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“What nonsense are you talking about?” he asks.
“I own it now. And I dispersed the rest of your assets to other reputable landowners or sold them off; the profits will go into local women’s shelters to protect them from predators like you. Now, one more question.”
Rick stammers as I speak, clearly in shock, and likely he is unsure if he should believe me.
“Did you touch the child?”
“What?”
“Did. You. Touch. Whitney. Thompson?” I grind every word out, my patience dancing on a razor’s edge. It will be cut at any moment, and I need his answer before that happens.
“What’s it to you?”
“It means nothing to me,” I lie. “But your answer is the catalyst between two things: fast or slow.”
Another lie. I will need to sit down with Father Oliver after this to cleanse my soul. I have already decided it will be slow, unless he makes too much noise.
“Fast or…”
“My patience will snap at any given moment. I suggest you answer the question.”
“No. The bitch mother said she’s on vacation with her father’s family. But she can’t stay away forever. Why? Did you want a go too?”
Darkness descends upon my vision, sight narrowing down on the evil, disgusting creature before me.
Swiftly, I bend to the knife holster on my boot and produce a decent-sized dagger, my preferred weapon of choice. I have used various guns, poison, my bare hands, kitchen knives, and one memorable time, a baseball bat with a screwdriver head attached. But this specific dagger feels right in my hands as I mete out justice on God’s behalf.
“I would say I’ll see you in Hell, but I am honestly unsure if Satan will take you.”
Rick looks at the dagger and turns to run, but my rage has snapped, making my every movement precise and fluid. Unlike others when they give in to their instinct, I do not become unraveled and uncontrolled. Rather, it is the opposite. Every sense is sharpened like an animal, and like one, I take my prey with deliberate, quick movements, ensuring I have time to play with it.
Yanking him back by his collar, I relish the fear in his beady eyes and smile. Everything moves in perfect slow motion, allowing me to handle my first thrust effortlessly, into his nonexistent stomach.
He gasps and doubles over, legs unsteady as he tries to cover the wound, but my blade is too wide for his hands to properly cover it all, not with the way I cut. Blood seeps betweenhis fingers, staining his already rumpled and dirty shirt. He looks at me in disbelief, and I smile and shrug before I grab his jacket in one hand and continue to stab him.
Over and over and over again.
The blade cleanly renders flesh, sliding into his body as if I were cutting through cotton candy, if the confectionery could bleed, that is.
My rage controls the thrusts, never going too far so as to harm me or make me lose my grip on the cretin. I am unsure if I have blinked lately. It doesn’t feel like it, but that doesn’t matter.
Rick gurgles as he tries to scream, to give voice to the intense agony I am sure he must feel at the moment, as his insides have been shredded to ribbons, intestines trailing along his thighs, hitting his knees like cut rope. The smell of copper fills the room, a perfume to my senses.
Blood pours from his mouth, and he meets my eyes.
“Why?”
The word is barely intelligible, but I have heard it enough from my victims to know what he said. It amuses me to no end that those who commit the worst atrocities see themselves as some sort of heroes and cannot fathom why anyone would want to slowly slice them up as if they were a Sunday roast.
The evil always believe they are doing the work of God.
“Because I cannot suffer your sort of sin to live.” I let go, slightly shoving him back so he lays prostrate on Diana’s old bed. “While I am sure God has turned His ears from your pleas, if you wish to pray, you had best begin now.”
His eyes are glassy; he will die soon.
I won’t allow him to pass peacefully. No, he will look into the eyes of his redeemer.
Leaning over him, I ensure he can see me before I grin, waving the dagger before his gaze.
