Keane grabs a crumpled pack of cigarettes and lights one up, the smoke swirling around him.
I flick the lid off the syringe before slowly pulling it from my pocket. Keane takes another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling lazily towards the ceiling as he reaches for thephone charging on the dresser.
The floorboard creaks beneath my foot, and he whirls around, eyes wide, his cigarette dropping from his lips to the floor in a shower of ashes.
Slamming the needle into his neck, I press on the plunger, injecting the contents of the syringe into his bloodstream. Keane’s body stiffens for a moment before he stumbles back. He throws a punch and hits air; he throws another and sends himself onto his arse. The last thing he sees before his eyes shut is me pulling my hunting knife from its sheath, a wicked grin spreading across my face as I lower my hood and turn it on the unfortunate charging up the staircase.
There are two reasons I prefer to use leather straps over rope. One reason is that leather straps are more durable and less likely to break under pressure—no breakage, no fibres to be found by the forensic team should they come sniffing. The other is that wet leather tends to tighten even further when it dries, making it nearly impossible for the victim to escape. As I secure the straps around his wrists, ankles, and neck, I see Keane stir. His eyes flicker open, and he is greeted by my beautiful face, smiling down at him.
“Good, you’re awake.” I secure the last strap to his left, bare ankle; his clothes are already burning in the corner of the room. “I thought I used too much propofol. I don’t know why; I just assumed you’d be…bigger. Isn’t that what monsters are supposed to be? Big, scary creatures?” I chuckle softly, running a finger along the edge of the knife resting on the table nearby. “Or in my case,” I gesture to my lean, lethal frame. “Devilishly handsome bastards.”
Keane’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the knife. “You have the wrong idea,” he stammers, fear creeping into his voice. “You have the wrong man.”
“Nope.” I push down my trousers and place them with my already-discarded shirt and socks. Keane’s eyes grow as wide as saucers, and I can’t help but laugh as my boxers are next to go. Sometimes, on particularly cold nights like tonight, I’ll leave them on and burn them later, but I’m sure my bug will have some questions if I leave fully dressed and then come back with no underwear on. “You wish,” I toss my underwear onto the growing pile of clothes. “You’re not my type for one.” Turning to my car, I lift the false bottom of the trunk to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside, I retrieve a small, locked box and bring it back to the table. “And unlike you, I have never forced myself on a woman before.”
“I haven’t—”
“Or child, for that matter,” I interrupt, cutting off his attempt to defend himself.
“W-what?”
I place the box next to the knife and enter the combination; it springs open, revealing a scalpel, three prefilled syringes, and a vial of clear liquid. “You see,” I continue, my voice cold and steady, “I have a different way of dealing with people like you.”
“Please, I didn’t…”
“Katie Byrne,” I say, looking him dead in the eyes. “Your first victim.”
“I was a kid!”
“So was I when I killed my father. Yes, I may have had several years on you, but age doesn’t excuse the fact that I did it. And if given the chance, I’d do it again. We both know what we’re capable of.” I take a step closer, the scalpel glinting inthe dim light of the warehouse.
“I haven’t seen her in years!” Keane’s green eyes never leave the blade in my hand.
“She sees you every time she closes her eyes.” I lower the scalpel and pick up six nails instead. “The memories haunt her. Every time she hears your name.” Placing the nails between my teeth, I grab the hammer from the nearby table. “You hurt my girl, Keane.” My words are slightly muffled as I speak around the nails in my mouth. “And now, it’s time for you to pay for what you’ve done.” I place the first one against the back of his right hand and drive the hammer down, embedding it into his flesh. Keane screams, barely mustering up the strength to draw another breath before I drive a nail through his left hand. Then one in each foot, and finally one in each ear, just because.
My eyes flit to the scared mole rat between his legs. That shrivelled-up piece of flesh is what was forced into my girl’s mouth.
I was going to work from the neck down, but seeing the maggot between his legs has me biting down on my teeth so hard that I think I’ve cracked a molar. I’ll take a page from his book, dick first, I’ll make him suffer just like he made my girl suffer.
I bring the hammer down on his left nut, rupturing it. Keane’s body jumps, and the flesh around the nails tears open, blood weeps from several wounds.
Shit. On second thought, I should have kept that one whole. It’s too late now. There is still one ball left, not yet damaged. I can make it work.
Grabbing the scalpel, I pin the disgusting sack of flesh to the table. As I make the first incision, right down the seamof the scrotum, Keane lets out a guttural scream, his body convulsing.
“Do I have to put more pins in you to keep you still?” Flipping back the flesh, I see the remaining exposed testicle, swollen and pulsating with veins. It’s quick and easy to detach it from the spermatic cords. “Great news!” I hold up the severed testicle, “it’s a boy!”
The smile on my face falls when he lets out another agonised scream. “Nothing? Not even a snort? Rude.”
Turning the scalpel to his shaft, I mutter, “Katie would have laughed.” Believe it or not, this is the first time that I’ve attempted gender reassignment surgery. I usually just lob it off, but he hurt my bug, so I thought I’d try something more worthy of his punishment.
I don’t care what anyone says, an inside-out penis is not a vagina. I would not even consider putting this thing anywhere near my mouth. It looks like a mutated banana, with veins popping out. Hmm. Maybe I’m doing it wrong? I’d YouTube it, but I’m not about to turn on my phone and ping my location to a random server.
I really need to invest in a new burner phone, my last one is now my personal one since I decided I was going to keep Katie.
I pull my mind back to the task at hand and grimace as a crusty line of smegma becomes visible along the edge and dry heave when it threatens to graze my finger. “Have you heard of soap? You filthy bastard!”
My God, bug, I’m traumatised for you!
