Redeeming Logan

Chapter Twenty- Seven

Logan

T aliah’s parents are dead. At least they will be soon. After her admission, I carried her to bed and held her in my arms as she fell asleep. Neither of us know much about love, but I hope she felt at least a hint of it while I held her. As soon as her soft snores fell from her lips, I was up and moving. Exiting my room and heading towards Mr. Pickett’s office. Bypassing every room housing one screaming patient after another as I rush through the doorway, separating the horrors from the beautiful stage rooms.

My dress shoes click against the title flooring before transferring to a soft padding sound on the carpet of Mr. Pickett’s office. Heading straight to the filing cabinet in the corner, I wrench open the first door and rifle through it until I find Taliah’s file. Tossing it onto the desk behind me, I take a seat in the plush leather chair, the squeak of the leather creaking beneath my weight. Flipping through Taliah’s sparse file until I find the phone number I’m looking for. Picking up the phone next to me, it rings three times before the burly man answers.

“Hello, who is this?”

“You know who it is.” I state with a tense voice.

“Fuck. I’m not taking her back, Logan. She’s your problem now.”

“Mr. Adams, I’m keeping Taliah. She’s safe with me. That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Then what the fuck do you want? I don’t have anyone else for you right now.”

“Actually, you do have something that I want. Or at least the means to get me what I want anyway. Bring me Taliah’s parents, alive, and I’ll make sure you’re compensated handsomely for it.” Mr. Adams chuckles on the other line before agreeing to my absurd request.

Setting the phone back down on the desk, I lean back in the leather chair, contemplating how to approach the next issue at hand. Killing people comes easy to me, but when it comes to my girl's family, not so easy. She doesn’t seem to have any love for them, but at the end of the day, they are still her parents. Still her blood. A part of me hopes Taliah will join in on the fun, but if she ends up in the corner crying, it won’t matter either. They won’t live to see the end of the week.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, I had received a call back from a rather chipper Mr. Adam's about him acquiring my rather odd request. Now I’m standing in front of the institute, awaiting his arrival with my new projects. A blacked out SUV rolls up to the steps a few minutes later, screeching to a halt. Before the doors even open, I can hear the screaming coming from inside. Mr. Adams steps out of the passenger seat with an irritated expression, making his way towards me with clenched fists. His jaw tightens further as a slam comes from the inside of the SUV.

“Please fucking tell me you have a sedative with you.” He grounds out through a seething expression. Reaching into my pocket I grab the two syringes and hand them over. He marches back to the SUV, wrenching open the back door, syringes poised and ready. Jabbing one into the closest leg to him and reaching over, dodging a flailing body to jab the other in the calf. Before he leans back out of the vehicle, the bodies are already starting to quiet again. Once all movements have ceased, he hauls the first one out, dumping him at my feet at the bottom of the steps. Then he hikes one foot into the vehicle as he tugs out the limp body of a woman next, depositing her onto the ground next to the man in the same fashion.

“They’re all yours now, man. Have all the fun you want with them. They deserve everything you have in your arsenal.” He sticks out his hand, waiting as I reach into the pocket of my dress slacks and grab out the check. Mr. Pickett was not happy with the amount of money he had to fork out for this, but I assured him that it would never happen again. He knows my word is good, so he wrote the check after that with no fussing.

With a mumbled thanks and a handshake, I grip the dirty man at my feet under the arms. Hauling him up the steps and down the various halls to my workshop. By the time I get to my door, I'm sweating like a pig. This man is basically skin and bones, but the trek here was not quick. Swiping my card on the reader, the door pops up with a click, and I drag the man into the room, tossing him up on the new medical table I acquired for this project. This table is big enough for two people, modified with double restraints to keep my victims completely helpless.

Once the man is restrained, I head back outside to repeat the process with the women. By the time they are both strapped down to the table, I’m exhausted. My muscles are burning with all of the exertion, sweat dripping down my back, and I know I smell like I haven’t showered in days. Or that smell could be the couple on the table; they look disgusting. Dirt and grime smeared onto their skin, pock marks up and down their arms. They almost resemble a walking corpse. Lifting my arm, I sniff under it and confirm it’s not me the smell is coming from.

The next step is the one I dread the most. Stripping them of their decaying clothes. Next I pick up the medical scissors off the new tray that is big, shiny, and house my new torture decides I'm itching to use. Starting with the man, I cut away his clothes, gagging as I go because the stench of him is so bad. His ribs are protruding from his skin; you could almost play them like a xylophone. His pants go next, and the image I see will forever be burned into my mind. I don’t think he has shaved or washed his dick in years. Hair matted around the base of his cock and crusty bits around the crown. Grabbing a rag below the tray, I toss it over his junk, squeezing my eyes shut to try to rid myself of the image.

Heading over to the woman, I pray she’s in better shape than he is, but that is just wishful thinking. Once her shirt is off, I notice all of the sores that are under her breasts, oozing puss, and a rotten egg smell. Steeling myself, I set to work snipping off the woman's pants; they stick to her skin in places, forcing me to rip them off like velcro, leaving red irritated patches behind. She too looks like she hasn’t heard of personal hygiene, with the stench coming from her hairy pussy. The longer I stand there, the more nauseous I become, which is new to me. Typically, I can handle the grossest things. Shit thrown at me? Sure, let's have it. You haven’t showered in a week? Okay then. But this? This is too much; they’re like zombies. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are harvesting maggots somewhere in their body. Heading to the sink, I rinse my hands and any part of my skin that would have touched these excuses for a human. Shutting the lights off, I exit my work room, heading towards my own to get Taliah ready for our playdate with her parents.