Pastorelli and Barrelli Step Out

Trigger warning- Some Mild Language, Violence, and Suspense ahead!

Pastorelli and Barrelli Step Out

It was not Pastorelli who insisted they go to the retreat. It was Barrelli- the bitch. A beach retreat for book lovers of all kinds were welcomed for a small price. There, they would workshop their pieces, gain feedback, and they would take swim breaks after each reading. The only problem- Pastorelli did not want to go.

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Her work was self-published, which was something she regretted. Her work was deeply personal, and she was drunk when she submitted it. Barrelli read it one night, and she insisted it be workshopped. She felt a second edition should be in the works.

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Chris was from America, so he had no friends there. The retreat he advertised sounded like perfection, but he had other ideas regarding the retreat. Other matters at hand. Sinister matters. A need to kill. He planned the retreat carefully. Only a select few could enter, and only a few did. There were only six participants. Chris himself, Pastorelli, Barrelli, Carla, Rita, and Prince. All had great works in progress that they were all ashamed of.

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Pastorelli and Barrelli wanted to pose for pictures on the beach in their newly bought onesie bathing suits. It was the hair. The curlers. The steam treatments that made them late, but they did not care. They wanted to both be beautiful. Perfect even, and they were. They wanted to stand out on the beach. They wanted to look like models. After all, Pastorelli worked extra shifts to cover the bathing suits, and she was not the best swimmer. She knew she had wasted her money, but oh well.

Jason and Mitchell, two random individuals found on the beach by Barrelli, buried Pastorelli and Barrelli, and left them in the sand with only their heads exposed. Yes, this was just for fun. Jason took their picture, and they left them buried as they went for a swim.

Chris appeared, and he helped the women get out of the sand. He led them to the water.

“Dear God! What happened to you?” Barrelli asked as Chris revealed many scars on his torso when he removed his tie-dyed shirt.

Chris lowered his head, and said,

“I had a bad surgery. I was botched. I couldn’t eat anymore. No appetite. They took out my gallbladder hoping it would help, yet the thought of eating makes me…” and he threw up right there on the sand… “nauseas.” Then he looked up at Barrelli with intensity. “Can I touch you? Sorry, but you’re about to get a loose eyelash in your eye. I’d blow it away, but, well…” and he grabbed it. Chris excused himself. He did not lose the lash. He wrapped it in a tissue, and locked it in his room’s safe. You do not want to know what else he had locked inside that safe. Pictures. Dolls made out of popsicle sticks with human hairs stapled to them. Creepy.

Chris grabbed the doll labeled Barrelli, and he hot glued the lash to her head. Then, all he needed was a plan for Rita, and Prince. Voodoo would take care of the rest. Fun stuff.

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Rita had allergies. Bad food allergies. Shellfish made her mouth and throat swell up. This meant that she could never have her favorite shrimp scampi on pasta again, or throw her famous crawfish parties. So, when she saw crawfish building their home on the edge of the surf, she screamed for Chris who was only ten feet away.

“Chris!” Chris wore earplugs on swim breaks. He had learned his lesson a long time ago. Tired of resolving to ear candles for relief from swimmer’s ear- he used earplugs. “Chris! They’re after me!” Rita screamed as she made it further up the beach. “I’m going to slap him,” she muttered. He could have really helped me, she thought. He left the water, and vanished. She then went to the beachside bar, and ordered a plain Ceasar salad which was served with grilled shrimp under a thin bed of romaine lettuce. It was overdressed, and she took a big bite, and screamed, “Shrimp!”

Before death settled in, Rita asked the bartender, “Who made this?!” Then she was gone. One big gasp, and her life was over.

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Rita was fun. Rita was easy to get rid of, but Prince had no allergies, and he was bald. Chris accepted this challenge. He would take Prince out when he went for his evening walk. Knife in hand- Chris approached him. One quick stab to the neck. Fun stuff. Prince was gone. Blood everywhere, and Chris did not clean up a drop, yet he got away with it.

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“Can I have a strand of your hair? I’d like to tint mine to match yours,” Chris said with an odd kind of smile. Reluctantly, Carla plucked two strands, and handed them to the stranger.

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Carla had an aneurism just ready to explode. She took a deep breath, and lunged under the oncoming waves. It was too much for her. A wave pushed her all the way back to the beach where she slit her leg open on some kind of bright, pink coral. When she fell backwards, her hair got caught up in the live coral. The coral then took over her face, and drowned her in the shallow waters.

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The group met at dawn the following morning where Pastorelli read an excerpt after they held a minute of silence for those who passed. Everyone was shocked by her blunt dialogue, and no one said a word. Not one word of feedback. Three group members had passed in horribly shocking ways, and Pastorelli felt left out, because the writing she shared was not very strong. She apologized to the small group,

“I don’t know where that chapter came from. Just something inside me I needed to get out.” Feeling judged, Pastorelli got up, and she walked right into the ocean for a swim break. She had expected some kindness from the group considering what had happened to half of the members, but all they did was stare at her dumbfounded- including Barrelli- the judgmental bitch.

Pastorelli looked up at the cloudy sky as she floated in the water. She thought of her mother’s chicken piccata, and she missed the way her mother would always smile at her with her eyes.

Barrelli was a trooper, and when she screamed at Pastorelli, everyone on the beach heard her, and tried to warn Pastorelli of a jellyfish party that could be seen swimming nearby. All of the patrons tried to warn her. All except for Chris.

As jellyfish, and dead tuna washed up on the beach, Barrelli screamed out,

“Pastorelli, jellyfish at twelve o’ clock!”

A pink jellyfish then wrapped it’s tendrils around Pastorelli’s left leg. She screamed out in pain. It stung so hard, and so deep that she lost her breath. She ripped the jellyfish from it’s firm grasp, and it stung her left hand as she did so. Pastorelli quickly ran back up onto the shore. She gagged as she stepped onto a dead tuna fish, and she gagged again when she saw kids playing with it’s innards. Kids will be kids, though, she thought. Then something else crossed her mind. The pink jellyfish had swam right to her. It wanted her. It was as if the jellyfish had been led to her by some unrecognizable force. It attacked her, and when she reached the beach, everyone gathered around her. Everyone except for Chris who went out for another swim despite the jellyfish that were swimming nearby. He was not worried about them. How could this be?

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Chris swam, and he swam hard. How could he keep his plan? How could he get rid of Pastorelli and Barrelli? They both had to go, but why?

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Chris often dreamed of being a legend. He wanted to be known, and he was ready to die for the fame. He felt that he was all done with writing. That his works would all be seen, and appreciated once he was gone. He dreamed of how to do it. He would have a sweet death once Pastorelli and Barrelli- the bitches- were taken out. Now, it was time for his final move.

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“Let’s check his room while he swims. There is something about Chris… I don’t know what, but there is something about Chris that has me on edge. We lose three people, and he does not seem to care,” Pastorelli said to Barrelli.

“Fine. We’ll have to pry open the back door to his room, and I don’t know how to do that.” Said Barrelli.

“He’s still swimming. He left his stuff on the beach. I’ll just get his key,” Pastorelli said with a smile, and she did!

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Room 110 was a bit of a mess, and Pastorelli did not see anything that convinced her that Chris was killing them off, but when Barrelli saw the safe, they knew they had to break into it. The combination had to be four digits, and Pastorelli knew just what they were. Chris was not that bright, and his work showed that he was not that creative. It was his birthday. One, one, one, nine- she entered into the lock. Success! That was easy!

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Chris grew tired of swimming. He went to retrieve his belongings, but could not find his key. He approached the help desk, and was able to get a new key. Nap time!

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The new key worked, and when Chris entered his room to find the rest of his group intruding, he screamed, and pulled out his knife. He threw it at Pastorelli, and missed.

“I knew you were onto me!” He shouted. Then it happened. Hot blood poured down Chris’s throat as Barrelli pulled her own knife from his neck.

“You are after us. All of us. Picking us off one by one! Rita, Carla, Prince- all dead because of you! We saw inside your safe. Nice passcode by the way. Easy! And nice try with the jellyfish. Sick!”

Chris bled to death right there on the floor, and Pastorelli lit his ass on fire. She noticed his manuscript, and she threw it into the flames. He would never be known for his work. No, Chris would never be known.

—-

You mess with Pastorelli or Barrelli- you get the knife.

The mess was huge, but Pastorelli did not care. She cleaned it up as best she could, and stuffed Chris under the bed where housekeeping would have to deal with him later after Pastorelli, and Barrelli were long gone.

—-

They skipped through the airport holding hands. They were both giddy. Pastorelli winced as Barrelli accidentally rubbed up against her jellyfish sting, thus reminding her of what she had just been through. Pastorelli came to realize that she was a force to be reckoned with. You mess with her, or the bitch- Barrelli, you best wish you had better got a good Plan B.

—-

Pastorelli and Barrelli collaborated on their hit piece, “The Pink Jellyfish,” and they decided to step out for one last event. A writer’s retreat. This time it would be under their control. Pastorelli and Barrelli were never going to be finished writing, and they would bring others on board that needed support. Soon, they would make millions.