Page 184 of I Never Stopped Loving You

I grab the syringe out of my pocket and have Monty hold his head back exposing his throat to me.

“Please, no,” he cries out with one last futile effort for his life, but it’s too late.

The needle sinks in, and I push the plunger injecting his vocal cords with the Rocuronium. It works quickly, his cries turning to wheezy gasps and grunts, until there’s barely a single sound coming from him.

“Perfect,” Monty says as he releases Alex letting his head fall forward.

He’s still sitting on his knees, arms at his sides as he silently sobs. His eyes are puffy and red, his face blotchy and swollen. He looks pathetic. It’s so satisfying.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” I say as I pull my phone back out and call Monty’s.

I can’t help but chuckle when Yakety Sax comes blaring from his pocket again. I wonder if I can hook up a speaker system down there and play it when I chase them? That would honestly be fucking hilarious.

“You thinking about playing this while you chase them now?” Monty asks as he answers the phone at his side.

“Yeah. I might have to make some adjustments to the labyrinth. Aight, hop in your truck, and I’ll tell you when to go. Don’t gun it right away. Go slow and let it tug and pull at his tendons and joints. Let’s draw this out as long as we can. I think the drug should last at least thirty minutes.”

“Fuck, yeah. Let’s do this.”

We hop into our trucks hooking our phones up to the Bluetooth.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Ready, Boss.”

“Remember, slow.”

“10-4, Rubber Ducky.”

The engines rev, and I watch in the rear-view mirror as Alex’s head whips back and forth. I have the windows all down, just to see if we can hear anything over the sounds of our engines.

We start to drive slowly in opposite directions. I watch as his arms lift and the rope snaps taut.

“Okay, hold it here for a second.”

We both watch through the rear-view mirrors as his body arches in agony, mouth open, silently screaming at the sky. You can already see his arms pulling unnaturally, the skin turning an angry red. I think we need to see if he can stretch a little bit more.

“Aight, take your foot off the brake.”

We both release the brakes, and the trucks move forward slightly pulling his arms further apart. Because we aren’t revving the engines, we can hear the audible pop as his shoulders dislocate.

“Holy shit. Did you hear that?”

“Yeah. That would be his shoulders being pulled out of their sockets.”

“How far do you think the skin will stretch before it rips apart?”

“Not sure. I’ve never done this before.”

“You know, this technically isn’t quartering. Too bad we didn’t have two more psychos like us,” he laughs. “Could be like a fucked up vigilante men's club.”

“I don’t work well with others,” I tell him flatly.

“But you work well with me?”

“You’re a special situation,” I tease.

“Aw, I’m special to you?”