Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I wasn't fully aware of carving up his chest. The slicing was a bit of an adrenaline-fueled blur, but when I was done, I was happy with the result.
For Meadow.
My penmanship - or knifemanship - could use some work. The letters were as amateur as a kindergartener's, but it was a good look just the same.
"Why are you such a sick fuck, huh, Vincent?" I asked, watching as his chin dipped to his chest, head bobbing around. "No no no," I told him, slapping my hand against the side of his face, the impact on the cuts making him cry out. "We're having a conversation here, Vincent. It's rude to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation. Didn't anyone tell you that? Anyway, where were we? Oh, what made you a monster. You know, I guess it doesn't really matter. I'm more curious about why Meadow."
"Let me down. If you let me down, I will tell you anything you want to know."
"Well, see, that's not how this works. Usually, in these kinds of situations, it's the guy with the knife who makes the rules. And see, I have the knife," I reminded him, running it along the soft flesh between two ribs. "Why Meadow? Did you know her? Stalk her? Meet her at her bank? How. Did. You. Know. Her?"
"I didn't!" Vincent shrieked. "I didn't know her! Saw her getting out of her car in an abandoned lot one morning. That's it! I didn't know her!"
Somehow, I imagined, being stalked might have made it easier to swallow, deal with, move on from. Just some sick psycho who thought you ticked his boxes.
But being a victim of happenstance? It would make it hard to walk down the street without suspecting everyone else.
I mean, not that Meadow would know all of this.
I didn't want her to know.
That I could get this ugly.
That I could take pleasure in pain when it was necessary.
And when someone hurt her, it was necessary.
I would mail her back her necklace, of course.
And maybe I could have Miller inform her that she'd never have to worry about the bastard again.
"Is she the only one?" I asked, watching as he struggled against the knots around his wrists. He'd never get free. But you almost had to admire the arrogance to think a little wiggling around would get him down when all the spinning from beatings hadn't loosened them in the least. Losing patience, I curled a fist, slamming it into his spleen.
It was a sucker of a punch that didn't take a whole lot of strength, but created a fuckvua lot of pain. "Is she the only one?"
"Yes! Yes. I... she was the first. And there hasn't been... I've been working. And..."
"Christ," I sighed, losing interest suddenly.
Leaning down, I pulled the tarp, unfolding it, using it as a drop cloth.
"No! No, man. I promise. I won't ever do it again. I won't. I've learned my lesson. I can change. You don't have to do this!"
"I don't have to," I agreed, nodding as I moved into position. "But I want to."
He met his end the same way that he intended for Meadow to meet hers.
Luckily for her, he was not skilled.
Unluckily for him, I knew what I was doing.
And I didn't hesitate.
The blade stabbed in, sliced upward, tearing through tissue and organs.
His scream of pain was likely heard by every creature for miles.
It wasn't a quick end.
Gutting someone tore through vital organs, but nothing that caused nearly instantaneous death. Liver wounds were always fatal if untreated. But my money was on him bleeding out before then.
A slow, miserable death.
You pass out eventually, right before you finally lost enough blood to die.
I double-checked before I cut the body down, hearing the thud hitting the tarp, the splat of the blood splashing around. Luckily, not far enough to splatter all over the forest floor. It didn't wash in as well as you might think it would.
And men like Vincent, well, people would miss him. People who didn't actually know what he was like, of course. But they would report it, make a fuss. It would hit the papers. He had a good face. People would mourn the loss of a pretty boy with a fat wallet. They'd call for justice. And in case dogs ever came around, you really just didn't want blood everywhere.
That in mind, I carefully wrapped the tarp in on itself, sealing off all the ends with duct tape, preventing any leakage as I dragged the body.
By the time I finally got the body undressed, removed the teeth to scatter in some lakes, and dug a nice, deep hole where no one would think to look, I took the tarp to the lake, washing it off, chucking some teeth. On the walk back, I dealt with the others.
As much as I hated waste, once I cleaned up, handled the animals again, I had to drive back out of the Barrens once more.