Wait. Is she blushing?
Oh, he’s fucking?—
My eye’s twitching. He’s touching her arm. He’s fucking touching my girl’s fucking arm. She’s tensing up, and he still has his hand on her.
That’s it. He’s dead.
I should be the reason for her happiness. I should be the one getting her attention. Not fuckingThomas.
I arrived back home expecting to have a nice evening with my future wife, only to find that she has spent it with another man. In what world did Mina think I would take kindly to that? Especially after our discussion yesterday morning.
Especiallyafter she didn’t send me one single measly text all fucking day. I wanted her to reach out first. I waited, and waited, andwaited. Nothing came.
I glare at her profile through the window, counting down the minutes until they finally leave the dinner table. I take it as my cue to get in my car. Eventually, Thomas and his parents come waltzing out the front door and to their respective cars. The couple goes one way, and Thomas? He doesn’t notice when I go the same route as him.
The only reason he hasn’t been dealt with after all the time he and Mina have been texting is because he never actually stood a chance.
He doesn’t now either. I refuse to fucking believe it.
But Thomas is being dealt with tonight.
Thomas is just at the wrong place at the wrong time. An unfortunate turn of events. To the public eye, he’s done nothingwrong. To me, I don’t need more reason than what he’s provided me.
If I can’t kill Jack or the person who attacked Mina, he’ll have to do.
Unfortunately, the prickly fucker doesn’t live out in the middle of nowhere, so I’ll need to properly think this shit through.
I keep driving to see what I’m working with. I knew he lives in this area; I simply never cared to work out whether it was a house or an apartment. Of course, the man I want to kill has to live in the latter. Because why not make it harder for me?
Do I dispose of the body? One look up and down the street tells me the answer is no. It’s too busy, and I’ve spotted one too many cameras for my liking. It’s not the safest neighborhood around, but it’s by no means worthy of pearl clutching.
Method of death? There are too many options. Whichever I choose, Thomas isn’t allowed to so much as squeak, otherwise the neighbors might hear.
Killing Jack would’ve been so much easier to carry out. The only hard thing about it would be deciding how, precisely, I’d torture him first.
I’ll have to wait at least five more fucking hours to make sure everyone is sleeping soundly in their beds.
Gritting my teeth, I drive to the end of the street and make my way back home to get everything I might need.
Duct tape, ropes, a hunting knife, a lock-picking kit, another roll of duct tape (just in case), cleaning supplies, a hammer (it’s best to be prepared), and a first aid kit (for me—just in case).
With the duffle bag packed, I stand in my kitchen, looking around for anything else that could be necessary to carry out tonight’s task. I can’t very well google it.
An idea comes to mind that has me jogging up the stairs and into my office to grab the book Mina wrote about a serial killer. Iflick through the pages until I get to the tab I stuck during one of the murder scenes.
I don’t need the internet when she’s done all the research for me.
A couple pairs of latex gloves, ski masks, plastic bags, and a pair of shoes two sizes too big for me goes in the bag next—a random brand sent it to me.
Then I sit on the couch, and I wait. And I fester. In doubt. In worry. In excitement. My mind runs wild with the possibilities. It throws questions of whether Thomas deserves the fate I plan on bestowing.
But when I close my eyes and imagine the blood on my hands, I only ever see one face: Jack Norton’s.
My knuckles bleach white at the thought that it’shishouse I’ll be going to. That it’shisskin my knife will be piercing. As hard as I try to picture that it’s Thomas I’m going to be paying a visit to, I see someone else.
One day, it’ll be Jack meeting his maker, and I’ll be the reason for it. I’ve been dreaming of his demise since I was a pimple-faced teenager, and it’ll soon be time to take matters into my own hands.
I don’t know when, and I don’t know how—he’s got a noose around my neck and every piece of evidence pointed at me—but the day will come.
