Relief: part 1
Boston leaned over the steering wheel of his newly acquired van on a beautiful cloudless Monday. Quite a jalopy at that, bought at a public auction for four hundred Dollars. The white early 70's clunker belched unhealthy smoke and sounded like it ran off of gravel, but it didn't leak that much oil at least. After changing the fluids and brake shoes, replacing the old battery and the failing starter, he was taking the truck for a mid-afternoon ride. The border collie smirked as he replayed last week's ordeal with the federal agent. Boston was lucky to still be free.
The collie who was talked about on the news and in whispers of fear from parents everywhere, needed some fun. After keeping a careful eye out and a low head, the dog had gotten back in his game, and this round was known as the stalk.
Boston knew what he wanted. He wanted something young, something easy. He Snarled lowly and gripped the wheel tightly. Tonight was going to be very fun. He was hoping for a younger teen, a pup he could tempt into his van with his not too old looks and his 'hip' demeanor. The music emitting from the old tinny sounding speakers was classic suburban rock and the smoke drifting out the windows was classic skunk.
At twenty two years of age the collie could not afford to slip up. With his small, well built frame almost entirely covered in black fur, only white on his belly, up his chest and muzzle ending in a stripe between his eyes, he was quite handsome still. He was bubbly and appeared very youthful to the passing glance. As he aged though he knew he would need to perfect new skills. It's not like he could keep this up for long anyways, right?
Boston spotted something as he drove down one of the residential streets, looking like a plumber scanning for addresses that made his heart leap. He felt a twinge in his pants as he normally didn't. Skating towards the woods on foot, wearing a t-shirt which showed a very pot-friendly band on it, was a border collie of no more than fourteen or fifteen. The backpack slung over his shoulder indicated someone was playing hookie. Boston blew a large breath of smoke out the window at the pup as he passed and waved, slowly heading towards the wooded area as well. Plenty of construction went on there, but today was a monday and only rarely were people called there for jobs on these days.
The dog watched in his side view mirror as he could see the pup visibly pick up his pace, as if to follow Boston. The collie grinned at the mirrored younger form of himself as he headed towards the deserted, half-built houses.
The pup rounded the corner from the stretch of road, down one of the empty side streets ending in a cul' de sac, watched from the van by the older dog. Boston could hardly keep himself from wagging as he tossed the joint out the window as if in a panic and sprayed a small can of air freshener. He watched as the pup pulled aside the van and picked the half smoked spliff right up, and approached the window, taking a puff.
"Hey, it's cool man I smelled it, I was wondering if you wanted to match. I got a little bit."
The older collie faked a relieved look and grinned in a way that showed off his rear crunching teeth. "Oh, I bet you do!" after a short pause he reached out for the shrinking joint and taking a puff on it added "Your shirt, I saw it. They kick ass."
The young teenager actually did wag. Still a pup, Boston thought. The little version of him, only with more prominent white as his breed normally had, piped out excitedly. "You like Foggy Systems?"
Boston laughed loudly and turned up his speakers, their new album jamming on his cd player. "What, you think only stoner puppies listen to them or something?"
The little collie looked a bit perturbed at the statement, "I'm not a pup, I'm fourteen and a half! You just look a bit old to be like that." The kid kicked at a tire lightly as if checking the pressure.
Great confidence booster, Boston thought as he let out a sighed. "I'm twenty two, kid. Want to smoke or not?" He smirked again as the pup nodded a bit too excitedly for such a tough attitude as he ran around to the other side and hopped in the passenger seat. "Aren't you supposed to be in school or something, anyways, pup?"
"My name is, Max. And my dad won't care. He's already passed out for the first time today." The pup pulled a math book out and began breaking up weed on it from his own stash that he removed from the waistband of his underwear. White briefs.
"First?" Boston eyed the young version of himself. "Sorry, Max."
The little dog shrugged as Boston turned his attention back to the road. "It's ok. You're not like him. You're cool. All he does is show me how much of a failure I am. How I'll never be a real dog like him. He's such a bitch."
The pup held up a fully twisted joint faster than Boston could even see him pulling out his rolling papers. Holding the perfectly rolled cylinder and testing it between his fingers, the older collie laughed. "Damn, kid. Good job." Lighting it up he puffed twice and passed it to his young passenger.
"You know," the older dog looked only slightly down at the teenager, "my dad was a real dick too. " The pup only stared out the window and handed the spliff back to his new friend.
"I don't think he was a dick like my dad is." The small pup looked so frail, so grown up at the same time.
Boston took a gulp, trying something new. "Breed secret." He looked over for one minute as he had gotten the pup's attention. "My dad did horrible things to me, Max. He beat me, raped me, and killed- my future.. " The collie caught himself. "He made me jaded, don't let that happen to you."
Max was staring wide-eyed at the other border collie, the mostly black one who now stared distantly down the road as if his destination was eventually going to appear down the road. He gulped as well.
"M-My dad.. He does that. " The little pup shivered enough that even Boston could feel it. The pup had never told this to anyone and it showed. The little dog continued. "He started when I was eleven when he found out my best friend, Ricky was gay. I mean I don't care about that stuff, you know?" The pup shifted in his seat before continuing. "But he.. He called me a faggot, and he beat me. Once he got real drunk and bent me over the bed when he caught me pawing and.. well... the next morning he beat me worse than ever for making him so mad he would do something like that." Max, the young border collie, stared at his sandaled paws under his khaki shorts. His toes flexed as he watched them.
Boston put a paw down on the pup's shoulder. "You need a vacation. Want to hang out for a bit?"
The small dog grinned slightly up at Boston and nodded his head, his ears perked forward and giving away his enthusiasm.
Boston felt a rare twinge of guilt.
The pup rocked on his paws as he stood at the door of the house. "This is a big house, Boston!" He jumped a bit as the older dog who had snuck up surprised him with a poke.
"Say. You were good at fetching that joint. How about you fetch my mail?" The collie teased. To his amassment the little dog ran off, tail flagging happily, bounding to the mail box. He grabbed the handful of land owner notices and catalogues and returned with them in his muzzle to Boston, who blinked a few times before taking them. ".... What the hell was that?" he chuckled awekwardly.
Max giggled a bit, embarrassed. "Something Ricky and I used to do. He made me fetch things like a feral dog." The older collie thought he could see Max blush, his smaller black tail swishing this way and that.
Boston cleared his throat nervously. "Yeah, well, get inside. It's weird enough to be hanging around a fourteen year old ."
"It's not like you're going to lift my tail, short stuff." The younger, nearly as tall collie wagged teasingly his ears perked up as if wanting to run through the grass playing tag with his new friend.
"Short stuff??" Boston growled.
"Yeah you're short. And no comment on lifting my tail, huh?" The pup dodged a swat from the older collie.
Boston yelled in a mock overly loud voice "Get inside little brother, or Mom and Dad will be mad at us playing so rough!"
The two chuckled and entered the house, heavy door slamming behind the larger of the two.
Boston sat on the couch, having left his boots by the front door, the pup following suit and discarding his flipflops. The older dog lay stretched back with his footpaws perched on the table. The little dog was playing Boston's newer black video game system when it wasn't breaking, and had just lost his final 'life.'
"I died!" Max pouted and tossed the controller lightly on the carpet next to the video system.
Boston could not help but grin a little at this. "It's only a game, pup. Sorry. Max." The dog added at the younger collie's glare. "Movie?" The pup nodded, and Boston selected a horror flick, lighting a joint he had put some of the fed's super weed in from last week. He and the pup smoked it to a tiny roach, coughing and laughing.
As the movie went on, and the teenagers in it were now running for their lives in the woods from a psycho, the two canines lay nestled on respective sides of the couch. During one scene however, two of the characters began making out unrealistically in their terrifying situation. The older collie looked over at the young pup, who seemed locked on the movie. He leaned forward and packed a bowl into a small pipe before lighting it up and turning to pass it to the pup. The little dog was no longer stretched outwards, but had moved his small footpaws behind Boston as if to keep him from sitting back again.
"What the hell, dude?" Boston chuckled. His eyes widened a bit as the pup quickly apologized and lifted his hindpaws only to drop them again in the older dog's lap. Boston stared at the smaller paws. The puppies little feet were a mirror of his own, though a bit smaller proportionally. The tips of Max's toes were also white, unlike Boston's own completely black ones.
Boston shook his head as if he had been told a joke, and leaned back, trying to phase out the pup's hindpaws right over his sheath while he considered what to do with the naïve runt. That's what he was, just another pup.
Max turned and watched the movie, flexing his toes in Boston's lap lewdly. The older dog bit his lip to stifle a growl. If this pup only knew!
Boston looked over at the smaller dog. The kid's obliviousness to the danger he was now teasing with his cute little hindpaws was pissing the killer collie off to no end. He was growing angry, and his sheath was growing thick as well. This was not a good combination.
"Max, what are you doing?" Boston's voice was a bit quaky. His smaller friend grinned up at him with still fresh teeth.
"What, you like puppy feet, weirdo?" The little dominant pup growled softly and pushed a set of soft brown paw pads to Boston's fluffy cheek fur. The scent was one of innocence, even with a father as he had, Max still had that air about him. Max wiggled his soft toes in the older border collie's face, tapping his wet nose with a smooth toepad.
Boston grabbed the pup's ankles and spun the pup to toss his feet on the floor. "What, did you forget the fox's training? No dog's on the sofa." He pointed to the floor with a sly smile. This was getting to be too much.
Max grinned and sat down on the floor by Boston's feet as if a loyal dog sitting guard next to his Master. Boston eyed the small form, his eyes drawing up and down the slender frame and noticing familiarities they shared when he was fourteen as well. Even the ears hung the same way, half way up and crooked forward, with some black dye they could pass as the same dog back then. Boston growled at himself softly. He figured at least, that this pup was something special and deserved special treatment.
The dog grinned, watching the movie as he lit a cigarette, the cherry glowing bright. He decided to start off now before he became 'too attached' so to speak. Then down with the lit cigarette towards the pups feet as the nice, pads stuck nicely up in the air. The little guy was trying to sit like a feral dog. An obedient one at that.
Boston relished the moment before everything would change, things could get loud and messy. He was salivating at the thought of ripping this pup into pieces and grinding his frustrations out in the leftovers. He brought the glowing, hot cherry down onto the larger, center pad and moaned softly as the sizzle hit his ears with the smell of puppy meeting his nostrils in the smoke.
He could hear himself moaning.
No scream.
The small form before him, seeming to still stare at the television before his young eyes shivered. "Ohh.. Boston.. Please don't stop.." The puppy was panting! "Do my toes next.. please?"
The older collie, the killer, was taken aback, the cigarette hovering over the smaller, younger dog's pads. He let out a soft choked word before he caught his voice. "You like that, Max?" He could not believe what he was seeing.
"Yeah.." He paused and turned around, the little collie's soft brown eyes twinkled as if remembering a cake he had when he was younger. "My dad used to do that, he said it was no business of anyone's to be looking at my footpads so no one should see them. He told me when I took each step and felt those blisters I should remember who made me, who owned me." The little dog was wagging. Boston felt almost as afraid as he did on the day that Dalmatian showed up at his house last week.
Boston got too angry to fight back his fear.
"Max! Fuck! Do you know what you're doing?" The larger dog stood up, his fur bristling. He was snarling at the kid who's floppy ears were now pinned back, a snivel on his face.
"I'm sorry, Boston. I thought you wanted to play with me." The pup looked like Boston had kicked him.
Boston could not take this anymore. "You stupid pup. You were dead from the moment I saw you on that street. What the hell is wrong with you! I'm the killer! I'm the puppy killer from the news, you naïve little shit!" Boston was panting from his rant.
The little border collie wagged, sitting at the feet of the larger, older one. He looked down at Boston's big black footpaws and smiled. "I was hoping it was you."
Boston could only gawk at the pup, looking smaller and meeker than ever.
And now, scary.
Boston snarled, he leapt down at the pup who fell back with no resistance as if a warm wag doll, not even flinching. The older collie snarled, flinging drool down into the pinned pup's face. "What the fuck is your damage, kid? I told you. I am the fucking puppy killer! I'm not play good time goth friend! I'm not bring your psycho to school guy. I didn't pick you up to befriend you!" The screaming dog would have most adults in tears. The puppy was a smiling stone.
"Boston, I know you won't hurt me. I just want to be with you, I want you to teach me what you know. You have no reason not to want me here. " The calm puppy infuriated and terrified the experienced, trained murderer. The little fucker was hard, tenting his shorts.
Boston growled. "I don't want a friend. Sorry, I am going to kill you, Max." the collie grabbed the small dog by the throat and lifted his head an inch from the floor, raising his other fist.
Max managed out a quick, yet still calm, "See you in bit, short stuff." before being knocked unconscious with a sickening blow to the bridge of his muzzle.
Boston shivered over the limp form laying under him. It reminded him of his plush friend. He would never punch or hurt his little Boston. Even now that the plush dog was silent in his bedroom. He let out a soft whimper before quieting himself even in the presence of no listening ears.
"Fucker!" Boston panted, fist still balled up. He was more nervous than he was the other week, with the threat of jail, court for years, and maybe, eventually death in a chair with needles, not by an inmate with a broken mop handle. The twenty two year old collie was not ready to be caught. With a shiver, he relit a half smoked joint from the ashtray, and moved little Max downstairs to meet the real Boston.
Boston winced a bit himself as he smacked the little puppy that looked hauntingly like him. The rough impact caused Max to wake up with a yelp, his eyes blinking open widely as he froze, ears pinned and shivering in shock. He didn't move for a moment, his chains clinking as they held him by his arms held out to the side. The chains swung from the ceiling and kept him high enough to drag painfully on his ankles if he wasn't standing. With a groan and a forming smile, he slid painfully onto the proper sides of his small footpaws and wagged his tail.
"Hi, Boston." Max didn't look afraid anymore.
Daniel Travis Junior, Boston as he insisted on being called, was shaking in controlled rage. His teeth were bared and in his paw which alone held steady, a fresh, glistening scalpel. He began to talk in a steady, even tone.
"Max, I don't know what your deal is, but all I needed was a little release, ok? I don't care about your problems, or you!" The older dog was trembling.
The young collie held up by his paws smiled a distant smile. Not the one the killer had first encountered. "You never wanted a little brother, Boston? I could be your little brother. You could take care of me and teach me things! You can even beat me when I'm bad. Please, Boston I just want to stay with you and be yours. Whatever you want!"
Boston was near tears and he didn't know why. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" chest heaving from lack of breath, the collie's muzzle and cheek fur was wet. Blood splatters only visibly in the white stripe across his face. In front of the border collie, his smaller counter part stood in his chains looking down at his chest fur, once covered in it's t-shirt that had introduced the two and now stood slashed to ribbons and hanging loosely. Little gashes, but quite obviously deep split his white chest and abdomen. Red seeped out into the surrounding fur as the little puppy whimpered.
"Boston, why? Please! Please I'm not mad. Just keep me! I promise I'll be good and you can even do this to me every day if you want!"
Boston felt like vomiting. He grabbed the little dog by his neck and squeezed. "Max, I'm not going to kill you until you snap out of this! Do you understand? I'm going to break you until you tell me you were wrong! You tell me you want to die and I will kill you! Stop this!" The old collie let the smaller dog's neck free only to knee him hard in the groin, gaining a sharp yelp of pain and a groan as the small black, white and red collie hung limply by his arms once again, dripping blood still from his fresh chest wounds.
Lighting a cigarette and snarling to himself, then letting out a short crying laugh, Daniel Travis Junior looked over at his father's old cabinets where he had first discovered just how different he was with the german shepard. That kid was about Max's age. Dragging deep on his smoke, Boston knew he had to break this kid first. No one should be that addicted to shame and torment. It was pathetic. Killing him in this state was depressing, he would be doing Max some good to let him die with dignity.
He decided on his method over a joint, having stuffed and duct taped one of Boston's own dirty socks extracted from his boots duct tape around his small black and white muzzle to keep it in place. That kid was persistent. The clever collie knew how to break him, though. Oh yes. He would give the pup what he thought he wanted.
Boston grinned to himself as he sat on the couch, paws again on the table as he stroked the old black collar in his lap. It was made of black leather, had one o-ring, and three small spikes on each side of it, one of which was missing. The collie sighed softly and stood, heading to the basement and moving down the creaking stairs.
He whistled like he was calling a dog as he walked into the all too calm fourteen year old's vision.
"You want to be a dog, Max. Poof. You're a feral dog. A mutt. Now I'd say you make a poor one by default. Can't run on all fours, can't shut up, can't do anything a dog can do well. So, you will be beaten until you are broken, just like a feral animal, how is that?"
Max only nodded his head slowly trying to look cute with his muzzle taped shut around the older collie's dirty sock. The taste of his pads quite excited the young dog.
The nod, however received a swift punch in the soft nose of the border collie who hung in his chains, blood still wet in his belly and chestfur. The blow sent blood gushing out of Max's snout as he wheezed now, trying to breath through the flooded passage. Boston wasted no time in punching the now forward-hunched pup in the back of the head, then again in the side of the head. Blow after blow now to the small teens face.
"BAD DOG, MAX! Bad dog! Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad!"
The smaller canine was now bleeding from even his ears. His eyes were screwed shut and tearing from impacts to them. He was actually whimpering through the sock as he wheezed.
Boston took a look at the small collie, he was feeling that little twinge again, he couldn't even say the word now. Regret. It only made him mad.
Was the pup right? Boston thought to himself. Could he have had a brother? With a look at the beaten, sniveling, bloody mess that was the puppy, all he could feel was disgust at something so weak.
"Your dad was right, Max. You are a faggot!"
The younger dog's ears flattened more than they already were, even soaked in unseen red fluid. Unknown to Boston, it was the first thing that the little dog would say had hurt him.
Boston rummaged through drawers and shelves noisily, looking for something in particular. He found it. Turning around, the mostly black collie clenched tightly in his paw, an electric wood staple gun. The 'clip' loaded with inch long, jagged staples meant to hold paneling together. Plugging it in and testing it on a nearby support beam, the older dog only blinked as the loud clack and jump of the gun left it's projectile deeply impeded in the timber.
"You're going to be my stress relief after all, Max. I couldn't ever love something like you. No one could." Words of pure venom, for no real reason. He came this far and couldn't go back. There was no healing something like this now.
The puppie's eyes were wide and on the oddly shaped tool, now. He was shivering and hung loose in his chains like a child that didn't want to be picked up. As Boston approached, the once confident pup actually tried to hold himself as far from the killer collie as he could manage. Without hesitation the sick dog was on him.
Boston held the pup's head still as the dog thrashed his lower torso wildly, trying to get away, footpaws and tail flailing in all directions. The older dog sustained a few minor blows, but still brought the gun mercilessly to the puppy's now lidded eyes.
"Be a man, or be a dog. Open your eyes, or keep them shut and find out what happens tomorrow."
Max cried silently, biting deeply into Boston, his would be friend's sock. The smell and taste penetrated past the blood and the smaller border collie still wished he could be enjoying it. His eyes held tight, and tears streamed past the black lids. He shivered in the older collie's grasp and silently imagined the arms were lovingly hurting him.
The collie from the news screamed loudly, the pistol like tool held a half inch from the fuzzy, thinly-furred right eyelid, and he squeezed the first of three rapid shots. The crunching sound only heard by the smaller of the two as Boston's ears were filled by the clack of the gun and the now shrill scream even piercing his sock.
The gory scene of Max's face, now beaten horribly, and with one eyelid pinned shut into it's own orb it was meant to protect. The little dog was spasming and kicking on the floor, squirming in his chains loudly making them clink to Boston's enjoyment.
"Finally, a bit of relief. A little more is defiantly warranted, though."
Ruthlessly, Boston grabbed the poor pup's bruised muzzle tightly and pulled his face close to inspect his work. After a moment he smirked. The little pup's one good eye was wide, tearful, and trembling. Scared, and pleading.
"Should have just left them open, pup." And with a nearly unceremonious motion, brought the gun down with a click-clack on the open, brown orb.
The staple penetrated deeply, and blinded the little dog with a sickeningly wet crunch and fresh searing pain. The little eyelid quickly began to blink, covering the eye and now, staple. Max howled lowly and miserably through the sock. Without another word a collar was slapped around his neck and tightened.
The pup was left in the darkness of the lighted basement, his own cries in the bloody gag which only smelled of his captor. The tears and blood streaming into his eyes to repair them were only sacrificed down the small, shivering, young dog's muzzle and chest like a red tide.
Boston sat upstairs, leaning forward this time in his spot on the couch. His elbows sat on his kneecaps and he held his face in his paws. His muzzle aimed down and his eyes buried in the furry warmth of the very paws that had just ruined the first thing the dog had had feelings for in as long as he can remember.
"Why? Why did I have to ruin this chance?" The collie was actually crying.
The soft voice that always spoke in his own, yet only in his ears answered. As usual, it was all too correct.
It said simply;
Because you were meant to ruin everything you touch.
-To be continued