Monster Minds [completed]

Chapter 32

"Let the torture and suffering in me end."

- Ronald Gene Simmons, Sr., killed 16 people over a week-long period in in 1987.  Simmons murdered fourteen members of his family, including a daughter he had and the child he had fathered with her, a former co-worker, and a stranger, and wounded four others. Simmons was sentenced to sixteen times, and after refusing to his sentence, was executed by Arkansas in 1990.

Chapter 32

At the door of the prison, Chris Welsh stood, smoke pealing off the barrel of the gun in his hand.

Chris didn't look horrified or disgusted. No—he looked quite proud of himself indeed. Like a young bully, he puffed his chest and held the gun in his hand like a stolen toy. The prison was his playground and we were in his sand pit.

The gunshot had alerted the few guards who were not preoccupied with the brawl in the cafeteria. We were only a few steps away from the car. My hand slipped from Vans' hand. Everything was starting to fall a part.

Vans was staring at the blood pool as it grew across the pavement like mutating bacteria, lips pulled taunt by the bite of his teeth. His hand hovered over the body, quivering ever so slightly, before he cast his eyes away and sighed. Without looking at the body, Vans felt around the pockets of Alexi's jeans. When he withdrew his hand, he too held a gun.

The air shifted as Vans slowly unlocked the safety and hid the gun behind his back. Chris continued to stalk forwards, gun at his side, pointing an accusing finger at Vans and I.

"You! You brought this on yourself!" Chris' neck strained as Vans wrapped his other hand around mine and pulled me backwards.

Chris raised his gun once again, planting a foot in the blood puddle that had continued to grow across the pavement, and aimed at my forehead. Expecting some wild panic to set in, I closed my eyes and attempted to calm my racing heart. Only when I did, it steadily thumbed to a rhythm of tranquillity. Just as I began to wonder how it could be so, Vans' hand tightened around mine.

A gun went off and I waited to feel the pain.

But when the sound of a body slumping, like books pushed off a shelf, reached my ears, I released it wasn't me that the bullet had hit. Chris' body lay at my feet, head blown apart by the bullet that left Van's gun. When the stench of blood and gunpowder filled my nose and the image of pink brain juice engraved inside my mind, I turned and vomited.

I didn't get the chance to process anything that I had just seen before Vans began pulling me to the car. I stared at the bodies on the ground; they didn't look real. I had never seen blood so read, or organs so pink before in my life. It almost looked as if they belonged in a 90's horror movie, not on the grounds of a prison, and certainly not in front of my eyes.

"Emily! We have to go!" Vans shouted, but I could barely hear him. I was still fixated on the scarlet blood painting over the cement.

In the end, Vans was stronger than me and managed to pull me into the car, finding the keys in my pocket. I stared at the dashboard, unable to move or think about what had happened. Everything in my life was so controlled up until that moment; my days planned and scheduled down to the hour. But then death came and uprooted my plans, kicking aside my normal life like water from a puddle. It was easy, effortless.

Vans slid into the drivers seat and shoved the key into the ignition, not a second to spare. He threw something onto my lap and pulled out of the car park, slamming his foot on the accelerator. A gunshot spurred me into action and I quickly pulled my seat belt over my body.

Another gunshot rang through the air, followed by the sound of glass shattering and a scream. Our back windshield was blown open, glass littering my hair like snow. I wrenched myself forwards, cowering with my head in between my legs. When wetness ran down my cheek, I realised that it was me that was screaming. A wave of Dread filled me, slow dancing in my chest with Panic and Shock. I sobbed into my lap and screamed at Vans,