Gruesome Gina by Scotch Rutherford

Nothing compares to the blunt, jarring impact, and its sounds of smashing glass and grinding metal. Except maybe its chilling harbinger; the imminent slow motion frame-by-frame that precedes an impending collision. The Cadillac Seville was reduced to what it had been cast from; American scrap metal, but had it been a Volvo, it wouldn’t have fared any better. Nothing short of a Brinks truck could have remained unscathed after being T-boned by a drunk in a quarter-ton pick-up at 55 miles an hour. There were three brothers in all, but only two walked away uninjured. The third brother lost an eye, and spent a year recovering after facial reconstruction.


“This thing rides smooth," Paul said from the back, resting his elbows on both front seats.

“You should have gotten the Lincoln, it’s got a better cruise,” Vincent said from the passenger side.

Lincolns are for niggers," David said from behind the wheel.

“You know why niggers love Lincolns?” Paul asked.

“’Cause he freed the slaves, now they all work at the Ford plant in Detroit. That’s why they always need repair—right off the line.” David said.

“Stole my fuckin’ punch line. Speaking of niggers—let’s hear some Jay-Z," Paul said.

“Vince, hand me the Jay-Z,” David said.


“Not that shit—the good shit. It’s on the bottom, its right here, its—”

“Dave. Dave. David!”


It was coming up on six weeks since Vincent had graduated from the feeding tube to solid food, and he’d developed quite a shine for the new nurse assigned to him on the three to eleven shift. She had small tits, wide hips, and a big ass. Paul called her Gruesome Gina, on account her right eye never opened all the way, and only the left corner of her mouth curled when she smiled. And when she did, if you’d never heard her speak, you’d swear she was from the UK; coffee stained with an overbite, her smile wasn’t her best quality. As far back as David could remember, Vincent had been a borderline ADD kid, but somehow between the surgeries, and the meds, he’d become calm and attentive when Gina would read to him, flashing her a look with a smile, as he hung on her every word.

“Gina, hi, I’m—”

David. Yes, I know, and you’re Paul. I’m surprised I haven’t met you guys sooner.”

“We’re here practically every day,” Paul said.

“I know, you guys have been really supportive. Vincent is one of my favorite patients,” Gina said.

“So, what are you doing after work?” David asked.

“Um, well—”

“Why don’t you come out with us. Paul and I—we appreciate everything you’ve done for Vincent, and we wanna take you out.”

“I can’t, but thank you for the offer—really.”

Gina, you’re one of the most important people in my brother’s whole world, I’m indebted to you. You gotta let us take you out,” David said, gripping her trapezius at the bottom of her neck, before squeezing the meaty part of her shoulder.


They took her to The Bacchanal at Caesars Palace, and she felt under-dressed in her hospital scrubs, but Paul and David were not. There weren’t any questions when they showed up without a reservation, and they were seated immediately. After their early dinner, they picked up a bottle at the liquor store, and drove out of the city, to a tranquil corner of the Mojave, Paul and David called Asgard. They promised Gina it was the most beautiful place on earth to watch the sun set.

They sat on a flat rock and passed around the bottle as the sun fell. Gina took a healthy swig, before handing it to Paul, on her left. She swallowed it down too fast, and choked, before locking eyes with him. Paul leaned in and kissed Gina on the mouth, as another pair of hands reached around from the right, squeezing her breasts. She stood up abruptly, and told them she had to pee.

When she returned, she planted herself between them, then reached into Paul’s lap, gripping the longneck bottle, then brought it to her lips. She guzzled it too fast, and dropped the bottle onto the ground, then went to retrieve it. She felt a firm hand on the back of her neck, as she tried to straighten up.

David felt the tension in her neck, as she panicked. “Bend over," he grunted, shoving her onto all fours, as he snatched and pulled down both her scrubs and panties.

Both men took turns fucking her in the ass, as the sun bled into the landscape. David had just finished when Paul returned from the car, producing a 9mm he drew down on Gina’s head.

“No, please—I’m pregnant!

Paul cocked the hammer.

“Please—it’s Vincent’s," she shrieked.

David tipped his head to the left, and Paul put the gun away, then pulled out a zip tie and bound Gina’s hands behind her back. Paul threw the weight of his body on Gina’s hips and thighs, as she struggled. David found a rock twice the size of Gina’s head, and held the rock up over her.

“Please, please no—I won’t tell anyone. Please—”

David brought the rock down, thinking it might instantly crush her skull, but when it didn’t, he repeatedly smashed it over her head, until he split it open. They pushed her body into a shallow grave they’d dug a few hours earlier, seasoned the corpse with lime, then covered it over with two feet of dirt.

They drove home in silence, until they reached the intersection where Vincent’s life had changed forever.

“I think towards the end she knew,” David said from the passenger side.

“Knew what?” Paul asked.

“That our brother deserved a better class of girl.”


Scotch Rutherford writes about dark corners between the bright lights. His work
has appeared in “Darkest Before The Dawn” and “Everyday Fiction”.


Anonymous said...

Hey, I like it, good images and believable dialogue

Anonymous said...

Great first graph---made me wanna read the rest--interesting characters

Jimmy Callaway said...

Whoof. That's some dark shit there. Well done.

Felicia Aguilar said...

Damn, this was dark and really scary. Gave me goosebumps!

Bill Baber said...

nice stuff, loved the dialogue and the great characters.

Larry said...

A better class of girl! Great endin pal and i love the dialog in the car to

M C Funk said...

Unapologetic about how bestial and evil it is - just smug. In that, a view of the human animal that's chilling in its accuracy.

Well done. Feel free to hit me in the stomach any time. You do it very well.