Good Friends, Good Food.

Disclaimer: This story is mine and no money was made from it's writing. These people exist only in my twisted mind any resemblance to anyone living dead(yadda, yadda) is unintentional and totally my bad.

Extra Disclaimer: Murder, rape, torture, etc, NOT okay. This story is fiction which means NOT REAL. Nobody deserves what happens to the Sinclairs, a fictional family, to happen to them…EVER!

A/N: Again, thanks to all who have reveiwed, I enjoy readin’ them(even the negative ones) so keep them coming.
More A/N: Last chapter sorry it’s so short
More more A/N: I’m sure to get death threats, or at least questions about my mental health!
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The following two days passed uneventfully, no fucking, no torture, and especially, no food. I wanted Mel’s stomach and digestive track purged and flushed, so she was having copious amounts of water. It was early the day before Mark was supposed to be home, when I awoke. The house was deathly quiet. I had turned on the intercom and listened to her crying at her castration, and had fallen asleep to her pitious cries. Apparently, she had managed to fall asleep in the night. I got up, went downstairs and headed to her cage. She was asleep. I gave her a moment. She would be dead before her next bedtime. I admired her magnificent body, crammed in a small cage, barely big enough for her. Sighing heavily, I decided it was time to wake her up, which I did with a warm golden shower. She startled awake and looked up at me. Misery, pain, sadness, fear and so many more emotions filled her beautiful brown eyes. I pulled her out of her cage.
“Wash your face bitch, you look like shit.” I pushed her towards the powder room. When she was finished, I let her use the pail before putting her back in her cage. I went upstairs and checked my gun. I shoved it in my waistband. Over the next hour or so, I taped plastic on the walls all around the bathtub and on the ceiling to. I brought my laptop in, placing it on the counter, next to the sink, and turned on my playlist. I went back downstairs and stood in front of Melody
s cage. I couldn’t believe it. She was already fallen asleep. I opened the cage door and, ever so gently, rubbed her left shoulder.
“Hey honey, it’s time to die,” I said softly.
“MM?!” was all I got.
“Hey sweetie,” it’s time for you to die,” I said, a little more loudly.
“Wha’? No. Please Curtis, no, I don’t wanna’ die, I don’t wanna die, please no,” she was mearly hysterical. She kept pleading as I had to half drag her out of her cage. She sank to her knees, fear robbing her od her strength. Ordinarily, seeing her on her knees would have caused me to order her to blow me, but I had a job to complete. I hoisted her up on my shoulder and as I walked, slapped her shapely ass, still a red mass of pain. I carried her up to the bathtub and dumped her on the floor. She curled up into a fetal position. It took me almost ten minutes to have her where I wanted her, kneeling head bowed over the tub. She was screaming, pleading with me as I pulled my gun and pointed it at the back of her pretty head.
“Please Curtis, we’re friends don’t do this, please I don’t wanna’ die. I have a family I have three kids, please Curtis, please I don’t want…”
“BANG!” There was instant silence as Melody Sinclair’s brain was splattered on the bottom of the tub. I drew my carving knife and set to work removing the half obiterated skull so it could bleed before I carried it back downstairs to prepare it..
Two days later…

“So Mark, any word on Melody?” I asked.
“No, the police have no leads, no suspects, no nuthin’ at all,” he said sadly.
“Well I’m sorry to hear that,” I said sympathetically. It was a herculean effort not to smile.
“You know, I can’t shake the feeling she’s close by,” he said. Then, “Hey Curtis, this meatloaf is really good, what kind of meat did you use?”

END!