The Boneman by Mark James Montgomery

Author:Mark James Montgomery
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror Thriller, Supernatural, Occult, Forensics, Medieval, Grim Reaper, Homicide, Northwest, Portland, Oregon, Frightening, Desire, Seduction, Bones, Death Cult
Publisher: Stonehouse
Published: 2019-11-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

LET'S FACE IT, I WAS effectively trapped between them. I could see Van Duzen getting ready to make his move, and Augustine was brandishing that fucking femur while lecturing me. He seemed to believe he was being reasonable.

“We extended our good faith, Walker. Our support, our generosity. Now we will go the other way. It's our hope that when we're through you'll reflect on your uncooperative attitude and apply yourself to the task at hand.”

Van Duzen leapt for me. I really wanted to avoid being pinned and let fly the tongs I'd been gripping. They were a heavy instrument and met the Dutchman's skull with a loud crack. He folded to one knee, head lowered, as though awaiting knighthood.

Augustine flung off his parka. He was shirtless under it, his well-muscled torso and arms inscribed with colorful inkings. He cut the femur through the air, strolled back and forth in front of me, choosing his target. It appeared he'd decided on the brain.

Cocky bastard. I moved inside the club as it was raised. The blow came down deflected, I hiked my leg up, slamming Augustine's groin. I got lucky, the knee was well-placed. He gagged, clinging to me. Then Van Duzen reared up. He seized me from behind, wrapped me in a death-hug. Blood had streamed from the gash in his head, circled one eye. His arms, furred with red hairs, bulged, he strained and snorted.

“Put him across the table,” Augustine gasped.

I struggled to breathe against Van Duzen’s grip. He slammed me hard over a lab bench, pinned me there while the Frenchman hobbled in a circle, hands to crotch. Teeth gritted, I watched Augustine scuttle into the gallery, return with one of our completed assignments in hand – the bust of an identified victim, a middle-aged man.

He banged the bust down in front of my face.

“All right.” He clapped his hands once. “Here's what we've got.”

He reached away from my view, his hand came back with the cast iron device Van Duzen had brought. I was now quite concerned, because I'm a slave to the details and I couldn't help but make some observations: The instrument was timeworn, it had a patina on it. A medieval design. Shaped like a long pear. Two claws at its tip. Most appalling, I saw that it was constructed to progressively screw open, dividing in expanding halves.

Augustine helpfully outlined its function. “The Pear of Agony. A classic from the Golden Age of Torture. One turns the knob here, and... Well, let me show you.”

He brought the bust closer. The man’s skull had been shattered by three 9mm rounds, I recalled, the reconstruction took months. The mouth was fixed partially open and Augustine jammed and hammered the mechanical device into it, then applied himself to the steady turning of the knobbed screw.

Van Duzen, pressing his bulk down on me, chortled. I watched the jaws of the device widen. The victim's plastic teeth cracked, then the mandible snapped off one hinge, a piece of clay cheek and underlying muscle torn loose.

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