Page 6

Chapter 5

D eep into the midnight hour, I stand in the shadows outside my target’s home, dressed in black leggings, a thin, long-sleeved black tee, and a black ski mask. There are times when I’ll conceal my face with a mask or alter my appearance with wigs and contacts. It depends on the situation, and how much trouble I expect.

Conrad isn’t the type to give me trouble. He’s probably returning home from the bar soon, likely shitfaced. I can only hope he decided to Uber instead of risking lives by driving intoxicated.

That hope fades as I see headlights coming down the road, weaving into the driveway. His black BMW knocks over a potted plant at the edge of the house. Miraculously, he parks in his garage without causing further damage.

Good Lord.

I shake my head in disgust as he staggers out of the car and walks toward the open garage door, struggling with his keys, and I slip in behind him, soundless. The moment he gets a foot inside the door, I pull the syringe from my pocket and jab it into his neck. He teeters forward to land face down on the hardwood floor.

With a smirk, I shut the door and lock it behind us. I drag his unconscious body to the living room, where he usually crashes in his recliner, often with a lit cigarette. It’s truly a miracle he hasn’t burned his house down yet. But that’s about to change. I undress him, haul him closer to the recliner, and secure his wrists and ankles together with the zip ties from my trusty duffel bag. Once I double-lock the restraints, I grab a few other items from the bag and drop his clothes in various spots across the living area.

A few minutes later, he stirs. I didn’t inject him with much of the sedative—just enough to move him into position. Eager to get this started, I pull out a fresh syringe and shoot pure adrenaline into his arm.

He startles awake. “What the hell?”

I always enjoy this part. It’s always the same questions: “ Who are you? Why are you doing this? Please, let me go.”

“Hi, Conrad.” I smile sinisterly at my prey as he looks around wildly. “Welcome to your own personal hell.”

“What’s going on here?” He fights against his restraints.

“Did you really think you could get away unscathed? You brutally murdered your wife and two-year-old child. And you got off on a fucking ‘technicality’?” I stare at him, disgusted. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with your uncle owning Hudson Oil in Texas. It must’ve been nothing for him to drop hundreds of thousands to pay off a few people to make the evidence disappear.”

His face pales. “I didn’t do it. I swear.”

“That’s what they all say,” I taunt. “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t there. I’d never do anything like that. ”

“No, really, I wasn’t even here!”

Plugging in the curling wand, I turn it to the highest setting, eyeing the pathetic excuse for a man. I never thought of a curling wand as a torture device, but after a few accidental burns while curling my hair, I had an “ah-ha” moment. Pretty genius, I think . I grab the wand and press it against his hand, and he screams out.

“Uh-uh. Hush, or I’ll tape your mouth shut. Do I really need to do that, Conrad?”

“N-no, no, please stop.”

“I’ll stop when you tell me the truth,” I retort. I’m lying, but he doesn’t need to know that.

I move closer, placing the wand against his abdomen, slowly drawing a smiley face as he tenses, tears running down his cheeks. “Are you ready to talk?” I smirk down at him.

“I-I swear, I didn’t do it,” he whimpers, sticking to the same story he’s had for months.

My eyes harden. I really didn’t think he would be this stubborn. Is this guy kidding? Or is he legitimately crazy?

“I don’t believe you.”

I retrieve another item from my bag—lubricant. As I pour it onto the wand, I hear the satisfying sizzle and catch a whiff of the burning scent in the air. I was wrong if I thought his eyes couldn’t get any bigger. They look like they’re about to pop out of his head, and immediately he begins spouting out a platitude of denials.

A photo of Conrad and his family catches my eye, and all I can envision is him suffocating his daughter with a pillow. Rage courses through me as I roughly roll him over, exposing his backside. My grip tightens around handle of the scalding 450-degree curling wand as I forcefully press it against the entrance of his anus. Instinctively, he recoils, attempting to escape, but there’s nowhere for him to go. Rotating the wand, I slowly inch the device deep into his rectum.

He lets out a piercing scream, his cries echoing through the room as his body convulses uncontrollably. Thankfully, the nearest neighbors aren’t home. They’re renovating their house, which made tonight the perfect time for me to set my plan in motion. The only other neighbor nearby is legally deaf.

Conrad continues to writhe in pain, his voice hoarse from screaming. “Please, for the love of God, stop it.”

“What, are you not enjoying this?” Chuckling darkly, I withdraw the wand before shoving it back in. “It’s a bit different when you’re the one feeling helpless isn’t it?”

“Alright! I did it!” he yells, his hands struggling against the restraints. “The bitch wouldn’t shut up, and the kid wouldn’t stop screaming. Are you happy now? Go away. Leave me alone. I’ll never tell anyone you were here. I don’t even know who you are,” he begs.

Really? Is that all he could handle? Amateur . I remove the wand and unplug it from the wall, tossing it aside.

“See?” I wave my hand out. “Don’t you feel better now that you’ve owned the truth?”

I allow him to drag himself into the recliner, whining the whole time. I grab his pack of cigarettes, pull one out, and offer it to him. He takes the cigarette; his hands tremble violently as I light it for him. He inhales deeply and blows out a thick stream of smoke.

“Be right back, buddy,” I say gleefully as I walk out to the garage, grabbing the two gasoline canisters I’d stored earlier, and bringing them inside. He becomes panicked again, his face contorted as he screams, “You said you'd stop if I told you the truth!”

“Did I? Oops, I lied.”

I pour gasoline onto the carpet around his chair before drenching his body; the liquid splashes around him, and the potent smell fills my nostrils. He howls loudly. I’m over him now. I pull out the bowie knife strapped to my back and run it across his jugular artery, effectively slicing the skin open, and blood pours out. Savoring every moment, I watch as his life drains away. The cigarette falls from his mouth, starting a small blaze beside the recliner. I cut off the zip ties and gather my belongings, careful not to leave anything behind.

Casting one last glance at the photo of his innocent wife and daughter, I head toward the door. Before I leave, I turn around and light a match to ignite the growing blaze, watching the flames swallow the pathetic excuse for a human being in front of me— another monster who can’t hurt anyone else.