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The sun is already starting to set, and couples walk on the pavement with their children and pets. A lone cat wanders out of a yard and rubs itself against me. I bend down and pet it before I continue on my way. Some guys whistle at me, but I pay them no mind.

No, I focus on one thing and one thing only. My own satisfaction tonight. There are many ways to satiate me, but this one will do nicely. A combination of adrenaline and Viagra–one to keep him awake and another to keep him stimulated. What fun I’m going to have.

When I enter the room, the smell has not gotten any better. I decided earlier that I would clean before I got started. I want everything pristine for the grand finale.

“You’re back,” he groans. “Please, can I go home now?”

“Our week together is almost up,” I say quietly. “I don’t break contracts, but like I said, if you survive what I have in store for you, then you’re welcome to go home.”

He looks at me with a pained expression, and I take my coat and purse and put it in the bathroom. I get a bucket and fill it with ice cold water, then set it next to the bed.

I pull the sheet out from under him, keeping most of the shit and piss on it. I take it out of the room in a bundle and dump it next to the stairs. I’ll burn it later. I go back in and pick up the bucket of water, dumping it onto Boy’s groin area. I get a scrubbing brush out and begin to scrub him clean, spraying bleach on the dirtiest areas. I scrub off all the nasty shit that has crusted on his skin since he’s been lying in it all week long. He groans and asks me to stop, but I don't. I simply lift his penis and scrub his scrotum. Then I scrub his ass, which is the nastiest of them all. I get a second bucket of water and dump it on him before I take a towel and dry him off, then the bed. The bed is wet, but that doesn’t matter. The blood from his wounds has soaked into the mattress, and now that the stench of shit is gone, I can smell the coppery scent of blood.

He tugs on his restraints, but I’ve tied him up securely. He can’t move. I go to the bathroom and wheel out a little trolley with a tray on top. I take out my tools slowly.

I put a fresh scalpel down. Then a blow torch that I normally use on Crème Brulé. I take out a branding iron that is a solid rectangle shape. Finally, I take out gloves. I don’t normally wear gloves, but this requires a delicate touch if I’m going to get it right.

“What… what are you doing?” he asks. He’s too weak to even lift his head. I get my seat again and bring it to the bedside before I open the package I brought with me.

I smile and say, “We’re going to have some wild fun tonight.”

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” he pleads.

I tie a tourniquet on his arm and inject him with adrenaline first. While that courses through his body, I take out the other injection from the new package and move to his flaccid cock. I insert the needle carefully and squeeze the plunger just a little. I remove it and inject it again, a little lower down. Then I move to the other side and inject him there.

I sit back and watch. At first, nothing happens at all, but then his penis starts to stiffen. I’m surprised my idea worked with the adrenaline coursing through his body, but hemanages to get an erection, which is all I wanted.

I smile. “I need to burn those sheets. You relax a little while I do that, and when I come back, we can start.”

He doesn’t answer me, but he is nowpanting. I go outside and grab the sheets, taking them to the crematorium. I shove them in and turn it on. I take my time, watching the sheets disintegrate into nothing.

This side of La Douleur Folle is probably my favorite. It’s quieter here. This is where we dispose of everything so nothing will ever be discovered. This is the ultimate end of the contract. No remains. No memory.

Except for those who think their loved one simply left and didn’t come back.

I wonder how many fathers went out for a pack of cigarettes, only to come to La Douleur Folle and end everything. I wonder how many didn’t make it back home. There are those who partake in pain alone, not death, but those are far, far few between.

I walk back towards the main rooms. I can hear a cacophony of screams and howls of pain, and it’s like music to my ears. There are only a few rooms that have soundproofing; mine is one of them. I like the sensory deprivation of it. The others, not so much. I’m surprised that no one has ever walked past here by accident and wondered who was being murdered.

Oh, so many people. But they chose to die. They come here so that we may give them death. They sing for it. They beg for it. They don’t know the value of life if they enter a hell like this, and they don’t deserve a life to go back to.

I reach my room and take a deep breath. It’s showtime. I’m almost excited. I’m not one to do this sort of thing, but when I thought of it, I thought it was genius. An end to creating the life I brought forth into this world before I end the life itself.

I enter the room with a wide grin on my face and shut the door.