Jeff the Killer

Vile Intentions

"Where you going Jeffey?" the fat kid, Troy, blurted out, as he and Keith stepped forward into the garage.

"Took you two assholes long enough to get here, I've had to babysit this faggot all day," Randy shouted, a wicked joy was present in his words.

"Sorry Randy, but Keith here had to mow his front yard before his parents would let him come out," Troy said, a sheepish tone to his voice.

"It's cool, we're here now," Keith said.

"What the fuck is going on?" Jeff asked, staring at Randy. He noticed that Randy still had the flare gun in his hands.

"I'll tell you what's going on Jeff; you owe Keith and Troy an apology for what you did. You sucker punched them, and then ran away. You didn't even have the balls to fight them fair, so now, you're going to pay them what you owe!"

"I'm not going to fight you, okay, I'm done with that shit," Jeff replied as he glanced about the room for an exit.

"You're right about that, you're not going to fight. You're going to stand there and let my boys get their licks in. Then I get mine, and when that's done, you get the fuck out of my house. I'll tell my mom that you got sick and walked home, and after that, if you see us again, you better walk the other way."

"I'm not going to stand here and get hit by you or your friends, so just let me go home, how about that. I'll tell my mom that we're cool and everyone wins, okay?" Jeff asked.

Randy then raised the flare gun towards Jeff. "No, you stay pussy; you stay and take your licks."

Jeff felt that sensation once more, that sick, rich dark matter that swirled about inside of him. He could taste it now, it was heaven. In his mind, he imagined himself diving into it, swimming in it, letting it swallow him whole. He looked around and the sensation only grew. He saw Randy, standing there holding the flare gun. It was limp in his hands though, and the hammer was not cocked back. Jeff knew that Randy had no intention of firing it. He looked over at Keith, skinny and pathetic, a kid born to follow. Troy, fat and sweaty, breathing a bit heavy from his walk over, and of course, in the middle of it all, Jeff himself. He felt that pleasure begin to mix with the rage, forming the perfect product. He tried to avoid sampling it; he knew that only regret could come from indulging in it. However, when it was placed so close, when the aroma and the promise of that sweet savory flavor was only inches away, Jeff found that he could no more to stand against it than a ship in the ocean could stand against a typhoon.

Jeff began to smile.

"Why are you smiling at me, you queer for me or something?" Randy asked, a slight nervous tinge in his voice.

"Am I smiling Randy? I guess it's because I'm just having so much fun," Jeff announced, and suddenly lunged towards the unprepared kid holding the flare gun.

Jeff struck Randy once in the nose. Randy's arms dropped, yet he kept hold of the flare gun. Jeff, without even needing to look, realized that Troy and Keith had actually taken a step back, instead of advancing as they should have. Jeff delivered another strong blow to Randy's jaw, causing the boy to drop to the floor.

Jeff now turned his attention to Troy and Keith, the two tough kids that had yet to actually make so much as a move in his direction. Troy actually backed up a step and stumbled over the stack of magazines that Randy had moved earlier. Jeff took this opportunity and stepped forward, once again introducing Troy's round belly to his fist. Troy tried to stay on his feet, but Jeff's punches, combined with the stumble over the magazines, caused Troy to fall back, landing hard and striking his head on the concrete slab that was the garage's floor.

Keith was actually trying to back away. However, Jeff was currently standing between him and the only exit to the garage, since the carport door was closed. Jeff took two quick steps towards the skinny kid, and felt the most intense joy at seeing Keith stagger backwards, knocking his back into the wall. That perfect blend of pleasure, control and rage had come together. Jeff felt as though he was floating above the world. Somewhere in his mind, he knew there would be hell to pay for this, but at that exact moment in time, he couldn't care less. He didn't care about Liu, he didn't care about being arrested, and he didn't care if his dad got fired. All he cared about, in that fraction of time, was hurting Keith.

Keith tried to make a run for it, hoping to squeeze through the small gap between Jeff and the door. However, Jeff clipped him a hard right hand to his face, causing Keith to stagger back again. Jeff could see that his knees were buckling, and took full advantage. He moved in, pinning Keith to the wall, and began to deliver blow after blow to the skinny kid's stomach. Keith's eyes became as large as saucers. Once satisfied, Jeff stepped back, and watched in demonic glee as Keith slowly slid down the wall, gasping for air.

Randy got back to his feet, but seemed to have no idea what to do.

"We done now Randy? We good, or do you and your friends need more?" Jeff mocked.

"No more, we're cool..."

"How about you assholes?" Jeff asked.

"It was Randy's idea..." Keith said weakly.

"Yeah man, we didn't even want to," Troy agreed.

The debate may have continued, but the sound of a returning car broke the tension.

"Oh shit, my mom is back!" Randy shouted, his voice cracking in a humorous way. It seemed that the previous tough guy had all but shrunk back to a scared child.

"So, we'll just say that we were all hanging out," Keith replied.

"No, the fucking flare gun, if she finds out that I messed with it, I'm screwed!"

"So put it back," Jeff suggested. That sensation of rage was fading again, and he felt control returning.

"Yeah, grab the magazines, please," Randy begged. Jeff found that he rather liked that tone, that begging, whipped dog mentality.

Jeff was paying no attention to Randy; he was down on the floor calmly gathering the magazines. He didn't really care if Randy got in trouble or not, however, if his mother returned and found trouble, he feared that Liu may not be able to return home as promised.

Everything else happened in a flash, both literally and figuratively.

Randy, now in a panic over the trouble he'd be in if he was caught playing with the flare gun, had begun to sweat. As his hands frantically clawed over the gun, his thumbs pushed the hammer back, unintentionally. He didn't even notice that the gun was cocked. He was turning it over in his hands, trying to quickly disarm it. He then heard the sound of keys in the front door. He knew that he had only seconds now to hide it.

Everything else happened in slow motion. The gun slipped from Randy's sweaty hands as he'd attempted to rotate it once more. He saw it fall to the floor, seeming to float to the ground, rather than fall. Jeff, busy stacking the magazines, had only enough time to register Randy's shocked gasp. He turned to look in the boy's direction, just in time to see the bright red flare gun hit the floor. The gun discharged, launching a speeding ball of fire directly into Jeff's face. Jeff felt the hot flash of heat and pain tear across the left side of his face. After the initial registry of agony, there was no more thinking. Jeff began to scream, clutching the left side of his face and rolling around on the floor. For a while he forgot everything, as he was plunged into that dark, rich syrup once more, the rage almost serving to dull the pain.

When he finally did come to a stable level of alertness, he realized he was in a hospital room. Half of his face was bandaged, he knew that much. He wanted to open his eyes and speak, let his family know he was awake, but the drugs still had a firm hold. He was awake, but not quite yet functioning. He could hear several familiar voices though.