by Mason, V. F.
Ken.
For a moment, the buzzing in my ear intensifies, and all the pain and voices and raspy breathing while I lay helpless on the floor comes back, threatening to destroy my sanity, and I cover my ears, willing all my self-control to come back.
And it does in a way, but deep fury remains.
Thankfully enough, I have an outlet where I can use it.
On my way to the table, I grab various knives, because my plans have changed. I won’t impress anyone with my torture, but I’ll satisfy the revenge that’s been brewing in my veins for years.
The next hours are filled with blood, agonized screams, torture, and limbs being broken and cut off, all while Ken is awake for the brutality. I inflict so much pain, but not enough that he dies, because I want him to suffer for the same amount of hours I did.
At some point when he screams, I cut off his dick and stuff it down his throat, so he’ll shut up and stop disturbing my work.
Then, when he can barely breathe from the wounds, I deliver the last bow with a knife right in his throat artery, allowing the blood to drip and drip, until it doesn’t, because he’s dead.
I walk to the sink, snatch the gloves off, and scrub my hands clean, because I want to remove every trace of that fucked-up piece of shit.
Nineteen. I have nineteen people to punish until Brochan finds peace.
I hear the door open, and the voice bounces off the walls. “You’re ready.” One might think I could just go on my merry way with my skills and all the money I’ve earned with smart investments and Fox’s safety deposit box. I didn’t have to listen to some elite serial killers who held the reins.
I might be a grown-ass man with plenty of money, but I’ll never go against them. They’ve given me a new identity, new everything. Although they’ve never asked for anything, deep down I know I owe them. This kind of debt one must pay for the rest of his or her life.
“To operate alone?”
Arson chuckles at my question and flicks his lighter, dumping it on Ken’s body, to instantly ignite it. “To go back to your hometown.”
Hometown.
What a funny concept, considering all those people turned their backs on me. But I intend to make them pay too.
Everyone has to.
Once I’m done, there will be no one left standing.
***A Few Weeks Later***
“You wanted to see me?” I ask, entering Lachlan’s office while he stands by the window, his back to me.
He motions with his fingers for me to come in, and I do so and shut the door, dropping into the chair.
“Can you be quick? I have a plane to catch.” Fucking finally, tonight, I’ll be on the island and can proceed to the next stage of my plan.
Killing after killing after killing. I can almost taste the despair my victims will experience by my hands.
“Levi told me you are leaving today.” Levi is Lachlan’s butler, or that’s what we call him anyway. He manages this weird mansion the dude has, and he never greets any of us with anything but a stoic expression. But then, living with Lachlan probably doesn’t really allow for many emotional outbursts.
“That’s correct.”
“You think you’re ready to face your past?” He turns around, and then I notice the deep wrinkle on his forehead, while he watches me broodily, and I frown.
Our relationship can only be called difficult at best.
In the beginning, he provided me with everything I needed. A place to stay, money, new passport, and he even enrolled me in a university, claiming that a man had to know how to make money. I agreed with him, and that’s why my business degree helped me out a lot. The minute I made millions, I gave him back everything I owed him.
Lachlan rarely showed up during my lessons, and if he did, he’d bark and act all cold with me. I never understood it, but I didn’t give two fucks about it.
Nothing connected us, after all.
So his question confuses me, but before I can comment on it, he continues to talk as he sits down on the chair opposite me. “Ready to punish everyone involved in your case?”
I don’t even bother asking how he knows all the details.
With a man like him, you learn to not be surprised by much.
“Correct on all points.” His eyes narrow and he starts to drum his fingers on the table, and for a moment, my ears buzz, reminding me of Ken and his constant drumming.
My fists squeeze, and that’s when Lachlan’s fingers pause midair, and he cocks his head to the side. “Old demons still haunt you, I see.” He rubs his chin and exhales. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“No offense, Lachlan, but I’m not a child. Nor am I one of your subjects. So I don’t owe you an explanation.” I have respect for the man; I’d be dumb if I didn’t. But that’s about it.
He doesn’t get to bark orders at me like he does with everyone else. I don’t need Lachlan to fulfill my dark desires like some other serial killers. I crave justice for what has been done to me. I don’t crave hunting people to satisfy my desire for blood. He doesn’t provide me with a sanctuary. “A man ruled by his emotions is weak,” he says, ignoring my earlier statement. “A man ruled by his past is weak.”
“I’m only ruled by my deep rage, nothing else.”
“You never tried to find her. Aren’t you curious?” he asks, and I still, because that’s the first time he’s ever mentioned Emerald.
The elusive her. “It would serve no point. I already know what I need to know.”
“So you gave her a life sentence without a chance of parole?”
About done with it, I stand up, looming above him while emphasizing every word. “She. Betrayed. Me.” I poke my chest while he merely lifts a brow. “Twenty names. All of them deserve what they are going to get. She’ll be my grand finale.” I lean back and go, fed up with this conversation. I’m not a boy who will listen to some scolding, and that’s exactly what Lachlan is doing.
“And if you can’t?” His question stops me dead in my tracks and memories of her wash over me like an angry wave that you want to escape from, but fail.
Her scent, laughter, dreams, and love. She’s so unrealistic in all of them I sometimes look back at the other photos just to make sure she truly existed.
“One of us has to die. The ending of this story is inevitable.” And with these words, I walk away, not paying much attention to Lachlan.
But maybe I should have.
No, I definitely should have.
Island, United States
August 2019
Emerald
The birds are chirping loudly while the sunset glows in an orange light, kissing the ocean and bringing beautiful serenity to the moment.
I wrap the blanket tighter around me, as I rest my head on the boat’s railing, still sitting on the deck. My throat is so sore it’s hard to breathe. I’ve spoken nonstop for the last five hours, sometimes crying, sometimes screaming, and sometimes just spitting the truth in the face of a man who brought me so much pain while I’ve never done anything wrong.
I just loved him too much. I lost everything because of that love… including myself. “So now you know.” I finally finish this story as exhaustion slams into me. My body aches from… just from everything really. “Kill me, don’t kill me. I don’t care anymore.” Voices from the past echo in my mind, but I don’t give them the power to take me further into the land of insanity. “My only crime has been loving you. I’m innocent.”
My gaze travels to Micaden, who is sitting a few feet away from me, his eyes closed while he rests his head on the boat’s wall too, and his legs are stretched out in front of him. He’s completely still; he’s stayed silent throughout the entire story, but I know he heard every word.
“You know… I never understood Romeo and Juliet. Their story seemed so… weird to me. Loving someone so much you are willing to die with them so you don’t have to face reality.” He finally shifts his head to me, and he focuses his stare on me. “But now I know what
the moral of the story is. Some love stories are just not meant to be or to have a happy ending.”
“Like ours.”
“If we didn’t insist on being together… none of this would have happened. And who knows? We might have been happy.”
“With other people?” he asks, and once again his voice is so calm, careful, as if he’s afraid that certain words might send me in a spiral of madness.
“Yes. We ruined our lives for this love, but what was that love really? Just two young people experiencing emotional stuff for the first time. Maybe that’s why it was all so dramatic.”
“Good theory, except it’s a lie.”
Micaden gave me so many opportunities to hate him, to despise his every breath. However, none of the previous emotions rivals the one burning inside me now, spreading fire through my skin and internal organs while fury prickles my hair.
Because he’s right.
My theory is a lie.
When people fall in love, none of them can predict how long the relationship will last. What we had was love in its purest form, but it was taken away from us, while everyone else smeared dirt all over it.
The blooming flower dried up and became just a memory that brought pain. We had the right to be together, but life denied us that.
“None of this matters anymore.” I get up, not even feeling the cold in my soaked clothes, and slowly pad in the direction of the cabin, leaving wet marks with each step. “I’m tired and…. Whatever you want to do, please wait until I rest.”
Without waiting for his response, I go to the cabin and shimmy out of my clothes. Wrapping the blanket around me once again, I climb on the bed and lie down on my side, sighing heavily. My eyes are closed, and I want to disappear from here and feel nothing but numbness.
Back in the psychiatric ward, I prayed to always feel, to have emotions, because numbness meant Elijah had injected something into me and would do vile things that I might not remember. But right now, I can’t bear the pain anymore.
For the first time in my life, I desire nothing.
I hear footsteps, and then the bed dips under Micaden’s weight. His body presses from behind me, enveloping me in heat, yet it doesn’t stop my body from trembling. He rests his forehead against my shoulder, and murmurs, “Please let me stay like this for a while.”
I stay silent, but my silence is enough for him to relax, and nothing but the sounds of our breathing fills the space.
In this moment, hatred doesn’t exist between us, and the only prominent emotion is regret.
There in the lonely bed, two people let their hearts bleed for the injustice done to them and allow themselves to hurt and find comfort in the presence of each other.
For a moment in time.
Micaden
I always thought life was unfair.
But I was wrong.
Life is not unfair.
Life is cruel.
Chapter Twenty-Five
New York, New York
Micaden, 31 years old
“Please, I had no choice,” the man pleads, coughing on his blood while he struggles to breathe past the rope wrapped tightly around his neck.
I chuckle and tug on it harder, which makes his eyes budge, and he tries to croak something, but the only sounds that escape are low whimpers.
“We always have a choice, Dan,” I reply, kicking him in the stomach, and I have to roll my eyes at this as he bends forward, sobbing.
If only one of those fuckers ever showed bravery, I might have killed them fast instead of torturing them. Not that they would have earned my respect, fuck no, but at least I would have ended it quicker.
But their weak state further feeds the sadistic bastard inside me, which gets off on their every cry and drop of blood that comes from their wounds.
Resisting the adrenaline high is impossible, so I don’t even try.
I drag him like a dog on a leash, although comparing him to a dog is an insult to the animal. I attach the rope to the hook nailed to the wall. He has no choice but to get on his toes to breathe.
He digs his fingers into the thing, moving it from side to side, probably wanting to free himself.
I slowly trail my fingers over the devices splayed on my table and think of the best choice in the current situation.
Although I’m skilled in various methods of torture, I don’t have a favorite. I rather prefer to play with people’s emotions, feeding their fears, because then panic does half the job.
Torn flesh brings pain, but pain is always bearable. But a torn mind? It brings insanity that destroys everything in its wake.
I glance at Dan over my shoulder. His shirt and shorts are soaked in sweat and his bare feet have several cuts. I made him step on broken glass earlier, because the pain travels right to tiny niggling nerves in the head.
Blood slips from his forehead where he banged it against the floor, but otherwise, he’s all fine.
“It was a mistake. I had no choice.”
His voice brings back memories that live with me every single day, and I don’t hide from them, oh no.
I thrive on them.
“He told me he needed the boat for the date. I had no idea what he really planned to do.”
“What did you see?”
“They were there. And she was screaming while he continued to hurt her.”
I pick up the drill and the trrrr sound fills the space, while he cries out, “No, please no. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”
Clacking my tongue, I walk back to him and immediately begin on his arm. His screams of agony echo through the room, and then I do the same to his leg, all while he can’t do anything to stop me.
Blood pours from him onto the floor, creating a pool around him. I hear the lock being clicked and a man entering. This gives Dan a second breath it seems as he focuses his gaze behind me and begs. “Help me, I beg you. Help me. I have a family.”
It’s a wonder everyone uses this excuse while pleading their case. Why the fuck should I care about their family?
Sure as fuck, no one gave a shit about mine. Life isn’t that generous, but more importantly, I’m not that generous.
“Sure,” Arson reassures him and, on the way, grabs the bottle from the table while grinning widely at Dan. “Thought you’d never ask.” He looks at me, and asks, “Can I?”
I could have played with him more, but truth be told, I have no such desire. I hate the guy like all of them, but he can’t give me anything valuable.
Shrugging, I step back and Arson spills gasoline all over Dan while he thrashes. “No, I don’t understand. Please, he’s going to kill me.”
“No, he’s not.”
Dan blinks, and then licks his chapped lips. “No?”
Arson shakes his head and takes out a lighter, flipping it through his fingers before flicking it on and dropping it on the man and stepping back. But not before saying, “Nature will kill you.” And I watch as blue and orange licks of fire slowly spread all over his body as he screams and screams, trying to soothe it.
Arson cuts the rope with the knife and Dan moves, swaying a little with no direction in his panic, except me. I step back as he follows, and finally I quickly spin around, pushing him in the pool.
All his combined wounds will kill him shortly; he doesn’t have a chance of getting out alive. Slowly, the fire stops, and his burned flesh floats in the pool while the harsh light highlights every bruise.
How beautiful.
Arson flips another lighter—he has millions of them—through his fingers, and murmurs, “We’re getting boring. Next time, let’s torture someone for at least an hour. This is embarrassing.”
I laugh and he joins in while I cross another name from the list.
I built a great life. Bought half the island, built a special house for torture where I dish out my revenge, and created investments that will bring me millions. My old friends, Tom and Eve, stayed on my side while the enemies didn’t even know the real me. After all, I had to hide my ident
ity, but I made sure to give my old man respect.
I never did anything bad to all the people who blamed me, because the crowd is a lot like sheep. They look and go where they’re told, and although I’ll forever hold my resentment toward the townsfolk… I won’t destroy them. The island has thrived and I never want to disturb it, just give more people like me, the dead me, a chance without having outsiders come here and rule the place.
And Duke, he took the money to help his daughter, so he got a free pass too. After all, he never did it for himself, but out of love.
Love, I respect.
But those who did cross me? Oh, they never had any idea what awaited them.
Soon though, it’ll all end, and I’ll go back to my existence, learning to live in this world without vengeance driving my every action. Sometimes, I remember Fox’s words about revenge and forgiveness, and how much merit they have. It takes a lot of life and energy to deliver justice, but it’s worth it, because all those assholes I killed? They didn’t stop their ways after me. So many lost souls due to their greed.
Revenge is better served cold, they say.
Revenge is better served with agony and pain, I say.
Island, United States
August 2019
Emerald
I hear the footsteps before he even speaks. “You’re up.” He states the obvious, and I nod, not looking at him, but instead keeping my gaze glued to the sky filled with stars while the moon shines brightly, enveloping the ocean and the boat in a glow that reminds me of those pirate stories I’ve heard so many times.
I wrap the blanket tighter around me, because the temperature’s dropped a few degrees since the morning. I sip my tea while he slowly walks toward me, like a lion studying its prey before attacking.
“Are you hungry?”
I shake my head, and take another sip, the liquid spreading warmth inside me, but I know it won’t last long.
Coldness eventually will return, as it always does.
