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LANE

I’ve always loved the way blood splatters on the wall. An artwork all its own. The way it spreads—thick here, thin and lighter there—is fascinating. Especially when I can take my time to get the pictures and flow just right.

Am I insane? Probably. No, definitely. And I’m proud of it. I embrace all parts of me, even the ones the “normal” people try to avoid. The ones they’re too scared to really see and inspect; the ones they hide away in shame, only to let out when they can’t control it anymore.

Me? I learned a long time ago controlling it was impossible, so why not just run with it? Make it my own?

Well, make it a hobby of mine, anyway. My main job is fun, but this, this is one where I really get to enjoy all the skills I’ve learned and perfected. The one thing I have that’s mine. I call the shots, and my purpose is clear.

Now, I create stories and pictures from the blood of the people I kill. No, the animals I kill. They don’t deserve the title of a human. They are the lowest forms of scum, an absolute disgrace to the human race. I’m just providing a public service by disposing of them.

I turn away from the pristine white wall of the medical room. Really, I couldn’t have asked for anything better. So clean, so sterile, and so perfect to handle this pathetic waste of skin. The exact place he kidnaps, tortures, rapes, and murders his victims. Not just any victims. Young girls. The ones he kidnaps off the street or lures through his online persona in chat groups.

The thought of the things he’s done makes my fury burn, but no longer; he’s finished now.

I walk back over to the medical gurney I’ve strapped him to. He’s almost done. He pleads for death with his shit-brown eyes, but I’m not there yet. Not quite ready to send him to hell where he’ll suffer for the rest of eternity if I have anything to say about it, and when I finally leave this earth, I’ll make sure I’m there to do this all over again.

Surely, the devil will want a helper.

I take in my handiwork. After strapping him down, I took the scalpel to his balls. As I cut them off, his screams and pleas had the sweetest music filling the air. Slowly. Carefully. Methodically. Then I started on his dick. That took some work. Especially with him trying to flail around, but a couple more restraints solved that problem.

Before long, I was holding the appendages he clearly values most and made sure to put them right by his head. I mean, why not let him see my handiwork up close and personal? Of course, that wasn’t enough. No, I’ve been working for hours, reenacting all the things he did to those girls.

Now, his body has gone into shock. Blood flows and drips, staining the gurney, sheets, walls, and floor. It’s such a pretty sight. I really do love this part of my life.

“You know, Harold,” I say, “you surprised me. I was sure you’d have a heart attack by now and croak. Oh, but all that work you’ve done has made your old ticker good and strong, hasn’t it?” I give him a cold, cruel smile as I pat his chest. “See, that’s a surprise, given your size. You’re what, almost three hundred pounds? I certainly felt every pound of it getting your fat ass up here. Probably from all those donuts and fast food, huh? Yeah, I saw the state of your apartment. Disgusting, just as I thought. You really are a pig. Oh, but that wasn’t the worst of it, was it? No, see, I searched your place, and what did I find in that hole in the back of your closet? Stacks and stacks of pictures and some hard drives containing the images that brought us here. Because you like to take pictures, don’t you, Harold?”

He moans something behind the gag I put in his mouth after the first hour of constant screaming. Can’t be having a headache while I’m trying to focus, can I?

“Shhh,” I croon, moving to pick up my favorite blade. I spend hours keeping it spotless and sharp. The thing cuts through anything like butter. It cost me a pretty penny, and while I hate to defile it with the blood of people like Harold, it’s perfect for what needs to be done.

Harold’s muffled screams fill the space as I move toward him. It’s finally time for this to be over. I never stay longer than two hours, and I have about twenty minutes left, so I need to hurry this up. I still need to take my pictures and ensure nothing is left of me.

I stop near the lower part of the bed, ignoring the stench of his voided bladder, bowels, and blood mixed together. It’s a disgusting mess, but I don’t feel an iota of sympathy. I’m used to far worse.

Instead, I lift the knife so he can see it. His face goes almost purple as he screams and tries to escape with renewed vigor, knowing he’s about to die. “You see, Harold,” I say, smiling. “Men like you, you don’t deserve to live. You don’t deserve an easy death either.” I plunge my knife into his belly and rip it through his skin, through all the tissues and organs, then slide it from one side to the other, disemboweling him. Like he did to the last girl he killed.

The raw, agonized scream that fills the room is impressive, but I can see his death with every passing second, the life draining from his eyes. “I’ll see you soon, Harold,” I promise. “The Devil and I will be sure to give you a bit more when I do.” Then I wait until he finally stills, his body going lax.

An intense satisfaction hits me. The kind you only get after some really good sex or a job well done. Since I haven’t had the first in a long time, I’m happy with the second. Especially knowing justice has been served to the families of the children he’s killed.

I take my pictures, including the pretty artwork all over the walls, and swiftly grab my things. It’s time to get the hell out of here and do the final touches.

I head for the door but stop when I hear banging. Who the hell is here? I made sure no one was around when I scoped out the place. I’ve been watching it for two days, knowing I had time before he would try to take his next victim. The fucker was consistent that way.

So why am I hearing noise now that everything has gone silent? Especially when I never saw him bring someone else in.

I keep still, my breathing low and even until I hear it again. It’s almost like it’s muffled or far away.

I curse myself. I never allow this to happen. I’m always so fucking careful. No one but the fucker who is now dead should see my face. So what did I miss?

I slip my knife back into its holster then slowly make my way toward the noise, stopping every few moments to make sure I’m heading in the right direction. I end up on the far side of the room, where the table full of instruments sits. Bending down, I look carefully until I see it. The tiny latch that’s almost hidden in the leg of the bench. Good thing I’m still wearing gloves. I reach for the lever and jump back when someone groans and the adjacent table moves, revealing a door.

The moment the door is open, I hear sobbing. Distinctly female. And young.

The rage burning in me is black and thick as I move toward the opening. I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight, sending the beam into the darkness. Inside is a girl no older than ten, naked, gagged, her face bruised, and her wrists bloodied and raw from trying to get free of the duct tape binding them. Tears stream from her blue eyes as they widen upon seeing me.