Page 49 of Don't Speak

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Two months ago

The naked man underneath my blade writhes on the table.

His wife hired me to take care of it, and take care of it I shall.

Garrett is currently strapped to a table in an abandoned asylum I found.

It’s been vacant for fifteen years, making the perfect kill spot.

After I’m done, I’ll take him out back and toss him in the dumpster, where he’ll decompose out of sight.

By the time anyone finds him, if anyone does, he’ll be bones.

“So, Garrett. You like touching little girls, do ya?” Taking my knife, I start at his sternum and lightly drag it downward, creating a slice that is deep enough to bleed but not deep enough to kill him.

“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I never touched anyone.” His eyes widen, and he fights against the restraints.

“You’re on video, Garrett. You see, your wife suspected something suspicious was going on.

When she questioned her daughter, she wouldn’t give you up, but a mother knows when something is wrong with her child.

She set up nanny cams in every room of the house, but she placed two in your stepdaughter’s room. ”

He pales.

“You’re a sick piece of shit, Garrett,” I spit, sliding the knife further south.

He stills for a moment, the realization of what is about to come hitting him like a ton of bricks.

“Your wife asked me for a special request.” The tip of my knife drags lightly across his sack.

“You see, apparently, not only are you a pedophile, but you seem to like preying on women as well.” Knick.

His screams fill the air. “She told me what you would do to her.” Knick.

More screams. “She asked that I deliver her a gift.” Knick.

“I guess you can see where this is going.” I grab hold of his sack, and in one swift motion, I slice it clean off.

He shakes violently on the table, crimson liquid spilling down and onto the table.

I toss the sack into a box, keeping my promise to his wife.

Well, his widow. Garrett thrashes for a few more minutes before, finally, he stills.

I check his pulse and confirm he’s dead.

Just as I’m about to start cleaning up, my phone vibrates.

Removing my latex gloves, I pull it from my pocket and check it.

David: Turn on the news.

Sitting down in the rusty, tattered chair in the corner, I pull up the local news station, currently live-streaming on the internet.

“Sean Edwards, 58, escaped from Huntsville State Prison this morning and is still on the run. Sean was serving twenty-five years for the rape and murder of a fourteen-year-old girl. He had served seven of those years at the time of his escape. Authorities advise that he may be armed and dangerous. It is best to avoid confrontation if you see him. Please report sightings to the hotline number listed at the bottom of your screen.”

Well, well, well. Looks like our timeline got bumped up a bit. I’ll be seeing my little lioness soon enough.

I clean up the mess and dismember Garrett piece by piece.

Placing him in trash bags, I take him out back to the dumpster and toss him in.

When I go to turn, I hear the distinct sound of sticks breaking in the tree line surrounding the asylum.

I clench my fists, looking around, but I don’t see anyone.

I walk in the direction of the sound, needing to make sure no one saw me, but when I come to the spot in the woods, it’s empty.

I turn and head back to my truck, getting in and heading for town.

It was probably just an animal.