LESSONS IN DYING
© 2002-Destiny West

 

‘So, how many ways are there to die?’

The small group of students gathered in the auditorium laughed in unison.

‘Isn’t that like asking how many stars are in the sky, or what came first, the chicken or the egg?’ One asked.

The other classmates nodded their heads in agreement.

‘Or, how many ways there are to skin a cat?’ Another one added.

The laughter began to grow again but was hushed back down by the teacher’s gestures for silence.

’Fifteen, actually.’ A voice said from the back row.

‘Pardon?’ Asked the teacher.

The pimple-faced young man stood up.
‘There are fifteen ways to skin a cat, or thereabouts. My cousin Bradley tried it.’

‘Gross.’ A female voice muttered.

‘That’s enough Patricia.’ Said the teacher.

‘But they killed cats, Sir.’ She protested, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

‘And you’re here taking lessons on how to kill people.’ The pimpled guy retaliated.

Patricia turned round to glare at Oliver. His pus-ridden face disgusted her; and he was just the type who would get off on torturing poor innocent animals. She shifted her glance then toward Bradley, who flashed her a sneer and re-focused his eyeline back on Mr Jones. He doubted that ‘Jones’ was his real name.

Last week when Oliver had handed him the computer print-out; Bradley had stared at the piece of paper with disbelief.

‘No way, man.’ Bradley had managed to reply.

‘Yes way. It’s as true as the paper it is written on.’ Oliver said. ‘A seminar for serial killers.’

‘You’re not a serial killer.’ Bradley snorted. His cousin was a sick bastard alright, and whilst he had slaughtered a few animals, Bradley doubted he had the guts to really kill someone.

‘I will be once I take this course. ‘It’s teaching ways to kill people, straight up.’

‘ Yeah, right. Listen man, looking at sick pictures on the ‘Net hardly qualifies you as a serial killer.’ Bradley argued.

He had himself spent hours surfing the internet seeking sick and macabre images, however as much as all the blood and gore fascinated him; it didn’t make him want to go out there and experience such things first hand.
Though it wasn’t that the idea hadn’t ever entered his head. All his school life he had been tormented and bullied by his peers, and he’d spent a lot of time fantasising over what it would be like to take to them out with a pick axe, or better still, a chainsaw….

However the idea of life imprisonment or death by lethal injection was not at all appetising. Bradley had heard all about what went on in prisons and there was no way he was going to be called ‘bitch’ by some huge weightlifting thug whilst fucked up the arse, or forced to suck cock till his gums bled.

Plus what about that old conduit story? The one where they would rape you with a piece of pipe? Force the tube right up your arsehole with no lubricant. No real man would enjoy that. Something like that would tear your arse ring and god knows what else.
But that wasn’t the worst of it, because after the conduit was buried up your arse, they would feed a long piece of barbed wire down its length. Nasty barbed wire, with all those spikes jutting off the main vein. They would push it up the conduit and then slowly remove the tube from your arsehole.
And you what that meant, don’t you?
The length of barbed wire would remain buried in your arse and the only way to get it out was to pull it! That idea alone had really freaked Bradley out and was enough to make him stay on the path of the straight and narrow.

‘I rang up about it yesterday.’ Oliver continued, shaking Bradley from his thoughts.

‘Yeah?’ he replied, the image of the conduit piping still in his mind’s eye.

‘Yeah, I got myself a place.’

‘Bullshit.’ Bradley snorted.

‘It’s true man, I swear on my life. I phoned up the number and got a place.’

‘As if.’ Bradley continued to sneer staring at the piece of paper in his hands. It was obviously some forgery that Oliver had mocked up on his PC.

‘So what happens?’ He asked, just to keep his cousin happy.

‘Oliver sat down on his bed, crossing his legs into an Indian sitting position. ‘Well, The guy I spoke to, Mr Jones…’
Bradley sniffed.
Oliver read his thoughts. ‘Well the guy’s not exactly going to use his real name is he?’

‘Suppose not.’ Bradley agreed, sitting himself down in the chair in front of Oliver’s computer, and swivelling it around in order to put his feet up on the bed. His cousin continued.

‘Anyway, this Mr Jones asked me a few questions. What I’d done, how old I was etc. I told him a pack of lies and he offered me a place. It starts this weekend.’

‘And you think he’s not going to realise you’re a fraud when he sees you?’ Bradley chimed.

Bradley and Oliver could pass for brothers instead of twins. They were both the same ages, born only a month apart. They had the same bad complexions and nerdy physiques, and they each kept their dirty magazines under their beds along with a dozen cum- crusted tissues.
The closest they had ever got to a real woman was the time Oliver’s younger sister, had let them both fool around with her a bit.

Bradley felt a stirring in his groin just thinking about it. At sixteen Emma was no great looker, but she was a girl and she had a pussy. She hadn’t let them fuck her, but they had been allowed to do pretty much anything else they wanted; but of course it had been at a price.
They had both given her their savings: $40 all up.

‘Come up with a $200 and I’ll let you put them in there.’ She had told them.

That had been two months ago and since then Bradley had been scrimping and saving the money from his lawn mower round. He didn’t have a social life. The only outgoing expense he really had was his Internet connection, which his parents forced him to pay for himself. Bastards.
So far he had $150. Give him a couple more weeks and he would have the $200 and Emma’s pussy wrapped around his cock.
He wondered if she was a virgin? Probably not. She certainly didn’t feel like one. Not that Bradley knew what virgins actually “felt“ like, but he had read books and done biology and there certainly hadn’t been any stubborn fleshy membrane stopping his (or Oliver’s) fingers from pushing deep inside of her.

Oliver eyed Bradley’s growing erection through his pants.
‘How much you got so far?’ He asked, reading Bradley’s mind.

Hundred and fifty.’ He told him. ‘You?’

‘Mmm, about the same, but it paid the deposit for this course.’ Oliver told him.

Bradley glared at him.
‘You’re fucking mad!’

Oliver stretched out his legs.
‘The two hundred was for both of us though, perhaps she’d accept the hundred and fifty just to fuck you.’ He suggested.

That thought appeased Bradley. Perhaps she would. And besides, then he’d loose his virginity before Oliver and he wouldn’t have to take sloppy seconds from Emma.

‘What would you do?’ Bradley asked, his mouth practically salivating at the thought.

‘She’d let me watch, I could tape it and you’d have a living memory. We could even put it up somewhere on the net. You know, set up our own home page and people could pay to download it.’

Bradley grinned. The idea was a stroke of genius.

‘Shall we ask her?’ Oliver suggested.

Bradley nodded eagerly.

Oliver got off the bed and opened his bedroom door and shouted out his sister’s name. After a few minutes his door swung open.
‘What do you want, fuck-wits?’ She said, leering at them with disgust.

Oliver gestured for her to shut the door.

‘Remember your proposition two months ago? Two hundred dollars to go all the way?’ Oliver asked.

‘Yeah, what about it?’ Emma groaned, guessing as to what was coming next.

‘Well, what would you say to one hundred and fifty in cash just to fuck Bradley?’

Emma’s eyes squinted suspiciously.
‘One hundred and fifty. Just to fuck him?’

Oliver nodded. Bradley swallowed hard in anticipation.

‘Show me the cash.’ She demanded.

‘I haven’t got it on me.’ Bradley blurted out, thinking of the biscuit tin buried in the back of his closet.

Emma sneered and went to walk out of the room.

‘Listen, I’ll give you the hundred and fifty Emma, and Bradley- you can bring me your cash tomorrow.’

‘Sure thing.’ Bradley enthused.

Oliver reached under his mattress and brought out a battered tobacco tin. He opened it up and took out the wad of cash and waved the bundle at Emma.

She licked her lips greedily, her mind already thinking of what she would spend her new-found wealth on.
‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’ She agreed happily

‘But there is one condition.’ Oliver continued.

Emma raised her eyebrow. ‘Go on?’

‘I get to watch it and I get to film it’

‘What on earth do you want to film it for?’

‘For our own private enjoyment.’.

‘Yeah, that’s right. Something to wank off to later, eh?’ She snorted, distastefully.

Both boys nodded their heads. There was no way they were going to let her in on their little Internet plan.

‘Okay, you’re on, but I have a condition too. You have to keep my head out of the shot.’ She told Oliver firmly.

‘Not a problem.’ He replied.

‘Oh, and one other thing.’ Emma said.

Bradley and Oliver looked at her.

‘I’ve got my rags.’

‘Yuck.’ Oliver groaned.

‘Hey, there’s no need to chuck a spaz.’ She told him, offended at his reaction. ‘Besides, at least I can’t get pregnant; so Bradley won’t have to wear a rubber. It’ll feel so much better for him.’

‘Yeah, I don’t mind.’ Bradley said enthusiastically. He wasn’t going to let a little blood stop him from getting his end wet.

‘You’ll have to put something on my bed though.’ Oliver demanded. ‘I don’t want any of your gross blood on my sheets.’

Emma left the room and came back with a plastic bed sheet. She helped Oliver strip his bed covers and between them they fitted the elastic sides of the sheet around his mattress.

‘Perfect.’ Emma said taking the hundred and fifty dollars off the computer desk.
‘I’ll just go put this somewhere safe and I’ll be back. Get your camera ready for the show, boys.’
She left the room.

Bradley slapped his own knee triumphantly.
‘ Just how good is this?’ He enthused.

‘Fucking A.’ Oliver offered, unpacking the digital camera from its case and setting it up on the tripod.

‘Not going to film by hand?’ Bradley said, hoping he’d get some close ups of the action.

‘Bit of both.’ Oliver replied. ‘Besides I might need my hands free to take care of the boner in my pants.’

Emma strolled back into the room and shut the door behind her, bolting it secure.
‘Folks are over at the Murphy’s, but we can’t be too careful.’ She said.

Oliver flicked on his stereo. The sounds of the trance-music he was so into lately. filled the room
‘Background music.’ He explained. ‘Just in case they come home early. I don’t want them hearing any strange noises.’

Emma began to unbutton her blouse, sliding it over her shoulders and down her arms, letting it fall to the floor where she was standing.
Oliver had already pressed the record button on the camera.
Emma was wearing a pale pink bra, which cradled her ample breasts and was just transparent enough to see the dark circle of nipple jutting through the flimsy fabric. However, much to the boy’s disappointment she left it on, and instead reached her arms around to unfasten the button at the back of her skirt, pulling down the zipper. The skirt dropped down over her hips and legs to the floor, and she kicked it away, before standing before them both in just her bra and matching panties.

Bradley’s cock had returned to its rigid hardness along with Oliver’s.

Her hands reached behind the bra and unfastened the eye-hooks; she pulled the straps over her shoulders and let the bra drop revealing her full breasts.
Last time she hadn’t removed all her clothes and their fumbles had taken place through or under her clothing.

Slowly, teasingly, she inserted her fingers into the side bands of her panties and pulled them down. Bradley spied the white string of cotton hanging against her thigh. Her fingers instinctively went to it and tugged hard. The dark red stained pad of cotton wool slithered out of her pussy and she tossed it over at the waste paper basket.

Emma walked over to the bed and lay down, sprawling her naked body across the plastic sheet. It felt cold and sticky against her back, but she settled down and waited.

Oliver nudged his cousin.

Nervously Bradley fiddled with his T-shirt, pulling it up and over his head to reveal his puny chest with a few fine hairs scattered across it.
He unbuttoned the top of his jeans and pulled down the zipper carefully. His cock was large and rigid and pushed up and out of his jocks.

Emma licked her lips when she saw the size of him.
‘Well, well, who would have ever guessed that nerdy Bradley was hung like a horse?’

Oliver stared, amazed at the size of his cousin’s cock and felt slightly inadequate by his own small member.
Reading their thoughts, Bradley proudly strutted over towards the bed.

‘Well, big boy, It should be me paying you.’ Emma giggled.

Bradley lay down on the bed beside his cousin. He too hated the feel of the plastic against his skin, but a little discomfort would be worth it for what he had coming.

His hand automatically moved onto Emma’s breasts and fingers grazed over her hard nipples. He moved his mouth down and sucked upon the jutting bud greedily, swirling his tongue around the nipple; tasting the faint saltiness of Emma’s sweat.
While he sucked he let his hand move down her body and pushed her thighs apart, awkwardly rubbing his palm across the slit of her pussy. Nervously, he pushed a finger inside her.

Emma’s pussy felt hot and wet around his finger.
He wanted to - no- he needed to look at her. He removed his mouth off her breast and made his way down the bed until he was lying in between her thighs. She spread her legs further apart for him, so he could have a good look.
With one hand he opened up the lips of her pussy and gazed at it.

‘Bring the camera over here.’ He gasped hotly to Oliver.

Oliver moved over to the side of the bed, camera in hand and zoomed in on his sister’s pussy: It was like a mouth of pink folds glistening with a mixture of blood and juices.
Once again Bradley’s moved to finger her hole, sliding one deep inside of her, then another. She was moaning softly, clearly turned on by the idea of them looking and touching and filming. Bradley now moved his thumb onto her swollen clit and flicked it a few times; her body writhed and squirmed on the bed.

Suddenly, before Oliver could stop him, Bradley buried his face into her pussy; tongue delving all around, tasting the cocktail of her juices mingled with blood.
He continued to explore every fold and pushing his tongue deep inside of her and before long Emma was crying out, her feet arching, her hands tightly clasping Bradley’s head to her pussy. Her body was shuddering beneath him.

‘She’s fucking cumming.’ Oliver cheered, holding the camera focus right in on Bradley’s feast.

Finally Emma released the grip on Bradley’s head and he came up for air.
His mouth and chin were stained, glistening with Emma’s juices and blood.
Oliver positioned the camera at Bradley’s face.

‘How was it?’ He asked, in mock interview style.

Bradley beamed.
‘Fucking delicious, man.’

They both laughed.

Emma’s breathing had settled down.
‘Want to show me what else you can do?’ She breathed at him.

Bradley held his aching cock in one hand.
‘Yeah, but you’re going to suck it first, bitch.’ He said.

Oliver stared at Bradley. He never realised that his cousin would be such a porn-star.
Bradley leapt back onto the bed straddling Emma, who was now struggling to free herself from beneath him.

‘Get your handcuffs.’ Bradley ordered Oliver.
‘Go on, get ‘em, you can’t tell me you don’t want a piece of her too.’

Oliver didn’t hesitate; he was too excited to think of the consequences. He pulled open his bedside table and took out a pair of mail-order handcuffs. He clamped one tightly around his sister’s wrist, and then hooked the chain through the metal railing of his bedpost, securing her other wrist.

‘Let me go.’ Emma demanded.

‘ No. Not until you play nicely.’ Bradley told her. ‘You do exactly as we tell you and we will let you go.’

‘You’re so fucking dead.’ She spat at him.

‘I don’t think so, we have the footage. You came into this willingly and all for the sake of one hundred and fifty dollars. As if you are even going to breathe a word.’ Bradley hissed, gloating at his genius.

He was right. Emma didn’t say a word.

‘Now bitch, you’re going to suck my cock and you’re going to suck it real good.’ Bradley told her, moving his body up the bed to position himself over her mouth. He held his huge cock in one hand and nudged it against her lips.
‘Don’t get any ideas about biting either, or I’ll hurt you like you’d never believe.’

She knew what these two were capable of. She saw the shit they looked at on the net and had even stumbled across them one day in their Father’s shed. They had actually been taking turns to fuck a dead puppy. Whether it had been alive at the start of the ordeal, she didn’t know. Nor did she want to.

She opened her mouth and let him slide it straight in.
‘It will be over soon.’ She reassured herself, and besides it wasn’t the first time she had sucked cock. Ironically, she would have done it for him anyway before all this bullshit had started.

Bradley held the back of her head tightly and guided his cock in and out of her mouth.
‘This is fucking unbelievable.’ He moaned to his cousin. ‘Put the camera up on the tripod and have a go.’

Oliver didn’t need any persuading. He secured the camera and threw off his clothes. He joined Bradley kneeling by Emma’s head.
They took turns sliding their cocks into her mouth, at one stage when they became so aroused by the whole thing they had even started kissing; their tongues probing each others mouths, sucking on each others lips. Oliver could taste his sister on Bradley, and it felt amazing. Beyond sex, almost.

They both came within minutes of each other, spraying their hot sticky fluid over Emma’s face. And they took turns in rubbing it into her skin and hair.

‘Now what?’ Oliver panted.
‘Now we fuck her.’ Bradley told him.
Both of the boys grinned.
It didn’t take them long to get hard again. They fondled each other, making Emma watch. Bradley didn’t realise how arousing it could be having another guy touch him that way.

‘You go first.’ Oliver offered.

Bradley moved down between Emma’s legs and guided his cock to her wet pussy and pushed inside of her.
His cock slid in with ease.
He groaned.
‘Oh yeah.’ He said hoarsely and began to build a rhythm, pumping in and out of her with force.
He was glad that he had made Emma suck their cocks first, otherwise he doubted if he would have been able to hold onto his load this long. It was amazing: her pussy was so tight and it seemed to grip every inch of his cock.
Even Emma was moaning.
‘She’s enjoying it.’ He gloated to himself.
He wanted this feeling to last forever.
Bradley withdrew, nursing his glistening cock in his hand.

‘You have a go.’ He told Oliver.

Oliver moved in between his sister’s legs and rammed his cock inside of her, whilst his mouth descended onto her breasts, biting and sucking them. Bradley watched with amusement and arousal.

‘Good, isn’t it?’ He said to Oliver.

‘Yeah.’ Oliver panted, fucking harder.

‘Been even better if she still had been a virgin.’ Bradley suggested.

Oliver grunted his agreement.

‘Of course, I bet there is one place she still is a virgin.’ Bradley said.

Oliver paused and turned his head away from Emma’s breast to face him.

‘No fucking way.’ Emma said, alarmed.

Bradley laughed.
‘Shut up, bitch. You’ll fucking love it, and you know it.’

‘Oliver, please. Don’t let him.’ Emma pleaded with her brother.

‘Yeah, shut up Emma.’ Oliver told her pulling his cock out. He grabbed Emma’s panties off the floor and stuffed them into her mouth. She mumbled and groaned against them.

Together the boys positioned Emma’s body so they both could have access.
‘Let me get it into her first.’ Bradley warned him.

Bradley greased up his cock with some of her juices and positioned the throbbing tip at her virgin arse. He nudged the hole with and forced it in a little way. Emma tensed at its touch.

‘That’s got to fucking hurt.’ Oliver said.

‘Course it does.’ Bradley laughed and rammed home.
He moved his cock in and out of her arse for a while, not all the way inside, he couldn’t get his length all the way. But even half way, it was a feeling like no other. Not better than her pussy, but just as good and different. Her arse was so tight that he thought he might explode at any moment.
Oliver meanwhile slid his cock back inside of her pussy.
They matched their rhythms and fucked her hard. Pounding their meat in and out as Emma’s eyes bulged and pleaded with them though the fabric to stop.
But they didn’t.

Bradley came first, shooting his hot load up her arse. Then, mere seconds afterwards, spurred on by his cousins rapture, Oliver came deep inside of her. The boys both lay there for a moment, trying to catch their breath, chests rising and falling heavily. Emma lay there shaking too…but not with ecstasy.
Then they pulled out. Both cocks were speckled with blood, though Bradley’s also was caked with Emma’s shit.
‘Foul bitch.’ Bradley laughed and crawled up the bed.

‘What you doing?’ Oliver asked.

Bradley pulled the panties out of her mouth.
‘Why, she’s going to lick it clean of course.’ He sneered and nudged his cock at her mouth…

‘What a fucking evening that had been.’ Bradley thought to himself while straining to keep some attention placed on Mr Jones who was by now in the middle of discussing the various methods of torture that had been used in the Middle Ages and how such means could be modernised for today’s depravities.

He had forced her to suck his cock and she had done as she was told.
She cleaned it up real good and managed to get him hard again.
The evening had turned into a real fucking frenzy and Bradley guessed that it was a culmination of the sexual arousal and the sight of Emma’s blood that had finally made him snap.

Before he knew it, he had overpowered Oliver, and now had him bent over the bed; hands secured to the bed legs, fucking him up the arse.
It wasn’t that he was completely sexually aroused by the idea of fucking another guy, it was just curiosity: He’d fucked a girl up her arse and now he wanted to know if it felt the same to do a guy.

God, it had been a hilarious sight: Emma lying on the bed watching as Bradley fucked her brother’s virgin arse. Oliver was squealing like a girl.
Bradley guessed by the look in Emma’s eye that she had no sympathy for her brother. Bradley even went so far as to think that Emma thought it was some kind of divine justice and would love to have seen Bradley himself raped the same way, or with a shotgun.

However, Bradley wasn’t letting anybody near his arse. He wasn’t a fag! So, he continued to batter away at Oliver, even considering forcing him to suck his cock too. But the thought of Oliver’s braces put a dampener on that idea.

When Bradley lay back on the bed exhausted, listening to Oliver sobbing her realised what he had done and the gravity of the whole thing.
How the fuck was he going to keep this quiet?

He lay there thinking for, well, he didn’t know how long. Before he assaulted Oliver, he could have been guaranteed of his cousin’s silence on the Emma matter. Plus he knew there would have been no way that Emma would have gone blabbing to her folks. I mean, she had accepted one hundred and fifty dollars cash off them, and they had the video footage to prove it.

But now it was a completely different story.

Bradley looked at his cousins and unfortunately he knew there was only one thing left to do.

He grabbed Oliver’s deodorant can from the bedside table and rammed it up Oliver’s arse. Boy did that make him howl. Then he had carefully wiped his own prints off the can and placed it into Emma’s hand, securing her fingerprints.
She could do nothing about it though, her brain’s self defences had kicked in by now, and she lay there in a state of near catatonia.

Opening Oliver’s computer drawer he bought out his cousin’s switchblade knife.
Oliver had been so proud when he had purchased it from the hardware store a few months earlier. The blade had dissected a few animals too, so it wouldn’t be it’s first taste of blood.
Firstly he sliced Emma’s wrists, making sure the wounds were nice and deep, Bradley wanted this over and fast.
Then he moved over to where Oliver was hunched over the bed still whimpering.
‘Why are you doing this?’ He begged Bradley.
Bradley shrugged his shoulders and took hold of Oliver’s first wrist and pierced the vein filled flesh with the blade. Blood began to spurt, soaking into the carpet and bedclothes. Oliver ironically passed out at the sight.
After Bradley had severed the veins in his other wrist he released Oliver; leaving his cousin’s body to lie limply over the bed at his sister’s feet.

Bradley went to check on Emma’s progress; her blood had run down her arms and was pooling about her neck and shoulders on the plastic sheet. Instead of absorbing, it stayed lingering and spreading until it overflowed, running in dribbles off the side of the bed.
Emma was motionless, her vacant eyes staring out of their sockets in a dead haze.

Then Bradley carefully went about constructing “the scene”, now rubbing his own fingerprints off the knife-handle. He opened ‘word pad’ on the computer screen and typed in a paragraph.

‘We can no longer go on keeping our secret. If the morals and laws of this world do not condone our incestuous relationship we can not bare to be apart. So together we leave this place and in doing so leave all our guilt and fear behind. Forgive us.’

‘Perhaps a little melodramatic.’ Bradley thought to himself. ‘But it’s so Oliver.’

Bradley dressed and once more scanned the room carefully, then making sure there was nothing left to incriminate himself, he left the house.

That evening his parents woke him up from his sleep.
Both sets of eyes were bloodshot and his mother was sniffing and holding back the tears, trying to remain strong for their son.
He did all the things expected of him: he acted shocked and, accused them of playing some twisted prank on him. Then he lashed out, smashing his fist into his bedroom wall, finally breaking down into tears.
A double suicide, a double tragedy, a family in mourning over the loss of their only children; it was enough for Bradley to take up learning the violin.

So the double funeral would be Monday. His parents did not discuss the whole “ins and outs” of the deaths of his cousins with him. It remained a hushed up event, so as not to attract any stigma or drop in reputation to the family. All Bradley knew was that his Auntie and Uncle had come home from the Murphy’s house and were annoyed by the music blaring from Oliver’s room. They banged on his door a few times and when Oliver failed to answer they forced an entry, only to be confronted by the horrific scene: the bizarre sexual double suicide of their only children.

Of course there was questions, nobody had any idea about the incestuous relationship that had been going on between brother and sister. There had been no hints, both families were well aware of Emma’s reputation as a bit of a loose girl but she had never shown any partiality towards Oliver before. Basically they had fought like any brother and sister and held a great deal of open hostility towards each other; obviously, in retrospect, an elaborate double bluff.
The police were called and the whole scenario to them was cut and dried, there was no mention of foul play. The scene was as it so clearly said - a double suicide.

Secretly on the inside, Bradley was proud of himself.
He couldn’t believe that he had in him, the ability or sickness to do something like that, especially to his cousins. Especially to Oliver who had also been his best friend and confidant.
‘If I can so blatantly kill my own family, then I’m serial killer quality.’ He boasted to himself.
In his pocket he had kept the computer print out about the training course and he decided there and then he would attend the event and impersonate his cousin Oliver.
Mr Jones would have no idea, nobody had known Oliver better than Bradley; so any questions that might be re-asked he could easily answer.

So that is how Bradley was sitting here half listening to Mr Jones at the front of the auditorium still railing on about medieval torture methods.

‘So Oliver, can you tell me what pressing entails?’ Mr Jones interrupted Bradley’s thoughts finally bringing him completely back into the situation.

‘Pressing?’

‘Yes Oliver, “pressing” or haven’t you been listening to a word I have said?’

The girl who had made a fuss about the cat killing early sniggered out loud.

‘Pressing is when they would tie the victim on the ground with their arms outstretched so they resembled a crucifixion, then they would usually place a small rock under the back of the victim and begin to place rocks over them.’ Bradley replied proudly. Of course he had not been fully listening to Mr Jones, but he already knew enough torture methods; Hell, he'd read plenty about them. That was what was annoying him about this whole training course: there was nothing he didn’t already know or had learnt from the Internet or from library books. He felt cheated.

‘Very good.’ Mr Jones replied.

Bradley sneered at the cat-loving girl.

‘Now, I will need an assistant for the next piece.’ Jones said, scanning the room. His eyes finally focused back on Bradley. ‘Since you seem to know your torture Oliver, would you care to lend me a hand?’ He asked.

Bradley nodded and got up from his chair, sluggishly taking the steps down to the main platform one at a time. The seats of the auditorium were cloaked in darkness whilst the main area where Mr Jones was lecturing was under bright lights. All very overtly theatrical.
Bradley had seated himself towards the back of the room, so he carefully took his time making his way towards the platform.
In the cruellest of realities Bradley imagined himself loosing his footing and falling carelessly down the stairs to the applause and laughter of his fellow students - especially the cat girl.

He made it to the platform without incident.

Mr Jones positioned Bradley in front of the black velvet curtain that had been blocking off the rest of the platform and told him to pull the cord.
As Bradley did so, it fell to the floor revealing a large cauldron like device that had steam rising from it.Traditionally a cauldron would be heated over open flames, however this one appeared to be heated by gas.
"This is bordering upon Pantomime." Bradley sneered to himself, wondering what on earth Jones had up his sleeve.

The students in the auditorium gasped and whispered to each other.

Mr Jones turned back to face his audience.

‘One of the crudest methods of torture during the middle ages was that of boiling.’ He continued. ‘This could be done in one of two ways, either by heating water to the boil and immersing the victim in it, or by using oil instead .’
He watched his student cringe.
‘Obviously from the small sum I charged you lot to attend this training seminar I could not afford to lash out on expensive oil for this demonstration.’

Everybody laughed - including Bradley.

Despite still standing by the fallen curtains, he could feel the heat and felt a sweat begin to break.
‘This cauldron must have cost a fortune.’ He thought to himself. ‘Where the fuck do you get something like this?’.

One of the students pre-empted his thoughts.

‘Where do you buy one of these things?’ The guy asked.

Mr Jones smiled.
‘You can buy anything on the Internet nowadays.’ He told them. ‘However I had this little number custom built.’

‘Have you used it?’ The cat girl asked him.

Mr Jones raised a knowing eyebrow and grinned, leaving the question unanswered.

Suddenly, two large men came from the sides of the stage area, dressed completely in black and wearing masks that reminded Bradley of traditional executioners. They moved across the platform to where Bradley stood and seized him by both arms.

Bradley laughed nervously. Suddenly he felt very uncomfortable.

The men lead him towards Jones, who turned to face him.

‘You stand in front of us accused of being an impostor.’ Jones said loudly, his tone much darker now. There were excited whispers from the students.

‘I don’t know what you mean?’ Bradley bluffed.
How could they have found out that he was not Oliver? No, it had to be some re-enactment scenario and he was just playing the part of a traitor.

‘You are not Oliver Harding.’ Jones boomed.
The men’s grip on Bradley’s arms tightened.

Bradley gulped nervously.
‘Yes I am.’ He argued, terrified. How the hell had Mr Jones found out? It all didn’t make sense.

‘I do read the obituaries.’ Mr Jones informed him.

Bradley struggled.

Then dramatically, Jones turned towards his students.
‘We have before us an impostor, a traitor, one who had breached our confidence and is a risk to our society.’
The audience was silent, all eyes looked unblinking in the direction of the stage.
He continued. ‘In the middle ages traitors were dealt with by many means in order to extract their confessions. This man before us need not confess. I have all the proof I need.’

From the darkness another masked man entered the lit area, he was wheeling a trolley covered in a white sheet. He steered it in front of Mr Jones and left the platform.

Jones pulled off the sheet with a flourish. It was a corpse.
Oliver’s corpse!.
Bradley’s knees buckled under him, but the two men kept him standing.

‘Behold before us, the real Oliver Harding.’ Jones stated.
‘Dead, dead, dead.’ He continued raising one of the arms and letting it fall back down with a thud.

Jones wheeled the trolley over towards the cauldron.
‘If this boy before us is not dead, surely he will feel this?’ He demanded, lifting Oliver’s body with ease and pushing it over the edge of the cauldron into the boiling water.
There was no sound except the splash and the hiss of steam.
A foul odour began to fill Bradley’s nostrils and he gagged; the boiling flesh of his dead cousin.

‘We have before us a party guilty of his crime.’ Mr Jones continued. ‘There is no need for torture or inquisition.’

Bradley sighed with relief. ‘They’re going to let me go.’

‘No!’ Jones boomed loudly, making a few students jump on their seats. ‘ No...We are beyond mere torture; this traitor and impostor faces the punishment of death.’

Bradley couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
They couldn’t get away with killing him, could they?
Just because these people in this room were as sick and as twisted as him, it didn’t, it couldn't mean they would kill him.

The two men began to drag Bradley towards the bubbling cauldron.

He drew in his breath to scream. The scream turned into a plea. He scanned the eyes of the audience: ‘Somebody stop them, don’t let them do this to me!’ He appealed to them desperately.
No one came to his aid.

He struggles were futile. They lifted Bradley into their arms and swung him over the side of the cauldron, holding him in the plumes of steam that hissed from the vessel.
Now Bradley screamed. Below him he could see the body of his cousin, parts of him bobbing on the waters surface.

Then it hit him.

Time seemed to slow down into an agonizing eternity: The scolding water embraced him, sucking his body under into the scorching maelstrom.
PAIN, like no other roared through him, stinging his flesh like a thousand razor sharp needles gorging his skin and ripping the flesh from his bone.
It invaded his mouth, filled his lungs and boiled his organs.
His eyes poached and popped from their sockets, floating to the surface; and through it all, Bradley could still hear himself screaming.
To everyone else in the room however, there was only the roar of the water and the odour of boiling flesh.

Then, Bradley was gone.
His body remained though, stewing in a foul concoction of water bodily remains

The audience erupted into applause.

‘Wonderful, wonderful.’ Mr Jones repeated, bowing to his applauding audience.
‘Now.’ He began, standing up straight. ‘Who will be my next assistant?’

As he scanned the room, the doors of the auditorium bolted shut from the outside and the two men wheeled on the next implement; an iron maiden.

Confused, the students looked at each other and then the screaming began....