4
AIDEN
Some claim that traumatic experiences in childhood might cause a person to take one of three forms:
The victim.
The perp.
Or the survivor.
Well, as Meatloaf said, two out of three ain’t bad.
After neatly arranging my tools and showing each one individually to Danny, I finally decide on “My Way” by Frank Sinatra after browsing my Spotify library. The buttons on my shirt cuffs are still stiff from lack of use, but I manage to loosen them and proceed to roll my sleeves up above my elbows. This shirt is new; I don’t want to have to toss it.
I take the gleaming hunting knife from the counter, grip it tightly in my hand, and watch as its sharp blade glints under the kitchen lights before turning to Danny. His tears only seem to intensify as he realises what is about to happen. He has seen my face, and we both know what that means.
Little does he know that this is only the beginning of the nightmare that will test his courage and sanity to the limit.
My shoes gleam like sun-kissed glass, reflecting the blade of the knife as I slowly approach Danny. His face turns purple as the gag in his mouth muffles his screams, while a stream of snot and tears flows down his face. I watch with detached interest as he struggles against the ropes that bind him, his wrists already red and raw from his futile attempts to escape. He was smiling as he left the courtroom that day; he knew he got off lightly. I took care of the judge three years ago, a “freak accident,” according to the papers, if you can call a perfectly timed potassium injection an accident. All anyone saw was his fat arse wobbling on the steps as he stumbled and fell, cracking his skull open on the pavement—Oh, the humanity!
What can I say? Justice has a way of catching up to those who think they can cheat it.
I am by no means an angel. There is a special place in hell for me—the throne room—but I do have scruples. There are three rules that I abide by:
1) Never break your word.
2) Never hit or force yourself on a woman. (My mother raised me right.)
And, most importantly,
3)Neverharm a child.
My moral code tells me that the man who has broken all three of my rules deserves to be severely punished. It’s not the norm, but sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands to make sure the guilty pay for their sins.
I crouch down, remove the gag from Danny’s mouth, and retrieve a picture from my shirt pocket, showing it to him. “Remember him, Danny?”
His eyes widen; he recognises the person in the picture, ofcourse he does. I hope he squeals like a hog when my blade kisses his flesh.
“I didn’t—”
The child in the picture is frozen in time, right before his innocence was stripped away two weeks before his fourth birthday by this piece of weasel shit.
“Don’t,” I slide the blade’s tip down his cheek, mimicking the look of bloody tears falling from his eyes. “You dare lie to me, Danny. I have killed for less.”
His lips tremble as he tries to speak, but I don’t let him.
“You think you can get away with what you did? You think you can hurt a child and just move on with your life?” I press the blade deeper into his skin.
I am going to derive too much pleasure from this.
“I’ve changed! I swear! Please, let me go.”
My eyebrows move in different directions; one slides into my chestnut brown hairline, while the other arches in disbelief. “Let you go?” I scoff, the corners of my mouth curling into a sinister smile. “I bet that’s what Ryan begged you to do. Let. Him. Go.” I press the blade against his throat, just enough to make him shit himself but not enough to kill him. He needs to stay alive for this. “He cried out for his mother, didn’t he, Danny? He cried, begged, and pleaded, but it all fell on deaf ears. “I make a cut behind his left ear, removing it entirely.
Danny screams, spittle flying from his mouth as the pain courses through his body. For the unwelcome shower, I remove his right ear and laugh; the endorphins flood my veins. This is what justice feels like.
Danny looks as if he’s about to pass out. I can’t be having that. Getting to my feet, I reach for the syringe on the countertop and inject the prick with a dose of adrenaline to keep him conscious. “We’re not done yet, Danny. We haven’t even started yet.”
