aunt was the big Bertha type, and she made him all kinds of nervous with her double entendres. Why was his brain going there? It was hardly the time. He had more pressing matters on his plate. It is like getting out of Death Dungeon.

Liam wished he could turn his senses off. The stench was off the scale revolting, like a brick hitting you full force in the face. It was dizzying, disorientating and just fucking painful. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. Well, maybe Caroline Currie, she took the biggest delight in giving him all the shitty shifts at the care home. Maybe she’d lighten up if she had to spend more than ten minutes with the corpses beside him.

The stench, yeah it was horrific. Raw and cloying, the smell that developed when you left raw meat out in the sun too long. Like that time his dad left steaks out beside the barbeque and simply forgotten about them. His mom had berated him for months after it. Back when times were simpler, back when Liam had a happy family. Sorta.

Liam tried hard to keep it together. If he focussed too long on the corpses then he would start imagining back stories for them. Who they were, where they came from, did they have families? No, that was a track that was deadly. He couldn’t do anything for them now, he had to be selfish for once and think about himself.

“HELP!” he hollered. His throat raw and dry, he needed water almost as much as he needed a savor. He shouted until his voice gave out, no one came, his pleas ignored like a problem child.

Looking to Liam’s left, the corpse’s neck is set at an angle. Snapped. Their mouth, slack, poised in pure terror made Liam swallow the saliva that’d gathered. What had this person seen and experienced? Was Liam in for the same treatment.

What was this place? It was starting to feel like the job interview from hell.

Their eyes were wide open, glazed over with that milky substance that always made him cringe when watching thriller shows. Somehow Liam knew that this hadn’t been a quick death. He’d been made to suffer for weeks, maybe even months.

His breath quickened, glancing around the room. So much death. Had they all come to interview for the job, only to end up chained up in this basement, used and tortured for the boss’ own enjoyment? Was this his fate too? Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, tracing a salty path down his stubbled cheek. He tried to wipe them away but the stark reality of his predicament stopped him from doing so.

His mind ran at a thousand miles an hour. Scanning for ways to leave, if of course, he could get out of the chains. Who was he kidding? There was no escape for him. Brick walls, zero windows and a steel door made the pursuit impossible. He was screwed.

Kicking his legs out, he realized that he was naked from the waist down. What the fuck? He’d came to The Leaky Ladle with black slacks on, why had they stripped him? What had they done to him?

At that precise moment, him being bollock naked was the least of his problems. The wooden floor beneath him was soaked in blood. It clung to his legs like a second skin. Congealed and jelly-like, the smell made him throw up on himself again. Foodstuffs matted his pubic hair. The sight almost made him vomit again.

His despair was resolute. He was like a mouse in a trap, tempted by that delicious piece of cheese, but instead of cheese, Liam was tempted by the allure of a new job, one where he wasn’t constantly coated in bodily fluids.

He didn’t need the irony pointing out to him. He could see that in the pursuit of something better, he had now found himself living his own worst nightmare.

Liam felt close to a panic attack. It’d been a while since he had one, but he knew the beginnings of one when he felt it. Shallow breaths, tight chest, vision impaired. It felt like dying. Truth was, maybe death would be better than whatever this was.

The corpses became an inaccessible memory when the lock to the metal door sprung free. Metal on metal. Scrapping. Destructive. The groan of the door opening, the light damaging to his tired eyes.

Closing his eyes a fraction, he tried to acclimatize his eyes to the harsh fluorescent light. His eyes watered in response. A figure became clear. A woman. Abby. All curves and flowing blonde hair. Her beauty still captured something within him. He couldn’t just turn it off, no matter how much he wished. He was a man and they were fickle creatures, even when he was facing imminent death.

His blood ran cold.

There was his captor, sweet Abby.

“You’re awake. Awesome.” Abby walked into the dank basement, holding a carving knife in her hand, rubbing the smooth side up and down her forearm. With a maniacal look in her eyes and a smile that could rival the Joker, Liam’s body broke out in goosebumps. Eyes wide, fists clenched, he tried to edge away from the woman that could, and would surely hurt him but all he came up against was the brick wall behind him.

“Please…” he begged as she methodically walked towards him. She’d changed out of her hotpants and vest top attire and was now wearing a business dress. A black pleat skirt and white shirt, cleavage still on show with the top three buttons undone. Her come fuck me heels set it off. She looked incredible.

Stop it. You can’t seriously be attracted to this woman. Look around you, see what she’s done. Less thinking with your dick, and more thinking with your singular braincell.

Heels clicking on the floor, she stopped in front of his terrified body. She raised an eyebrow and licked her bottom lip.

“Please? Oh Liam, if only you knew how much I love that word. It’s a word that you’re going to be saying a lot over the coming days. I just love it when they wake up.” She looked over towards her other victims, the corpses rotting at various angles around the room. Had their last words been please? How much had they begged? At the end of the day it hadn’t mattered, they’d still ended up dead.

Abby bent down and rubbed the knife against his cheek. He tried to remain still but his body trembled like leaves in the wind. His gut twisted violently as she invaded every aspect of his personal space. A faint whiff of her perfume- a cinnamon and spice fragrance- invaded his senses. Looking into his eyes, he committed to memory her two differing eye colors-blue and hazel. It was stark. He wondered if it was natural or contact lenses.

Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. It wasn’t borne of triumph at having caught her next victim, no this was a smile that knew exactly what was going to happen next. She relished every fabric of his fear.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Liam whimpered. His teeth sank into his lower lip.

“Do you want to end up like the others?” She pointed towards the prone corpses around the room. Coming to a stand, Abby marched towards the first body and raised their stiff arm into the air. “Do you want to be like Bea, so eager for a job after coming up from Mexico. Desperate to provide for her family. It’s a pity she didn’t have what it takes to make it in The Leaky Ladle.”

Walking backward to the next body, she kicked the dead man’s genitals with the point of her stiletto. The dead guy couldn’t feel anything but Liam cringed and crossed his legs reactively.

“Or how about Bob? An older man took the job, thinking it’d get him closer to me. Thought he could prove himself enough to get in my panties. He was wrong, and I loved every fucking minute showing him just how wrong he was.”

He clenched his eyes shut, trying to rid himself of the contrasting image of Abby and the decaying corpses. It was completely at odds with one another. The overpowering odor of decay mixed with Abby’s heady scent made him gag, made his eyes stream with tears. The reality was nothing like his precious true crime shows. He wanted to be like Dorothy and click his heels and get the hell out of there.

“Stop. Just please stop, haven’t they been through enough. Have some goddamned respect.”

“Respect? Respect? How dare you. They didn’t have any respect for the establishment we’re trying to run here. The only way they’d show some respect was to torture it out of them.”

Staring blankly at her, Liam had no words. What could you say to a raving lunatic such as Abby? Nothing he’d say would matter a fart; she was completely set in her ways.

Moving toward another corpse, a woman sat down beside her and put her arm around her shoulders. Liam couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This woman had been there a while, bloat and the decomposition in full force. Like an old lady with severe arthritis, the corpse’s knarled fingers clung to the chains for dear life, all deformed and grey. Her dress, once white, was dyed a crimson red from the multiple stab wounds penetrating her body. Her eyes were gone and Liam felt himself die a little more.

“Or what about darling Brit? She was a real treat; I took the most pleasure in breaking her. She was my first. You always remember your first, right?”

He stared straight ahead, unwilling to verbalize what his addled brain was thinking. That Abby was certifiable.

“YOU ALWAYS REMEMBER YOUR FIRST, RIGHT?” Abby screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking on the final word. She was cracked all right. Bat shit insane.

“Right,” he replied, needing to give her something before she took her anger out on him.

“You loved your first time, didn’t you? You loved me violating your body, shearing your scalp from your skull. Taking a peek inside at the bone beneath. You loved it when I fucked you with that barbed wire baseball bat,” she purred into the dead woman’s ear while stroking her decayed breast. Greying skin came away in her hand. Abby balled it up and threw it in Liam’s direction. It landed on his crotch. Bile streamed out of his mouth like a volcano. He brought his hands up to his face trying to force the tears back into his eyes. Every fibre of his being told him to run, but he was trapped in this room with a complete psychopath.

“Of course, you had to go and die.” She punched the dead woman in the face, bone fragments exploding outward, her jaw detaching from the skull and crashing to the floor. Abby laughed manically. She pulled at her hair with wide dangerous eyes. Liam needed to get the fuck out of there.

Why on earth hadn’t he been happy to empty catheter bags. Surely, he’d have been safer there.

Abby got up off the floor and moved back toward Liam. She picked up the knife that she’d dropped on the floor, and slid down the wall to sit next to Liam, she placed a hand on his inner thigh. She gripped the muscle there, looked him in the eye, and smiled. Her long fingernails- acrylics painted blood red dug into his sensitive skin. He gasped and tried to pull his leg away, but she only dug her talons deeper. His heart rate galloped toward an alarming crescendo, almost painful in his chest.

“Which brings me to you, little Liam. What am I going to do with you? What’s going to be your initiation? I always try to come up with something creative. Something a little different. I like you. I like you a lot.” She brushed the pad of her thumb over his lower lip, leaving it there just long enough to taste a mere hint of something. Thick and musky, not fresh but recent. The breath caught in Liam’s throat as it washed over him. it made his pulse quicken. Damn torturous body.

Arousal. She’d obviously masturbated recently. Is this what she got off on, killing people, torturing them? It made him sick and still his traitorous dick pulsed and hardened. It was true; he hadn’t gotten laid in some time, but still, this wasn’t it. It wasn’t it at all.

“Just let me go. Let me go and I won’t tell anyone about this place. I’ll just keep going to my other job and pretend like I was never here. I won’t tell a soul, I promise.” Tears flew freely from his eyes, snot poured from his nose and his hands balled into fists. He wanted her to find her humanity, her sense of kindness, if she had any at all.

“I can’t do that, Liam. Like you’d ever keep quiet about what you’ve seen here. Hell, you’d need a lifetime of therapy just to cope with the ramifications of this establishment. No, you’re going to be staying here with me and Dave and all your little friends here. We’re going to have the best time together.” Abby yanked on Liam’s hair and licked down his cheek. A shiver ran down his spine. “You taste good.”

Liam broke. His heart cracked, his brain malfunctioned, and panic engulfed all his senses. Whatever composure he had left, crumbled. His body convulsed as he grasped for every breath, the pressure in his chest became too much, like the windows in a sinking ship, the water breaching its reinforced structure. Liam’s cries echoed around the basement, the silence shattered by Liam’s undoing. His mind was beginning to unravel.

No escape, no hope. He was lost to the despair that now engulfed every cell in his being. He was lost, crying until he had nothing left.

“Let’s see what you’re made of, shall we?” She whispered in his ear while running the tip of her knife down his now flaccid penis.

“Maybe we can find some kind of use for you.”

Chapter Two

Before

Liam stared out of the day room window taking in the well-manicured lawns and flowerbeds full of Begonia’s and Tulips. The bright colors made the residents feel a sense of hope. It made them appreciate the simplicity of life. Even fragile things like flowers could bloom even when the conditions were less than ideal.

The flowers, however, weren’t dealing with dementia. They didn’t have a disease that changed the very chemistry of the brain.

The sterile, hollow nature of the nursing home wasn’t conducive to health and well-being either, though. It was a horrid place to work, so how did it make the residents feel? Did the owners even care how it made them feel? Was it a case of taking the money and not giving a shit about the conditions the residents were thrown into, or how the employee’s complaints got pushed down into a never-ending pile of paperwork?

Working at Sunnyvale care home was like wading through horse shit.

Betty was his favorite. Betty was a character, a real trooper. Her kids didn’t seem to care about her anymore, none of her three offspring came to visit her, certainly never while Liam was on shift. Answering her buzzer call was always left to Liam because she couldn’t tolerate the others, was no hardship. He liked her, she liked him, they had a great relationship together. Truth be told, Betty was the only thing keeping him anchored to this hell hole.

Walking into her room, Betty was still lying in bed. She was spending longer in bed these past few weeks, Liam fearing that she was wasting away before his very eyes. Her body was frail and weak, and her need for food dwindled as the disease had rapidly sunk its gnarly claws into her brain. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest was slow. Liam willed her not to give up the fight. If she died then Liam would have no hope left, her laughter, her quirky sense of what life was all about- made him see things differently. But time still marched on and old mother time came for them all in the end.

Liam had gotten used to the distance. Dementia was a cruel bastard taking everything and never giving anything back. Betty barely recognized Liam anymore, and he was a daily feature in her life. Trying to engage her in family photographs was a nightmare. She didn’t recognize her two sons or her daughter. It was sad. Imagine dedicating your whole life to loving and caring for your children, to not recognizing who they were. At least Betty couldn’t be hurt by their non-attendance.

“Betty love, I’m here to check your catheter,” Liam called out loudly, hoping to penetrate the fugue state she appeared in. There didn’t seem to be anyone at home. Eyes glazed and blank, he wondered what she was thinking, if she was at all.

He rubbed her hand gently, trying to coax a reaction from her. Liver spots and fragile skin, a testament to everything she’d lived through and continued to live through. She didn’t respond, hadn’t in days. Mere grunts were all the communication Liam was afforded these last few weeks. Those were few and far between now. He wished to hear them again-something that would say she wasn’t completely dead inside.

Bending down he took the catheter off its metal frame and emptied it into the collection container. The odor was strong with a slight tinge of red to the liquid. Blood. He’d mark it down in her patient notes and notify the nurse in charge to see if anything regarding her care should be changed. Liam felt that the hourglass was nearly empty for Betty.

Standing up, he realized that Betty seemed different. Her arm had fallen slack. Her jaw followed suit. He put two fingers to her carotid artery and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He moved it slightly, believing it must be his placement. It wasn’t. Several attempts resulted in the same. Betty was gone.

Liam was saddened. She’d been a motherly figure to him when his own was anything but. Coked out of her eyeballs, Liam’s mother had made him suffer, indirectly perhaps, but still, if she hadn’t brought drug dealers into their home, then those things wouldn’t have ever happened.

Sharing this information with Betty had soothed a part of his soul. Nothing was fixable but he’d appreciated that she cared enough to hug him and give him the comfort that he’d never received from his own mother. They had a bond, that was now broken by the hands of death.

Liam wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. Life went on and he had three important phone calls to make. Someone’s mother had died, and he needed to deliver the news.

Chapter Three

Liam had tried to resist, had tried to say no, that he wouldn’t do what she asked. Wouldn’t be a pawn for her sick and twisted game. She told him that it wasn’t just her game, that Dave had a large hand in what went on but Liam didn’t care. Abby was his tormentor. She was the face.

She’d flayed his arm. The pain was indescribable, it felt like having every bone broken at once. His screams had echoed throughout the room, surely travelling miles. That’s what they said wasn’t i- that sound travelled. His throat felt broken, raw, like swallowing razor blades. He shook himself, his brain trying to make sense of what had just happened. All that came out was a garbled mess. Liam repeated the same word over and over again-why? Why him? Why anyone? It didn’t make sense, surely people like Abby and Dave only existed in horror movies. Come on, this shit couldn’t possibly be real.

She watched him crumble. It was pleasing to her. Nothing quite like breaking in a new victim. They’d wake up in this pleasure dome not quite knowing what’d happened to them. That was the best part, they’d look around and see the corpses and wail to be set free, unfortunately Abby had never been that benevolent. She wasn’t about to start now.

Attached to a winch, Abby shackled his arms into the bindings. He’d obviously been out of it earlier as on closer inspection, the winch and a vast collection of torture implements were hidden in the corner of the room under a white dustsheet. She’d pulled it back like some kind of magician. Ta daa.

His arm pulled taut; he’d known what to expect. The same movements, the impending fear, the pain. Going through it a second time was almost worse than the first. At least he hadn’t known what to expect.

Abby’s face hadn’t changed. She still wore that twisted, satisfied expression, the one that spoke of her propensity for violence. There was nothing Liam could say; she wasn’t a woman who would fold to his demands. She was at home, a mother to the chaos, and she wouldn’t be happy until Liam burned.

Flayed arm limp at his side, good arm outstretched, ready to join its counterpart, she watched him tremble, come undone. It seemed to please her. Delicately, she crouched down beside him, raising her skirt just enough to see what lay beneath. Pantieless. She was doing this on purpose. Wanted him to feel debased both in mind and body. Her thighs were coated in her arousal. He looked away.

“Look at me,” she demanded.

Liam scrunched his eyes shut; his jaw tense, close to breaking point. He felt like a coiled spring. On the edge.

“Now, let’s see how much you can take. Are you going to continue to scream like a little bitch? Cry for his drug-addled mamma or swallow back and take it like a man,” she whispered. She was gentle, her voice a whisper on a breeze reminiscent of simpler times. Shaking his head back and forth, panic gripped like a fist.

Making a shallow cut at his shoulder she stood back and admired her handiwork. Liam blubbered, his face a mess with the veracity of his emotions.

“Please…” it was the only word that would break free from his dry, crusty lips. It was said like a prayer, hoping for eternal damnation, if only he could leave this basement alive.

Abby’s smile transformed, no longer twisted and sly but sadistic. Her pearly white teeth added to the complexity of her angel/demon-like persona. In a deliberate motion, she dragged the knife down the length of his arm. His nerve endings sizzled with pain, the knife leaving a searing heat in its wake. Screaming, he tried to pull away, but the action made his shoulder feel like it’d pop from its socket.

Liam tried to visualize his previous experiences of extreme pain, he couldn’t, he’d never felt pain like it. The knife cuts through the outer layer of skin to the muscle. The pain was immediate and overwhelming. He wanted to escape from his own body, run far from there, and pray that he was never found. Forget your Freddy Kreuger’s and Jason’s- Abby was the real fucking deal.

His body convulsed as she worked down his arm, stripping it of the skin that he’d gotten quite attached to. Really Liam, making jokes at a time like this? She didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, not once. She worked like she did this every day, like it was her craft. Maybe it was.

After what felt like hours, Abby was done. Standing back, she admired the ruined form of Liam. As he took a look at his arms, he wondered who he looked like. It came to him – Frank in Hellraiser. Pain and shock mingled, Liam’s inner monologue garbled and incoherent. She could ask him to do anything and he’d likely agree.

His skin lay at her feet, like a butcher ready to fill it with sausage meat. The chill in the air seemed to settle on his flayed arms, stinging like a motherfucker. Breathing in harshly, he tried to stay still but his nerves were having a hard time processing those new painful sensations.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? See what happens when you don’t do as you’re told, things get unpleasant, real fast,” her voice soft and dangerous. “I need you to play along, Liam. I need you to play the game. I need to know that you’re going to cooperate. If you don’t, well…” She raised her brow and shrugged her shoulders. “I might be tempted to start on your cock next.”

Abby’s hand trailed down and gripped his penis. Unyielding. She yanked him closer, the chains clanging. “I’ve been nice so far.”

Nice? Nice. Sure, flaying both his arms was mere foreplay. This chick needed fucking lobotomized.

Liam stared blankly past Abby. He felt out of his own body. Destroyed. Wishing for the end. Apparently, no end was in sight. Trembling, his flayed arms shook, with exposed veins, sinew, and glistening flesh laid bare. Abby wasn’t done, not by a long shot.

“Are you going to do what I want? Will you do what it takes?”

“I don’t know what you want from me. Haven’t I been through enough?” Liam bawled, his chest pained from his continued sobs. He felt like he’d been run over by a freight train.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Say yes, and all this ends.”

“I can’t say yes if I don’t know what I’d be doing. It’s ridiculous to expect that from me,” Liam beseeched her. He willed her softer nature to listen to him, but he doubted that part even existed.

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Gracefully walking over to the far wall of the basement, she bent down over one of the corpses, her twisted smile still in place, never once taking her eyes from Liam. She grabbed a piece of rotting flesh from the face of the corpse closest to him. The victim hadn’t put up a fight, well of course not, you stupid dick! It came away in her hand with ease, leathery, mottled with decay, releasing a god-awful stench of rot.

He was becoming accustomed to vomiting into his mouth and swallowing it back.

Liam was almost numb from the pain. It had infected his mind, body, and soul. His vision blurred as Abby approached him with the decayed strip of skin balled in her fist. He was close to passing out.

“Sweet Liam, we can’t have you passing out on us now, can we? Abby cooed; her voice sickly sweet. He tried to focus on her form, assess how far away from him she was but his vision was clouding with black spots. Tunnel vision, it hurt to focus.

Abby crouched in front of him again, close enough to touch. Eyes pin sharp, unwavering. She held the piece of rotting flesh in front of his face, the stench unbearable, cloying. His eyes watered. Coughing, he tried to move his face away from the dangling piece of meat.

She dug her sharp fingernails into his jaw, forcing his head towards the flesh. She prised open his mouth with the unrelenting pressure. Saliva spilled out of his mouth, stringy and copious. He willed her to stop but she didn’t care for his puppy dog eyes.

Abby shoved the rotting flesh into his mouth, urging it toward his throat. The taste was like being hit with an anvil. It was revolting. Sour and overbearing. Gagging he tried to push it out of his mouth but the way Abby held him made it a fruitless endeavour.

He was forced to chew.

“Eat…” She commanded, her voice sharp and demanding. “Swallow or I’ll make sure your last breath is spent choking on that putrid meat.”

His throat convulsed as he tried to swallow, it ticked the back of his throat, teasing the tissue with veracity. He couldn’t correlate with the fact that the meat in his mouth was once apart of someone’s face. It just couldn’t be done. His brain wouldn’t switch off. Abby was trying to make him a cannibal. He sobbed, muffled by the meat coating his mouth.

Abby was delighted. Her sadistic grin spread wider as she watched Liam struggle. Mentally he was lost at sea. How did someone come to terms with eating another human? She didn’t care. It was incredibly fun to watch, though. Taking her hand away, Liam gasped for air. Face red, bordering on purple, eyes bloodshot, spittle landing on his chin- Liam was a fucking mess, and she loved it. Simultaneously, he heaved in breaths while gagging, desperately trying to expel the forbidden meat, but it was too late. Liam would have to come to terms with it all- the stench, the texture, the knowledge of what he’d been forced to consume. Was Liam strong enough to come to terms with it all?

“You see, Liam, you are mine. All of you. Your fear, your anxiety, your body. I control it all. You’ll eat what I tell you to, do what I tell you to. Dave and I are in control. Any kind of autonomy you once had is gone.” She wiped the remaining tissue from his lips, all grey with decay. She laughed quietly. She glanced toward the corpses dotted around the room.

Abby didn’t need to say anything more. Liam got the message. If he didn’t do as he was told then he’d end up exactly like the others, dead and decaying. There was no burial for these people, no mourners gathering around a gravestone. They were just meat to be used and abused, meat sacks. It was sickening- it certainly put his own life into perspective. If he was granted the opportunity, then he’d put things right with his mom, he’d keep working at the nursing home, and he’d try and pretend that he’d never met Abby.

Though, he might never get the chance to.

Chaper Four

Before

Liam’s life was always shaped by a lingering cloud of darkness. Aging hadn’t changed anything. All his early memories were shaped by aggression and neglect. Rundown apartments that were cold, damp and entirely without love. Broken windows allowed the rain to storm in leaving little Liam shivering and scared. Every apartment had been the same, and he didn’t want to mention that time living in a trailer park.

Stale cigarette smoke, the rank odor of cum, and weed smoke were the scents of his childhood. All had been okay until his father died. Murder. They’d never caught the person that killed him and he’d always questioned if something more could’ve been done. New York could be a brutal city- full of depravity and blood lust. Unfortunately, his dad was just another statistic. Nobody cared enough to find the piece of shit that disembowelled his hero, that had decapitated him and left him on the stairs of a seedy nightclub.

What it had done was begin his mother’s spiral into alcohol and drugs. She’d been vibrant, outgoing, a beautiful woman who’d been the most affectionate mother. The life dulled from her eyes quickly. By the time he’d understood just how much it destroyed her-she was a ghost of her former self.

Liam was envious of his friends who had normal childhoods. His was spent cowering and trying to appear as small as possible. The men his mother brought back into their home were dangerous. He lived in a constant sense of hypervigilance. They had dark eyes and knowing smiles. Those men had loved his fear. They hungered for it. In hindsight, he wondered if they loved his reactions more than the drugs. Just hearing the door knock was enough to have Liam sprinting to his bedroom, hiding under the covers hoping they wouldn’t barge in…again.

The first time it happened, Liam hadn’t been prepared. How could anyone, let alone an eight-year-old boy. He’d love to look back at the situation critically and believe that his mother didn’t know what’d happened that first time. He wanted to believe it so bad that he’d repeat the mantra that his mom wouldn’t have willingly allowed a fully grown man to sexually assault him. But there were only so many times he could tell himself that until it developed into a full-blown delusion.

His mother had known and yet done nothing to protect him.

It took Liam many years to understand what went on that night. It was the hardest of lessons to learn. It had toughened him, made him untrusting of people in general but mainly women. His own mother couldn’t love and protect him, then who would?

There’d been pain. So much pain. He’d seemed alright, Ralph. That name brought out a visceral reaction in him, as always had done. He’d seemed like one of the good guys. He was still a drug-addicted piece of shit that encouraged his mother’s addiction, but on the whole, he was better than the rest.

He’d snuck into Liam’s room; he hadn’t even bothered knocking. He seemed to take the attitude that kids shouldn’t stay behind closed doors. They didn’t deserve the same respect as adults. No, he barged in like he belonged there, like it was his house.

His father would’ve despised him.

Ralph tried shooting the shit. Tried to get down on Liam’s level, find something they both had a shared interest in. Video games. They talked about the Mario racing game and Zelda. Liam liked him, at first. It was the first man since his father that took an interest in him. It’d felt nice.

It didn’t feel nice for long. Soon, the affection and interest fell away and were replaced with something far eviller. Sure, it didn’t happen overnight but each touch on his thigh, ruffle of the hair, kiss on the cheek had meant something, it soon developed into licks and caresses. It made him uncomfortable and he’d wished that his mother wasn’t lying on the cigarette burned couch out of it from yet another hit of heroin.

He just wanted his mama.

He’d known to stay quiet and invisible when his mother’s dealers were round. He liked it that way, or so he’d thought. Ralph had brought him round to the fact that they could be good people, but had been plagued by misfortune. That thought was soon replaced by disgust. Disgust for what Ralph was capable of. Disgust that Liam had ever thought he’d ever be a decent person.

He’d wanted to scrub clean every touch, every whispered word in his ear. He was repulsed that he’d let him.

That Saturday night, the dank apartment seemed darker than usual. The shadows seemed longer; the night seemed darker. Stuck in his memory, he remembered the rain lashing against his bedroom window, like tears. The singular streetlamp flickering, an impending storm on its way. He loved watching the ebb and flow of the rain. He’d found it soothing.

He sat at the window, pretending to do his homework. Maths. He hated maths, couldn’t make heads nor tails of the equations. Algebra, whose idea was it to include letters in maths. It made everything ten times harder for Liam, and his mother was no use in trying to explain it to him. The only maths she was interested in was how much money she could whore herself out for and how much drugs it would get her.

Hovering his pencil over the page he tried to focus, but it was near on impossible with Ralph and his mother screwing in the next room. They weren’t even quiet about it. His mother’s moans made him puke up in his mouth a bit. Ralph’s grunts were inconsistent and labored. Ralph wasn’t a middle-aged guy with a middle-aged spread and balding hair. Liam often thought that Ralph could do with doing a few laps around the track. He’d say that he wasn’t sure what his mother saw in him, but that wouldn’t be true, it was drugs. It was always drugs.

He’d usually pop his head into Liam’s room and talk about video games, but this time was different.

“Hey, kid.”

Liam’s heart sank. He wasn’t disappointed at having to ditch his homework, but he worried at what brand of affection Ralph would inflict upon him this time.

Ralph sat down on the edge of Liam’s rickety bed. The wooden slats struggled under his weight. Liam shifted further over. He’d become increasingly uncomfortable with Ralphs presence lately. He’d become a little too familiar.

“Hi, Ralph.” Short and sweet. Liam wanted to keep it that way. He wanted Ralph to leave as soon as possible.

Where the hell was his mom?

“Whatcha you up to?” edging closer towards Liam, the bed creaked beneath him. Smiling with his yellow teeth, Liam gagged, the sight of him repulsive. Liam was only eight years old but even he knew what personal hygiene was. This creep was lucky if he saw a toothbrush once a year, never mind once a month.

“Just maths homework. It’s not easy though.” Liam looked down at his homework again, the number of times that he’d rubbed out his wrong answers with an eraser apparent-the paper had torn through. Reading the question again didn’t give him an epiphany to the answer either.

“Come on boy, you’re smart. Hell, you’re the smartest kid I know. Do you want me to help you with it?” Liam looked at him. He didn’t look like he wanted to help. His face a mask of pure predatory intent. It was mere lip service. He was vile. Every shred of him reeked of malice. His toothy smirk didn’t reach his eyes as he roved his body up and down. He relished in his gleeful hunger.

Where the hell was his mom?

“I don’t know. I’m not that smart…” Liam trailed off, his train of thought interrupted by Ralph prising himself off the bed with a grunt. The bed groaned in protest and he hoped that Ralph was leaving, if abruptly.

Walking to the door, Ralph glanced back at a confused Liam and smirked. His eyes were dead and shallow. Something didn’t sit right with him. Turning his head, he clicked the lock into place and turned around.

“We’re going to set a few ground rules around here. I’m fucking your mama and you’re going to come to accept it. Got it?” Ralph questioned on a laboured breath. The man could barely talk without getting out of breath. His skin was slick with sweat, descending on Liam he appeared soulless.

Leaning over Liam, his stale breath reeked of booze and some other odor Liam couldn’t place. Ralph smelt like rot. The muscles in his face twisted, revealing his pleasure at Liam’s fear. He seemed to feed off it, making him stronger. Liam moved against the wall hoping that he could appeal to his human side. No such luck.

“What?”

“Please don’t hurt me.” Liam cried. He was trapped in a locked room with a man who clearly didn’t have his best interests at heart. Ralph lifted his brow in a show of mock innocence. He acted like this was all a game. The game was rigged- only Ralph knew the rules and was determined to cheat if it looked like Liam had the upper hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll only give you what you can take, my boy.”

“I’m not your boy. My dad was bigger and better than you. If he was still alive, he’d beat the crap out of you and chuck you out on your rear end. You wouldn’t have even got in breathing distance of my mama.” Liam poked a finger into Ralph’s chest, poking harder with every raw emotion pouring out of him. Face red and sweating, Liam was overcome with rage. How dare this shmuck come in here and try to take his father’s place.

Ralph pushed him back down on the bed. His breath left him as his legs hit the edge of the old, sagging mattress. The room was eerily quiet; despite believing he’d screamed out for his mother.

Liam scrambled to get up, his body moving too slowly, he felt rigid, out of control. Every instinct told him to run, but of course he couldn’t, Ralph had locked the door and his mother was somewhere…probably off her face. Ralph was quick. He grabbed Liam around the upper arms, tight, bruises quickly blooming on his tender flesh. He held him to the bed, hovering over him. A sneer plastered on his bulbous face.

“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you. Mouthing off at me, disrespecting me. Who do you think you are, you little fuck! I ought to teach you a lesson. A lesson you’ll never forget,” Ralph grated, his face almost purple. “Stay the fuck down.” He stood back, glaring at Liam, who quivered and hugged a pillow against his chest.

Tears pooled in his eyes. He was all bravado; at the end of the day, he was only a child.

“You better stay fucking quiet. Any screaming and I’ll just end you now.”

Ralph stripped Liam’s jeans from his body in one smooth motion. Ralph ripped his underpants away and threw them across the room. Liam tried to bat his hands away, but he slapped Liam across the face, hard. Shaking his head, he felt dazed, his cheek throbbing. Ralph pinned his arms under his legs, putting a halt to Liam’s struggles.

Panic seized him. His sobs wracked his body, he couldn’t move but he needed to-he needed to run. Ralph reached over to the floor and picked up an old dirty sock that Liam had discarded after school. Balling it up in his fist, he shoved it into Liam’s mouth. The taste made him choke. All that came out of his mouth was the muffled sobs of a boy frightened for his life.

Now that Liam was subdued, Ralph turned him over onto his stomach. He punched the boy around the head leaving him subdued and in agonizing pain.

“You’re going to take it like the little fag you are. This might make you think twice before you talk shit about your future stepdaddy.” He grunted as he pulled himself out of his trousers. “I’m going to fuck some manners into you.”

That night was the night that Liam lost all faith in humanity. So often, he’d blame himself and question why his mother couldn’t love him. If she did, then she wouldn’t have allowed him to be abused like that.

Liam had only wanted to be loved.

Chapter Five

Liam had been promoted. Promoted…it was such a strange descriptor for what he was experiencing. He was out of the basement. That much was true, but was working in the kitchen any better? He’d have to say no.

The kitchen was suffocatingly hot, charred meat and raised voices fought for supremacy. He didn’t know anyone working to his left or right. The head chef looked frazzled and stoned. Liam supposed you did what you had to survive in this place. He looked dead, though, almost as dead as the bodies in the basement. It was an inevitable consequence of being there. At one point or another, the death that surrounded you would catch up with you.

Abby had told him what this place was. In great detail. He tried to block it out, ignoring how much pleasure she took in defining every little detail. She made sure, though, that he heard every single word. He raged. She laughed. He cried. She didn’t care.

So now here Liam was after being marched up the staircase, still in chains, working in the flesh kitchen. You didn’t have to adjust your hearing; you heard him perfectly well in the flesh kitchen. Every single dish was made with the freshest of ingredients -human flesh.

It hadn’t been explained to Liam just how they got the flesh, but taking a wild guess, he thought it had something to do with the cadavers in the basement. Surely, that meat was way too expired to serve to the general public. Liam shouldn’t judge because he was made to chew down on that forbidden meat. Different strokes for different folks and all that. He’d never forget the taste- the raw, leathery texture, the seeping moisture. It made him gag just thinking about it.

Abby and Dave walked hand in hand. They were an odd couple, that was for sure. Dave looked to be around twenty-five years Abby’s senior and physically was everything a girl like Abby shouldn’t be attracted to, at least on paper. Chicks like that usually followed the money, and surely a place like The Leaky Ladle wasn’t oozing in cash. It was run down, mouldy, and was a genuine health risk. He wasn’t necessarily jealous; he just didn’t get it.

“Good evening, ladies and gents. Tonight’s service is going to be special. We have a new recruit. Everyone say hello to Liam.”

Silence. No one said a word. Eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of them, they appeared soulless. There was nothing lively about them. He felt sorry for them, had they too, been forced into this life, like him. How long had they been there- days, weeks, years? He refused to believe he’d be there that long. His mind would completely break down if that was the case. He needed to have some hope. He’d have to, or he’d just give up.

He couldn’t let them win.

Abby glared at the other employees, beseeching them to welcome Liam. “Am I not making myself clear? I said welcome, Liam,” Abby screeched at the top of her voice.

“I’d do what she says if I were you,” Dave gruffly inflected. He smiled, rubbing down his grease-stained white t-shirt, his fat nipples poking through like large pepperoni.

“Welcome, Liam,” the employees said, not unlike those indoctrinated in a cult. Robotic. Dead. They looked his way, their chains clanging with the movement. The Walking Dead was an apt descriptor. He looked at them in disbelief. What the hell was going on in this place?

“So, Liam. This is your first shift, so you won’t know how things are done here. I don’t care if you’ve worked in a kitchen before. This is different, we are unique.” Abby left Dave standing by the entrance to the kitchen. She came to stand by Liam’s workstation, kitted out with all the tools of the trade. Sharp knives, mixers and meat tenderizers.

He looked at her with disgust. How could he have been attracted to this woman?

“I’ve never worked in a kitchen before. I told Dave that during our interview,” Liam said sarcastically.

“Oh, feeling feisty, are we? Is that any way to speak to the woman that’s taken you in, given you a job? Cared for you?” Putting both hands on the stainless-steel workstation, bracing her weight, she pinned him with a steely stare. Almost taunting him to answer her back.

Was she fucking crazy? With what he’d experienced already, she surely had his answer to that question but with every insufferable day that passed, he realized that Abby only got more unstable. He couldn’t have a reasonable conversation with the woman.

“Sorry, Abby.”

He wasn’t, but he knew he ought to say it or face the consequences.

“That’s better. Anyway, service is just starting so i need you to prepare. Wash your hands.” She pointed over towards the back wall where a station of sinks and soap dispensers were located. “Then i have a special task for you. Just for you.” She winked, nodding her head, a sign that he’d been dismissed for now.

Washing his hands was agonizing. The raw flesh left over on his arms from his flaying hurt. Every movement felt like fire, the bandages constantly seeping through with blood and clear fluid. He was worried he was going to develop an infection and die. There was no way that Abby and her cuck, Dave, were going to take any one of them to hospital. They’d end up like the others in the basement. Devoid of life.

“You need to be careful with her,” a voice from Liam’s left whispered. Gentle but firm. “Face forward. We aren’t allowed to talk to one another. Just look ahead.”

Rinsing his hands of soap, Liam took in her words, appreciating the gesture of kindness from someone who’d been there longer than him.

“What do you mean, can’t you see my arms? I know how dangerous she is,” he whispered back, taking the girl’s lead.

“I can see. She can do a lot worse. Has done a lot worse. She let you off easy. For some reason you seem to be her favorite.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Her favorite? If Liam was her favorite then he’d hate to see how she treated her enemies. It was unfathomable to him.

“What’s taking so long? Abby, suddenly beside them, laid a hand on both of their shoulders, digging in her fingernails. They both winced at the pressure, Liam feeling it all the way down both his arms. He swallowed back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. “I hope you two aren’t breaking the golden rule, hmmm?” she asked, her grip becoming unbearable.

“What’s the golden rule, Abby?” Liam asked, his words strained.

“None of you shall speak to one another. I don’t want you little fuckers to be plotting amongst yourselves. You aren’t getting free, just accept it. You are here to play out our whims, our entertainment. Got it?”

“Got it,” everyone replied at once, a chorus of damned people.

“So now, back over to your workstations. Liam has his initiation, and I’d like you all to watch it.” Abby clapped her hands with glee, her manicured nails sharp and chiselled to perfection. Her suit crisps and business-like, if even what she was portraying in this room wasn’t. Everything about the place was at odds with one another.

Standing at his workstation, he waited for further instructions. His long chains rattled at his feet with every movement. Dave and Abby stood in front of him, smiling in that sadistic way they both shared. It made him sick.

“Today, we have the initiation of Liam. We’d like him to prove his loyalty to the team by preparing a dish. A new addition to the menu, shall we say.” Abby looked around the room gauging everyone’s reactions. She didn’t get one.

They’d been schooled, their trauma written on their faces. It paid to never give Abby and Dave their emotion.

She looked at Dave before continuing. “Liam, I’d like you to kill Bo.” She pointed toward the hunched gentleman at the far end of the kitchen. The guy seemed to carry every single year of his life on his back. He looked destroyed. Liam wondered how much he’d aged since being at The Leaky Ladle.

The realization of what she wanted him to do sunk in. He felt like he was underwater, gasping for oxygen. She wanted him to do what? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ludicrous!

“Excuse me?” he spluttered, finally able to ask the question that was reflected on everyone’s faces. Everyone’s except Abby and Dave, a regular little Fred and Rose West.

“You heard perfectly well. I want you to kill Bo and make a creative dish out of his remains. Now Liam, I do award points for creativity, so you better make it special. You do want to remain as my favorite, don’t you?” Abby purred, coming around the counter to lick up the side of Liam’s face.

Liam gulped audibly. Dave only stared. He didn’t seem to care that his partner was plastering herself all over another man. A shackled one, but another man all the same.

Liam asked the only question that came into his head.

“How?”

“How? What do you mean?”

“Like how would I do it?” Liam could hear the restaurant buzzing behind the kitchen doors, acutely aware that soon they’d be serving hungry customers. Clinking glasses and soft chatter made him hunger to be on the other side of those reinforced steel doors.

“Well, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right? I want you to see beauty in something so inherently violent. I want you to use your imagination, to carry out your deepest, darkest desires. I want you to create art above all else.” Abby gesticulated with her hands, animated and excited for what Liam would create. He couldn’t say that he felt the same.

He stared blankly at Bo.

How could Liam, or anyone for that matter get on board with killing another innocent person. A person that had a story, good or bad. How could someone like Liam take another’s life? He wasn’t programmed to hurt a fly. He’d always been the one who was shat on from a great height. He wasn’t capable of being the one that hurt others. That wasn’t him.

“But it could be. You could hurt others if you really put your mind to it.”

Had he said all of that aloud, or had Abby been able to see into his mind and pull out his inner monologue. His mind was descending into a pit of chaos. The Leaky Ladle was dragging him down to hell.

He didn’t think that he could. Liam wasn’t entirely sure if he had a choice though. If he wanted to live, then he was going to have to do things he’d never envisioned. Do things that tore apart his moral compass. Kill another human, could he, do it?

Chaper Six

Liam was bathed in blood, from head to toe, it looked like he’d showered in the stuff. Standing stock still, Liam shook with adrenaline. He wasn’t sure what’d came over him- the will to live, or to please Abby so she’d leave him alone…he wasn’t sure, but the sight in front of him was wicked.

Bo was dead, that much was obvious, body slumped against the wall, his torso soaked in his life blood. His head lying at Liam’s feet, sunken eyes staring accusingly back at him. He looked away-unable to take the terrified look on the man’s weathered face.

Spinal cord and jagged flesh was all that was left. Liam had hacked away at him with the meat cleaver until the head rolled free. Flash backs of the brutal act plagued Liam. That couldn’t have been him, could it? He hadn’t felt in control of his body, like someone else had programmed him to act in such a way. Yet, as he looked down at his blood-soaked hands, he knew it couldn’t have been anyone else.

“Well, that was rather unexpected, don’t you think, Dave?”

“Very.”

Liam glanced down at the decapitated head lying at his feet. Bending down to pick it up, he carried it in front of him and laid it down at his workstation, clanging chains dragged behind him. Balancing precariously, blood oozing from the base, the head was grotesque.

Liam was paralysed by a keen sense of shock. Bracing his hands on the workstation, he breathed deeply. Pain shot through his arms with the added pressure of the action but right then and there? He couldn’t bring himself to care.

The room seemed to spin; his head rushed with blood, his jaw slack, his body hyper-vigilant. He couldn’t look away. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, blocking everything else out. The noise from the restaurant, glasses clanging, all of it failed to register in the chaotic mind of Liam. He was committing this moment to memory, ensuring the guilt would always stay with him-he deserved it.

Bo was an elderly gentleman. Liam wondered what the hell he was doing at The Leaky Ladle- it didn’t seem like his type of eatery. Did he need a job that badly? Why couldn’t he just enjoy retirement. Was the cost-of-living crisis that bad that legitimate pensioners had to come out of retirement just to live? His grey hair matted with blood and crimson streaks running down his aged face and pooled on the stainless-steel counter. His face, once human, was now frozen in terror. He’d lost the softness about him, now perpetually remembered for his violent death.

Liam’s stomach churned.

As much as he told himself it wasn’t, this was real. All of it was real.

Liam was operating on autopilot. He felt pressured by Abby and Dave watching him and by the other employees watching him. He needed to pull something out of the bag, or he’d be next. Favorites or not.

“What tools do you have?” he asked numbly, all emotion put on the back burner for now.

“What tools do you need?” Abby, smiling like a Chesire cat, moved toward Liam again.

“I need an angle grinder, something like that.” He stared her dead in the eyes. It was how he felt. Fucking dead.

“Dave? Can we make that happen?” Abby turned toward her partner in crime. You could most definitely tell who wore the trousers.

“I’ve got one in the office; I’ll be right back.” Turning on his heel and walking through the kitchen, he exited the room. Liam meanwhile, stared into the lifeless eyes of Bo. Milky and lifeless, accusing.

Abby suddenly at his side, breathed deeply. Her scent heady and intoxicating, surrounded him like a fine mist. She moved in close, her presence swallowing up what little space was left between them. Her chest flattened against his back and he could feel the heat of her chest through the fabric of his navy shirt.

He recoiled as her hands slid up his arms, the stinging pain from where he’d been flayed shooting through him. There was nowhere for him to go. He was pinned between this deceitful woman and the workstation. Trapped by her dominance. He wished his muscles would listen to his brain. He needed to move, to throw her off him, to kill her and run, run far away from this cesspit of gore.

“You know, if you play your cards right, I might be open to indulging you in a little pleasure. It doesn’t all have to be work, if you don’t want it to be.” Abby bit down on Liam’s neck, sucking the sensitive skin. Her tongue lapped at him, causing all sorts of sensations, mainly below the belt. It was conflicting, and he felt a tsunami of rage crashing inside of him, mainly at himself. How could he allow himself to get so affected by this woman. She was his captor, for fucks sake. It was damn immoral to be attracted to her.

He didn’t need to muse on it too long as Dave crashed through the metal doors carrying an angle grinder. Liam flinched and Abby created distance between them. Dave’s eyes were wild. He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Had he taken something? He looked coked out of his mind; Liam knew all about that. The metal disc of the grinder glinted in the harsh kitchen lights; Liam blinked rapidly.

That’s right, he had a task to fulfil.

“We all okay in here?” he asked Abby, a suspecting glare fired her way. Interesting, was Dave not on board with her flirting with their captives. Liam shelved that thought for later.

“Hunky dory. I was just giving our Liam here a pep talk. Encouraging him to make Bo’s head our best dish yet.” Gesticulating, she’d make an incredible actress. The show she was putting on was Oscar-worthy; it truly was.

Dave thundered across the room, plugging the grinder into the power socket located under the workstation. He depressed the trigger, making sure it actually worked. He handed it over to Liam and quickly stepped back, wrapping an arm around Abby’s waist. He was claiming his prize, letting Liam know that he had zero chance of sinking into her warmth. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to-Abby was poison. She’d surely annihilate him as soon as she’d sucked an orgasm out of him.

Holding the grinder in his hand felt dangerous. He could quite easily swing it around in an arc and slice Abby and Dave’s throats open, watching the blood flow like a crimson river, the other captives would rejoice. He’d grind their chains away and they’d escape, describing to the cops just what went on here.

He was a stupid bastard. It was never going to be that simple. Life never was.

He depressed it on and off. The spinning disc whirred, the metallic noise music to his ears. Holding the top of Bo’s head by his thinning grey hair, Liam cut into his scalp in a circular motion. Blade met skin, muscle and bone; fragments flew into the air. Liam pressed down harder, willing the scalp to detach quickly.

His arms fucking hurt.

His grip was shaky. Sweat dripped down his face. Looking at Abby, she had a look of pure delight carved on her face. He adjusted his stance, trying to take the pressure away from his injured arms. It was pointless. They still shook with the exertion.

Liam stared at Bo’s decapitated head. “Just meat,” he muttered to himself. At the end of the day, he supposed that was true but it didn’t make it any easier. If he got out of this place then he was going to need years of therapy to process what’d gone on. The words felt hollow, almost mocking.

It wasn’t just meat, not in Abby’s world. Nothing was just meat. Everyone there had the potential to be turned into The Leaky Ladle’s bestselling dish. This was only a precursor to what he’d be made to do in the future.

Blood was everywhere. Liam somehow hadn’t anticipated how messy it would be. Thick, wet chunks of tissue sprayed everywhere, coating Liam’s face in viscera. The smell was overwhelming, it was acrid in the small space of the kitchen.

His stomach churned violently but he pressed on, the burning smell invading his nostrils, his eyes watered. The noise of the grinder was relentless - a high-pitched scream. It burrowed into his skull, setting up home, living rent free. It set his teeth on edge.

The top of the skull fell away, a loud crack as it hit the metal workstation. Liam dropped the grinder, and it clanged against the floor. He was spent. Exhausted. It was like some grotesque science experiment. Edging closer to the workstation, he examined Bo’s head.

“Pass me the blender.” Again, robotic and emotionless.

“Oh my god. My little protege.” Abby squealed in excitement. Pulling the bottom drawer of the workstation open, she yanked out the hand blender and plugged it in. “Here you are, my creative boy!” She was giddy.

Liam, however, was not. It was mere survival now.

Taking the blender, he sunk it into the center of the brain and depressed the trigger. It whirred noisily, not unlike the grinder. Brain tissue spurted skywards, a fragment landing in his mouth. Rotten. He spat the tissue away from his lips, feeling himself cringing almost in half at the texture.

Finally, he’d achieved the consistency that he required. Contained within the skull was a pure liquid drink. He called it human soup. Surely, that was creative enough for her ladyship. Would this get him off the hook?

“Human soup,” he declared, raising an eyebrow toward Abby and Dave.

“SERVICE!” Abby hollered out to the dining room. Immediately, a young girl emerged, with long blonde hair tied up in a long ponytail, dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt. She was immaculately put together. A real face of the business.

“Can you serve this head to our esteemed guest seated at table six, the window seat.”

“Do you want me to transfer it into a bowl?” she asked quizzically. Liam burst out laughing. He felt decidedly unhinged. What kind of situation had he found himself in where a member of staff was asking if she should transfer brain soup into a bowl.

The world had gone fucking mad.

“No, serve it as is. They’ll appreciate the attention to detail.” Abby spoke with such conviction; he was starting to wonder if he was the insane one and all of this was perfectly normal.

The waitress picked up a silver tray and transferred the head. She smiled knowingly like she did this all the time. Why the hell wasn’t she freaking out? Again, he felt like the freak, but as he cast a glance around the room at the other captives, cowering around the perimeter of the kitchen, he realized that no, he wasn’t the abnormal one. This situation was fucking crazy.

As his creation was taken out to the dining room, Liam balled his fists at his sides, determined to get his revenge. Tonight, something had snapped within him. Something that couldn’t be repaired. He needed to plan.

Chapter Seven

Before

Liam had been a child forced into drug addiction. He wasn’t exactly sure how it’d started but he knew he’d felt different. Drowsy, fading in and out of consciousness. Taken advantage of. He knew that Ralph had been sexually assaulting him while under the influence. How did he know? The pain in his rectum stung. He couldn’t sit without pain shooting through the tissue. He went for a poo, diahorrea streaming through him- the tissue there was red raw and bleeding. So, although Ralph had thought he’d been sneaky, Liam knew. Liam knew and tried to tell his mother.

Did his mother listen? Did she fuck. She hadn’t wanted to hear it then, and she certainly didn’t want to hear it now. Liam was trying to ruin something good for her. He was trying to mess her life up by making baseless accusations against her latest squeeze. Liam didn’t think it was possible to hate his mother, but then he also didn’t think it was possible that his mother would subject her little boy to such a deplorable monster.

So yes, he hated his mother. He was on his own.

Hearing Ralph enter his room night after night, made his chest feel like it was caving in. He didn’t hide the fact that he was injecting Liam with Heroin. Like mother like son, as Ralph always said, as Liam slipped under the haze of the drug.

It’s not like he was completely out of it. The room was a blur but he saw shadows moving around. His fingers were clumsy as he tried to push Ralph away from his body. Fumbling, erratic. He felt like he was out of his own body. It was disorientating. Everything was soft. Distant.

Pain radiated around his rectum. It was swift and absolute. His legs felt disconnected from his body. He tried to kick out but a mental block between his brain and his limbs stopped anything from happening. Liam’s surroundings twisted and distorted like a scene from some kind of hellish nightmare. Ralph’s face appeared in from of him, mangled and blurred. His face contorted from the center of his face, a whirlpool of flesh.

“I’m going to stretch you boy,” Ralph said leeringly. Although in reality it came out more like “Imma stweeech ya booooy.” Liam was screwed, both literally and metaphorically. The walls appeared to stretch, elongating the room, making Liam feel that he was trapped in a tunnel and running for his life.

The heroin made it feel like a dream, all strange sounds and hallucinations. He knew he was experiencing something far worse- reality. The back-and-forth motion of Ralph’s member burned like a motherfucker. He didn’t know what to do. His body refused to spring into action. Couldn’t.

The pain finally got the better of him and he passed out. Not even Heroin could fully dull that hellscape. When he came to the next morning, Ralph had left, and Liam was alone in his bedroom, the covers tangled around his legs, his boxer briefs ripped.

Sliding out of bed, he stood on shaky legs, the pain radiating down his muscles and residing in his knees. Looking down at the bedsheet, he was shocked by how much blood had pooled from his injuries. Dried and accusing. It was a physical reminder of what Ralph had put him through, again. He couldn’t allow this to carry on. Hell, his mother shouldn’t be allowing this to carry on, but he guessed that those were the cards he’d been dealt. He had a shit mother who only cared about her next fix. The only one who’d cared was his dad, so look what happened to him. Dead, dead, dead.

Dressed in worn jeans, a grey t-shirt and trainers that were falling apart at the seams, he organized his school bag and headed downstairs. As he moved through the apartment, the rising sun shone through the hallway window. It was going to be a good day, weather-wise. Liam was unsure how he was going to sit through a whole day of lessons. Sitting was agony, and he wasn’t sure if he could school his face enough to hide his discomfort.

The apartment was cold. New York was freezing in winter. For all the pretty social media photos of the city, they didn’t see the poverty, the harsh battle for survival, the crime and devastation. They only saw the good stuff, people in general, weren’t willing to look too closely. They might need to take action if they did.

His mom was still asleep. Surprise, surprise. Sprawled out on the tattered old sofa, she lay haphazardly, her arm dangling off the edge with the plastic tubing still wrapped around her arm, the needle still embedded in her skin. It was pitiful. He’d usually feel sorry for her, but Liam was in too much pain to feel much of anything for her right now. She might not have been the one to rape him, but her ineptitude at safeguarding had led to this. There was blood on her hands.

She cried out in her sleep, “Help me,” drool pooled on the cushion beneath her. He’d usually wake her up and make her something to eat, knowing that if he didn’t, she likely wouldn’t eat at all. She’d wake up and begin her day by trying to find money for her next fix. She’d even stolen from his money box. That was how low his mother had gotten.

Liam walked through the sitting room into the kitchen. Looking around the work surfaces, he was surprised that they hadn’t had a rat infestation already. The counters were littered with all kinds of junk. Empty takeout containers, cigarette ends, and used condoms. He felt physically ill. The empty condom wrapper was coated in blood.

Had Ralph left this purposefully there? Had he wanted Liam to find it and be repulsed by it. If that was the case, then he’d won. What kind of sick freak would do any of this to a child, would make a child live this way. He was eight, for crying out loud!

Today, he chose violence. He wouldn’t tidy up the kitchen like he always did. No, today he was going to steal what little money, if any, his mom had in her purse and get breakfast on the way to school.

Searching through her purse, he managed to locate five dollars that had fallen through a hole in the stitching. He pocketed it, shirked on his jacket and zipped up his backpack. Hovering his hand over the door handle, he looked back at his mom, the ravages of trauma and drugs changing her irrevocably.

Feeling reminiscent, he remembered how she used to be the prettiest mom at the school gates. She’d been so proud of their little family. She loved spending time with them, constantly searching websites to find new nature trails they could experience new adventures on. He’d loved his mom unconditionally. Then his father was killed and murdered in the worst way possible. His mom never got over it and succumbed to the lure of drink and drugs, willing something to numb the excruciating pain of losing the only man she’d ever been with.

He walked to school alone, again. He was eight and although the other eight-year-olds had a responsible parent walking them to school still, Liam preferred this. He didn’t have to face the embarrassment of her stumbling beside him, shouting lewd and inappropriate things to the other parents.

So, he’d gotten used to his mom lying in her own vomit and piss. Walking down the dank, graffiti-laden streets over the last year had been enlightening, to say the least. The run-down apartment complexes and lingering stares from older kids had made him self-conscious, but what choice did he have?

The number one rule was never to make eye contact. His daddy had taught him that. If you don’t make eye contact, then you’re not a target. If you’re not a target then you can’t get hurt.

Even at Liam’s young age, he knew that complete and utter horseshit.

Did never making yourself a target help his dad? Did it stop his dad getting murdered in the dead of night? No, it fucking didn’t. When someone had their sights set on you, that was it. There’d be no stopping the forward trajectory of their plan. They’d either kill you or die trying.

There was so much of his father’s death that didn’t make sense. What had he been doing out so late, in a real dingy part of town? It was completely out of character. Had he been meeting someone in a secret rendezvous or was it something far more sinister. The unknown had ruined Liam’s and his mom’s life.

Liam sat hunched over a chipped and defaced desk at the back of the classroom. He hunkered down, hoping that no one would call upon him for answers. It never usually worked so he didn’t know why he thought it would now. Laying a head on his upturned fist, he doodled in his maths workbook. Drawings that, if examined by a psychologist, would declare that he had severe mental problems.

All dark shadows and ominous figures, influenced by his experiences of Ralph and Heroin, no doubt. The teacher’s voice droned on in front of the class, but in truth, it was all background noise to him. Right now, he didn’t care about long division or multiplication. He was still coming down from the drugs. With a dry mouth and a tongue like sandpaper, he desperately urged the school bell to ring so he could get himself a drink from the canteen. If he had enough money.

Next to him, Johnny, his only real friend, snuck peeking glances at Liam. He looked at the teacher just as often to at least allude to the pretence that he was paying attention. He’d write a note or two and then go back to looking at Liam’s profile. He was clearly worried. He shouldn’t waste his energies on him, he was used to it, this was his life now. Johnny didn’t exactly have a healthy home life either. It was sad, but maybe they were two pathetic creatures borne of trauma that had somehow gravitated towards one another. Like moths to a flame.

Johnny was the polar opposite of Liam. He was likable for a start, funny as hell, and sporty. He was captain of the school’s rugby team, but there was never anyone cheering him on, and his sporting achievements went unnoticed. Curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a snow-white type complexion, he had it all at least on paper. The reality was very different. A mother who was career-orientated, she left Johnny and his brother, Jake, to largely get on with it. A father who worked in the armed forces, a marine. So, the brothers only had each other.

He was kind of jealous. He didn’t have anyone.

Johnny leaned closer, trying to make his body look small. He tried to keep his voice low.

“Liam,” Johnny whispered, nudging him with his elbow. “You good? You don’t look like you’ve slept much. Hell, you look so pale that I’d doubt you’ve slept in the last ten years.”

“That’s rich coming from you, snow white,” Liam tried to jest but it fell flat, his delivery monotone.

Liam blinked rapidly. His friend cared. He might be the only one left in this world that did. He turned his head slowly toward Johnny and looked. He really looked at him. Liam’s eyes were heavy and unfocused; he’d been concentrating too hard on his doodles. He shrugged, trying to act like it was nothing like he hadn’t been raped last night. Like Ralph wasn’t a constant figure of abuse in his life like his mom wasn’t a deadbeat who cared only for illicit substances.

“Don’t worry, dude, I’m fine,” Liam muttered, keeping his voice low so the teacher wouldn’t pick up on the duo talking. Mrs. Henderson was a real ball-buster when she wanted to be, and just to be factual, she always wanted to be. The dull ache in his stomach reminded Liam that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. There’d been nothing open on the way to school so he’d held onto the five dollars he’d stolen from his mom.

“You sure?” Johnny asked. Liam could see that Johnny wasn’t buying it. Of course, he wasn’t. He knew him. Maybe better than his own mother did. Johnny’s brow furrowed with concern. “I don’t know, you’ve been looking kinda…I don’t know, a bit out of it lately. You’re not sick, right?” Johnny leaned closer yet, waiting for Liam to spill his guts.

Liam’s heart tightened in his chest. How easy it would be to just open his mouth and let it all come spilling out. To tell his best friend about his mom, Ralph and the drugs. But that would be opening a massive can of worms, one that he wouldn’t be able to close again. The shit storm that would come his way after. He’d go into care, Ralph might hunt him down, rape him, hell, he might even kill him. No, as cool as it was that someone cared, he couldn’t tell him what was really up.

Johnny sighed softly. “Come on, man, we’ve been friends, like, forever. You don’t have to pretend with me. If something is going on-”

“There’s nothing going on,” he said curtly, cutting off his best friend. His voice was sharper than he meant it to be, realizing when the look of hurt on Johnny’s face reflected back at him. Guilt churned in his stomach. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault, it wasn’t his fault either, but he shouldn’t be taking it out on his friend. He was only trying to show that he cared.

Johnny went quiet, sensing that he’d hit a sore spot. He didn’t push it. Liam was grateful.

“Mrs, can I be excused, please.” Liam raised his arm in the air, interrupting the maths lesson. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he desperately wanted to escape from this awkward conversation with Johnny.

She looked at him, unsure of what the problem was. He hadn’t listened to anything she’d said during the entire lesson. It was best that he left before he said something he’d come to regret. His teacher put down the book she was reading from on her desk, with a little too much force, dust motes flying into the air as a result.

“Your excused. It’s not as though you’ve been listening to anything I’ve taught so far this morning. I’ll warn you, there’ll will be a test at the end of the month.” She looked at him for a moment. Her gaze pained him. He didn’t want the teacher looking at him too closely. He didn’t want her seeing what was really wrong. He just wanted to escape. She knew he’d been zoning out the entire class, but for some reason, she hadn’t picked on him for it. Her eyes lingered on his open workbook full of doodles.

Liam escaped the classroom, aware that all his classmates’ eyes were trained on his back. No doubt they’d be talking about him during the break. He nearly tripped on his way to the bathroom stalls. He threw his bag on the floor and cried.

How on earth could this be his life?

Chapter Eight

Liam stood at the top of a narrow staircase. Abby urged him to take the first step. He felt uneasy. He wasn’t sure what to make of this new adjustment. Abby wanted him to experience what she felt when Liam awakened in the dungeon. It was euphoric. He wasn’t sure he’d feel the same. In fact, he knew he wouldn’t.

Liam had hoped to never be down there ever again. He was feeling seriously triggered. The air was stale and tinged with the stink of rot. That familiar sense of needing to run had returned. He was still in chains, Abby having a firm hold of his upper arm.

Abby’s voice was playful. “Come on, Liam, aren’t you intrigued by what’s down here. Don’t you want to experience it from the other side?” her voice dripped with sick amusement. “I’ve got something special planned, something just for you and me.”

What the fuck had the Queen of depravity got in store for him now? She was psychopathic, plainly bat shite. He felt as though he was on the edge of a cliff with her, waiting for her to push him off at a moment’s notice. His heart pounded in his chest, fear sizzling through his veins and yet his legs moved forward, almost against his will. One foot in front of the other, a death shuffle.

Abby maintained her death grip around his arm as they descended the steel stairs down to the basement door. She let go of him and moved toward the door. Pulling out a set of keys dangling from yet another chain, she unlocked the reinforced door. She pushed it open, the metal hinges creaking with the effort.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Abby stood to the side and allowed Liam to pass. She curtsied as he passed. Walking into the room, he shuddered. The familiar smell of decay hit him like a brick. A singular lightbulb hung from the ceiling. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The smell of death was overwhelming. The faint sound of whimpering could be heard from the corner of the room.

A new figure had joined them. A woman. She was chained to the wall, her eyes wide with terror, her body trembling, her clothes torn and bloody.

Liam swallowed hard, his throat was as dry as a nun’s cunt. He didn’t want to be there, still didn’t want to be there. He didn’t need to see it.

“Please help me, please,” the woman blubbered, trying to move away from the corpse beside her.

Liam looked at Abby, willing her to have a human side to see how wrong this was. You couldn’t just kidnap someone and imprison them like this. This wasn’t humane, this was morally incomprehensible. Abby stood in the center of the room, her slender figure bathed in the yellow light of the swinging lightbulb. Her eyes gleamed with a sick sense of excitement. She smiled, it never quite reaching her eyes. She had a plan, one that Liam wasn’t entitled to know quite yet.

“There won’t be any helping. My sweet Liam here isn’t here to help you, Laura. Liam is here to act.” Gesturing toward the bound woman, Abby nodded toward Liam. “Liam, go and introduce yourself.” Laura’s strangled sobs filled the space as she struggled against her restraints. Abby merely laughed at her distress. “Look how perfect she is. Fresh meat.”

Laura screamed. Abby continued to laugh, drowning out the cries of Laura, who now vomited onto the concrete floor beside her. It brought back memories for Liam, ones he had no wish to relive. This was different, he’d seen Abby’s cruelty before, had lived through it, but being an active participant in the depravity was a completely different ball game. He’d be crossing a line that he couldn’t come back from.

“Come on, Liam, don’t be shy. Aren’t you even a little bit curious? Don’t you want to have some fun with me?” she coaxed, her voice sweet and seductive. Abby was in her element.

His feet froze to the spot. This wasn’t Liam, this wasn’t him at all. He cared about people, for crying out loud. He cared whether people lived or died. Abby’s gaze was locked onto him, a sniper getting their target in range. The problem was, he wasn’t the target anymore, this poor unfortunate woman was.

“I’ve taught you a lot. I thought you were at the stage where you were happy to take it to the next level. Don’t you want it to be you and I running this show? Is this how you repay me, by acting like a traitor?”

He didn’t know what to say. “I…I…” The words were caught in his throat, each attempt cutting him like a razor blade. He felt trapped. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. He felt like a bird with a broken wing; he could see the outside world through his imagination, but it was lost to him. He couldn’t take off any more than that bird could.

Abby was very good at being the evil perpetrator in this twisted game. She was able to manipulate and gaslight everything until Liam didn’t know which way was up.

Why the fuck did he feel like he owed her something? He didn’t owe her shit but he’d been conditioned to feel that way. A real case of Stockholm Syndrome.

She softened once more toward him. That in truth was his only saving grace in this entire scenario, he was for better word, her favorite. He didn’t know why, didn’t really care if he was honest, but it’d kept him alive so far. He needed to lean into it- he had to stay alive by any means necessary.

She walked over to the bound, terrified woman and stroked her face. She flinched.

“Look at her. She’s so pathetic, so weak already that we could break her. Break her easily. Liam. Together. This would be the first step in you proving yourself and taking your place with me. Isn’t that what you want? I know you’ve dreamt about having me. Do this and you can.” She smiled, a sick and twisted rigor mortis-like grin. She was screwed in the head. Moving back to his side she breathed into his ear, sweet like cinnamon. “Besides, you really want this, don’t you? You want to take back control and be a man again. Be my man.”

Liam’s mind screamed no. This wasn’t what he wanted, but still, something niggly in the back of his mind resonated with what she said. How long had it been since he had control? He couldn’t remember. From being a little boy, weak at the hands of his mom and her pimps, from being pushed around in jobs, to not having someone to share this hellscape they called life. He was a simple man; he wanted a simple life with a woman he could love and be loved by. His body shook with adrenaline. He looked Abby in the eye and tried to utter the word no, but he stumbled.

Abby held out a gleaming knife. “Here, take it. Have fun, show me what you can do. Be creative. Show me that you have what it takes to be by my side.” He took the knife from her and looked at its glinting edge, the light shining from its center. He gazed at his reflection, his distorted face staring back at him. Ugly and deformed.

Although he still wanted to run, there was a part of him that wanted to please her. He needed to satisfy that urge within him. What the fuck was wrong with him?

The world around him seemed to blur. He didn’t want to do this, but felt he had to. He didn’t have a choice, if he didn’t, he was dead, and right now he had to be his number one priority. Abby took his hand in hers and moved him toward the trembling woman.

“Good boy,” she whispered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in delight.

Chapter Nine

Liam wondered if he’d somehow entered a fugue state. Raising the knife overhead, he plunged it into the woman’s chest. He’d pinned her to the blood-soaked floor, his knees trapping her arms below him. He saw her, but not really, his brain working overtime to zone out the consequences of what he was doing.

He stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. Blood poured forth like a volcano that had sprung to life after lying dormant for hundreds of years. Liam wasn’t sure how many times he’d stabbed her. He lost count after thirty, but her chest was a mess. It was difficult to tell where the skin ended and the blood began, apart from the fact that the woman’s chest was almost entirely concave.

Each breath laboured and harsh, Liam sat back on his haunches and tried to catch his breath. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and down his chest, he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He was spent. His flayed arms, although healing, still ached with exaggerated movements. They started.

Without thinking, without processing what he was about to do, he lunged forward.

Abby’s laughter faded into a quiet hum; Liam’s world faded to black once more. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl of resolution and adrenaline. It was all instinct now. This was what Abby had created. This sadistic version of Liam. They were two halves of the same coin now. Personalities were shifting, splitting. Was this what was going on with him? He couldn’t be sure.

The knife fell with a dull clang as it hit the concrete floor. He wouldn’t need that any longer.

He grabbed the woman, already dead. He didn’t care. That was the first sign that Liam had lost his mind, that Abby and The Leaky Ladle were very quickly consuming Liam.

He sank his teeth into her chest.

The already damaged flesh tore away easily. Warm blood spilled as he tore and chewed at the flesh containing the woman’s still-warm heart. The metallic twang of blood filled his mouth. He’d been repulsed by the taste when Abby had forced him to eat human flesh for the first time, but now, now it felt like having a drink on a hot day. It was comforting, it was a feeling he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Sitting back, he licked his lips and wiped away the blood-it did nothing as his hands were also coated in the gelatinous fluid. He leaned over the prone body of his victim, her face frozen in terror. He tried not to look for too long. He wasn’t sure if he could take the look of horror swimming in her eyes. He clasped his hands around her still heart. His nails were coated in her blood, maintaining a grip on her heart proving to be more difficult than he’d reconciled.

Counting back from ten, he pulled the heart clean from her chest. The strength required for the act was unexpected. Just when he thought he’d need the knife to complete the act, it pulled free with a sudden pop.

The heart was unexpectedly heavy. He stared at the muscle in his hands, feeling oddly disconnected from the act. He couldn’t believe he’d done this that he’d killed someone. He was no better than his father’s killer now. They were cut from the same cloth.

Abby’s laughter both stark and terrifying echoed around the room. She’d won. She’d got him to do something that would tie her to him forever. She knelt beside him, her eyes gleaming with sick satisfaction. She’d trained her pet, Liam resembled nothing but a dog to her.

“There you go. Doesn’t it feel good? Don’t you feel in control? Do you feel like no one can take this moment from you? I remember my first time. I was scared, just like you. I did it and the afterglow was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It was the start of something so beautiful.” Her hand slid up his arm, flinching. He allowed the tears to fall. She’d given him something, allowed him to see a part of her that probably not many saw. It made him feel worse because she’d been like him at the start.

He wondered where his life would lead. More depravity or escape?

Liam’s hands trembled as he brought the heart up to his mouth and began to devour the tough flesh. Sinking his teeth into the organ, blood poured forth like a crimson river. Tearing off chunks of flesh, he chewed and not because the threat of death hung over his head, but because he was slowly getting into it. Maybe it was because the flesh was fresher not undergoing rigor mortis. It was warm and tender, and something about the act made him feel powerful.

He was disgusted by how far he’d fallen.

Liam was in a constant battle between his mind and his need for survival. He wanted to run, but what Abby offered seemed much more appealing from a survival standpoint. Do everything she asked of him and he’d make it out alive.

Abby leaned into Liam’s side, her heat radiating through his blood-stained clothing. Her breath was hot on his cheek, he swallowed the final bite of the woman’s heart. He’d done it, he’d killed and devoured a part of his victim. He’d cannibalised her.

“This is who you are now,” she whispered intimately. A deadly promise. “Welcome to my world. There’s no going back now.”

His breath hitched. The full weight of what he’d done weighed heavily on his shoulders. Looking at Abby, she’d hitched her skirt up and over her hips, exposing her panty-clad genitals. She buried her fingers under the waistband of her lacy white panties and stroked her clit with vigor.

He couldn’t take his eyes away from her. She’d awoken something within him. Call it lust or call it blood lust. The name didn’t matter. He was awake and conflicted. She came with a guttural moan, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Liam could have done something then and there, while she was distracted by her sexual release, but he didn’t. He was a stupid motherfucker.

Chapter Ten

Abby

Liam had proved to be the obedient pet she’d always wanted. She’d searched and searched and each hostage had never been able to live up to the promise. Dave had told her that she was wishing for something that would never be. That regular people didn’t think the way she did, that there was something inherently broken about them both-The Leaky Ladle, the cannibalistic kitchen that catered for the sick and depraved members of society- was something that everyday people wouldn’t understand.

Abby had understood alright. She’d applied for a job at The Leaky Ladle just like Liam, and just like him, she’d been abducted and held hostage and made to do a whole ream of unspeakable things. Dave had been the mastermind, but he’d seen something in Abby and decided to spare her. She hadn’t been grateful. She’d gone kicking and screaming, begging him to just kill her already.

He hadn’t. He had bigger things planned for her.

So, if Liam truly thought she didn’t understand, then she had news for him. She understood more than most. She wanted to bring him into the dark side but Dave resisted. Using the term – too many cooks spoil the pot. Hilarious. Abby didn’t see it that way; she knew, when coaxed, that Liam would do what needed to be done. Witnessing him butcher that woman had sent sparks off in her center. It was chaos; it was poetic, and Liam was just like her.

She couldn’t wait to mould him into her little pet.

She’d applied for the job to get away from her boyfriend. He’d expressively told her she wasn’t to look for work. She couldn’t sit at home and wait for him to come back every single day of their relationship. She’d go mad. Still, he’d forbidden it, and she’d betrayed him.

Dave told her the job was hers. Just as she bent over to pick up her bag, he’d rattled her across the temple with the butt of a gun that he kept in his top desk drawer. She’d never seen it coming, would she? It was a job interview, for crying out loud.

Liam had promise, she knew that as soon as he walked into the bar. She’d gone out on a limb and admitted that she wasn’t drawn to him due to his waif like stature, she saw something deep within him. A resonance that he was a tortured soul like hers, someone she could get on a level with. He’d seen stuff, just like her, and she wanted him for herself.

She’d never wanted Dave. He was a disgusting fifty-year-old with a hyper-fixation on guns and debasing women. She’d put out for him-of course she had, she’d no choice. It was spread her legs for him or die. She’d chosen life.

Standing there beside him as he took his first step into her world had been magical. Just like her first trip to Disney for the first time as a child, excited at the wonder, dressed in her favourite dress and polished leather shoes, she’d clasped her hands and been in awe of it all. Watching Liam tear the heart out of the woman’s chest had been the same. The feeling of joy and heat spreading through her body like a virus, she’d finally found “the one.”

Soon Dave would be a distant memory, soon it would be Abby and Liam taking over this place, she’d make sure of it.

Her lips curled into a slow curved smile, all white teeth and jagged edges as she took in the scene of Liam murdering their victim in cold blood. Leaning against the cold stone wall, arms folded, Abby delighted in the grotesque scene. He dug into the woman’s chest like a dog digging for a bone. She’d never witnessed something so disturbing and yet, she was wetter than a tropical thunderstorm.

The moment had been everything. She’d waited for it for what felt like an eternity. His struggle, his fear, the fight that slowly ebbed from him, and finally, his breaking point. The lines of who he was dissolved, blurring into the dark spaces that Abby had created for him. He was rising to the surface, becoming who he had always intended to be. It had taken the time and solid effort to mould him into her mini-me. She saw him and wanted him; failure had not been an option. Thankfully, she’d succeeded.

Here Liam was, her masterpiece.

Pale hands clutching the woman’s heart, his breaths shallow and raspy. This was his breaking point-the point where his fragile conscience would fight against him and her, she just had to ride it out.

She could see the war painted on his face – the revulsion, the disgust, the panic, but also the acceptance, the want. He couldn’t hide it from her, for she, too, had been there. Kindred spirits that would come as one and continue this legacy.

She just had to get rid of Dave.

Chapter Eleven

Then

He hadn’t meant to kill Ralph. That was a lie- he had, but not like this. He’d wanted to do it quietly, slowly, not the rage-induced bloodshed that had ensued. Liam was pissed at himself; he’d spent weeks planning it; he wrote it down in his locked journal, over and over, hyper-fixating on the details so he wouldn’t forget.

Nine-year-old Liam, his birthday was only last week, had gone unnoticed by his mom and Ralph had ensured that it was a day he’d never forget, for all the wrong reasons. No presents, no surprise party but Ralph had ensured he couldn’t sit down for days. He hated him, and Liam didn’t ordinarily hate anyone. His hate fuelled his rage, his desire to kill Ralph pumping through his veins, consuming him.

He stared up at the cracked ceiling, his body trembling under the thin blanket. He was cold, so very cold. The sounds of the early dawn weighing down on him like an anvil to the chest, the distant hum of city traffic, the birds flying into the thin glass of his window. Inside, though, the oppressive silence swallowed him like a cloak. Nothing stirred, but Liam’s mind swirled. It was the kind of silence that came after something awful had happened.

His mom had passed out hours ago. Pretty standard stuff really. Different day but the same shit – he was more than used to it. The needle still protruded from her arm and the vodka bottle clutched to her chest with the other. She’d been getting worse, passing out from substances early in the day and only going out when Ralph instructed her to sleep with someone for money. He was her pimp now. Overhearing those heated demands was like a shadow passing over his soul.

His childhood was over.

With his mother passed out, Liam could start to put his plan into action but he had to be quick, he didn’t have much time-soon Ralph would be paying his nightly visit to Liam’s bedroom.

He could hear Ralph moving around the small apartment. His heavy footsteps moved from room to room, not paying any mind to the noise level he left in his wake. Ralph was a selfish man, but soon he would be a selfish dead man.

He hated Ralph. Feared him, but he refused to live in this constant state of terror. He refused to engage in the constant battle of insomnia, worrying that if he fell asleep, then he would be injected with heroin and raped, night after night. His presence hung over them like a shadow. He needed to dispatch him, and then, hopefully, his mother could get better. Be better.

Liam’s door swung open, banging against the wall, the door handle embedded in the wall again. It spoke of the frequency with which Ralph visited Liam. Ralph stood in the dim light of the hallway, smiling. Hands-on his hips, a cigarette hung from his mouth at an angle, ash falling to the floor. He took up the entire width of the door- blocking Liam’s only exit- he didn’t feel like throwing himself from the first-floor window. He wasn’t prepared to die quite yet.

“Hey, Kid, awake still? Anticipating my arrival, were ya? Ready and willing for me, well come on, let’s get this show on the road,” Ralph slurred, clearly inebriated by whatever poison took his fancy tonight. He took a slow and deliberate step forward, stumbling slightly. Good, he’s drunk. It’ll make this task all the easier.

Liam shrank back against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. He had to act naturally; he couldn’t allow Ralph to see him acting differently, and he needed him to fall for the charade.

He’d learned to stay quiet, to never answer back, to be a shadow in his light. He hoped that would make Ralph disappear, but the man knew where to look, where to find him. Every night was the same.

“You scared little man?” Ralph’s breath caught in Liam’s throat, stale cigarettes and rot.

Liam thumbed the sharp knife that lay hidden under his pillow. He ran the smooth skin of his index finger along the sharpened blade. It nicked him, blood beading at the wound. It was comforting, somehow, like he was the only one that had the right to hurt him. He wanted to take back control.

“I’m not going to hurt you…much,” said Ralph, his sneering voice laced with cruel amusement. Bracing his weight on the bed, he leaned over Liam- everything clicked into place. He’d always hoped that Ralph hadn’t really wanted to hurt him. Hoped that he had just been consumed by drink and drugs.

He could see that that was a lie. Ralph enjoyed this and lived for the moment his mother would fall asleep. Liam wouldn’t be surprised if he was drugging her- his mom wasn’t exactly prudent at checking what she was ingesting. She stuffed drugs down her gullet as though it were candy.

Liam was angry, rage pulsing through his nerve endings as though shocked by electricity. It was the rod that broke the camel’s back. He’d taken everything from them, it was about time that Liam took everything from him.

Ralph grabbed him roughly by the arm, trying to spin his small body onto his front- the usual position for Ralph to force himself into Liam. He let out a small yelp, trying to force himself back to sitting. Ralph was strong and he only laughed at Liam’s pitiful attempt at fighting back. Liam felt trapped, helpless against his overbearing strength.

The power shifted. Liam knew what needed to be done, what needed to be done to stop this forever.

He was tired of being scared, of tiptoeing around the apartment, fearful of saying the wrong thing, and Ralph collecting his prize later that night. He hated feeling like Ralph’s prey. Ralph was too busy mocking him to realize that Liam had his hands curled around the knife. Knuckles white, he bided his time. The moment had to be just right. He didn’t see the change in Liam’s demeanour, and he didn’t see his eyes sharpening or his focus. Didn’t see the murderous rage.

But Liam felt it, every ounce of it. He was bubbling with barely controlled fury.

Without hesitation, without blinking, Liam pulled the knife out from under the pillow, the cold plastic acting like a beacon. It was oddly comforting. Before Ralph could react, before he could sneer at him again, Liam plunged the knife into his jugular.

Ralph’s eyes went wide in terror, the shock of what this small, feeble nine-year-old boy had done sinking in with harsh finality. Staggering back, his grip on Liam loosened instantly, freeing Liam from his cruel grasp.

Although relatively safe, Liam couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. His mind was blank, his vision cloudy from the red mist that had descended, enveloping him in a violent embrace. He wanted Ralph to hurt. He wanted Ralph to bleed.

With a strength he never knew he possessed, Liam pulled the knife out of Ralph’s neck and plunged it into the broken flesh over and over again. Blood spurted outwards, blinding Liam. He didn’t care. He was going to end Ralph and his pitiful existence. His small hands trembled with the effort, Ralph’s screams going unanswered with every plunge of the knife.

Ralph tumbled backward, his hand instinctively reaching up for the jagged wound in his neck. Blood immediately spilled through his fingers, the pressure insufficient against the rising tide of blood pouring down Ralph’s neck, staining the collar of his white polo shirt. He collapsed against the wall, holding his hand in place, but Liam could see the life leaving his dark eyes.

Gazing around the room, Liam stood witness to the violence that occurred in his tiny bedroom. Blood splatter coated his white-washed walls like graffiti. Ralph’s ragged gasps eventually stopped.

And then silence. Pure, unadulterated silence. That monster was gone from their lives.

Liam stood over Ralph’s body, shocked that a small boy had committed such violence. His chest heaved, the knife held at his side, crimson droplets falling to the grey threadbare carpet, a small pool spreading. His mind was a maze of confusion and guilt. A cold, hollow feeling now replaced the anger and fear that had gripped him like a vice. He stared down at Ralph’s body, his lifeless eyes staring back, blood pooling under his body, as he tried to make sense of what he’d done.

Ralph was dead.

He’d killed him.

Chapter Twelve

The motel room was dank and damp. Faded, peeling, and yellow wallpaper adorned the small space. The carpet was mottled brown and stained, and burn marks from cigarettes were evident wherever Liam stood. Everything about the place felt wrong.

Liam sat on the edge of the creaky metal framed bed. He wasn’t sure why Abby had taken him there, only that they had to escape so they could talk. It sounded serious. His hands fidgeted in his lap; the pain in his arms had now dissipated, and new skin had grown in its place. The grime of the place seemed to stick to his skin, sweat and sex clogging his pores and his senses. So ripe it made his eyes water. Still, it was nothing compared to the mounting tension between Liam and his captor, Abby. She sat beside him, much too close, it was oppressively overwhelming.

“Relax,” she whispered, her voice husky and seductive. She rubbed his hand in gentle circles. Although it was meant to be comforting, every action from Abby held that undercurrent of menace that he’d come to expect from the woman. She moved her hand down his thigh and gripped the muscle. Her grip tightened, fingernails digging into the tender flesh. Liam flinched, his body tensing like a coiled spring. She gripped him tighter, urging him to stay put. He grimaced.

Abby had always been in control, and he’d never questioned that, but tonight, it felt different. Darker. More dangerous. Why had she taken him away from the restaurant, blindfolded, gagged. What would Dave do when they returned and realized that they were both missing?

She leaned in, her breath hot against his cheek as she spoke. “Do you know what your problem is, Liam? You’re too uptight, that’s why you hesitate. Don’t fight against something that’s in your nature. You know it is. I know it is. Don’t fight something that’s so natural.” Her lips brushed his ear, the sound of her gentle breaths heating his blood. Shivers ran down the length of his spine, a toxic combination of desire and dread.

He needed to fight the pull of her.

“I need you to be brutal. Tougher.”

Liam audibly swallowed, his mouth like sandpaper. He licked his lips, trying to dampen the parched tissue. He couldn’t meet her gaze. If he did, he might crumble, lie back on the bed, and tell her to take him. He was confused and manipulated into feeling this way. He should push her away, run, fight, scream. Maybe someone would crash into the motel room and save him.

Who was he kidding? If that scenario actually came to be, who’d believe that he’d been the one kidnapped? A man and a woman are in the motel room, and screams are heard. No, they wouldn’t pay attention to who the screams belonged to. They’d simply assume they’d come from Abby and that Liam had hurt her. He knew damn well that Abby would play into those gender stereotypes if push came to shove.

Liam knew better by now. Abby had her ways of keeping him firmly under her thumb. She’d manipulated him into committing acts he never thought possible again. She triggered something in him, a past he thought was long buried. But, as he was starting to realize that the past never stayed hidden, it laced up its Nike’s and chased you through the night with a machete.

Abby moved with the grace of a tiger hunting its prey. She straddled his lap, her weight pressing down on his crotch, making it impossible for him to move, let alone escape. Her eyes were set in predatory mode. She was resolute in her action. She knew what she wanted and took it unapologetically. She pulled his blue shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Raking her nails down his chest, he ignored the pain, it’d become familiar to him, an old friend being reacquainted.

“I know what’s going on in that head of yours. I know when the cogs are turning. You’re too much of an overthinker, Liam. You’re trying to think of a way out of here, aren’t you? Trying to figure out how to get rid of me so you can escape,” her voice like sweet venom.

He stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say. Deny it, and she’d know he was lying; admit it, and he was condemning himself to more of Abby’s torture. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Before he had a chance to fabricate a story, she grabbed his chin roughly, yanking his head up to look at her.

“That’s not gonna happen, sweet Liam. You’re stuck with me now for better or worse,” she said sweetly, her grip on his chin loosening. The blood rushed back into the spot, a dull ache of pain replacing her fingers. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

It felt like he’d been stabbed, sharp and deep. She’d finally cut away the last shred of hope he had. He knew this was the end of his life as he knew it. When you didn’t have hope, you didn’t have anything. He’d live out the rest of his life preparing cannibalistic meals as Abby’s pet. He’d never really had much in life but this was a fall from grace, even for him.

Abby’s hands moved lower to the waistband of his jeans. Liam’s gut churned as she deftly undid the button. Lowering the zipper, he was hit with a dangerous cocktail of fear and want.

He didn’t want this.

He did want this.

No, he didn’t.

Yes, he fucking did.

Abby didn’t care for his indecision, the war thrumming inside him. It had never been about what he wanted. It was all about her. The only thing that Liam resembled was her control and she’d do anything to keep it.

“I need you, Liam,” she panted, her chest heaving with the exertion of pulling out his member. Erect. The fucking traitor! She gripped him, and he throbbed a response into her hand.

“Abby, please,” his voice was barely audible. A shaky plea that fell on death ears. Abby was a lot of things but merciful wasn’t one of them. There was no room for mercy in her world, only darkness and blood.

“You don’t get to say please, don’t get to beg. Not anymore. You are going to do everything I tell you to. You belong to me now, Liam.” Her lips locked onto his, hungrily taking what she believed was hers. Her hand slid up and down his cock in tandem with her lips, her tongue probing his entrance. He was lost to her, too many sensations, too much emotion.

Liam zoned out.

Abby screamed at him. “Look at me!” Eyes wild and crazy, she slapped him in the face. He looked at her. How could he not. She pulled her panties aside and slid down onto his cock, her gasp vibrating through his dick. Scrunching his eyes closed, he tried to think about something else, anything but this moment. He didn’t want to enjoy her, he didn’t want to cum. If he did then his well-built walls would come crumbling down. His eyes burned at the edges; he wanted to scream.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the feeling of her weight on top of his, her up and down movements, the pleasure building deep in his gut. He couldn’t escape. She suffocated him.

“Good boy, Liam. Doesn’t it feel good? Isn’t this what you wanted all along? I know I have, I’ve dreamt about it, for weeks. I wanted you, and now I’m taking you. It feels…amazing.” she panted in time to her movements, twirling and grinding, he’d never had it so good. It was conflicting.

Soon he couldn’t ignore the push of his body needing to be an active participant. He pushed his full body weight up and into her warmth. She was right; it felt amazing. He could feel his balls tightening, preparing for his arrival. He quickened his pace and found himself thundering into her, rough and hard. All of his pent-up frustration went into screwing Abby. His anger about his mom, about Ralph, about being held hostage came out at that moment. With a thunderous roar, he flipped Abby under him and piledrove her with his hard cock.

It felt good to be the one in control, the one who dominated.

“Liam,” she gasped, taken by surprise at Liam’s boldness. Her fingers traced the contours of his body, purring as her release built. Her legs began shaking, her fingernails digging into the sensitive flesh of his chest. He pushed harder, wanting her to hurt him more. “You’re learning,” she said, breathless.

They both came. Liam with a grunt and Abby screaming his name. He didn’t know he had it in him. Sex had always been a mild affair; he did not have the confidence to take what he wanted. This felt different. It was different.

“You’re mine,” she whispered as her cunt milked all of him. She leaned up and claimed his lips. “All of you.”

Every touch, every word, every act felt like another part of him being torn away. There was nothing left except for the shell she’d created. He felt deeply ashamed that he’d allowed her to take the last part of him away.

He stumbled off the bed, his legs shaky beneath him, from the shock and the orgasm. He was in a haze of shame and disgust. His skin felt cold and clammy, as though the filth of the motel room had seeped into him through his pores. Abby’s presence lingered- her touch, her gaze, her words. He needed to free himself of it.

His stomach twisted violently. It had been doing that a lot lately. He didn’t think he had a weak disposition, but he was learning a lot about himself lately. He could barely look in her direction. She was sprawled on the bed, a look of lazy satisfaction adorned on her smug face. She looked relaxed, so at ease, as if she hadn’t just forced Liam into having sex with her. Like it was the kind of thing she got men to do every day.

But for Liam, it was a nightmare.

“I need…I need to go for a shower,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat felt tight like some invisible hand was constricting the tissue. He didn’t wait for her response- he couldn’t bear to see her dismiss his feelings once more. He just needed some space, even if it was for only a few minutes.

The bathroom door creaked as he pushed it open, the light even dimmer than it was in the motel room, casting a sickly yellow glow over the cracked tiles and rust smeared sink. Everything reeked of rot and decay.

He turned on the shower, the pipes groaning as dirty water spluttered outwards. It took a moment for the temperature to even out. He stepped in, the heat hitting his skin like needles, he cursed it, cursed this damned situation. He didn’t flinch. He needed the scalding embrace to rid his body of Abby’s touch. He scrubbed at his tender flesh with the cloth, rubbing until his skin reddened under his ministrations and the burning water.

He stood under the spray, his head bowed, just letting the water crash over him, his mind an array of conflicting thoughts. No matter how much he scrubbed, the guilt and shame wouldn’t leave him.

Her voice echoed in his ears. “You’re mine, Liam. MINE.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out. The words wouldn’t stop, replaying over and over. He hated her, hated what she did to him, what she made him do. But the worst part, the part that knawed at him, that tore him apart- was the fact that he couldn’t escape. No matter how hard he tried, how much he believed he’d get the upper hand, she was always ten steps ahead of him. She would always win. Always.

Liam let the water run cold before stepping out of the shower. He’d taken entirely too long but he didn’t care, it wasn’t often he got distance between him and the situation. He’d stand in the ice-cold water before returning to that crazy woman in the motel room. He wrapped the thin, scratchy brown towel around his lower half and breathed deeply. He stared at himself in the cracked mirror above the sink. He looked hollow. Guant.

He no longer recognised himself.

Drying off, he could hear Abby singing to herself around the adjacent room. She had the voice of an angel but the personality of Ted Bundy. Suddenly, she stopped and the clunky air conditioning system was the only sound. It unnerved him. His mind was blank, like he’d been turned upside down and shook off all his good and bad thoughts. Catching his reflection in the mirror as he moved, he realised that he didn’t know who he was anymore.

He put on his dirty clothes again- he had no others. Her ladyship hadn’t deemed him important enough to bring him some new ones. He felt disgusting.

“Liam, come out. We have things to discuss,” she sang from the other side of the door. She sounded happy and carefree. He sighed, knowing she’d expect an answer. He stood on the other side of the door and replied.

“Just coming.”

He ran his trembling fingers through his wet hair. He needed to compose himself, to calm down. The anxiety that made his gut churn threatened to swallow him whole, how did he get in this situation? It was the words he repeated to himself everyday but he didn’t have a different answer now. It was always the same- that crazy woman decided she’d wanted him and so she had him and now? Now, he was trapped.

When he stepped back into the motel room, Abby was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at Liam.

“You look better. You smell better, too; maybe I should let you shower more often,” she said so casually that it was like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just forced him into having sex with her. How different it would be if he had done that to her. She’d cry rape, and he’d be banged up quicker than a melting snow cone in hell.

She patted the space beside her on the bed. “Come on, we have a lot to talk about.” He hesitated, how could he not. He didn’t want to sit beside her, hell, he didn’t even want to be in the same room as that harpy witch, but he didn’t have a choice so he sat. She wasn’t the type to let things go. She’d file it away and have him commit some depraved act later.

He kept some modicum of space between them. He wasn’t willing to touch her again so soon. Abby tore the distance away and leaned into his body. It made him fucking sick. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We still have to deal with Dave,” she said, her breathy tones making his body tingle. He wondered when this was going to come up. “We can’t afford to have him around any longer. You know that, right? You know he’s only going to stand in our way.” She placed her hand on his back and rubbed in gentle circles. He swallowed the frog that’d become lodged in his throat.

He nodded weakly, his mind still drowning in a lake of shame. How could he think about Dave right now? He couldn’t think about anything at all. If she wanted to talk about killing someone, how about they start with her? Abby was almost entirely responsible for Liam’s situation, but he didn’t think she’d take too kindly to that topic being breached.

She smiled, her hand moving around and resting on his thigh. She gripped him hard like steel. “Good. I knew I could count on you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Before

He’d killed Ralph. He couldn’t quite believe such violence had been borne from his hands. As he sat on the edge of his bed, he stared at the cooling corpse as his hands trembled in his lap. His hands and fingers were sticky with blood- Ralph’s blood. The room around him felt smaller than before, and it was working against him, contracting to bring him closer to Ralph’s body.

He didn’t know how long he had until he had to wake his mom up. He knew he needed to, but his body wouldn’t move. He was frozen to the spot, suffocating under the weight of his guilt.

Looking down at the floor, his threadbare carpet was stained a dark, wet red underneath Ralph’s body. He questioned how much blood a human body contained. Ralph- who had tormented him for months, was now dead. Ding dong, the witch is dead. Why did he feel guilty for hurting someone that hurt him night after night. He tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t leave him, a cloak of darkness that engulfed his body.

His chest was tight, achingly so. The house was deathly silent; nothing moved except for the sound of the old clock in the hallway, ticking toward his demise. Liam might be young, but he knew all about the consequences. He’d killed someone. He knew there were going to be a lot of questions to answer. He tried to make sense of his actions- how he was able to gather the mental strength to kill a man, why his mother hadn’t awoken to his screams, how Ralph was dead. He had no answers to the questions. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the blood.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

And now he needed to go wake his mother up and admit to what he’d done. The thought of it made him sick. The words he’d have to say choking him. A sob caught in his throat, tears that wouldn’t come, his mother wouldn’t protect him, it was painfully obvious.

He was alone.

But he had to get out of there.

How on earth could he stay in that apartment and face what he’d done. He’d be annihilated. His mother would wake up, see what he’d done, and reality would come crashing down. He needed to disappear, go somewhere where he wasn’t recognized, and lie low for a while. He couldn’t allow the nightmare to capture him. Hadn’t Liam been through enough? The trouble was- his feet wouldn’t move; they were rooted to the spot.

His body was like stone. He knew that he should be running right now but he didn’t know where to. Should he go to Jimmy’s house…no he couldn’t, there was no way he was dragging his best friend into this situation. His family had been nothing but kind to him, he couldn’t repay them with the police hammering on their door at breakfast time.

Liam needed to move. He slapped himself hard over the face, the sting shocking him into action. He was free now. Ralph was out of the picture; he needed to start acting like it. That man was never going to touch or hurt him again. He couldn’t pin him down and make him feel small and powerless. He was never going to rape him again. No one was ever going to rape him again.

Liam was finally free.

So why, then, did it not feel like freedom? The blood on Liam’s hands felt heavier than anything he’d ever carried. He could hear his mother stirring in the other room- he needed to make his escape now. He had to leave before she discovered the body, the knife, the blood, and Liam.

He wiped his bloody hands down his shirt, smearing the fabric in crimson swirls. He was scared. He was only a boy. A boy who had killed a man. A boy who had taken his own life in his hands, his own survival, and defended himself, but that didn’t change what he’d done. Would he ever be able to escape what he’d done?

Liam left his room and tip toed to the apartment door. He avoided the creaky floorboard outside the sitting room. He didn’t want to alert his mom to his presence though, he doubted she’d care. She was very rarely around for him anymore. He opened the door and escaped, running until his lungs ached and legs burned. He reached the edge of the forest, sunlight drifting through the branches like a beacon.

Liam was terrified, not because of what he’d done but the world out there, he was alone. Truly alone for the first time in his life. Anyone could hurt him out here, he didn’t have a roof over his head protecting him.

Liam was fodder for anything, and that scared him more than the corpse cooling in his bedroom.

What had he done?

Chapter Fourteen

The Leaky Ladle was alive with the rhythmic noise of knives chopping. He’d personally come to know the place as the flesh kitchen because that’s what it was. He’d never seen so much meat. He was disgusted at how much flesh could be reused after the victim expired. Although the restaurant itself was luxurious, the kitchen was anything but painted a dull grey and stained over the years with grease and something else…something Liam had come to be well acquainted with- blood.

Looking at the other victims, ahem, chefs, he noticed they also had that same dull look behind their eyes. Although they worked and did as they were told, there was nothing left upstairs. In the mind, they were gone. Spending years in this nightmare land had taken its toll on their mental health. They were like zombies, but without the shuffling gait and necrotising flesh.

Liam stood in front of his station and stared down at his hands, staring down at the slab of meat oozing blood onto his chopping board. He’d been tasked with creating a dish, but it was impossible to look past the dismembered torso bleeding over everything. It came from the most recent arrival- a woman that Abby had killed a few days ago, the same day she’d whisked him away to a motel room, coerced him into sex, and plotted to kill Dave.

Abby was a busy woman. A crazy, fucked up psychopath. But, a pretty one.

He tried not to think about who she was as he sliced the flesh off her body with the cleaver held shakily in his hand. He took each strip of meat and took it over to the grill, flipping it until it was cooked perfectly, as if it were some high-end establishment and not some meat farm. It made Liam’s skin crawl.

He looked across the kitchen at Marco, someone he’d gotten close to, someone that had a similar backstory, a similar wish to leave but none of the motivation to do so. He’d spent eight years as chef of The Leaky Ladle, one of the first to be captured under Abby’s tutelage. They secretly talked, breaking rule number one- no communication with the other hostages. Macro was busy preparing what looked like tenderloin, the same cuts taken from the woman downstairs. Her body had been processed- she was no different than livestock- turned into tender cuts, ready to be served to those who could pay for it.

Tonight, though, Liam had a special order.

Abby stood in the threshold between the kitchen and the restaurant. He could feel her eyes on him, piercing, devious. The kitchen was hectic but she still took a moment to intimidate him. Looking up, she had that knowing smirk on her face, the one that spoke of two people in cahoots. They weren’t in cahoots; Liam had been forced into agreeing to kill Dave for Abby.

She’d warned him about the need for compliance, especially tonight. Tonight was special, not only because of what he was serving, but because of the man that’d come to dine. He’d paid an obscene amount of money for the privilege.

Liam swallowed hard, the heart in front of him appearing to pulse in time with his rising pulse. Placing it on the hot skillet, it sizzled and hissed, spitting fat and blood in his direction. Liam would say that he couldn’t stand the smell, but annoyingly, his body was getting used to it. He hated it. The visions bombard him of the woman’s face as he stabbed into her and extracted her heart. He was the biggest bastard to live.

He seared it on each side, exactly to the customer’s specifications. He was on autopilot, plating it up, presenting it in an appealing way. He felt like he was outside of his own body, looking down at his own hands, preparing the forbidden flesh with precision.

Abby approached him, her heels clicking and clacking with every step. Dressed to impress, she braced herself on his workstation. “Ready, Liam, your dish is up next.” Liam guessed it was now or never.

“I want to take it out myself. I want to give it the personal touch.” His grip remained firm on the silver serving plate, knuckles turning white. He refused to let the plate go; he needed this. Abby could go fuck herself if she thought she’d get the upper hand here.

“Fine. You better be polite, Mr Mullholland is our best customer. Make it good and don’t let me down. He’s expecting a masterpiece.” She pinned him with her most lethal stare, making it implicitly clear who had the bollocks in this arrangement.

“Yes Ma’am.”

Liam wiped his bloody hands down his apron and carried the plate to the restaurant doors. Abby put a hand on his bicep, the rigid muscle tensing at her penetrating touch.

“Don’t let me down. You know what happens when people disobey my orders.” Abby looked worried. For the first time, she looked genuinely panicked at what Liam may or may not do. Good. Let her worry.

Because finally, Liam did not give a fuck what Abby thought about his behaviour.

“Abby, what are you doing?” Dave bellowed from the basement door. He was coated head to toe in blood. Their new guest. Dave fixed her with a stare of his own. The big man didn’t look happy.

“Nothing, Dave. I’m just warning little old Liam here, to mind his manners in front of our guests. He needs to remember his place.”

“Well, you don’t need to be hanging off the merchandise, do you. He’s meat, simple as.”

Simple as.

That settled it.

Liam nodded, as though his head was replaced by that of a pigeon. He swallowed, shirking Abby’s hand off his still smarting arm and pushed through the heavy metal doors to the restaurant. His footsteps felt heavy, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Stepping into the dining room, he was taken aback by the lavish surroundings. Beautiful black damask wallpaper, wood paneling, and gentle lighting made his heart skip a beat. It was nothing like the kitchen, and worlds away from the basement where humans were captured and killed like livestock. It was all sophistication in the front and hellish depravity in the back. The two images didn’t compute. Abby and Dave were running a literal meat market.

The dining room was busy. Every booth and table were occupied, the sound of clanging crockery, gentle laughter and hushed discussions surrounded Liam on both sides. The esteemed clientele ate without a care in the world.

How could they? Didn’t they know the murder and slavery that went on in the background while they enjoyed a nice night out? Did they know and just not give a damn. Liam was sickened by the thought.

At the far end of the dining room sat a gentleman on his own. No date, no female companion, this was a man that was confident eating alone. Older, well dressed, his grey hair slicked back and round spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. This, indeed, was a man that knew what he wanted. As Liam got closer to the booth, Mr Mulholland looked up and met his gaze with the kind of predatory hunger that could only be witnessed in establishments like this. This man was no ordinary diner. This was no ordinary restaurant.

This was a man who craved the forbidden.

Smiling, Liam set the plate down in front of Mr Mulholland. He bowed slightly as the gentleman examined the delicacy.

“No, Abby tonight. No, Dave?” He spoke with razor-sharp precision. There were no polite inflections. It was straight to the point. This man didn’t fuck about.

“Abby asked me to bring this out to your table.” Liam smiled; it didn’t reach his eyes. It was as fake as the persona Abby exuded to all of these diners.

The man stared at him, trying to work out what he was really saying. He was right in thinking that there was an ulterior motive for Liam’s actions. He needed only one chance.

“She trusts me. She shouldn’t because as soon as i can find a moment, I’ll be out of here. She can’t keep me locked up here forever.”

The gentleman looked around the diner with a raised brow. He cleared his throat, picked up his napkin and placed it on his lap.

Casting his gaze back to Liam, he saw something truly dark. Maybe even darker than Abby’s need to kill.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear boy.” Mr Mulholland picked up his knife and fork and began to cut into the still bleeding heart.

“What do you mean, you don’t know what I’m talking about- what do you think you’re about to dig into? A cow’s heart, a horses? It’s fucking human, you piece of shit. Are you aware of the process of getting any of these meals on your plates,” Liam shouted, turning around and yelling at the other diners. “They torture us, kill us, what for, so that you sick fucks can get your kicks out of eating human flesh?”

Liam tugged at his hair in frustration, not fully understanding why none of the diners were running for the hills. Why hadn’t they looked shocked?

Everyone laughed. His stomach fell away from his body, his heart near stopped and yet he was angry, consumed by a fit of rage. How fucking dare they find this funny? This was their lives and they laughed it away like it was nothing.

“Boy!” Mr Mullholland yelled, getting Liam’s attention. He turned around, looking down into his booth, fixing him with a gaze of his own. “We are all fully aware of what goes on in here. I pay to make sure this place exists. I pay a lot of money to make sure it remains an exclusive club, so if you don’t mind, get back in the kitchen where you belong and prepare more steaks, my friends are hungry.”

The world tilted beneath him. The confession- spoken so freely rocked everything Liam knew about the world. He admitted to it so carelessly that Liam had thought he’d been hearing things. Surely no human being would admit to such atrocities.

“Bankrolled this whole thing…” the man had said, dripping with pride. “This place, the basement, because men like me, want something real.”

Men with power, men with money. Men who craved something far darker than the world could provide.

This man- the one sitting in front of him, enjoying his grotesque meal- wasn’t just a customer. He was the reason this place existed. He was the reason Abby had dragged him down into this hell.

“Do you know how much people pay for a meal like this? “The man continued, his tone conversational, as though they were just two men talking about the latest football scores. He wiped the side of his mouth with a silk napkin, blotting the blood that had gathered there. “The exclusivity of it is what sells. Only the richest, the most depraved…they pay millions just for a night here, and you, boy…” His gaze sharpened, piercing him like a knife to the heart. “Are part of something grand.”

The room swirled around him, heat spreading everywhere. He felt dizzy and sick, he thought he was going to pass out, fall to the floor like a weakling. The laughing from the patrons rushed into his ears like a pulsing drumbeat, and he couldn’t breathe or make sense of the bigger picture. His mouth was like sandpaper.

In the distance, he could make out Mr Mulholland continuing his little speech. “You should be proud. You’re part of a legacy now. Part of something most people couldn’t even comprehend.” He paused and smiled. “But you know that, don’t you.”

He didn’t respond, he couldn’t. His mouth was dry, and his mind was like a sieve. He didn’t want to accept this truth, just like he’d never wanted to accept his fate. But now, he had to. With a system that was built from the ground up by money, prestige and cannibalism, what could someone like Liam actually do.

He was a tiny cog in a much larger machine.

Abby approached him with a dissatisfied look carved into her face.

“Come, Liam, you’ve got more soup to make.”

Chapter Fifteen

Abby’s nails dug into Liam’s skin as she dragged him through the kitchen and down into the basement. She was angry. She remained silent but her body language spoke a thousand words.

The basement seemed colder than usual; the scent of rot still as familiar as putting on a pair of socks. It was almost comforting- although the nature of this place had changed, the rot was still a constant.

Abby’s silence was terrifying. The woman always had something to say- a cold remark, a scathing insult, a taunt to keep him off balance. This was new and it made him panic. If he could only get her to speak, then he could cope with whatever was to come. The pulse in his ears drowned everything else out. She pushed him into the center of the room. Letting go of Liam, she put her hands on her hips and looked at him. With a subtle shake of her head, she fell to her knees.

Her big blue eyes looked up at him as she deftly undid his pants button. She unzipped him without a word. Again, he could feel himself harden, pissed off that she was eliciting this reaction from him again. What the fuck did she have over him? Why did his traitorous dick react like this every time she touched him? He hated her, fucking hated her.

She pulled out his cock and held it in her hand, the blood rushing into the flesh as she thumbed the tip. Pre cum spilled out. He bit his lower lip, hard. He sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh until he could taste blood. It was cathartic.

She stroked him up and down, Liam hardening with every stroke. Somehow, she’d come to know exactly what turned him on. She was deliberate with every movement. It was almost too much to bear. Almost.

She looked up at him once more and then took his length in her mouth. The heat was both searing and exquisite. He didn’t want to hold back. Maybe Liam should take from her what she’d taken from him. Maybe he should skull fuck her to the point that she couldn’t breathe, pushing forward until she suffocated on his dick, kill the bitch.

Tit for tat.

Very quickly, the heat dissipated. He looked down at his cock, now flaccid, and at Abby, who was currently bent double, vomiting into a nearby drain. Chunks of food poured forth; it wouldn’t stop. Just when Liam thought she was done, more would fly from her throat. She was positively green.

He stood there for several moments, just watching her vomit. It finally stopped. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at him. She was furious. Her fists clenched in her lap, her eyes blazing, she opened her mouth to speak. “When was the last time you showered? If I’d wanted a mouthful of smegma, then I’d blow some homeless guy on the streets.”

Smegma? Oh shit, the last time he’d showered was at the motel. Although Abby told him he could shower, they worked him to the point of complete exhaustion. Personal hygiene hadn’t really been a consideration. All he was trying to do was survive. Each and every day.

“The motel.” He shrugged his shoulders like they were talking about the weather.

“The motel? But that was days ago. Haven’t you showered since then? That was fucking disgusting,” she yelled in his face as she pushed herself to her feet. She poked a well-manicured fingernail in his chest. “Don’t you have any god damned respect? Don’t you appreciate what I’ve done for you? How I’ve kept you alive all this time. How I shower you with affection, keep you safe from the others?” Her face turned a vibrant shade of red. She was mad. Mad as hell.

He stared blankly at her. To say he was confused was the biggest understatement of the century. “Protected me from the others? Well, I’m confused. What exactly have you protected me from?” He moved forward, invading Abby’s space, she moved backwards, an unsure look on her face. He backed her into a corner. “You flayed me, made me eat the flesh of another victim, cooked ungodly meals for your freak house of a diner, and sexually assaulted me. Do I need to go on?”

Liam felt strong. It was a feeling that was alien to him, but he couldn’t allow this crazy bitch of a woman to spout untruths right in front of his face. She had a set of balls; he’d give her that. But Liam had bigger ones. She was such a gaslighting bitch that she should be on the devil’s employee list.

“It could’ve been a lot worse. Dave is capable of a lot more. He did a lot more to me than what I’ve done to you. He doesn’t know that I favour you and you’d do well to realize that under my protection you are relatively safe. Yes, I have my fun, but you haven’t died, right?”

He hasn’t died.

Well, that’s really up to interpretation. He hadn’t died in the sense that his heart had stopped, his lungs had failed to take in breath, and his brain had stopped all operations. But he was slowly dying inside. Every day he spent in this hellhole was stripping the side of Liam that was kind and compassionate. It was killing the side of him that cared how other people felt. It was stripping away his humanity, and it killed him to realize it.

“You’re just a bitch that manipulates her hostages for fun. There’s no protection here. There never has been,” he growled into her face. Grinding his teeth, he tried to fight back the urge to assault her- see how she liked it, knowing her though, the sick fuck she was, she’d probably enjoy it.

She slapped him. Hard. Had he spoken those last words aloud? He couldn’t be sure, but then, he couldn’t really be sure about anything in this place anymore. The slap stung, heat spreading into his cheek with the impact. She had a nerve; he’d only spoken the truth. It’s true what they say- the truth fucking hurts.

She raced away, her heels clicking on the steel steps as she ran hurriedly away. What was he to do now? Just wait here, like he was her little pet again. Screw that. This wasn’t a game that was run by a little puppet on a tricycle. He couldn’t escape- the only door leading upstairs to the kitchen. If he could find a weapon, then maybe he could surprise her on the way down. What could he use, though? A broken tile from the wall, the chains used to secure the hostages, or his bare hands? “Argggggh.” His mind screamed at him with the indecision.

Abby returned soon after those panicked thoughts, but she wasn’t alone. Marco followed her down the steel steps, his head bowed. His kitchen acquaintance couldn’t look him in the eye. What the hell was this? Why did she need Marco? It was also very telling that she hadn’t brought Dave into this. Why exactly was that? Why didn’t she want to include the big man in this? Was crazy Abby scared of him?

“Marco, you know what to do.” Abby turned on her heel and walked back up the stairs toward the kitchen. She left the door open.

Marco moved toward Liam, his eyes unmoving. He looked at him but never really saw him. He was following instructions. That much was clear. He grappled with Liam’s body; he tried to fight back, but Marco was bigger and stronger. His hands gripped his arms and wrestled him over to the brick wall. He fought, trying to push Marco away. The bigger man punched him in the nose, blood immediately rushing out of his nostrils. The pain exploded into his eye sockets, making them water.

From that point onwards, it was easy to wrestle Liam into the restraints. His vision went cloudy. Was this to be his new place in the diner? Had Abby had enough of him pushing her boundaries. Good. He was glad he was getting to her.

“I’m sorry, bud,” Marco said as he walked away, up towards the light and cacophony of the kitchen.

He didn’t blame Marco. Like him, he was only following orders. He closed his eyes and tried to think of happier times but opened them when he realized that he didn’t have many of those.

Abby returned with a metal container with a funnel. Steam rose from the opening. Whatever it was, it was hot.

“You’re weak, Liam. You thought that prank would get you somewhere. You’re nothing but a scared little boy. I thought maybe you had some light in you, after everything…but no, you’re just a useless piece of meat.”

Standing in front of Liam, she pulled out his cock again, it thickening in her hands. He swore under his breath. She pulled the lid off the container, revealing what was inside. Thick, creamy, yellow cheese. Melted cheese.

“I’ve got to keep you in line, Liam,” she said, mockingly sweet now as though she was now his friend. “You forget who’s in charge. You forget who made you what you are.”

She held his cock tightly in her hand. Too tight. He squirmed against the restraints, hoping that he could escape, but the chains held him fast.

“Stop moving,” she snapped, her voice sharp and commanding. “Or this will hurt more than it needs to.”

He didn’t believe her. This was going to hurt like a motherfucker, no matter which way you looked at it. His muscles tensed, his breath hitching, and every nerve was on edge. Abby’s cruel smile spread wider as she picked up the ladle she’d dropped to the floor as she cradled his cock in her hands.

She dipped it into hot cheese, steaming like hot magma. She lifted it slowly, deliberately, letting the molten cheese drip back down with a sickening hiss.

And then, without hesitation, she poured it.

The pain was immediate, blinding- a heat that seared through his entire body. His scream tore through the entire basement, shaking the walls. It was the sound of a man who had been pushed to the brink of his sanity. His mouth felt like it’d tear from the seams. His throat was red and raw from his cries. His body convulsed, the muscles in his groin spasming uncontrollably as the burning agony spread.

The molten cheese clung to his skin, spreading downwards past the foreskin and sticking to the sensitive flesh underneath.

He was going to pass out.

“Remember, Liam, every time you think about defying me or trying to escape, know that I’ll always have a vat of cheese for your pathetic member. Maybe next time, you should just take all the pleasure I’m willing to give you.” She touched the side of his face, gentle and comforting. “Surely it’s better than this.”

She was satisfied, but Liam…Liam couldn’t comprehend the agony he was in. Each second turned into an eternity. He mumbled, but all that came out was a garbled mess. “And fucking shower next time; I deserve more than a cheese-ridden dick in my mouth. It was supposed to be something nice for the both of us, but instead, you force your smegma-ridden meat stick into the back of my throat.”

Abby stood there for a moment longer, savouring his suffering before she finally stepped back, leaving him trembling in his restraints.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, her voice filled with contentment.

He fucking despised her.

Chapter Sixteen

Before

Liam moved through the dense thicket of trees, his body a haze of pain and exhaustion. The trees loomed ahead of him, like skeletal fingers trying to grab at his body. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of wet soil and decay. Every step he took seemed to echo around him. The sound of crows cawing, twigs snapping, and the wind howling scared him out of his skin.

He could hear the distant hum of sirens. Could it be the police already? Had his mom woken up and discovered Ralph’s corpse? He ran as he heard voices talking into radios. Police combing the area? They were looking for him, and they wanted to talk to him about Ralph. Liam knew what that really meant. They weren’t really looking for answers. They wanted someone to blame and would want this one cleaned up immediately.

Running through the bush, his feet becoming entangled in overgrown thorns and tree roots, he lost his balance. He threw his hands out to brace his fall, the impact jarring his wrists. His heart pounded in his chest, the images of Ralph’s body reverberating, clawing at the edges of his mind. The blood, the screams, the shock. The horror of what he’d done as a nine-year-old boy. It had been self-defense, hadn’t it? Ralph had deserved it, hadn’t he? He’d raped him, drugged him night after night. That didn’t matter, did it? The only thing that mattered was running.

As his mom always said- the past would always catch up with you, one way or another. This time, it’d come for Liam in the form of flashing lights and uniformed officers. They wouldn’t care about the details; they wouldn’t see the broken boy underneath all the bloodstains.

No, the woods were his only refuge, but even here, he couldn’t escape the sounds of his own thoughts. It was all beginning to press down on him like a vice. What the hell would he do when he was caught? Tell the truth or lie?

Tell the truth

Or

Lie.

The voices were closer, and the search party spread out, covering a larger area. He had to move to keep going, but the pain in his legs was overwhelming. He was confused, lost in the fog of his own mind.

He had no idea where he was going or where he’d hide. He was disorientated, and the woods seemed endless. Every turn he’d taken led him into a blur of trees and brush. Every winding path looked the same. He couldn’t return to his mom, allowing her to put him in this situation again. He couldn’t face the police and what he’d done to Ralph.

A twig snapped nearby, the sound sending a jolt of panic through Liam’s small body. He dropped to the ground, crawling toward a tree that could hide him. Its thick trunk was the best hiding place this place offered. The flashlight beam loomed closer, flickering through the trees like a ghostly eye, searching.

“Over here,” the voice called out, and Liam’s blood turned to ice.

He scrambled to his feet, his body acting instinctually, pushing through the underbrush in a blind panic. Branches clawed at his skin, his clothes tearing as he gained purchase on the muddy earth. He could hear them behind him, the officers closing in, they’re heavy footfalls close behind him. He dared not look, but the sound of their frantic voices made him aware of their proximity.

But as he gained speed, so did the overwhelming tidal wave of memories. They surged, threatening to drown him. Every breath is a struggle, every movement painful. Ralph’s face twisted with rage, the weight of the man pinning him to the bed, his rough member being forced into his anus, the warmth of Ralph’s blood as he stabbed again and again.

He stumbled, catching his foot on an upturned tree root, sending him to the ground. Pain shot through his leg and ankle, but he forced himself to crawl, pure adrenaline taking over.

“Come on, son, the fight’s over. Let’s take you someplace warm and hear what you have to say. Sound good?”

Nine-year-old Liam sat in a cold, sterile room at the police station, his too-small frame swallowed by the metal chair. His legs barely reached the floor. Across him, two detectives sat—one male and one female. They were slightly disheveled and tired. Liam wondered if that was because they’d been chasing him all morning.

They were playing good cop, bad cop. The female detective, who he now knew as Ms Cavendish, was softer, gentler, kind of like a mother—just not his. The other, Mr Smith, bore a hardened expression, flicking through crime scene photos that Liam wanted no part of—photos of Ralph, of what Liam had done.

“Liam,” the kind-eyed detective said, leaning in a little closer. Her voice was gentle, kinder. “Can you tell us what happened last night? We just want to help you; we know this is hard.”

His mouth was dry. He didn’t know what to say. Sat beside him was a designated adult from protective services. His mom was neither fit nor able to sit with him. It told him all he needed to know about his mom’s feelings toward him. It hurt, that she was still choosing Ralph over Liam. He shouldn’t be surprised.

The other detective, the one with the photos, cleared his throat and glanced at the photos spread out in front of him. “Liam,” he said, his tone all business like. “We know Ralph wasn’t a good person. We know he hurt you. But we need to hear it from you. We need to understand what happened.”

Why were they treating him like he was the victim? He’d hurt someone. He’d killed a man. He didn’t deserve the compassion they were giving him. The memories of Ralph’s weight on top of him, his stale cigarette breath, his cruel words- they haunted him. He could hear his mother’s slurred voice in the other room, too far gone to care.

“I didn’t mean to,” Liam finally whispered, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t want too… I just wanted it to stop.”

The kind detective leaned in even closer. “It’s okay, Liam, just tell us what happened. We’re here to help.”

His eyes welled up, but he kept going, needing to get it out, finally. “He- he was on me. He was hurting me again. I knew he’d come up to my room and do it again. I stashed a knife under my pillow. I just needed it to stop. And I just…”

His voice broke, a sob catching in his throat. He clutched at his chest, trying to stop the flood of emotions from pouring out, but it was useless. The tears came unbidden.

“I didn’t mean to kill him!” Liam cried, his voice cracking. “I just wanted him to stop…to stop raping me every night. I didn’t want him to drug me anymore…I just…I”

The kind detective put a hand on his shoulder but Liam flinched from the touch. He wasn’t used to the kindness, didn’t know how to accept it.

“It’s okay, Liam,” she said softly. “You’re not in trouble for this. We know you were protecting yourself. We just needed to understand why.”

The other detective looked through his notes and the images. His face hardened further as he pieced together the puzzle pieces. Liam’s life- the drugs, the neglect, the years of abuse at the hands of Ralph and his mom. It was all there in the police reports, in the statements from the neighbours who’d looked the other way for too long.

Liam wiped at his face, trying to stop the tears, but they just kept coming. He hated this. Hated being here, hated having to relive it. “I… I didn’t mean to kill him,” he repeated, his voice much quieter now, broken. “I just wanted him to stop hurting me.”

The detectives exchanged a glance. They’d heard enough. They knew the story- Ralph had been a monster, and they knew that what happened last night hadn’t been murder. It had been survival.

Over the coming weeks and months, Liam had been charged officially with manslaughter. It was a mere process. The courts had to go through the motions. The defence lawyers, the psychologists, even the prosecutor- everyone knew where this would end. The case was publicised, sparking a furious debate about child abuse and the failure of the system to protect children like him.

It didn’t take long for the charges to be dropped. Liam was exonerated, his actions deemed justifiable, a response to horrific abuse no one should have to endure. They called him a victim, a survivor. It didn’t feel right to him.

He didn’t feel like a survivor. He didn’t feel like a victim. He felt like a murderer.

Chapter Seventeen

Abby had let him out of the basement. He walked with a limp – the pain in his dick still horrific. He’d been allowed to wash with lukewarm water and a dirty old rag. He supposed he should be grateful that he’d been able to clean out the congealed cheese from his cock. The third-degree burns, though- there was no getting rid of those.

She’d told him to come to the kitchen when he cleaned up. Back to work, back to the flesh kitchen. Abby had a way of keeping him chained when she wanted to break him further; this time, she sealed his fate. He was a goner.

He walked into the kitchen, and the usual clatter of pots and pans, chatter, arguing- it was all gone. Liam was met with nothing but eerie silence. It was so unusual that he looked around himself, trying to see if he’d been tricked.

It was far worse than he feared.

His eyes adjusted to the light, and his stomach completely bottomed. That’s when he saw them.

The kitchen staff- all of them, were all dead.

Their bodies were slumped over the counters, propped up against walls, their throats cut, their intestines proud of their bodies, tied around their throats, asphyxiating them. Their eyes were wide with terror. Although they all knew their end could come at any time, seeing it in the flesh was another thing entirely.

Blood pooled on the floor, the walls, over utensils, and the stoves. At one point, Liam would’ve cried and collapsed to the floor, but now he’d become numb to it all. Abby and Dave had desensitised him to the depravity. Only one odour made him take stock- the smell of cooked flesh.

He took a step back. None of this made sense- he’d only been in the basement for a few hours. Only long enough for Abby’s usual torment, but not this…. not this massacre.

The door to the dining room opened, and there stood Abby. Her blonde hair was harshly tied back, and she was wearing one of the chefs’ aprons, already soaked in blood. She smiled when she saw him, a smile that made Liam’s blood cool. Behind her, Dave was lurking, his hulk-like frame filling the doorway. He had a matching grin carved into his face—this was not good news.

Not at all.

Abby wiped her hands on her apron, looking over the carnage, like an artist impressed with their own work. “We decided to clean house a bit,” her voice teased, laughter creeping through at the edges. “Too many mouths to feed, too many eyes watching and waiting to pounce.”

Abby and Dave had killed everyone. He stared at the bodies, the people he’d worked with, begun to care about, wanted to protect. They were all gone.

“Why?” Liam croaked.

Abby’s smile almost reached the ceiling. She touched his cheek with a blood-smeared hand. “Because, my darling, we need tonight to be special. Just the three of us.” She paused, glancing at Dave, then back at Liam. “No distractions. No loose ends. Just us…and a little flesh to share.”

She gestured to the dining room. “I’ve set it all up. A private booking, just me and Dave. And you, of course, to cook for us. You wouldn’t disappoint me, would you, Liam?”

Bile rose at the back of Liam’s throat, burning every bit of tissue it touched. He wanted to scream, wanted to pick up a knife and embed it into her face. Over and over, he’d carve up the tender flesh. He wanted to see her fall to the ground, a mess of blood and pulped-up flesh.

That isn’t what he did.

His eyes instead darted to Dave, that same predatory grin on his face, clutching a butcher’s knife. He’d fared significantly better after the massacre- only covered in a small amount of blood splatter compared to Abby’s baptism.

Watching Dave and Liam exchange looks, Abby let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, Liam. We’ve already picked out the courses tonight. It’s already going to go to the kitchen. All fresh ingredients.” Her voice turned colder. “You just need to prepare it.”

The kitchen. Of course. They’d already butchered the meat. All Liam had to do was follow the recipes and cook them perfectly. Fuck, he was the sole chef in the flesh kitchen. He’d done it before, right? What could possibly go wrong.

Chapter Eighteen

Liam knew what Abby was up to. It was all a part of the plan she’d concocted that night in the motel. He’d agreed, of course, he had, to what’d happen next. He had no choice. Getting rid of Dave benefited them all. But killing all the other captives hadn’t been in the game plan at all. Abby had tricked him. There’d been no mention of killing everyone else. He was sickened by it all.

Tirelessly, he prepared a three-course meal for Abby and Dave. He knew what he was doing, but without the other chef acting as sous chef, it took so much longer. He could hear Abby’s seductive laughter and the gentle inflections of a man who thought he was on a promise. They were waiting—waiting for him. Waiting for their “romantic” meal, the flesh of their dead hostages that they’d killed, Liam had carved, seasoned, and served up.

He couldn’t do this anymore. The abuse, the torture, Abby asking him to jump and him like the meek boy, he still was said how high.

Liam picked up their starters and took them out to them in the dining room. Their laughter stopped when they saw him moving towards them. Dave’s face lit up—the man was a monster; his frame told the whole story about how much he loved the food here. He’d dined on human flesh for way too long.

Putting Abby’s plate down in front of her, she smiled. Genuinely. It took Liam back for a moment. Abby rested a hand on his, a silent question being asked. Yes, he knew what to do. Yes, he was going to do what he was told. Dave didn’t witness the exchange, too engrossed in devouring the steak that came from Betty’s inner thigh. Blood escaped his mouth, oozing down his chin and dripping onto his shirt. He didn’t love Abby as much as he did his food. That much was abundantly clear.

He pulled his hand away and walked back into the kitchen. The place was a mess, all tangled, dismembered bodies and the detritus of the meals he’d cooked. The disorganisation made his teeth itch.

Knowing the exact tool he needed to get his hands on was tough. He’d been torn between two. Abby had told him to be as creative as he wanted, and boy, would he be. Searching through several cupboards and coming up with nothing made him panic. Had Dave removed it already? Pulling things out of cupboards and shelves with the frenzy of a madman, he finally found the sink- the angle grinder, of course, in the very last place he’d look.

Picking the tool up, the metallic blades glinted in the dim light; Liam felt relieved. With this tool in his hands, no one could hurt him. A tool of destruction.

He could still hear Dave’s laughter; it enraged him that Dave and Abby had treated the others like cattle before slitting their throats. The problem was- they’d been too comfortable for too long, thinking their control over him and the others had been a done deal. Stepping out of line resulted in a stint in the basement. They’d all wanted to avoid that, but Liam was happy to take the risk now. It was a matter of need. He had to escape, by any means necessary.

Liam felt a sense of calm wash over him- it was alien. He’d not felt this at peace for a long time, certainly long before he’d ever stepped foot in The Leaky Ladle. The plan had crystallised in his mind, settling like early morning dew. They wanted a special meal? He’d give them a night they’d never forget.

Abby and Dave sat across from each other, surrounded by the lavishly decorated dining table, two long red candles flickering between them. Dave looked happy, at ease. Abby’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. Everything was coming together. She trusted Liam, she had no reason not to.

When Liam brought out the second course—pan-fried slices of human flesh glazed with a red wine jus, served on a bed of spinach and chanterelle mushrooms—her heart sang. “Liam,” she cooed, “you’ve outdone yourself.” She reached out and stroked his arm as he lowered her plate. Dave didn’t notice, but she no longer cared. Tonight, Dave would be getting his just desserts. “You truly are something special.”

Liam forced a smile, nodding as he turned to leave the room. She stopped him with her next question. “All ready for dessert?” she asked with a raised brow. That was the signal—the signal that things needed to be moved along, that it was time for Dave to meet his end.

He nodded again, daring not to linger. He needed to go and prepare.

Dave hadn’t waited for her to start before tearing into his meal. Abby followed suit, moaning at the delicate taste. She savoured each bite as if it were a delicacy from the finest kitchen in the world.

Dave didn’t see Liam re-enter the dining room, silent and armed with the angle grinder. His eyes penetrated the back of Dave’s head.

The cable stretching out behind him, Liam’s face changed and he charged at Dave. Depressing the power tool’s trigger, he forced it into the back of his head. Blood, bone, and tissue flew everywhere. Dave tried to move, to fight him off but in this moment- Liam was stronger. He was propelled by rage. The feeling of everything that’d been done to him pushed him toward murder. Pushing forward, the tool effortlessly sliced through his skull, revealing the jelly-like substance of his brain.

His screams were something that Liam had wished he could’ve bottled. It was like a balm to his tortured soul. He himself dined out on it. It was like a switch had been flipped. This is what Liam had been craving all along- to make those who had taken him suffer the worst kind of death.

He dropped the angle grinder at his feet and immersed his hands into Dave’s head, cradling his fingers around the textured tissue of his brain and pulled.

Who would’ve thought that the brain could come away from the body that easily.

Did you know that the information in the brain can travel up to three hundred and fifty miles an hour? Impressive, right?

Who also knew that the brain and, as a result, the human body could be extinguished with a slight tug. It took nothing to pull Dave’s brain free of his body. The light in Dave’s eyes blew out immediately, like a bulb blowing from too much power. It was that instant.

He threw his brain against the photograph of the northern lights that was taken on a trip to Iceland a few years ago. Tissue exploded outwards, blood and brain juice running down the frame’s glass, dripping slowly down the walls. Liam was captivated.

Abby was ecstatic. Dave slumped over the dining table, head empty of all those violent thoughts, finally making Liam breathe a sigh of relief. Abby licked her lips.

“You wanted a special meal, didn’t you?” Liam said, almost conversational. He felt a little psychotic like some crucial part of him had broken irrevocably. He phased out. He felt like he was outside of his own body.

He came around to Abby’s side of the table. Leaning down, he put his lips on hers, consensual for the first time. He savoured the taste, the feel of her. He forced his tongue in past her mouth and danced with her tongue. She gave herself over to him willingly.

What a fucking whore!

Pulling away, he stared into her eyes. His face transformed, showcasing all his rage and hurt towards this woman. Her eyes were now full of terror, and she realized what was happening. Too little, too late.

“You always said I wasn’t good enough. That I needed to do more. Be more.” He straightened, walking around the table to Dave. Pulling his body up with the back of his skull, Liam bent down, looking between Abby and Dave’s corpse. “You’ve got the full three courses tonight.”

With one fluid motion, Liam bent down and picked up the angle grinder, switching it on. The deafening roar of the blades filled the room. Abby tried to get out of her chair and run- but Liam was too quick. He dug the blade into her ankle, hacking her foot off at the joint.

Her scream was oh so fucking satisfying.

She sobbed, she screamed, she swore at him. She tried to stem the flow of blood but there was too much, it seeped through her fingers like a dam breaking.

Liam gave her a cold smile. “I learned from the best.”

Now that she was immobilized, he brought the grinder down into her face, sweepingly from the scalp down past the ears, under the chin, and up and around, meeting again at the top of the scalp. She roared, begging him to stop. Choking on her own blood. Her hands reached out and grasped at his t-shirt, coating it further in blood.

“Please st…sto…please stop,” she garbled. Hitting him with a weak fist. Liam ignored her, finalising his cut. Abby’s hand fist fell away, her body now unable to move. The screams stopped; just shallow breathing could be heard from her weak body. She opened her mouth in silent, gasping rasps. “I love you,” she said, each word forced and broken.

Her body convulsed weakly, her face oozing from the cuts he’d made. “I couldn’t give a fuck, you’re messed up, and now you’ll die. He inserted the grinder into the centre of her chest, the blade tearing through bone and flesh, blood spraying upwards like a geyser. It was beautiful, like art. She couldn’t scream- couldn’t move, just wide-eyed, the shock paralysing. Her mouth opened in silent gasps, a futile attempt to breathe.

The blade cut deep, pulling flesh and muscle in jagged strips, her ribs exposed like a gory display. As the blood poured out, so did Abby’s last breath. It was music to his ears.

Why had she been so surprised that he’d kill her, too? She’d been responsible for his torture. When she’d talked about killing Dave for her, the cogs had begun to turn, working out how he could get rid of them both. It was the only way he could be free.

He bent over her dead body and pulled her face away from her skull. Standing up, he held it limply at his side. Liam moved through the dining room, stepping over the bodies of Abby and Dave, his once-white trainers squelching in the pools of blood. The once-white pristine tablecloths were now stained red. The flickering candlelight cast grotesque shadows on the walls, the flames dancing, mocking the massacre that had taken place here tonight. He wasn’t focussing on the massacre now- he needed to get to the office.

He walked through to the bar area, past a bottle of expensive liquor. He reached over the wooden bar and grabbed a bottle of Malt- Glenlivet. He deserved to treat himself after all he’d been through. His movements were mechanical, driven by something he couldn’t quite name- something becoming unearthed in his psyche, something dark and feral that finally been unleashed.

He reached the office door and stepped inside. The air was immediately cooler and quieter. The lamp glowing in the corner didn’t show much but he should be able to find what he was looking for- he hoped. The desk sat in the corner, a cluttered mess of papers, knives, and old coffee mugs that had sprouted some nasty-looking mold on top of the milky substance. He pulled out the top drawer in a fluid motion, rifling through the contents until he laid his hands on what he was looking for.

A staple gun.

He held it in his bloody hands, staring at it, relishing in its weight. It wasn’t just a tool for organising papers together anymore. Tonight, it would become part of his transformation.

Walking into the adjacent bathroom, he stood before the cracked mirror. He looked at the torn man he’d become, thinking about everything that had happened in his life so far- his father being murdered, his mother turning to alcohol and drugs, her bringing Ralph into their lives, Ralph abusing him, raping him, drugging him. Liam murdering Ralph as a nine-year-old boy. Surviving Abby, Dave, and the flesh kitchen. What would be next? It flashed in front of his eyes like a highlight reel.

Liam held up Abby’s face to his own, holding the skin over his features like tracing paper, feeling the cold, wet flesh press into his. Her blood dripped down his neck, soaking his shirt further, but he didn’t care. The revulsion he’d felt previously dissipated. He wasn’t horrified. Finally, he felt powerful.

He felt alive.

With the staple gun in hand, he began to work. Holding Abby’s face in place with his other hand, the first staple clicked into place just above his forehead. A sharp pain rippled through his skin, but it only made him feel more alive. He methodically attached the flayed skin to his own, each staple puncturing the thin flesh with a metallic snap. His movements slow, deliberate, almost loving.

With the final staple in place, Liam stepped back from the mirror, his breathing ragged, his heart thundering in his chest. He stared at his reflection- a grotesque fusion of himself and Abby, a mockery of the woman who had tormented him.

But this was no mockery. This was justice.

The blood-soaked face grinned back at him through the cracked mirror, a horrifying amalgamation of Liam and Abby, the man he’d become and the monster she’d turned him into. His breath fogged the mirror as he leaned closer, his eyes wild. Abby’s face wasn’t a perfect fit- the eyes saggy under his, but it was good enough.

What started as revenge had transformed into a metamorphosis. He wasn’t just taking control of his life- he was becoming the nightmare they’d forced him to live.

And for the first time, he felt whole.

Chapter Nineteen

Before

At nine years old, Liam found himself in a different home- one away from the horrors of Ralph and his drug-addled mother. After the police investigation and subsequent court hearing, he was placed in the care of elderly foster carer, Dorris. She lived in a small, cozy house at the edge of a quiet neighbourhood- worlds away from the apartment he lived in with his mother.

Dorris was gentle, kind, and patient, with silver hair and warm eyes that always seemed to glow with compassion. She moved slowly, her joints stiff with age, but there was nothing frail about her spirit. She had grit and determination, and he’d never doubted that she could make someone cower with a scathing word. She welcomed Liam into her home without hesitation, offering him a roof over his head and safety and something else he’d never experienced before- honest love.

From the first day, she treated him as though he were her own. She cooked meals for him, simple but comforting dishes. He tasted flavours he’d never known existed. It made him feel warm inside. He felt at ease as if he could finally breathe without it hurting. He almost didn’t know how to accept it. He learned how to cook- fresh bread, warming stews, cakes. Liam felt like he was in seventh heaven.

She’d given him something he hadn’t known he was missing- a sense of belonging. They’d sit together on stormy nights and watch trash TV; he didn’t remember what they’d watched, but the feeling it gave him evolved into a core memory. She helped him with his homework, and his grades increased.

Dorris was a balm for his fractured soul. Every day, she reminded him that he was safe now and didn’t have to fight or be afraid anymore. It was an alien feeling.

At night, when the threat of the memories was at its strongest, Liam would listen to Dorris’s footsteps padding down the corridor and take comfort in the fact that nothing and no one could hurt him. Knowing she was there, in the next room, gave him a comfort he hadn’t known he needed.

She never pried into his past, only listened, and if he wanted to divulge anything- she’d be there. Quietly comforting.

For a while, in the warmth of Dorris’s home, he almost believed it.

Epilogue

Liam stood in the centre of the kitchen, surrounded by knives clanging and meat sizzling. But now, the hands forcing the work weren’t that of Abby or Dave. They were his. This was his kitchen now. His domain.

With Abby’s rotting face still grotesquely stapled to his own, Liam moved through the space with a cold sense of purpose. The mask hadn’t just been about taking revenge, maintaining the control he’d fought so hard to take. It was now his identity. He’d inherited much more than the flesh kitchen from Abby and Dave- he’d taken their power, their ruthlessness. But he wanted more.

Gone were the days of that pathetic little nine-year-old worm, Liam allowing Ralph to rape him. Just accepting his fat dick in his ass, trying to scream and cry. That version of him no longer existed. A victim- God, how that term boiled his piss. Liam was no victim. Liam was in fucking charge, and boy, how he fucking loved it.

Liam had learned how power could be carved from flesh, how control was wielded with terror, not compassion. The fear that had once crippled him was now his most useful tool. He was the one who ruled this domain and flesh.

His employees, if you wanted to give them that title, were freshly abducted and promoted from his basement of blood. They reminded him of himself when Abby had broken him and dragged him into this nightmare. He’d been desperate, clinging onto whatever shred of hope he could. Deep down, he was glad he’d made it through, learning from the best and killing them when the time was right. He’d found them in much the same manner as Abby had found him- lurking in dark corners of the city, some preying on the vulnerable, the lost.

Now, they were cogs in Liam’s sick machine.

Mr Mulholland had been more than willing to renegotiate after Abby and Dave’s demise. Liam had learned that money and power spoke louder than anything else. Money talks. Mulholland hadn’t been disturbed by the blood-soaked state of affairs. Despite his grotesque image, he was only interested in the profit, and Liam was now the gatekeeper for that profit.

However, Liam now goes by the name Labby. He liked the ring to it. He liked keeping Abby alive, even in small doses. He suited the transformation; the smell was a little hard to handle, but he’d adjusted.

The meeting with Mulholland had been brief and to the point. He was a pragmatic man. A shrewd investor. He had only one concern- could Labby continue to deliver? Could he maintain the product, the elite secrecy, the exclusivity that turned paying patrons into hungry savages? Labby had nodded, the mask of Abby’s decaying face contorting as his lips curled into a smile beneath the skin.

His new hostages feared him in a way he’d never feared Abby. Labby had become more than a sadist; he was something far worse. The mounting corpses in the basement were a testament to his cold efficiency- he didn’t offer chances like Abby had. One and done, that was his motto.

He watched them work. Labby was a god in this kitchen, and with Abby’s face still clinging to his own- he was invincible.

As each dish went out, he wasn’t just feeding their hunger- he was feeding his own. And with Mr. Mulholland’s money behind him, he was only just getting started.

About the author

Y.M. Miller was born in Glasgow, Scotland.

She is an autistic extreme horror/ splatterpunk author who has written two novellas, ‘You’re Going to Die Here’ and’ There’s Something in Your Mouth.’ Y.M. is married to a man who should know better and is mum to three wolf cubs.

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Table of Contents

- Prologue
- 1. Chapter One
- 2. Chapter Two
- 3. Chapter Three
- 4. Chaper Four
- 5. Chapter Five
- 6. Chaper Six
- 7. Chapter Seven
- 8. Chapter Eight
- 9. Chapter Nine
- 10. Chapter Ten
- 11. Chapter Eleven
- 12. Chapter Twelve
- 13. Chapter Thirteen
- 14. Chapter Fourteen
- 15. Chapter Fifteen
- 16. Chapter Sixteen
- 17. Chapter Seventeen
- 18. Chapter Eighteen
- 19. Chapter Nineteen
- Epilogue
- About the author