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I pressed the blade to one corner of her mouth and sawed slowly through flesh, muscle, and skin. Hot blood sprayed across my hand and face. The knife tore through her cheek with a wet, ripping sound, splitting it open.

She screamed a distorted, gurgling howl as I carved the other side, creating a grotesque smile that stretched her face into a nightmarish, flapping grin. Blood poured in sheets down her chin, mixing with tears and spit. The wounds gaped obscenely with every panicked breath, exposing teeth, gums, and twitching muscle.

This was it.

The release.

The burn finally eased as her life unraveled.

“You should be honored, Madison. You served an important purpose. You brought the Brentwood Butcher back. And you get to be the announcement.”

She thrashed beneath me, the slashed mouth producing horrific, bubbling wails. Blood foamed and sprayed with every exhale. I raised the knife and drove it down into her chest with savage force. The blade slipped between her ribs with a wet crack, sinking deep into her heart. She arched violently, eyes rolling back, a fountain of arterial blood erupting from the wound and her ruined mouth.

I twisted the blade, feeling organs tear. She gurgled horribly. I stabbed again and again, deeper and harder, each thrust producing a wet squelch of meat and bone. Her chest became a mangled cavity. She jerked weakly beneath me, leaving bloody trails across the pallet as her body convulsed in agony. One final rattling wheeze escaped the horrific grin, then she went limp, eyes glassy and fixed.

I stared at her lifeless corpse. Amusement settled in my chest as I looked over the work I had done.

I sat back, breathing steadily, covered in her warmth. The fire inside was sated, for now.

I walked back out through the broken doorway to the car. The stereo still leaked faint guitar into the night. I opened the trunk and took out the bone saw. The box of Hefty bags sat right beside it. I carried both back inside and set them on the filthy concrete next to her body.

I started at the left shoulder. The saw teeth caught on skin, then bit into bone with a grinding wet rasp. Blood welled and ran as I worked the blade back and forth. The arm came free after several minutes of steady pressure. I dropped it into the first open bag. I moved to the other arm and repeated the same slow cutting. Each pass of the saw sent a fresh spray across the pallet and my clothes. The legs took longer. I braced my boot on her hip and forced the blade through the joint until the bone separated with a dull crack. I bagged every piece as it came loose. I cut the torso last and forced it into the final bag.

I carried the filled bags out to the trunk and shut the lid. I left the warehouse behind and took the back roads toward the old property near Preston. Every few miles, I pulled over and threw pieces of her into the trees and ditches along the empty stretches of road. No one would find the remains for a long time. By the time anyone identified her, I would’ve already controlled the investigation.

I reached the old property near Preston. I went inside, showered the blood off my hands and arms, and changed into clean clothes. Then I left for home.

The drive home was calm, the night sweeter. I slipped inside and locked the door behind me. I walked to the bedroom and found Samantha rocking Seth to sleep near his bassinet.

“Everything okay?” Samantha asked sleepily.

“Yes,” I said.

I looked at Seth sleeping peacefully in her arms. I touched his tiny chest, feeling the fragile beat.

The hunger was quiet.

For now.

Chapter 32

Samantha

Seven Months Later

Seth was almost ten months old now. He crawled with intense focus, pulling himself up on the edge of the coffee table, his chubby fingers gripping the wood while his dark eyes studied everything around him. He was unusually quiet for a baby, and his observant nature sometimes made my chest tighten with how much I loved him. When he looked at me, he seemed to understand too much.

I knew every little sound he made and every shift in his mood. I recognized the soft grunt he made when his blocks toppled, the way he relaxed against me, and how he favored that blue blanket with the satin edge. Motherhood had given my days structure when every other part of my life felt uncertain. Richard was gone so often. The late meetings, unexplained trips, and excuses left me smiling through the emptiness. The house was beautiful, but some days I felt trapped inside it, even though I had chosen this life.

I’d left the TV on in the background while Seth played on his mat. The afternoon news anchor’s voice pulled my attention to the screen.

“We have an update in the disappearance of Sandra Dale, a thirty-six-year-old woman from Sunnyvale. Her body was found early this morning inside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Dale had been missing for more than a week. Police have not released her official cause of death, but sources close to the investigation say her injuries resemble those found on victims of the Brentwood Butcher. Dale is the fourth woman discovered under similar circumstances within the past seven months. Investigators are now considering whether a copycat killer is responsible.”

The remote slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the coffee table. My stomach twisted.

A copycat killer was out there.

The Brentwood Butcher’s pattern had returned.