The Cruelest Cut by Rick Reed Read Free Book Online Page A

screaming. He sat up on the edge of the couch where he had fallen asleep and shielded his eyes from the sunlight that bled through the mostly missing window blinds of his motel room.
    From the room next to his someone was banging loudly on the wall. A raspy voice accompanied the banging. “Shut the fuck up over there! I’m trying to sleep!”
    â€œI oughta kill that bastard,” Eddie said through clenched teeth, then yelled at the wall, “Shut up, ya rat fuck!” He slammed his hand against the wall hard enough to rattle the windows.
    Sitting across from him, his brother shook his head sadly. “How many times I gotta tell you, bro? Complaining don’t get the job done.”
    Eddie jumped up from the couch and grabbing the huge corn knife, headed for the door.
    â€œI’ll get the fuckin’ job done, all right,” he said as he swung the thirty-inch blade of the corn knife around in the air. “I’ll cut him a new asshole.”
    Bobby didn’t move from the bed where he was reclined, head cradled in his hands, with a huge smile playing across his face.
    â€œWhat?” Eddie asked. Then he looked in the cracked mirror behind the couch, and saw what Bobby was grinning about. Eddie’s damp hair stood out in all directions, he was naked, and in his hand was the antique harvesting knife he’d stolen from behind a junk store.
    Bobby started to chuckle, and Eddie had to admit he was quite a sight.
    â€œGuess I’ll just cut the shit heel’s tires later,” Eddie said and sat back down on the couch. He held the knife at arm’s length, checking it out. He’d always liked knives, maybe not as much as Bobby, but even Bobby would have to admit this was the “mother of all knives.”
    The thirty-inch hammered-iron blade was a quarter of an inch thick at the back and razor sharp along the wickedly curved blade. The long wood handle was at a forty-five-degree angle to the blade and, like a scythe, was designed to swing with one or both hands to harvest corn.
    â€œSave it for Murphy,” Bobby said.
    Eddie put the knife down and slumped back on the couch. He was tired. The one thing he’d never had trouble with in his life was sleeping, at least until now. Booze, even drugs, didn’t help anymore. He pulled his knees up under his chin, wrapped his arms around his legs, and began rocking. Pieces of memories flashed in his mind, sparking raw emotions. The waking nightmares were all too familiar now. An old church building, stairs, a locked door, a boy shoved over an altar, a splash of blood dripping onto a wooden floor, screaming, screaming, screaming…
    â€œHey, snap out of it, bro.” Bobby’s voice brought Eddie back. Bobby was sitting at the foot of the bed, a sad look on his face. “You were thinking about the preacher, weren’t you?” Bobby was referring to their deceased father. He had been a self-professed preacher of sorts.
    Eddie nodded, not trusting his voice. He was too big to cry, and too proud to let his brother see how close he was to doing just that.
    â€œI told you how to make the dreams go away, Eddie,” Bobby said. “Complaining don’t get the job done.”
    Eddie hated it when his brother said that. “Complaining don’t get the job done, Eddie. Sorry don’t get the job done, Eddie.” Those were the preacher’s words. Nothing ever seemed to get the job done where his father was concerned.
    â€œWhat do you want me to do?” Eddie asked.
    Bobby looked at the corn knife, and Eddie felt a shiver of excitement.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œGet the book and I’ll show you,” Bobby answered.
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    Maddy Brooks looked around before sneaking out the back door of the television station. She wedged a Popsicle stick between the door latch and the strike plate so the door wouldn’t lock, made sure the coast was clear, and then took out a pack of smokes. The last