Freya turns to me then, her eyes glassy with her own tears, almost looking lost.
I wonder if she has a mum out there who has been frantically searching for her. I wonder if her mum would be proud of what she just did, or if she’d think her daughter a monster.
I can see by the way Freya is looking at me now that she’s seeking guidance. The type of guidance her mum might give.
I’m nothermum, but I amamum, so hopefully, that’s enough to give her what she needs in this moment.
“What you just did won’t erase what has been done to you,” I say truthfully, hating that part of this. “You will always live with that, I’m afraid. And what you just did may haunt you. And if it does, I’m sorry for that. But he’s gone now. He can never touch you again, and will never be able to hurt anyone else.” I step up to Freya and ease the knife from her grip. “And I promise each one of you that the brothers who orchestrated this will suffer an agonising torture before I kill them.”
“Thank you,” one of the other girls says, stepping up to Freya’s side.
“W-what do we do now?” another asks.
“Now, you all go and clean up. Find some other clothes to wear and return to the back room.”
The girls gasp, fear instantly overriding their judgement because all they want to do is be free, yet here I am telling them to return to the room they were locked in.
“Trust me, it’s not what you think. We don’t want the police to think you had anything to do with this.” I gesture to Omar’s lifeless, bloodied body. “So you clean up, and I’ll get rid of the evidence. When we are all set, I’ll call the police, and they will come in and find you. They will know who delivered the final blow to this sick fucker. And it won’t be any of you.”
“Thank you,” Freya whispers, her lower lip trembling, and I offer her a warm smile before the girls huddle together and leave the room.
Over the next hour, I bag up their blood-stained clothes and knives while they shower in Omar’s luxurious bathroom. They each slip on his shirts and when they return to the back room, I lock it back up, which is nothing more than a twist lock on the outside of the door.
Returning to Omar, I study him for a moment.
“I hope you were scared shitless, you sick fuck,” I snarl at his lifeless form. “I hope you felt remorse with each plunge of their knives.”
With a gloved finger, I glide it through the blood staining thefloor and move to the wall to paint my art. I draw the crimson wings, and the halo above them, taking a step back to admire it.
It never gets old.
Then underneath, I write‘check the back room.’
I don’t normally leave an extra message, but tonight, it’s warranted.
With that done, I move back to Omar, taking out my knife, and set to work to do the next part… slicing Omar’s head from his body.
Let me tell you. It’s not an easy task. By the time I’m done, I’ve worked up a sweat under all this latex, but it’s worth it to walk out of the house clutching what’s left of Omar’s stringy hair, leaving a dotted trail of blood behind me. When I reach the front cast-iron fence, I lift Omar’s head and plunge it down hard on one of the spikes, impaling him there for all to see.
Stepping back, I grin, giving his cheek a pat.
“There you go, old boy. Right where you belong.”
I have the urge to take his head off the spike and put it through a meat grinder, but then it will take the bobbies too long to identify the body, and I want that knowledge to come out as soon as possible. I want the MacKenzie brothers to start pissing their pants.
Turning, I walk away from the fancy house. I don’t make the call to the police. I message Barrett instead, and he does it for me, and for the first time ever, I don’t flee the scene. I findmyself hiding across the street in the shadows, watching the house.
I’m not sure why I stay. Maybe I just want to make sure the police treat the girls well and don’t blame them for Omar’s death. Or maybe I’m just watching over them to make sure those MacKenzie fucks don’t show up.
For whatever reason, I hide, peeling off my latex catsuit as I wait, shoving it in my bag.
It takes eighteen minutes for the police to arrive, their tyres squealing as they stop, and when they pile out of their cars, they hesitate, coming across Omar’s head.
It’s almost laughable the way they all take a step back, as if they’re about to walk into a house that is haunted by a poltergeist.
One finally makes a move, calling for detectives on his radio, and everything moves quickly after that.
Another unit turns up, and they talk strategy before entering the house, guns raised. A few minutes later, the first officer exits the house with two of the girls. The rest follow behind, clutching onto each other as the bobbies offer them bottles of water and some candy bars.
