Ben Fieldstone watched the coffin lowered into the earth and fantasized new ways to kill his foster father, Frank. He drags him in his drunken daze to the shed, holds up his reeking body and presses his head in the vise on the workbench. He slowly winds the mechanism …tighter, tighter…Frank mumbles then shrieks…his skin splits and blood oozes out dripping down his face.
He didn’t know what would happen if you squeezed someone’s head in a vise. Would it just pop and bits of brain and blood explode outward or would it be a slow, bloody mess? His heart pulsed quicker just thinking of it. He knew he could never kill him though. He was tall, but thin, and no match against Frank’s bulky, squat frame.
“Hey, let’s go,” directed Frank, nudging him. “I need to get outta here.”
His red-rimmed eyes made him appear forlorn over the passing of his wife, Emma, but Ben knew it was mostly the booze. Ben nodded and flicked his black bangs away from his gray eyes and glanced over at the man who had been standing motionless across the cemetery throughout the service. He was an immense figure clad all in black. Ben couldn’t see his face as he was too far away. He wondered briefly who he could be and why he was there, but then dismissed the thoughts. He had bigger problems to deal with now, like Frank.
* * *
Evil Editor pulled his black Burberry tighter around him and whistled for his dog. But before they headed home, he took one last look at the grave, thinking to himself, That's the best damned plot I've seen in months.
Opening: Donna Galanti.....Continuation: anon.