Good Friends, Good Food.

A/N: Sorry that it’s been over a year since I updated. I had writer’s block for months and life’s super crazy. Anyway, here it is.

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 my bad.

Extra Disclaimer: Murder, rape, and torture, 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!

As I was heading towards the door, the phone rang. Stopping, I sat beside it and listened to the voice-mail pick up.
“Hey,” it said in Melody’s soft voice, “You’ve reached Mark and Mel, we’re sorry we can’t take your call at this time, but if you leave your name, number and a short message, we’ll be sure to get back to you.” It was Mark.
“Hey hun, I just made it to my hotel. I just thought I’d call, but I guess you’re out. Our layover in Hong Kong was a little longer than expected but we finally made it. So I thought I’d call and say I love you and I miss you and can’t wait to see you in a couple o’ weeks.” I smiled. He’d never see his wife alive again.

I walked in the door, and as is my habit, checked the voice mail. Two messages. First was from Mark.
“Hey Curtis, it’s Mark, I can’t get Melody I was wondering if you could check and make sure she’s okay? She’s got the hotel number and can call me. I’ll call you later after I get home from work. If you get Mel, tell’er I’m a little worried and to call me. Okay, later!” The second one was from Mark’s father.
“Curtis, we have to drop the kids off at your place. Call us when you get this, please. Bye.” I cursed. How could I watch the kids and torture their mother at the same time? Nevertheless I called Mark’s father back.
“Oh Curtis, we dropped the kids off at our neighbours house. They love the kids and they enjoy watching them.”
“That’s good ‘cause my boss called, I have to go to work. I’ll pick’em up after work. It’s just 4 ½ hours in the afternoon.”
“Okay, sounds good. Have you heard from Melody?” he asked.
“No, I honestly haven’t a clue where she is.” I lied, “I hope she’s okay but…” I let the sentence trail off. I waited a beat, then: “Good bye sir.”
“Bye Curtis.” I hung up the phone and smiled. On to his pretty daughter-in-law.

As soon as I opened the door, I could smell it. Urine and shit; the bitch had soiled herself again.
“Oh my goodness, you’re worse than a child. Pissin’ and shitting all the time…” I stopped short, stunned by the pitiful sight. The lovely, naked, Melody Sinclair laying, strapped to the table, right hand nailed to it, by her side, in a pile of her own waste. Both the sight of it, and it’s smell, was nauseating. She looked at me with pleading and confusion.
“Please, no more, please Curtis,” she whimpered, her voice hoarse from screaming and pleading.
“Alright Mel, clean your mess and perhaps, I’ll be lenient,” I said as I walked to the tool tray. I selected a crowbar and fished the cuffs out of the box beside me. I walked to her right hand and, carefully and gently, removed the nails that were anchoring her hand to the table. I picked her up in my arms, and (again) gently lowered her onto her right knee beside the biggest turd. She looked up at me with doe eyes and shaking her head pitiously. For a moment, I wanted to take her in my arms and rescue her from her predicament and imprisonment. But I was in for the longhaul now. If she escaped or was ever seen or heard from again, it would end badly for me. I gently caresed the side of her face and kissed her upturned forehead.
“Better get to work baby,” I said softly. With tears flowing, she turned to the pile of shit, opened her mouth and took a bite!