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“You… who the fuck are you? Why are you doing this?”
“Remember the girl you impregnated and then cruelly watched as she bled to death in a public bathroom?”
“How do you know—” His eyes widened, shock vibrating along his body.
“I was the one who had to cut the fetus out of her dead body. I was the one who had to see you prance around with more women like nothing was wrong with the world,” I said, cutting another X across his chest, slightly to the left of his sternum. Exactly where the apex of his heart would be. One hit, and he would be fucking gone.
“Please, let-let me go. I didn’t mean to,” he begged. Tears trailed down his cheeks, and oh, how sweet it was. The fear.
“Don’t worry. When I’m done with you, you won’t feel anything, Victor,” I said in a singsong voice as I yanked out a plastic coat from inside my bag, quickly pulled it over my yellow dress, and wore the waterproof medical boots.
“Are you ready?”
The high note of a song vibrated along the walls of the storage unit, hitting every right note.
“Did you ever play pirates when you were young? X marks the spot. Before I go digging for treasure, I need some of your blood. You know, to set the scene.”
I inserted a needle into his vein and waited for the blood to fill the bag.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Victor, already half-unconscious, asked, his voice a broken song.
“Writing a perfect story. Everything has to be exactly so… to make it easier for the cops to catch your killer. I have to control the narrative, or it’ll be a clusterfuck, Victor. We don’t want that, do we?” I pressed the scalpel against his cheek with a grunt, and he shuddered.
“You’re the one who’s…” he trailed off. “Killer.”
“Well, the cops don’t know that, do they? Follow along, Victor. Don’t be a dumb bastard.” Removing the needle, tube, and blood bag from his body, I put it away. Turning off the music, I exchanged the scalpel for the knife I had stolen from the one who was going to become his killer—Millicent Wark. His pimp.
The knife fitted perfectly in my hand, like a creature made for me, singing, humming for a taste of blood.
Everything was quiet except for Victor’s voice. Begging, pleading for mercy, and then cursing me out.
I plunged the knife between the third and fourth intercostal ribs and stopped just before I hit his liver. I didn’t want it to be over too soon.
Where would be the fun in that?
He shook his head, broken screams bubbling out of his throat.
“You’ll thank me for this.” His screams might say otherwise, but in the end, he’d find relief from his sickness. That was a blessing no one could have given him. Only I could. “Everyone will. Rebecca…will. She was what, eighteen? Was she the only one? Or just one in a hundred?”
He thrashed and spat blood at his side, his face twisting with murderous intention. He was no longer begging. He was wide awake and foaming with rage.
“She was a whore. She wanted me. They all wanted my money, wanted their pussy filled with my seed. I gave them what they begged for.” It made me angry, the way he spat the words out with derision.
Fuckwad.
Girls. They were only girls. Years younger than Irene.
“Rebecca didn’t ask to die like an animal,” I snapped.
“H-how do you know, bi-bitch?”
“I know,” I said as I put just a bit more pressure into the knife against his cock, and he let out a loud howl.
“You’ll regret it,” he said, his eyes burning with hatred. “I’m warning you, you cunt.”
“We’ll see,” I scoffed as I traced a line down his cheek with the knife. “Rebecca was desperate. Millicent and you used these girls’ desperation, used their hunger to feed your twisted monsters.”
“Stop. STOP. Please. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this.”
