Page 8 of Dreadful

“A-a window? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I scoff. “It baffles me that no one questioned why the injured gardener was roaming around that night and how he knew so quickly that I was out of bed. But whatIwonder is, did you see what I did to that man that night? Or were you too busy coming in your dirty hands at the sight of what he did tome? Don’t try to play it off, I saw you through my window every time he was there!”

“I…” He shakes his head. Beads of sweat run down his wrinkled face. “I minded my business. I never saw anything. M-maybe you have the wrong guy. My name is—”

“You don’t get a name,” I hiss. “People like you don’t deserve the privilege. My name was Chiara, but you treated that girl like a nameless thing. And that’s what you’ve become to me.”

“He was the one who did it, though. Not me! I-I wasn’t even in there!”

I shove the rake farther up until he whimpers.

“You think I didn’t realize you were a peeping Tom all those years ago? You got off on what he did to me, you fucking pervert.”

His face blanches. “No. No. Not me.”

“Even with your balls at my mercy, youstillwon’t admit what you did. Un-fucking-believable.” I drag the rake, careful not to pierce his khakis yet. “This will be the last time you can pretend you’re innocent. I refuse to be the only one to suffer from what happened to me.”

His knees knock together, and he reaches down to cup his crotch as if that’ll protect him.

I let the metal prongs finally pierce through the fabric of his pants. Tears mix with the sweat trailing his cheeks. The rest of his body freezes when the rake catches on skin.

“I just watched, okay? It wasn’t like I was the one who hurt you. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this. I won’t tell anyone you’re even alive.”

“Hmm, I don’t think I heard an apology in there.”

“I’m sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

Well, at least that’s something.

My therapist would be proud that I’m confronting my demons and getting results. According to her, people rarely get closure in these situations. Granted, she has no idea the type of closure I have in mind.

“And what’re you sorry for, exactly?”

“F-for…for watching you?” The question at the end of his confession pumps venom into my veins.

I cut into his skin until he cries out. “If you scream, I’ll chop your balls off without a second thought.”

His chin wobbles as he bites his lip, but he obeys.

I keep the weapon positioned underneath his testicles and scoot backward. The motion forces him to come along with me behind the bushes. When I lessen the rake’s pressure, he visibly relaxes. A laugh huffs from my chest, sending delicious fear back into his eyes.

“Wh-what’s so funny?”

“All men are the same. You’re so worried about the state of your precious ‘family jewels’ when they should be the least of your concern.”

I wrench the rake at an angle that forces him off-balance. He lands on the ground right where I need him, completely hidden by the bushes and within a foot of the glittering shears. I straddle his waist and grab their handle before stabbing him in the chest. The blades slip in easily, one wrong breath away from his heart, just like I wanted.

He gasps and blinks in shock. Some of my chestnut hair escapes from my braid in snaking curls, creating a thick curtain around us. All he can see is the savage scar that mars my face and the glee sparkling in my eyes.

I couldn’t have planned this better. Granted, I had fifteen years to make it perfect. The anxiety I’ve suffered all this time eases more and more with every inch of metal that digs into his chest.

Soft gurgles wheeze blood out of his mouth and down the sides of his cheeks like a gruesome smile. He tries to scream, but the fluid filling his lungs only makes him choke more. His life is in my hands, and I revel in this powerful rush.

Brief relief always follows my revenge, but this time, I need it to last as long as possible. The next few names won’t be easy, and I don’t know when I’ll get to them. I have to savor this feeling of peace while I can.

“I tried setting a trap for you once before,” I remind him. “All you did was hurt your foot.” Realization lights his eyes, and I keep going. “I was happy with that outcome…until I realized that not even a nearly severed toe would stop you from staring into my window.”

“I didn’t—”