The screams of pain bouncing around the cement walls are
getting a tad annoying.
Sometimes it sucks being the hacker andtheenforcer. I
really fucking enjoy hurting people, but tonight, I have no
goddamn patience for this whiny asshole.
And normally, I have the patience of a saint.
I know how to wait for what Iwant most. But when I'm trying to
get some real answers and the dude's too busy shitting his pants
and crying to give me a coherent response, I get a little testy.
"This knife is about to go halfway through your eyeball," I warn.
"I'm noteven going to showyou any mercy and shove it all the
way through to your brain."
"Fuck, man," he cries. "I told you that I just went tothe
warehouse a few times. I don't know anything about some fuckin'
ritual."
"So, you're useless is what you're saying," I surmise, inching
the blade towards his eye.
He squeezes them shut as if skin that's no thicker than a
centimeter is going to prevent the knife from going through his
eye.
Fucking laughable.
"No, no, no," he pleads. "I know someone there that might be
able to give you more information."
Sweat drips down his nose, mixing with the blood on his face.
His overgrown greasy blonde hair is matted to his forehead and
the back of hisneck. Guess it's not actually blonde anymore since
most of it's painted red now.
I had already cut off one of his ears, along with ripping off ten
of his fingernails, severed both Achilles heels, a couple of stab wounds in specific locations that won't allow the fucker to bleed
out too quickly, and too many broken bones to count.
Dickhead won't be getting upand walking out of here, that's for
damn sure.
"Less crying, more talking," Ibark, scraping the tip of the knife
against his still-closed eyelid.
He cringes away from the knife, tears bubbling out from
beneath his lashes.
"H-his name is Fernando. He's one of the operation leaders in
charge of sending out mules to help capture the girls. He-he's a
big deal in the warehouse, b-basically runs the whole thing there."
"Fernando what?" I snap.
He sobs. "I don't know, man," he wails. "He just introduced
himself as Fernando."
"Then what does he look like?" I grind out impatiently through
gritted teeth.
He sniffles, snot leaking down his chapped lips.
"Mexican, bald, has a scar cutting across his hairline, and a
beard. You can't miss the scar, it's pretty fucked looking."
I roll my neck, groaning as the muscles pop. It's been along
fucking day.
"Cool, thanks man," I say casually, as if I haven't been torturing
him slowly for the past three hours.
His breathing calms, and he looks up at me through ugly brown
eyes, hope radiating from them in spades.
I almost laugh.
"Y-you're letting me go?" he asks, staring up at me like a
goddamn stray puppy dog.
"Sure," I chirp. "If you can get up and walk."
He looks downat his severed heels, knowing just as well as I
do if he stands, his body will go pitching forward.
"Please, man," he blubbers. "Can you help me out here?"
I nod slowly. "Yeah. I think I can do that," I say, right before I
swing my arm back and plunge the entirety of my knife through his
pupil.
He diesinstantly. Not even all the hope has vanished from his
eyes yet. Or rather, his one eye."You're a child rapist," I say aloud, though he's no longer
capable of hearing me. "Like I'd let you live," I finish on a laugh.
I slide my knifefrom the socket, the suction noise threatening
to ruin any dinner plans I hadin the next several hours. Which is
annoying cause I'm hungry. While I do enjoy myself a good torture
session, I'm definitely not a dickhead that gets off on the sounds
that accompany it.
The gurgling, slurping, and other weird noises bodies make
when enduring extreme pain and foreign objects being plunged
into them is not a soundtrack I'd ever fall asleep to.
And now for the worst part—dismembering it into bits and
pieces and disposing of them properly. I don't trust other people to
do it for me, so I'm stuck with the tedious, messy job.
I sigh. What is that saying? If you want it done right, do it
yourself?
Well, inthis case—if you don't want to get caught and charged
for murder, dispose of the body yourself.
*******************************
It feels like ten o'clock at night, but it's only five P.M. As fucked
as it is after dealing with human body parts, I'm in the mood for a
mean ass burger.
My favorite burger joint is right off of 3
rdAvenue, and not too far
of a drive from my house. Parking is a bitch in Seattle, so I'm
forced to park a few blocks away and walk there.
Astorm is rolling in, and soonsheets of rain will be descending
on our heads and shoulders like icepicks—typical Seattle weather.
I whistlean unnamed tune as I walk down the street, passing
shops and an array of stores with people bustling in and out like a
bunch of worker ants.
Ahead of me, there's a bookstore lit up, the warm glow shining
onto the cold, wet pavement and inviting passersby into its
warmth. As I near, I notice it's packed full of people.
I spare it a single glance before moving on. I don't care about
fiction books—I only read the ones that are going to teach me
something. Particularly about computer science and hacking.
By now, there's nothing those books can teach me anymore.
I've mastered and then surpassed it.
As I'm turning my head to look at some other shit, my eyes get
caught up on aboard right outside the bookstore, a smiling face
beaming back at me.
Without permission, my feet slow until they're glued to the
cement sidewalk. Someone bumps into me from behind, their
smaller staturebarely knocking me forward, but it does manage to
jolt me out of the weird trance I fell into anyway.
I turn to glare at the enraged guy behind me, their mouth
opening and gearing up to cuss me out, yet the second he gets
one look at my scarred face—he takes off into a half-walk, half
run. I'd laugh if I weren't so distracted.
Before me is a picture of an author that's hosting a book
signing.
She's fucking incredible.
Long, wavy cinnamon hair brushed over dainty shoulders.
Creamy, ivory skin with freckles dotting her nose and cheeks.
Light and sporadic without overwhelming her innocent face.
Her eyes are what draw me in. Sultry, slanted eyes—the type
that always look seductive without trying. They're nearly the same
color asher hair. Abrown so light, it's unusual. One look from this
girl and any man would be on their knees.
Her lipsare pouty and pink, stretched into a radiant smile with
straight, white teeth.
I note the name below the picture.
Adeline Reilly.
A beautiful name fit for a goddess.
She doesn't have that plastic beauty you see lining the
magazine rack. Though she could easily make it on one of those
covers without photoshop and surgery, her features are natural.
I've seen a lot of beautiful women in my life. Fucked a lot, too.
But somethingabout her captivates me. It feels like a hurricane
is at my back, pushing me towards her and leaving no room for resistance. My feet are carrying me into the bookstore, my black
boots soaking the welcome mat at the entrance.
The only lingering scent filling the air is one you attain from
used books—though convoluted from the large group of people
congesting thearea. This small structure wasn't built to house
more than the ten large bookshelves lining the left side of the
room, the small checkout desk on the right side, and maybe thirty
people. Now, there's a large table in the middle of the room where
the author sits, and at least double the occupancy limit packed in
the stuffy store.
It's too hot in here. Too crowded.
And one asshole beside mekeeps picking his nose, hisdirty
hand touching all over the book he's holding. I glimpse Reillyon
the cover.
Poor girl. Forced to sign a book that probably has boogers all
over it.
I open my mouth, ready to tell the fucker to stop looking for
treasure in his nostrils when it feels like heaven's gates open up.
In that second, the people in front of us seem to part at the
perfect angle, providing me with a clear view. I only see her from
the corner of my eye at first, but the small glimpse is enough to
send my heart into a tailspin.
My head turns like one of those creepy bitches in an exorcist
movie—slow, but instead of an evil smile, I'm sure I look like I just
found out that there's evidence the earth is actually flat or some
shit.
Because that's also fucking laughable.
Oxygen, words, coherent thoughts—all that shit escapes me
when I get my first look at Adeline Reilly in the flesh.
Shit.
She's even more exquisite in person. The sight of her has my
knees weakening and my pulse racing.
I don't know if God really exists. I don't know if mankind has
ever walked onthe moon. Nor do I know if parallel universes exist.
But what I doknow is that I just found themeaning of life sitting
behind a table with an awkward smile on her face.
Taking a deep breath, I find aspot against the wall in the back.
I don't want to get too close yet.No.
I want to watch her for a while.
So I stay in the back, peeking through dozens of heads to get a
good look at her. Thank god for my height because I'd probably
barrel through everybody if I were short.
Atall, willowy woman hands my new obsession a microphone,
and for a brief moment, the latter looks like she's ready to bolt.
She stares at the mic as if the woman is handing over a severed
head.
But the look is gone in seconds, barely there before she slides
her mask in place. And thenshe snatches the microphone and
brings it to her wobbly lips.
"Before we start…"
Fuck, her voiceis pure smoke. The kind you really only hear in
porn videos. I suck in my bottom lip, biting back a groan.
I lean against the wall and watch her, absolutely enthralled with
the little creature before me.
Something inexplicably dark arises in my chest. It's black and
evil and cruel. Dangerous, even.
All I want to do is break her.Shatter her into pieces. And then
arrange those pieces to fit against my own. I don't care if they
don't fit—I'll fucking make them.
And I know I'mabout to dosomething bad. I know that I'm
going tocross lines that I will never be able to come back from,
but there's not an ounce of me that gives a fuck.
Because I'm obsessed.
I'm addicted.
And I will gladly cross every single line if it means making this
girl mine. If it means forcing her to be mine.
My mind has already been made up, the decision fortifying like
granite in my brain. At that moment, her wandering eyes slide right
onto mine, clashing with a force that nearly sends my knees to the
ground. Her eyes round in the corners ever-so-slightly, asif she's
just as enraptured by me as I am by her.
And then the reader before her is pulling her attention away,
and I know I need to leave now before I do something stupid like
kidnap her in front of at least fifty witnesses.
No matter. She won't be able to escape me now.I've just found myself a little mouse, and I won't stop until I've trapped her.
*************************************
APRIL 10, 1944...
MY VISITOR IS HERE, OUTSIDE MY WINDOW, WATCHING ME WHILE I WRITE.
MY HAND IS TREMBLING AND I CANNOT TELL IF IT'S FROM FEAR OR NOT .
I COULDN'T EXPLAIN THIS FEELING IF I TRIED.
I'VE ATTEMPTED TO WRITE DOWN THIS FEELINGS. EXPLAIN THEM, BUT NO WORD SEEMS TO SUFFICE.
I SUPPOSE THE BEST WAY TO DESCRIBE IT IS THRILLING.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.
BUT SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG , NEEDLESS TO SAY.
WHEN OUR EYES CONNECT, MY BREATH SHORTENS. MY BLOOD CATCHES FIRE.
IT FEELS AS IF AN EXPOSED WINE IS RESTING ON MY FLESH.
IT'S A VICESERAL REACTION AND I FEAR I'M BECOMING ADDICTED TO IT.
HE'S COMING CLOSER NOW.I KEEP MEETING HIS EYES GETTING DISTRACTED FROM MY WRITING.
IT'S BECOMING COOMON NOW. MY DISTRACTIONS JOHN HAS BEGAN TO NOTICE. HE PEPPERS ME WITH QUESTIONS, ASKING ME WHAT'S ON MY MIND.
HOW DO I TELL THE MAN THAT I LOVE THAT I'M THINKING OF ANOTHER?
HOW DO I TELL HIM THAT I'VE BEGAN TO PICTURE ANOTHER WHEN MY HUSBAND KISSES ME?
WHEN HE TOUCHES ME?
MY VISITOR IS RETREATING, SLIPPING INTO THE DARKNESS.
I FEAR THIS MAN.
BUT YET I'M STILL FAR TOO INTRIGUED.
💋