"It's June 24th, 2024. Three months after murdering Wilder Robbins. I am here in the new basement with Victim No. 2, who we will introduce to the tape."
My voice was calm, almost casual, as I removed my hand from the recorder's switch. The steady red glow bathed the dim room like a faint pulse, a heartbeat for the horrors about to unfold. Robert Smith was strapped to the metal table, his wrists and ankles bound tightly with chains that clinked faintly against his every futile struggle. His face was pale, drenched in sweat, his eyes brimming with primal fear, the room bore to is nakedness.
"Say hi, Robert," I said, pulling the filthy cloth from his mouth with a casual flick.
"HELP! PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP ME!" His scream was raw and desperate, a guttural sound that echoed through the soundproof walls like a dying animal's cry.
I let out a low chuckle and stepped closer, leaning in so he could see the twisted smirk on my face. "Save that energy, Robby," I said, tilting my head mockingly. "You're going to need it later."
"Oh, and don't get your hopes up." I leaned closer, almost whispering. "This place is soundproof
His panic deepened as he yanked uselessly at the chains. "Please, I don't know what you think I did," he whimpered, voice cracking under the weight of terror. "I swear, I'm sorry! I promise—I'll change!"
I paused, my fingers tracing the edges of the knife set laid out neatly beside him. "Change?" I echoed, shaking my head slowly. "No, Robert. People don't change. They get better at hiding the monsters they already are. And you?" I picked up a scalpel, its blade gleaming wickedly in the dim light. "You're just a monster in a fancy suit."
"No! I'm innocent!" he cried out, his voice rising with desperation. "I didn't kill anyone!"
I tilted my head, considering him like a scientist might study a failed experiment. "Innocent?" I let out a soft laugh. "You murdered your wife and made it look like a robbery. All her money funneled into a secret account. It's all in the files, Robert. You've been caught."
"THAT'S A LIE!" he screamed, tears streaming down his face.
I leaned closer, bringing the scalpel down across his forearm. Blood welled up instantly, spilling over the smooth steel table. He screamed, thrashing against the restraints, his terror fueling my resolve.
"That's for lying," I murmured, my voice steady.
Dragging a chair closer to the table, I sat down, my legs crossed as I picked up the mallet from my knife set. I sighed, my thoughts briefly wandering to earlier that day. Thank God for my badge.
The policeman who stopped me at the club asked what I was doing. I had to lie that I was following someone in the club who might be related to a mob boss.
But none of that mattered now.
I straightened up, dragging the small table with my tools closer to him. The glint of steel under the fluorescent light was beautiful, almost serene. I ran my fingers over the instruments, letting the tension in the room build as his chest heaved with sobs.
Moving with deliberate precision, I began my work. Each cut and blow was calculated, an exacting punishment for a man who had taken so much without consequence. The mallet in my hand crashed down on his fingers, the crunch of bone splintering beneath the force a symphony of justice. His howls of pain filled the room, mingling with my calm narration into the recorder.
"Please," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, stop…"
I crouched down beside him, holding the knife in front of his face.
"Stop?" I asked, tilting my head. "But we haven't even gotten to the fun part."
"Victim No. 2: Robert Smith. Caucasian male, mid-30s, defense attorney. Known for defending monsters in the courtroom and killing women outside of it. Cause of death…" I trailed off, the anticipation building.
Blood pooled around the table's edges as his cries grew weaker. "You've used this," I said, my knife poised over his genitals, "to hurt women for long enough."
"No… please, no!" he begged, his voice a broken whisper.
With one swift motion, the knife found its mark. His screams pierced the air one final time as blood gushed from the wound, painting the floor in violent red strokes. He writhed, the chains rattling against the table, before his body finally went still.
I stepped back, staring at the lifeless figure before me. The room was silent now except for my steady breaths. "Cause of death: exsanguination. Time of death: 3:17 a.m.," I said into the recorder before clicking it off.
Back at my apartment, I let the shower's scorching water cascade over me, trying to wash away the traces of the night. But as I stepped out and caught my reflection in the mirror, I knew no amount of soap could cleanse what was etched into my soul. The darkness stared back at me, raw and unrelenting, swirling behind my eyes. I enjoyed it—the blood, the screams, the power. That truth clung to me, heavier than the damp towel around my shoulders.
I sighed and left the bathroom, intending to retreat to the kitchen for coffee when something on the counter caught my eye.
A package came through. I picked it up, examining it, my heart skipped a beat when I saw Ruby's handwriting on the label.
I tore it open, my hands steady despite the anticipation thrumming through me. Inside was a thick folder with Wilder Greene's name scrawled across the front. I flipped it open, my eyes scanning the pages.
Evidence. Photos. Names. Details about Wilder's life and the people he'd worked with.
Each page painted a clearer picture of who Wilder had been—a corrupt, vile man who had ruined countless lives. And yet, tucked among the photos was one that made my blood run cold.
I tore it open, finding a thick folder filled with files and log books. A small brown envelope stood out among the papers. I opened it and froze. Inside were pictures of me. From my childhood to recent months, each image meticulously dated. Wilder had been watching me.
Why? The question clawed at my mind as I stared at the images. Then my eyes caught a name buried in the pages: Nauthers.
I grabbed the photo included in the folder—a woman with striking green eyes holding a baby boy. The name on the back read, Nauthers.
"Who are you?" I whispered, the pieces of the puzzle shifting ominously in my mind. Whatever this connection was, it was deeper and more twisted than I'd ever imagined. And I intended to uncover every horrifying detail.
It was almost 5:00 a.m. when I finally set the files aside, the first rays of sunlight creeping through the cracks of my blinds. My mind raced, each revelation adding to the tangled web I'd found myself in.
I had taken care of Robert properly. I headed straight to the crematorium and turned him to ashes. I placed a little of the ashes in a new vial, took the remaining, and gave a befitting burial by pouring it down the toilet. I had that settled already.
Now Wilder's case is on my neck—literally. It's like even in his death he still haunts me. Whoever he had working for him would not give up until I'm dead.
Wilder wasn't just a predator—he was part of something larger, a sprawling network of corruption and secrets.
And now, his death was only a small crack in the facade of something far more sinister. This wasn't just about revenge anymore; it was about survival. These people—Nauthers and whoever else was involved—they knew me, my routines, my face. The pictures proved that. I wasn't just the hunter; I was being hunted.
The weight of the night's events settled heavily on me as I paced the room. I tried to make sense of it all, but the questions kept multiplying. Was Nauthers responsible for stalking me, or had Wilder acted alone? Did they know what I'd done to Wilder? And if so, why hadn't they come for me yet?
Maybe this wasn't about justice; maybe it was something more personal. The thought chilled me to the core. For years, I'd been meticulous—covering my tracks, hiding my impulses behind a veil of normalcy—but now, the cracks were starting to show.
I stared at the baby in the photo, his innocent green eyes staring back at me. A child. Is this Nauthers? Or was the boy a pawn in something far worse? The idea of a family tied to a man like Wilder was almost unthinkable, but the image made it undeniably real. A pang of unease rippled through me.
Could I continue down this path, knowing it might lead to tearing apart another family? For the first time in a long while, doubt crept in, uninvited but persistent. I slammed the folder shut, locking it away with the tape of Robert.
My next move had to be careful, calculated. I couldn't afford to make mistakes—not now, not when the stakes were this high.