The raunchy storey building apartment was in the outskirts of Sanda and was surrounded
by palms and hibiscus. It was an apartment Reagan had hired for what he called exigencies. No one knew the owner of the apartment for Reagan was never seen in it.
Whenever he wanted to use the house, he came in unnoticed and left without been spotted. It was in this apartment that Reagan dealt with his victims. He had a secret burial ground at the backyard where he buried those he murdered in the apartment. He took joy in killing in the apartment for the pleasure he derived in watching and chortling as he slowly maimed and killed his victims. He did that upstairs at exactly 2:00AM, in the quietude of the night, to avoid attracting attention. He would tie his victim to a chair and wrap thick sellotape over his mouth to stop him from making a sound. He would take out a dagger, stab him on one shoulder and watch him
struggle. Then he would step back, take a stick of cigarette from the pack on the table
and light it. He would drag on the cigarette for a while and move to his victim again. He
would then press the burning tip hard on the victim’s bleeding shoulder, laugh as the victim struggled to wail and stab him on the other
shoulder, repeating what he had done to the first. Then taking out a gun from a drawer, he would leave a bullet in his victim’s knee joints
before finally burying a bullet in his brain.You can also read some interesting stories from www.generalloaded.com
After the victim had died, he would carry him downstairs, then to the backyard for a funeral.
At the backyard, he would dig a grave, push the corpse into it, cover it properly with sand
and finally kneel with tears and pray, “Oh God, hold not his sins on my head and if you find
him worthy, accept him in your goddamn bosom.” Then he would disappear from
Reagan sat on a couch in the large lounge upstairs, his eyes fixed on Stella. She was lying unconscious on the next couch. She was the most attractive lady he had ever seen.
Even unconscious, Stella looked like an Indian goddess. Reagan started running his eyes up and down her and was thankful he hadn’t killed her. He concentrated on Stella’s laps.
She was wearing blue shorts. Her laps were lovely and they dazzled him. He remembered
the taxi that had stopped him from killing her and concluded it was Godsend. He would use
her over and over and then get rid of her. He didn’t give a damn about what he had told
Thelda. After all, he was still going to kill Stella but not until he had savoured her beautiful body to quench his lust. He
visualized what it would be like stripping her unclad and the sizzling effect her body would
have on his. He imagined his thick hands caressing her small but firm breasts, his dark
lips hard on hers, his huge body pressed to hers and he had an erection. He was aware
Stella wasn’t going to give in without a fight but he was already prepared for her. He rose, stood for a while and moved slowly toward her, considering whether to start immediately or leave it till she regained consciousness.
After some minutes of thoughts, he decided to endure until she was awake for it would be more pleasurable then. She was already his, body and soul, so no need to hurry. Just a matter of some couple of minutes, he thought,
and she would be awake and in his arms. He made up his mind that after those minutes
and she wasn’t still awake, he would force her back to consciousness. He knew how best to do that. (Topster Stories) More interesting stories from www.generalloaded.com.He had brought a good number of his
victims back to consciousness for the same purpose. Whatever he wanted, he got, and no one stopped him. He smiled, moved his eyes to Stella’s left wrist and his attention was caught by the golden bangle on it. It was a
replica of the one his foster mother wore on her right wrist the very day she had sent him
to hell. He turned his gaze to his fingers, stared back at the bangle on Stella’s wrist and long buried memories came crashing back.
It was on his tenth birthday. Reagan had come back from school an hour late for he had followed a friend to an apartment in the city for burglary. When he entered their compound, he found Jane, her foster mum, already waiting for him in the veranda and immediately knew he was in trouble. Her eyes gleamed with rage and Reagan’s legs
instantly became heavy that he couldn’t move them. He was conscious of what always
followed whenever Jane was provoked. The thought of her thin but strong hands that
would in some minutes surround his neck or the weapon she would probably use on him made him jittery and tears immediately welled
up in his eyes. Jane never gave him chance to explain himself. She had the habit of not wanting to know if Reagan was right or wrong.
Once she was angry, she soothed her anger on Reagan’s misery. She was a misanthrope and always showed it in the way he treated Reagan at the slightest provocation. What
Reagan wasn’t sure of as he stood there was whether Jane was going to use her hands on
him or resort to weapons. He was afraid to walk up the steps and his heart went pounding. He was fighting hard to think but it was useless. Conflicting thoughts churned inside him. Jane was already reading his mind, she knew he was thinking.
“Come over here, you brat!” She roared. Reagan knew the implication if he remained a
second longer, so he leapt up the stairs immediately and stood in front of her with blind terror. He looked up at Jane and met her eyes, they were cold and he began to shake.
“Where the hell have you been?” She snapped with arms akimbo.
Reagan stuttered, “I w e n t,” and a hard slap landed on his cheek. He felt his eyes bulge in
their sockets and tears ran down his cheeks.
Jane held his ear and dragged him into the sitting room. She pushed him violently to the
floor, her golden bangle falling off her right wrist and Reagan’s right elbow dripping
blood, “Give me that bangle, you devil.” She shouted and Reagan immediately picked it
with two shaking fingers and handed it to her.
She took it quickly, avoiding contact with his fingers as if he had a leprous hand. She
swirled the bangle and slid her wrist into it.
Her eyes were deadly as he stared at Reagan, contemplating how she was going to handle him. Reagan was already imagining the blood from every part of his body that would soon be splashing onto the floor. He didn’t know what Jane was going to do to him but he
knew it would be revolting and he also knew that by the time Jane would be done with him,
his looks would not be the same again. As he stared fearfully at her, he wished his mother had not abandoned him in the foster home for the beast. Jane smirked and pulled on his hair, “Where the hell have you been, you monster?”
Reagan thought quickly for a lie, “I went to see a friend for a birthday present” She pulled his hair harder and Reagan cried.
After several pull, she left him on the floor and went over to the couch. She sat, her
eyes on Reagan, “Did I ever mention there was no birthday in this house?” A weird
look was on
Reagan nodded sickly, “You did.” He wiped his tears with his palms.
Jane smirked and folded her arms, “And you decided to disobey me?”
Reagan choked out, “No mum, I_”