Merry-Go-Round
He could smell the fear, sweet and sharp, even without his ladylove's tender senses. It was thick, twining around his fingers as he reached forward, flexing his nimble joints. Fear and anger solidified from the close air, wispy tendrils of dread, and he relished it. Wesley Wyndham-Price was a master in his element, and the night was yet young. He brushed the hair from his forehead and surveyed his latest canvas.
"Dru, darling, what do you think? Terribly monochromatic as of yet, don't you agree? So pale and wan, needs a little bit to spice it up."
Coiling around his torso, the lady in question slid her slender fingers up his arms to wrap around his shoulders. "Perhaps. He does whimper so nicely, don't you think? Singing pretty songs for me to dance to. Waltzing in Vienna so many years ago, screams of the servants--delicious. Perhaps we can listen for a bit; after all, he was so kind as to invite us in. Weren't you, Mr. Wallace?" She purred a bit and snapped her teeth in the air.
Wes grinned and licked her ear. "Quite. So accommodating. Seems you didn't understand when we said we were associates of Ms. LaSalle, we certainly didn't mean we worked with her." At the bound man's confused blink, he steepled his fingers and elucidated. "Ms. LaSalle works for Social Services. Occasionally she has cases that can't be handled through normal means…" Wallace's eyes widened in comprehension.
Dru clapped her hands in delight. "He understands the game now! How lovely." Swaying a bit to music only she could hear, she wove daintily around the living room. She picked up a photo of a ballet recital from the mantelpiece. She ran one sharp nail down the glass to rest on the face of a young girl, dressed as a fairy. Drusilla narrowed her midnight eyes and hissed. "She danced too, once. But now her music is all stopped, gone like night at dawn." She brought the picture to her lover. "See here, my prince, she's lost her dancing shoes."
Nodding, Wesley kept his eye on the bound man. "Naughty, naughty, weren't you, Mr. Wallace?" The Englishman sighed and fiddled with the instrument in his fingers. "Well, that's a moot issue anyway. Gwen knew, you see; that you were lying. Couldn't prove it, but she knew. Many people who work with people like us get a second sense about things. So when the courts threw the child molestation case against you out for 'technical problems,' she called us. And naturally we were happy to oblige." Drusilla hummed and rubbed her cheek against Mr. Wallace's shoulder.
"He smells of cinnamon and rain. He'll be nummy when the time comes, won't he, love?" She licked up the side of the heavyset man's face, biting down hard on his ear. "But I'm a good girl; I'll wait until my prince is finished. No tasting or I'll find myself in chains."
Wes laughed, "Darling, you'd find yourself in chains anyway." Dru winked coquettishly and flipped her raven hair over her shoulder. "Now, Mr. Wallace, I believe I should be getting serious." He pulled the switchblade from his pocket and opened it with a snick. Dru clapped her hands. "It really is nice that your niece is staying with your sister tonight. Wouldn't want her around for this, the poor child has been traumatized too much for her young years. You, on the other hand, haven't been traumatized nearly enough." He slid the knife through the seam on the crotch of his canvas's pants until there was nothing left but tatters. "Well, well, what have we here?" Wes grinned, showing teeth. "I've been dying to try this since Fred told me all about it. Seems one way to castrate cattle is to band them instead of cutting. More sanitary, and the calves don't seem to mind it much. Funny thing about cattle: they're not very good at giving feedback. I've just been dying to find someone who'll volunteer. When Gwen gave us your name, I just knew you'd be perfect." He rocked back on his heels. He put one thick band on the bander and stretched it tight, clicking the metal lock in place. "From what I hear, you just slip it over the testicles like so… there we go… and let go."
Mr. Wallace let out a strangled squeal around his gag. His face turned purple and he thrashed against his restraints. Dru ran her fingers through his now sweat-matted hair and yanked his head back against the chair. "You really should be still, or Daddy will have to punish you." She frowned. "Is that all it does, make them squirm?"
Wesley tilted his head and fished around on the floor for a notebook. "For the first few minutes, anyway. After that, it causes the blood flow to the tissues to be cut off. Two to three days and the gangrene sets in, which eventually causes them to rot right off. Some ranchers find this to be easier." Mr. Wallace had stopped thrashing and became an even whiter shade of pale. Wes made a few notes in the notepad before continuing. "I'm sure you think that you'll be rescued before then. I'm trying out a new spell too, a Muggle-Repelling charm or something. I got the idea from those delightful Harry Potter books and made my own version. You remember the Harry Potter books, don't you Mister Wallace? You used to read them to your niece. My charm is similar. Any time anyone thinks of you, they remember they should be doing something else. Any time someone walks by the house, it looks as if you're out of town, and whoever it is suddenly remembers they need to walk their dog or wash their laundry. Should work splendidly."
Drusilla licked her incisors and nudged Wes's cheek with her nose. "May I have a little taste? I've been good." Smiling indulgently, Wes rolled Mr. Wallace's arm such that a vein showed and Dru sighed. He ran the blade lightly down the arm, slicing an intricate pattern, and Dru amused herself by licking the welling blood only to watch the pattern reappear in crimson. Wes studied the skin for a moment before slicing away Mr. Wallace's shirt and pants.
"I might as well make a proper canvas out of him while we wait for the banding to take effect. Just think of all the new techniques I've been looking forward to trying out. What a lovely finished piece he'll make. Let's see, I've been wondering what would happen if…" Mr. Wallace's choked screams filled the air, accompanied by Drusilla's light laughter and Wesley's tenor narration.
And so the hours and days passed. The notebook was gradually filled, and one evening, a pair of strangers was seen taking an evening stroll. A neighbor stopped by a few days later to reclaim his missing hedge trimmer and found that not much was left of tattered Mr. Wallace.
~Fin~