The Tommyknockers Novels & Stories

Besides, we will burn everything that we are wearing tonight. Carlos brings my bag. Everyone knows it is my torture bag. Inside, there are various devices. I have finger clippers, yes, like a clip of a whole finger. I have tools to help pull out your nails one by one. I have knives and other things in there. I open my bag. Tommy is sitting in a chair on the deck, with his hands and feet bound to the chair. Mary looks at me with tears in her eyes, but she does not dare to speak. Tommy is crying again, begging me not to torture him. "Can't you just shoot me? Can't you make it fast?" Tommy cries.

"Please proceed." Adam flexed his wrist mercilessly as he swung the bat at full force. Jeremy groaned but remained standing. The first blow struck Jeremy's back, and his forehead began to sweat due to the intense pain. Tommy could not bring himself to leave. He never witnessed such a situation before, and he wanted to intervene. "Sir!" Jeremy issued a stern order. "Stay away. Don't interfere." Although Tommy hesitated, he ultimately defied Jeremy's order for the first time. He rushed over in a desperate attempt to protect Jeremy, but Adam's associates blocked him and stopped him from going any further. Tommy had no choice but to grit his teeth and watch helplessly.

The sound of fists hitting flesh was loud, and Anne felt like she was being punched even though she was not being hit. The office was in shambles, with everything destroyed except for her desk. The bodyguard came in and was immediately kicked out by Anthony. Anne stomped her feet in anxiety. "Stop fighting! Stop fighting! Anthony!" she yelled. Finally, Anthony punched Tommy's face hard one last time. With a loud bang, Tommy's whole body flew over the coffee table and fell to the ground. Anne looked dumbfounded at Tommy, who was now lying on the ground. After struggling for a bit, he raised his face and looked at Anthony with a murderous expression.

Every rational part of me says I should. But my breath hitches, my lips part just slightly— A sharp knock explodes against the door. “Sorry, lovebirds,” Tom’s voice drips sarcasm through the wood. “Team meeting downstairs in Coach’s room. Now.”

I went without hesitation, burying myself down beside the metal table that held giant liquor dispensers. I saw a small pocket just underneath it and made myself as small as a pea size, and fit myself right into it. “WHAT IN THE BULLOCKS IS GOING ON? This is my club. And I command you lads to fuck off right now.” Tommy’s voice followed, no doubt standing on the front with his old hunter’s gun. A few seconds went by before a smooth BANG! Filled the entire club. Horrified screams and whimpers followed, just before a bulk body hit the floor with a meaty thunk.

Beth The knock came soft. Not loud. Not demanding. Just firm enough to be intentional. My stomach dropped anyway. Every muscle in my body locked, breath stalling halfway in as dread rushed up my spine so fast it made me dizzy. My eyes flicked to the door, my heart already racing like it knew something I hadn’t caught up to yet. No. Not again. My first thought was stupid and immediate—I didn’t hear the lock turn. Tommy didn’t knock. Tommy never knocked.

My mind kept circling back on our arguments, making my insides twist. I hissed. In these three days, I didn’t know what I was expecting. But this? This wasn’t it. Second blurred into minutes, and minutes into an hour. The ache remained lodged in my chest. I had tried to force myself to sleep, but failed. Then a knock came, followed by Gerard’s voice, calm. “Hey, Tommy, please let’s talk.” A part of me wanted to bolt down and open the door. Another felt like I might punch his face if I saw him.

This knocked off several peacefully numb hours. Bobby didn’t see Tommy all day. When he asked around on his afternoon break someone mentioned Tommy called in sick, which made sense. Tommy put away a lot of beer last night. While he was usually “that guy” who could drink everyone under the table and report bright and alert to work the next day, Tommy had mentioned something to Bobby about heading to The Stumble Inn after the fair to “see if Sandy’s knocking around there.”

“Tommy—” He slipped over to the sound system, hit a couple of buttons on the remote, and then walked back around until he stood in front of her chair, facing her. “Now, about my versatility…” Music started, with an instantly identifiable guitar riff, followed by an equally identifiable voice—“Kiss,” by Prince. Tommy flipped his jacket off his shoulders and let it slide down his arms to land on the floor. Then he inched closer, leading with his hips, which were doing a mouthwatering bump-and-grind in perfect time with the pulsating beat of the song.

How did he do that? Tom looks bad, he is barely able to stand or even open his eyes. Justin makes his move, taking this opportunity to attack. Justin moves in and, again with his left fist, delivers a brutal punch to Tom's ribs, knocking the air out of him instantly. Justin picks Tom up and throws him on his back with force. Tom is down, and he’s not getting back up. The referee blows the whistle when the countdown reaches ten. I need to know what he’s doing.