Page 25 of From Hell

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Why did you call?”

“I just…nothing. Thought I saw a ghost. I’m okay now.” Convinced I’m all alone, I retreat to my bedroom, Sage still on the line. I only hang up once I’ve closed the door behind me and Sage has persuaded me she’s okay.

Once I’m tucked in bed, the feeling of vulnerability still lingers, no matter how much I try to block it out. I’m really spooked. What did I do after I got home that night? Was I that out of it that I put the knife in the dishwasher? When was the last time I used the dishwasher? Killing the last one was difficult, and burying the body alone and in the rain was horrendous, but…

Could Dad or Mum have let themselves in and left it there? In my heart of hearts, I know my mum doesn’t have a key. I purposely ensured she couldn’t drop in unannounced whenever she felt like it. It’s bad enough that Dad has a key for emergencies…

No. I did not put the knife in the dishwasher.

Someone was here. They left the murder weapon for me to find, just sitting there. It’s a taunt.See, look, how easily I can get into your house.I’m mad more than anything. This is my house. My safe space.

The feel of the scissors lying awkwardly under my pillow is the only thing keeping me sane. As panic rises in my chest at the slightest noise, my fingers close around the plastic handle, reassuring me I’m not a victim. I stay like that for a few long, hard minutes, then get up to check that nothing else has moved or is missing to find the dress I wore that night is gone too.

Afterward, unsatisfied and on edge, I grab my jacket and head outside to my car. I can’t sleep. May as well do some work. If the killer is coming after me, I’d rather not sit like a duck waiting to be slaughtered.

11

Six Months ago.

First Kill.

Dead girl walking.

It’s like I move through the world underwater, waves crashing over my head though I’m far too deep to notice, numb to everything but one slow-burning, beating heartbeat of purpose—to stalk my killer.

Just as he stalks me back.

I wonder who will win as I follow him into a churchyard. I’ve done this most nights—stalking bad men, planning their deaths. It’s the only way I feel alive. The only way I can breathe deep in the depths of this cold despair. Knowing I can end him. The police have yet to catch him, but the evidence is there. The law is useless. The elite upper echelons of his society protect him. But they can’t protect him from me.

That’s what I tell myself. It’s a mantra I whisper over and over in my mind as I bring the knife out with a shaking hand and rest it over the swollen artery in his neck. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m making it up as I go along. But this is what I want. And this is where I exact my revenge—in a dense wood, towering trees reaching towards the sky like an overbearing cathedral, rain lashing at the trees, thumber bellowing through the twisted, transcendent branches.

One slash.

That’s all it will take.

But my hand is slick with rainwater. I’m getting soaked—guiding his sorry ass through the mud from my car to here took me a while. I’ve been stalking this one for weeks, waiting for the right time to make him pay for what he and the others did to me and those other girls less than two years ago.

Rage unfurls inside my chest, blossoming like a dark friend I already know so well. One jagged motion of my wrist, and it’ll be all over. But, my hand shakes, my breathing hitches, and something akin to a tight ball of pain lodges in my throat.

He rips women apart for fun.

I have to kill him.

Gripping the knife with both hands to keep from dropping it, I bare my teeth and dig the metal into his flesh. Blood sprays from the wound, and he gasps awake with a jerk, dark eyes pinning me in place. Watching. I jump back with a scream, dropping the knife. It clatters to the floor as his body convulses, and blood goes everywhere. Coats everything.

The exposed ruby-red flesh reminds me of the inside of a pomegranate. I stare at the body, unblinking, thoughts scattered until the smell slams into the back of my throat. An animalistic sound escapes my lips as I release a strangled sob. Then I crawl into a dark corner and heave until my sides hurt and my stomach is empty. Blood mixes with the vomit, turning it pink.

He’s lying on the ground when I turn around, unmoving, bleeding to death. The cloying air—heavy on my chest, stained with the acrid stench of metal—hits me again in the gut, like swallowing a jar of pennies. It makes me want to gag, but I’ve already brought my dinner up in the bushes behind me.

I close my eyes as the world tilts beneath me, gritting my teeth against the sensation of falling off a building without a parachute. My chest heaves, and my stomach tightens. My heart beats noisily in my ribcage, reminding me I’m not dead. But I’m going straight to Hell.

Everything has been building up until this moment.

I don’t even remember killing him.

Yet I look down at my red-stained hand and can’t stop shaking.