After many hours of careful planning, the execution had gone perfectly. Well, almost perfectly—Tom had put up a little resistance, but the killer had prepared for that far in advance. The crowbar he’d brought with him had mostly been for self-defense, but when he and Tom had locked eyes in the confines of that kitchen, the killer couldn’t help but swing.
The crunching sound had made them both shake.
Skulls never made that sound in movies. It was more like a potato chip being snapped than a metallic thud, and it was so gross that the killer had frozen with disgust. A sickening feeling curdled in his stomach, and he thought he was going to throw up. Wouldn’t that have been awful irony—leaving his stomach contents all over the crime scene?
He’d gotten lucky. So lucky, in fact, that after Tom had fallen to the floor—a jar of sauce leaving his hand and smashing to a thousand tiny pieces beside him—a man from the other room had given away his presence by calling between the rooms. Until then, he thought everyone had left. For a moment the killer had stood there, his face burning up with panic and the image of serving a lifetime sentence flashing in his mind. Thankfully, he’d snapped out of it and acted fast, hauling Tom out of there with a strength he didn’t know he had. It was like those stories you heard of women lifting cars to save their children. Only this wasn’t saving—this was righteous murder.
Hours before, the killer had parked yet another stolen car at the end of an adjoining alleyway. After hauling Tom through the backyard and into that alley, it’d been as simple as throwing him onto the back seat and draping a cloth over his body. The victim made small grunts and groans while they journeyed to the remote location, but there was no sign of coming to consciousness, and that was perfect.
When they finally arrived, the killer dragged him out of the car and into the building, which sat on an abandoned estate he’d been scoping out for a week. Once inside, he switched on the lights and hauled tonight’s catch across the empty workshop, using braided rope to bind his hands and feet to a pipe. When he was done, he tested the pipe by kicking it as hard as he could, reeling back with extraordinary pain but satisfied there was no escape. That was, of course, unless Tom was five times stronger than he looked.
Now that he’d gotten everything together, the killer hurried to the upstairs office and ran the faucet, filling a plastic cup he’d used to piss in on several occasions. He returned down the metal staircase and launched it into Tom’s face. Tom groaned and shook his head from side to side, life slowly returning to his hulking body.
The killer wasn’t prepared to waste another minute waiting.
“Get up,” he snarled, delivering a forceful kick to his ribs.
Tom snapped to life, pain and terror showing in his wide eyes as he snapped at the ropes. He kept tugging, barely looking at the man in front of him while he searched for a way to escape. “What the hell is this? Are you—”
“You’re not getting out of there, so don’t waste your energy.”
Panting heavily, Tom settled and rested back onto his butt, his face bright red.
“Let me tell you what’s going to happen: if you sit there and listen without interrupting me, I’ll make it as painless as possible. If you try to break free or hinder my plans in any way, there’s no end to how horrific your suffering will be. Is that understood?”
Tom’s eyes grew wider, his face redder. He pulled at the ropes, once again finding no give and falling back with submission. His chest then jolted in short bursts, tears filling his eyes and then rolling down his cheeks. It was as if he knew what was coming, and why wouldn’t he? It didn’t take a genius to know he’d be next.
“Good,” the killer said, beginning to pace. “Now, I’m going to ask you a series of questions. I want you to give me short, clear answers without lying to me. It’s quite a simple game really. I’m sure even you can understand it. Are you with me so far?”
“Y-Yes.”
“You’re a fast learner.” The killer stopped only to sneer and then continued pacing. “So, here goes nothing. Ten years ago, you were involved in a car accident. Who was driving?”
“Teresa was.”
“We both know that’s not true. One last chance, who was driving?”
Tom wept, a cry cracking through his voice. “Please.”
“Please was driving?”
“No. Please. Let me go.”
A surge of anger burst through him. He’d explained himself clearly enough, so why was it so hard to get what he wanted? All this guy had to do was answer honestly, and then he could go on to give his final speech. It was that easy—no more trouble, no more head games. Just him, the victim, and a car that couldn’t be traced back to him.
But no.
Tom was refusing to play fair.
“I’ll tell you what,” the killer said, rushing to his victim’s side and fighting the urge to snap his neck in one lightning-fast movement. He settled for pointing at his face, spit firing off his lips as he spoke. “If you admit to driving that car off the road, then I’ll consider untying you and letting you go. How about that? Does that sound fair?”
Tom hesitated, like he was being put to test. “O-Okay.”
“I’m waiting.”
“It… was me.” He climbed onto his knees, begging like the dog he was. “Teresa sat next to me, and Dusty was in the back. You killed them… didn’t you? It was you? I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I swear to God.”
The killer nodded slowly. This confession was supposed to please him, so why did he only find his hate growing by the second, ready to explode at a moment’s notice? It was too much to bear, and that was why he burst into violence, driving the tip of his shoe into his victim’s jaw. This time the crunch was satisfying. “I knew it was you, you worthless piece of shit. That’s why you’re going to die just like the others.”
Tom climbed back to his knees, blood and tears meeting on his cheek. “But you said you’d let me go.”
“I said I’d consider it.”
The killer clenched his fist and rocketed it toward Tom’s face. The moment it connected, Tom fell back and smashed his head against the wall, dust spewing off the bricks. It was oh-so-satisfying to take his revenge, but this was only a taster of things to come—tomorrow he would cut the foreplay and continue his work, punishing this son of a bitch for his actions all those years ago.