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For some reason, I decided to check under the bed.
And that was where I found a box.
It was wooden, but it was filled to the brim. I struggled getting it out, and then on the bed. It was a pretty box, definitely old. Flowers were engraved on the top, and the sides had something written on them. From what I knew about languages, it was in Latin. I didn’t know a word of Latin.
Much to my dismay, it was locked. Double locked, in fact.
It had a hole for a key, but it also had two smaller holes that held the padlock, and from the looks of it, the keys were very different.
I shuffled the box a bit, trying to figure out what it held, but it was a failure. Since it was filled entirely, it could’ve had literally anything on the inside.
The padlock seemed new, and no matter how many times I yanked it, hit it with the first object I found, which was another stupid candle in a glass container, I couldn’t break it. The only thing I did break was the glass of the candle.
I didn’t bother cleaning up. I just pushed everything beneath the bed, alongside the box.
I didn’t want to risk him finding out that I snooped around, at least not this early on. He was bound to find out if he stepped on some glass that I’d missed, but he deserved far more than a small cut.
I still had the knife on me. By now, it was pitch black outside. There wasn’t a single clock in this fucking cabin, and it was driving me insane. I lost the conception of time entirely. At some point, I started second-guessing myself.
What if he didn’t come back?
The only way out would be breaking a window and escaping, but on foot it would take me at least two days to reach civilization. There was a higher chance of dying of hypothermia than actually finding someone to help.
Did Sierra notice I was missing?
Now I was grateful that I didn’t leave her a note about leaving. She’d wait around a day or two, and then report me as missing. Or, it would happen quicker, given that she’d already informed the police about the letters.
Were people looking for me? Would anyone think of even checking out this place? Sierra would definitely mention it as my favorite place to be, but since it was no longer owned by my family, would they check?
Would I die painfully, like the rest of his victims?
I was sitting on the couch in the living room. My head was in my hands, and the tears slid down my cheeks freely. It only now registered in my mind how stupid I acted on this.
My intentions were pure, as all I wanted was to make sure Sierra remained safe. I didn’t regret it, not one bit, but there was a safer way of doing this. There was a way that didn’t include myself getting kidnapped by this bastard.
I only hoped I’d live long enough to see him crumble.
VIII
MICAH
I never trusted anyone.
Especially not after I’d created a plan to get rid of everyone who made my sister’s life a living hell. It was a very delicate plan, and it required a lot of details and a lot of plotting. It wasn’t something I could quit doing half-way, either. All my attention and mind went towards making sure that my plan had no holes.
The only person who remained by my side, even after learning about the things I was about to do, was Dan.
Up until that point, I wouldn’t have called a single person my friend. I avoided people and hated spending time with them. Even back in high school, I preferred spending my time alone rather than with my peers.
Dan and I went to high school together and attended the same university, but had different majors. We were friendly enough, and when he heard about what had happened to my sister, he tracked me down, and caught me in the act.
When he saw me, I contemplated for a moment whether to kill him as well. For all I knew, he was going to call the cops on me and my list wasn’t done yet. I didn’t finish what I started, and getting caught and sent to prison before that wasn’t on my agenda.
Dan offered his help. It caught me by surprise, but I took it nonetheless. And later on, when I did get caught, I didn’t rat him out. He didn’t do any of the killings; he merely found the bastards, told me about their routines and whereabouts and then it was my time to shine.
Over the course of five years, I killed every single bastard that was in any way involved with what had happened to my sister. By that time, some of them were married. I didn’t kill their wives, as they were innocent. But I did send them proof of their husband’s deaths.
My favorite thing was to send a hand, a finger, even the head to their mothers. The very same women that protected them, and ignored the crime they committed.
