Chapter 3: Miracles

I stood stock still for what seemed an eternity but was actually only moments. I observed a scene which twisted my gut and broke my heart, the image searing into memory and scarring my soul, knowing I'd never be able to forget.

My gaze fastened on to Mary Lou, absorbing the scene before me in an instant. She was on her knees, naked, clothes strewn about in reckless abandon, sobbing. Her body gave testament to abuses past and present. It was now obvious to me that Mary Lou's previous discomfort was attributed to neither our rigorous physical training nor any 'feminine problem'. Given the violent nature of our exacting training, I'd experienced many injuries myself. Training could not even begin to account for the type or extent of the indignities she had suffered.

She was covered from her shoulders to her knees, front and back, in a myriad of wounds. From a hand, either open or fisted, there were bruises ranging from fresh to almost healed. From both cane and strap there were welts wide and narrow, old and faint, new, raised and angry, scabs in places where the skin had been broken. There were teeth marks on her shoulders, buttocks and breasts. Her hiding her beauty in large baggy clothes was now obvious. It wasn't her beauty she was hiding.

To my left, stood uncle Clive, naked, both hands entwined in Mary Lou's hair, shoving his groin into her face. George stood a pace or so behind Mary Lou facing his father, left side to me, wearing only socks shoes and shirt, his right hand holding his shirt tails up. He was staring in rapt fascination at the action before him. Aunt Mary was pressed tightly to Georges left side, slowly fisting his cock with her left hand and fondling his bottom with her right. George had his left arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him.

"Just a bit and then it's your turn George after that there will be a couple of messes for you to clean up Mary" Clive said.

Mary shivered.

"What about Andrew and Jacob, Dad?" George asked. "What if they come in? How will we deal with them?"

"Hopefully, the little bastard has killed Jacob" Clive replied. "Even if he hasn't, all the doors and windows are locked. If or when they try to force their way in, the noise they make will give us plenty of warning and I'll just take that shotgun to them", nodding to the sofa. "We will be rid of them both once and for all. Killed, caught in the act of abusing poor, dear Mary Lou. It's tragic, just tragic."

Mary shivered. "It's about time we were finally rid of the little bastard" she spat with heated venom.

George thought it was hilarious.

I glanced briefly at the sliding French door, and sure enough the latch was set, but the door hadn't been closed properly at the time. Looking at the sofa, I saw my grandfather's, now Clive's, prized Purdy over-and-under.

"After we get squared away with the police and have Mary Lou attended to" Clive continued, "both families will get together to comfort each other in our time of grief. Just think George, six men and three women, six of our cocks, their nine holes, eleven if we count your ass and mouth. Now that her uncle has Mary Lou as well trained as his wife, she can be the main attraction. Would you like that George?"

Mary didn't just shiver, she moaned amidst a minor convulsion. I believe that she had an orgasm.

George had a hopeful gleam in his eyes and an idiots grin on his face. I swear I saw spittle begin to drool from one corner of his mouth.

I physically shook myself out of my shocked paralysis. I fleetingly wondered at just what sorts of debauchery were taking place inside this house while I was sleeping in the garden, totally oblivious. Rage, resentment, hatred and disgust erupted through me. This was not the power of the pool, this was pure elemental, animalistic, human fury. I finally understood the darkness that always seemed to surround Jacob.

Jacob knew, and in knowing, knew also that he was powerless to stop the unspeakable horrors being heaped upon his cousin. I had always thought that Jacob had a tenuous hold on his temper at best. I could not have been more wrong. His lapses into rage were not the result of his lack of control, but rather that the result of some rage escaping during the perpetual titanic struggle to contain all of it. That which slips out being a mere shadow of its totality. I now knew, not thought, but knew that I would never have a smidgen of the control that Jacob possessed. The rage I was feeling giving proof to this new-found knowledge.

The two knives that Jacob and I played catch with and were now in my hands, I placed back in their sheaths. I drew my commando dagger, a two-edged Fairburn design with a ten inch blade, and eased open the sliding French door. Silently gliding across the floor, I quickly closed the distance between that wicked trio with their victim and myself. Everyone still unaware of my approach.

When I was two steps away, Clive suddenly pushed Mary Lou away from his groin, closed his eyes and had his orgasm, ejaculating all over Mary Lou's face and chest. I closed rapidly and swung my knife much like a forehand smash in tennis. As the blade was coming around, Mary Lou looked at me with a pleading expression. Pleading not for rescue but for death. The blade cut through the side of Clive's neck, the tip scraping along a cervical vertebra and then out the other side, a certain death blow.

Clives head snapped down and he looked at me. His expression rapidly conveyed confusion, irritation, surprise and finally acknowledgement of the fatal damage I inflicted. He then smirked a look at me that said I had one more abuse, one more deprivation due me. With what remaining control he had left, he let go of Mary Lou's hair, grabbed her chin in one hand, the back of her head in the other and twisted, snapping her neck. As Mary Lou realised what was happening, her expression changed to one of relief. Only after breaking her neck, did Clive reach for his neck to try and stop his life's blood fountaining from the ruin that was his throat. He turned away and stumbled a bit, fell onto the coffee table which collapsed beneath him and then lay still.

All this happened as I reversed the direction of my swing and brought the blade back towards aunt Mary and George. Neither Mary nor George had yet registered my presence or processed the unfolding seen before them. I guided my backhand swing down, gashing my aunt's forearm and severing my cousins dick at a point where my aunts hand ended and Georges groin. The new reality both of them were now facing began to sink in as both stared confused. Mary, staring at her son's severed penis, still in her hand and George, staring at the ruined remnant of what was once his manhood.

I recovered from my back swing and stood squaring myself off to face George. I brought the knife back and then drove it into him just above the remains of his dick. I heaved up and opened his abdominal cavity to the sternum easier than carving a Sunday roast. "Keep that knife sharp, boy! A dull knife is as useless as you are!" the ghost of uncle Clive whispered in my ear. George finally let out a scream of pain, tinged with no small amount of fear, as his intestines spilled out onto the floor.

I then quickly moved behind George and readied my next strike, the ghost of Clive still whispering "stab them in the kidneys, boy, the pain will paralyse them." So I did. "Thrust and twist, boy. Rip up those arteries" Clive whispered. So I did. To my immense satisfaction, George immediately went rigid. I was enjoying this way too much as I thought to myself, if once was good twice would be better. With Clive whispering in my ear "stab them in the kidneys boy, thrust and twist boy, rip up those arteries boy." I did.

I expected to be pleased the next time George screamed. I was mistaken. The scream was not the scream of agony resulting from punishment justly given. No, it was a scream filled with terror, confusion, hopelessness, and unspeakable agony all begging for succour. That scream shamed me, that I should be responsible for such suffering. That scream shocked me back into reality, evaporating my rage and calming my fury. I pulled Georges head back and slit his throat. Not to inflict more pain but to end it his pain as quickly as possible. I pushed him away from me and he stumbled into a chair knocking it and himself over. With blood still pumping weakly from his throat, he shuddered once and lay still.

Aunt Mary was in a state of shock, I think. She was just standing the in the middle of room, staring vacantly at the ruins of her sons penis still in her hand. Georges final scream seemed to snap her out of it, and as he stumbled into the chair, she ran to him, screaming "my baby". She tried to rouse George, and course she couldn't. She took a look at the carnage in the room, looked at me and then charged me, snarling incoherently. Her feet became entangled in her son's intestines and she fell flat on her face. I quickly knelt between her shoulder blades, grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her head back and slit her throat too.

I would like to be able think that the havoc I wreaked upon my former family was a result of the years of training I received from Uncle Clive and the endless hours of practising those lessons. I can't. I behaved like a rank amateur. Every swing and thrust of my knife left me open for instant and fatal retaliation. There were only two reasons I succeeded. One, they thought they were secure with all the doors locked. Two, that false sense of security allowed them to indulge their lusts while ignoring all else. It shouldn't have been that easy. I was very lucky

I surveyed the carnage I had wrought upon my family. All three were dead and covered in blood, the room was awash with it also. It was up the walls, over the furniture and pooling on the hardwood floor. Mary Lou lay naked in the middle of the carnage, her abused body looking pure and beautiful if only compared to the revolting mess that was my family. I realised I felt no guilt at all for killing them. Only sadness and shame that I hadn't done it sooner and had been able to save Mary Lou.

A sound of the French door sliding shut and broke me from my thoughts. I knew that Jacob was standing in front of the now shut door behind me. I took a deep breath and reached deep into myself and found the pool of energy and drew on it once more. As I did, I realised it hadn't been depleted much, if at all. There was an almost incomprehensible amount of energy there and it felt right to draw upon it as I turned and Jacobs gaze.

Andrew watched Jacob warily. He knew Jacob was his equal in the martial arts, he knew Jacob was also a complete psychopath. Andrew's breathing slowed, his heartbeat was slow and steady and his hands were steady. Jacobs eyes showed the multitude of emotions he was feeling, sadness, fear, confusion but mainly fury.

The Room was awash with blood, the furniture broken and overturned. In the centre of the room. Andrew's remaining family lay dead. The blood on their corpses still warm, their eyes unseeing. Andrew knew he would be covered in blood. His uncle had never told him just how messy it could be.