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For All The Wrong Reasons	By : darqstar Category: G through L > House of 1000 Corpses Views: 4942 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House of 1000 Corpses, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way own any part of the movies House of 1000 Corpses or The Devil's Rejects. I do not own most of these characters. They are the property of Rob Zombie, Liongate films, and whoever else holds a commercial or property license over them. This is fan fiction, intended for the sole purpose of entertainment. No one has been paid to write or host this story. No one is paid or will have to pay to read it.

CHAPTER WARNING Pretty mild actually. Extreme violence, language, and some stuff that might make the overly sensitive a bit squicky.

Special thanks to My husband, who didn't call the men in the white coats when he found me crawling around the floor, checking to see how someone in Karen's position would do trying to function in a bathroom.

Chapter Seven
Busted!

I knew it was a big risk to leave Otis's room, but a risk I was willing to take. However, that didn't mean I wasn't terrified when I managed to inch my way out of the room and close the door behind me. The hallway was dark, and the only noises that greeted my ears were the sounds of crickets in the distance. I considered this a good omen that the members of the household were all asleep and this calmed me down, just a bit.

For a brief second I entertained the notion of trying to get out of the house, but it didn't last long. I knew the farm was secluded. I couldn't even walk, so how was I going to get anywhere to find help? No, I still figured my best options were to get some water and then kill myself. If I were lucky, I'd find a bathroom with razor blades in it, then I could take care of both things in the same location.

I hadn't remembered passing a bathroom when Baby led me upstairs, so I went in the other direction. There were no lights on in the hallway and no windows to let moonlight through, so I was feeling my way along in inky black darkness. I'd pull myself along a bit, using my hands and leg, then I'd feel along the wall to see if I was near a doorway. I came across one almost immediately. The door was shut, and I had no idea if this was a bathroom or another bedroom, so I dropped down on my stomach and put my ear up to the bottom of the door and listened. I heard the faint sounds of steady, even, breathing, so I pulled myself up and continued.

I came to another doorway and did the same thing. This time I heard nothing. I listened awhile longer, but heard no breathing. I slid my fingers under the door and touched the floor behind it. My fingertips were met a cold, smooth surface. The hallway and Otis's room had wooden floors. The floor behind this door felt like tile, the type of floor usually found in a bathroom. I pulled myself up, reached around until I found the door knob, and twisted it open slowly.

Moonlight shone through a small window across from me. It wasn't a lot of light, but it was enough to tell me that I was correct, this was the bathroom. There was a tub to the left of me and to the right were a sink and toilet.

I crawled inside and then paused to rest. I hadn't traveled that far from Otis's room, but I was still exhausted. My arms and legs were trembling uncontrollably, so I grit my teeth and tried to focus on making it stop, not an easy task. I forced myself to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth several times, which stopped tremors, though it made me very light headed.

Now that I was in the bathroom, I realized I was facing brand new issues I hadn't thought of earlier. Such as, how was I to get water without making a lot of noise? I went over to the sink, which was one of those basic affairs with just the basin on the wall and the pipes leading into the wall underneath, there was no vanity. I tentatively hooked my fingers over the basin and tugged on it gently, testing the strength. The whole sink moved slightly. That told me I couldn�t pull myself up, using the sink as leverage. I struggled for the faucet, so I could turn it on and use my cupped hands as a container. Reaching them was hard enough, but turning them was impossible. Everything I'd been going through these last days was catching up with me. Dragging myself here had probably tapped into the last of my physical reserves. If I didn't get water soon, chances were I'd end up passed out on the floor.

I struggled for what seemed like a very long time to try and turn the faucets, then I lowered my arms, breathing rapidly, as if I'd been running a marathon instead of just trying to turn on a faucet. I looked over at the tub. Even from the faint light of the moon in the window, I could see that it was one of those old fashioned tubs with the clawed feet. I knew one thing for certain about them; old plumbing. And I knew one thing about old plumbing, it was noisy. Chances were, if I couldn't turn the faucets in the sink, I sure wasn't going to be able to turn them in the bathtub, but even if I was able, I couldn't risk the noise it might make. If one of the lunatics in this house woke up and heard the sink running, they'd think someone went to the bathroom and go back to sleep. Hearing the tub/shower running late at night might make them investigate.

That left the place I could get water quietly, the toilet. I looked over at it and bit my lower lip. In a house where people slept with dead bodies in the bed, it was hard to imagine that keeping the toilet bowl clean was high on the list of priorities. I couldn't tell the condition in the dark, and that was probably for the best. However, it was water, which I hadn't been able to find anywhere else.

I moved closer. Some small voice in me, a voice I believed to be my own, or at least the girl I used to be, the last thoughts of Karen, told me this was really nasty. I could smell the faint mineral odour that well water always seems to have. That smell instantly made my mouth try to water, but instead produced a gluey saliva that made my thirst even worse.

I raised the seat slowly, then dipped my hands down into the water, scooped some up and brought it to my lips. Once I drew it into my mouth, all thoughts about how nasty it was or how many microorganisms were lurking about in it, ceased to matter. I had never before had anything taste so good to me. The closest comparison might have been when I was a child and was given a glass of apple juice after I'd been throwing up for days from a nasty virus. This water was even better than that. The mineral taste didn't even bother me.

If I could have I�d have stuck my head down and slurped the water into my mouth like a dog, but I had to use my hands for a cup and scoop it out. The first few gulps made my thirst worse as my body recognized that it was getting what it desperately needed. I forgot about everything around me, where I was, what had happened to me, nothing mattered to me but quenching this insatiable thirst.

I never heard the footsteps in the hall, or coming into the room. I never heard the click of the light switch. I only dimly remember being aware that the room had filled with light, but even then not caring as I brought another handful of water to my mouth and slurped it up.

I did, however, feel fingers wrapping in my hair and yanking at me sharply. My head jerked back and I saw Otis, staring down at me, his expression one of disgust and rage. �WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?�

I gasped, and choked on some water as I reached up, in a feeble attempt to stop him from yanking on my hair. The water I'd managed to drink had restored some of my strength, but not enough to stop him. He began dragging me by the hair, out of the bathroom and down the hall to his room. I scrambled, trying to push myself along with my good leg, so it wouldn't feel like he was trying to rip the skin of my scalp. �Lemme go, lemme go!� I cried out.

�Otis, what's going on?� I heard a woman's voice, call out.

�Nothin' you need to concern yourself with, Mama!� Otis called out, still dragging me.

�Well, whatever's going on, quiet down! I need my sleep.�

Otis stopped and turned; then still, holding me by the hair, he kicked me in the shoulder . �See what you done? You woke Mama, now SHUT THE FUCK UP!�

I didn't point out that his yelling had been much louder than mine, I just let him drag me back to the room, struggling to push myself along behind him so he wouldn't be ripping my hair out.

Back in his room, he hauled me up by the hair. I tried to bend my left leg, so I wouldn't have to worry about putting weight on it, but it didn't want to bend. I was only on my feet for a few seconds, long enough to bring tears to my eyes, when he let go of my hair. Then, he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me violently. �What the FUCK do you think you were doing, you god damned fucking Suzie-Cream-cheese piece of shit, WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING?�

His fingers wrapped around my arms, the nails digging into my skin as he shook me. My head flopped back and forth like that of a worn-out teddy bear. �Stop,� I managed to say.

To my amazement, he did, but I don't think it was my words that did it. �What the FUCK were you DOING?� he repeated.

I stared at him. He gave me another shake. �ANSWER ME YOU FUCKING BITCH!�

I was too terrified to answer him. That probably seemed strange, considering that the whole journey to find water had started so I could have the strength to kill myself. It certainly seemed that with a few well-chosen words, I could have easily gotten Otis so pissed he would have snapped my neck like a twig, but I was only able to stare at him.

He grabbed me by the throat with one hand and tossed me on the bed. Then, as he'd done earlier this evening, he jumped on the bed straddling me. He was wearing nothing but a pair of briefs that were grey with dirt and wear. His knees squeezed my sides and he kept one hand wrapped around my throat. �ANSWER ME, YOU FUCKING BITCH! WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING?�

�Getting some water!� I managed to say. It came out sounding almost like I was gurgling, but he understood it.

His fingers loosened from around my throat and he stared down at me. �Why?�

�Because I was thirsty,� I managed to choke out.

�So, you snuck out of my room, went to the bathroom to drink out of the fucking toilet?� He leaned back on his heels, staring down at me in clear disbelief.

While he didn't seem quite as angry as he had been when he found me in the bathroom, I still didn't feel safe. �Yes.�

�For fuck's sake why?�

I continued to stare at him, unable to think of an answer that wouldn't risk pissing him off. I thought my silence might also piss him off but he continued. �How fucking sick and desperate do you have to fucking be to drink from the god damned toilet, bitch?�

Even terrified, I was shocked by this question. Here was a man who had a corpse in his bed until I'd managed to knock it off, and he thought drinking toilet water was �sick and desperate?� Somewhere through my terror, a small burst of anger sparked in me. Who the hell was he to call me sick? �I was THIRSTY!� I rasped, unable to keep that seed of anger from making its presences known in my voice. �I can't remember the last time I'd drank anything and I asked you for water earlier, and you told me no!�

He leaned back further, putting some of his weight on my upper legs. My left leg really didn't appreciate this, but I don't believe he noticed or cared. �You were that thirsty?� he said, as if being thirsty was an impossible human condition. �Thirsty enough to risk leaving my room and crazy enough to risk having me catch you drinking from the fucking toilet? Christ, bitch, dogs drink from the toilet, but they've got enzymes and shit in their saliva to protect them. You don't. You're just a dumb, stupid, whore. Why would you risk your life to get a fucking drink from the god damned toilet? If not the damned germs, you should have at least known you'd be in deep shit when I caught you.�

�Because without water, I'll die,� I said.

He climbed off me, off the bed, and started pacing around the room, like a caged tiger. �Bitch, you're going to die anyway. You know that, don't you?� He paused to look at me. I nodded and he continued pacing. �So, what's the point? Why didn't you just try to escape?�

�Cause you messed up my knee,� I said. �I can't even walk.�

He shrugged as if smashing my knee was nothing. �Anyone else would have tried. Stupid rabbits like to die running. Gives them the feeling they're in control, that at least they died trying.� He was pacing as he said this, and I had the feeling that he wasn't expecting me to talk, so I remained still and silent. I just laid on the bed and watched this wraith of a man, with his white hair and white skin, pacing around, talking, wearing dirty, grey, underwear. If I didn't know what a sadistic son of a bitch he was, it would have been almost amusing. Like a scene out of the worlds worst horror movie.

He whirled to face me. �If I bandaged your knee right now, tied something around it so you could walk on it - not well, but at least some, would you run then?�

I shook my head.

�Why?�

�You'd catch me and kill me.�

�You're going to die anyway!� he spoke as if I were a dimwitted child, not getting the point. �So, why not try to run if you�re given the chance?�

I swallowed. The water I'd drunk had helped a lot, but I wouldn't have minded some more. �If I run you will kill me quickly. If I don't run, you might not kill me right away. I might survive.�

�You can't survive,� he said, his voice filed with scorn. �Don't you get it? YOU! WILL! DIE!�

I didn't answer immediately. Of course I knew I was going to die, I'd known that since Rufus had turned down the side street, heading away from the gas station. I may not have been willing to face it, but deep down I'd known, I wouldn�t survive. All I was doing now was trying to gain more time. I might have tried to play games, might have tried to tell myself that as long as I was alive, I had hope, but I knew they were stupid games. I was going to die. But that didn't mean I was going to try to bring it about sooner than I had to. Finally, I nodded. �Yeah, you're going to kill me,� I whispered. �But that doesn't mean I won't try to live.�

I didn't see anything unusual in my behavior. Wouldn't anyone at least try? Weren't human beings designed with a strong survival instinct? Yet, my resolve to try to hang on, even though it was hopeless, seemed to baffle Otis. He stared at me, not only as if I were a dimwitted child, but a dimwitted child who insisted on trying to put the square peg in the round hole. He paced around a bit more, then came over to the bed and stared down at me. �Do not tell me you're one of those weird chicks who believes that just because we fucked, we're now in love and should start a family. You're not one of those Susie Q Homemakers, are you?�

I shook my head, unable to even imagine such a thing. He studied my face carefully, I guess to see if I really meant that nod and wasn't in love with him. Finally he nodded. �I hate that shit.� He went back to pacing, but stopped again. �You one of those suicide whores?�

Again I shook my head, again he nodded. He paced again then stopped and looked at me. �Even though you know you're going to die. Even though you know that things are going to get worse for you, never any better, you're still willing to stay here and struggle to survive? Do whatever you can, even if that means drinking from the god damned toilet like a dog?�

I hesitated, remembering my earlier resolve to die. I really believed I'd meant it then, but now I had serious doubt. Did I want to die? Or was I willing to do whatever I could to cling to life? I think I was. Even though I had told myself I was going to try to get the water only to give myself the strength to end my life, I'd been trying to fool myself. I'd convinced myself of that, so I'd believe I wasn't completely depraved, that there were levels I wouldn't sink to. Otis had made me do things I despised, things I'd never even thought of doing before. Things that made me sick and ashamed, but I'd done them, and deep down, I knew I could go even lower to save my life. Telling myself I was willing to kill myself to have some type of control over my destiny? Bullshit. They were going to have to kill me. In the meantime, the chances were that I would do anything they told me, as long as I was physically able. Looking at Otis, I had the feeling that if he put his mind to it, he'd come up with stuff that made our little �Fuck the corpse off the bed� game seem like �Pin the tail on the donkey.�

He stared me in the eyes. I didn't flinch or let my gaze wander. �How far are you-� he began, then stopped. �No, I don't want to know how far you'll go, 'cause I don't think you know.� He turned away from me to pace the room again. Then, he went over to the desk, opened it up and grabbed a notebook from the top drawer and a pen. He brought the chair over, sat down and started writing furiously in the notebook.

I lay on the bed, trying not to move or make any noise. I had a feeling he'd forgotten I even existed right now. Instead, I concentrated on taking short, quiet breaths.

When he finished writing, I noticed it was starting to look grey outside the window, the first signs of dawn. He shoved the notebook back into the drawer, rose from the desk, and pulled the shades so the room was dark. He changed into the same jeans and T-shirt he was wearing yesterday. When he was dressed, he came over and looked down at me, sneering. �You look like shit.�

I said nothing. Of course I looked like shit. My knee had begun swelling and my entire body was bruised from our �fun and games� the night before. I couldn't see my face, but I could feel it and it didn't feel pretty. My nose and lips were raw and puffy, I was betting I had a couple of nice shiners and probably a broken nose. I just stared at him.

�You weren't anything to look at before, but now, now you look even worse,� he said, as if my current appearance had absolutely nothing to do with him. �I should kill you now. I'd be doing you a favor you stupid, ugly, bitch.�

He grabbed my T-shirt off the floor and ripped it in half, then used it to tie my arms above my head to the headboard. I made no move to stop him, knowing it would do no good. �Do you know why I'm not gagging you?� he asked.

�Because no one can hear,� I said.

He nodded. �You're in Hell now, mama. In Hell, the screams of the damned mean nothing. So, if you want to scream, go ahead.� He stared at me, waiting to see if I'd take him up on his offer. I didn't. I was just too tired and too sore. �Good. I hate it when dumb white bread bitches scream. Gotta let 'em sometimes, just so they know it's useless, but that don't mean I don't hate it.�

He pulled some rope out from under his bed and started tying down my legs. When he tied the left leg, I had to bite my lip to keep from crying as he tugged on it, to make sure the rope was taut. �Pain,� he said, staring at me. �Lets you know you're alive.�

I said nothing. He poked my knee, which sent waves of pain through me. �Pain lets you know you're alive,� he repeated and poked it again.

Tears sprang to my eyes and I tried not to cry out. �You should be grateful,� he said, poking my knee again. �You stupid college graduate piece of shit ain't known you were alive for years. If you ever did. You know you're alive now, right?� He poked the knee again. Every time he poked, it got just a tiny bit harder than the time before, which made it more painful. �Right?�

I gasped in pain and pulled at the bindings on my arms, �Yes,� I barely managed to choke out.

�Yes what?� he said, again poking the knee.

�Yes... I know...I'm alive,� I managed to say, through the waves of pain. He was right about that, I didn't for a moment, think I was dead.

�Thank me.� He leaned over and whispered this in my ear, still poking at my knee.

I twisted helplessly, bound to the bed. �Thank you,� I gasped.

�For what?� he whispered. His hot breath tickling the hairs in my ear as his finger kept poking at the knee. Harder and longer each time.

�For...letting me know I'm alive,� I spoke through gritted teeth.

He put his whole hand over the kneecap and squeezed, slowly but firmly. The pain that shot through me was like nothing I could recall experiencing in my life. I wanted to scream and cry. If I could have ripped off my leg with my bare hands I would have, just to stop the pain. I bit my lower lip so hard that blood began trickling down my face. He leaned over and licked the blood off my chin, still squeezing my knee. Then, he kissed me, sucking on that lip. I closed my eyes trying to will the pain in my knee to stop.

He stopped squeezing my knee when he broke off the kiss. Then he stood up and walked out of the room without saying a word.

With all of his torture on my knee, I thought I'd be crying in agony for hours. Instead, exhaustion took over and I fell asleep.

***************

AUTHOR'S NOTES Again, still waiting for the beta readers. It was suggested that maybe I should post more of the story and put up the edited versions later. I might do that, if I feel that there is enough interest in the story to warent it. So far, interest seems to be at bare minimum

Sincerest thanks to all of you who took the time to leave me feedback, it means a lot to me, I've been wondering if anyone even reads this stuff. *Sigh* It's tough to be writing for what is obviously a very small fandom.
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For All The Wrong Reasons

Busted!