PRINCELESS by Cam Jace Storykiller
Copyright©by Cameron Jace 2019
People like Alan don’t die so easily.
With a fork stuck in his throat, he reached for his pocket and pulled something. Venus couldn't see and should have finished him off. But who does what he did? What was that in his hand.
Alan had some kind of a small remote control in the palm of his hand. He still had enough strength to push a button. A Red one.
Vanus watched metallic sheets drape electronically from inside the cafe, closing them both inside.
This was unexpected. Did he know she was coming? Did he expect someone was coming for him after all those years? What happened here before, behind those garage-like sliding doors?
She began to dislike this feeling about herself. Not finishing things. Not sticking blindly to the mission. Surprised at every other new unusual things she comes across. She felt doe-eyes like little children discovering things for the first time.
There was little time for her to escape from under the gliding door, but Alan stopped her with a fork into her chest.
“Shit.” Venus screamed, and elbowed him in the face.
The fork had penetrated her flesh and left a mark already. Slow droplets of blood formed, and she stood shocked and disoriented. Why didn't this go as planned?
The doors had been sealed shut already, drawing darkness into the dim lit room. She had to get her hands on that remote control.
Alan hit her with a pan in the face. A knife in his throat didn't stop him from trying to kill her. She swung sideways, hitting the dressing holder. She couldn’t use it though. There was no room for swinging such a tall instrument. It was like fighting in a bathroom cubicle.
Alan pinned her to the wall, choking her.
She couldn’t get her eyes off his bleeding throat with the knife stuck in it. Hatred filled her eyes. Joy filled his. He loved this thing called torture and killing.
Venus kicked him in the balls. He let out an oomph but didn’t lose his grip on her neck. So she kicked him again.
Some balls, this old man had.
Alan bent forward in pain, bleeding out of his mouth. Venus punched him in the face.
Alan swung back like a marionette with loose arms. One more kick and he would just die, but Venus had to reach into his pants to get out the remote.
He caught her hand halfway, and while bleeding, dying and clearly losing it, he smirked with drooling blood and said, “Don’t touch me there, girl. I’m ticklish.”
“I’ll tickle you to death then,” Venus said and did what she had not been trained to do, nor had it ever crossed her mind.
She squeezed his balls and watched his face go red.
And then colors left him forever.
“Why not just shoot him with a gun,” she mumbled to herself. “Stupid Organization.”
With the controller in her hands, she wondered if Alan’s acquaintances will be waiting for her outside. Was this the only way out?
Stepping on Alan’s corpse she reached for the kitchen's opening in the wall. Not the wisest of moves. What if the cook shot her, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. And later was glad she did.
“Help,” a little girl’s voice wheezed from behind the opening. “I’m trapped.”
Through the opening, Venus saw the cook. A ten-year-old girl, ashen and exhausted, cooking Alan’s crepes.
“He killed my family but said he’d keep me alive if I cooked for him,” The girl said.
“Can’t you get out?” Venus asked, not sure this was part of her mission.
“The door is locked.” The girl pointed to a steel door. “It leads to the alley in the back. Did you kill him? I couldn't see.”
“Don’t worry, he is eating crepe in hell right now, crusty and burned on side,” Venus said, not sure where the lame sarcasm came from. She supposed the Pillar's jokes were a coping mechanism with all the shit he had been through. “I’ll get help.”
“You hang in there.” She was about to leave when she stopped and asked. “You have a name?”
“Vanessa, I heard.”
“No, no,” Venus stuck her heard close to the opening. “My real name is…” then she realized she wasn’t supposed to say. “Vanessa, yes. You’re right. I’ll be back in a minute and get you out.”
“Thank you for killing him, Vanessa,” Rue said. “He was a bad man.”
Exhausted and confused, Venus stepped back over Alan, to reach for the door. She was sweating. Her heart rate had shot to the roof. The fork injury went unremembered in comparison with the short claustrophobic fight she just had. What was that look of hatred and evil — and enjoyment in torture — in Alan's eyes? Did people really possess such darkness?
She trembled, look at the controller in her hand. She pushed the button and watched light seep into the room from the bottom. None of Alan's people waited for her. Just a small crowd of tourist questioning the sounds from inside.
As the world came back to view, she found herself turning back and kicking Alan’s dead corpse again and again and again and…