The Blood GameMature

A crime story, about family and death. Going to be fairly dark and not merciful, so watch your step.

Chapter One: An Ending to the Story

Blood spilled from Joel’s nose, gushing in thick rivulets to splash and pool on the concrete. Mucus and more blood dripped from his lips and he spat, gooey and disgusting. Joel took a deep breath. This was the hard part, the pain. He had known weeks ago that he was going to be killed and had done nothing about it. Hadn’t called the police, hadn’t run, hadn’t hidden. He just let it happen. This, now, was the long stretch before the finish line; once he got through this he would be free.

Joel pushed himself off the ground, and almost immediately a sharp pain erupted in his side as a heavy steel toe boot collided with it, shattering two of his ribs. He fell to the stone again, groaning as his battered body hit the ground. He just wanted it to be over, more then anything else. Joel opened his mouth, sucked in a deep breath and spoke. His voice was weak and strained, but level.
“” he said. Another kick came, faster exploding into his stomach. Joel rolled onto his back. “Please,” he said. A sharp laugh, loud and mocking.
“There’s no fucking way, my man,” said the voice, the voice Joel knew so well, “you are going to fucking suffer for the shit you did!” The other man punctuated this by kicking Joel again “I’m going to fuck you up so bad you’re going to be begging–,” another kick, “–begging for me to begin with the bat!” The man took his boot and placed it on Joel’s neck, pushing down. Joel felt his windpipe slowly compacting and felt the tightness. His breathing came faster, then ceased. His oxygen starved brain began to feed him spots and light as he slowly died. And then the pressure was relieved. More laughter. “Just kidding, Joel,” said the voice, “I know how much you love humor,”
It was almost an hour until Joel began begging for the baseball bat. After which time, all of his ribs were broken, two fingers on his left hand were severed and he was covered in blood and wounds. His voice was no longer level, it had sunk to groveling and whining. It was almost over for Joel, he was barely conscious and numb from the neck down. His vision was blurry, his ears were ringing and bile was rising in his throat. He saw a shape above him moving, and then something rush towards his face. There was a sharp crack and Joel was gone.
The man surveyed the scene in the warehouse. Except for stacked crates and boxes, the only thing besides him in the massive room was the broken battered body of Joel Temen.  The man looked at the body almost sadly, as if he had not just killed him viciously. He tapped the metal baseball bat he held in his hand against the floor, thinking. Then he pulled a phone out of his pocket and held down the two key. The number on his speed dial answered on the first ring.
“It’s done. Cleanup. I’ll be gone by the time you get here,” he said into the phone then hung up. He dropped the bat on the floor where it clattered, ringing out like a gong. The man put his boot on the bat, and pushed it toward the body. The bat rolled to Joel’s form, through the blood to rest against his side. The man walked out, locking the door behind him.
Joel’s eyes were wide open, unseeing. His mouth was open too, part of it swollen and oozing red. A crimson pool was slowly widening from his prone figure, flowing out and away from his body like the life that had so similarly left him.
The warehouse was quiet then, undisturbed by noise except for the dripping of blood and the soft sound of faraway sirens in the wind.

The End

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