Page 89 of I Never Stopped Loving You

In the past, I had to use one of the many abandoned warehouses near the Detroit River for easy disposal, but not anymore. Now I’m in the safety of my own hidden sanctuary. A place I can bring them before making them face the hell they put people through then kill them.

Before, their deaths would be slow but not slow enough. I had to keep track of the flow of traffic outside. Be leery of the occasional squatter in the abandoned warehouse. Not to mention if they screamed, there was always the chance that some kind soul would take pity on their cries and call the police. That was the least likely chance, though, because where I used to carry out my kills, a scream in the night was just as much of an ambient sound as a dog barking or a car alarm going off. A scream was nothing.

A soft grunt is the first sign that my first guest in my labyrinth is starting to wake up. His head and body slightly twitch as he tries to shift in the uncomfortable chair. I’ve made a few modifications to it since this will now be considered long-term care. Did I say care? I meant torture. The seat is hollowed out in the center so that when they piss and shit, it'll fall to the floor. There's a weird drain system that leads to God only knows where, but I'm not going to question it. If the piss, shit, and blood flow down the drain, I don't give a fuck after that.

“Wakey, wakey, Parker,” my electronic voice reads out.

I’ve always either worn a ski mask or a balaclava, but this is my new toy. It’s a creepy skull-looking mask with the mouth sewn shut. A crack runs down the middle. The eyes are rimmed in darkness, and a layer of black cloth covers them, blocking any view of my real eyes beneath. A small string of LED lights line the eyes and mouth, giving them a creepy glow. There’s an electronic voice changer inside as well, so that my targets won’t even get to hear my real voice. James Parker is my first victim to see my new, upgraded look, and I’m dying to know what he thinks.

“Wh…What? Where am I?”

His head teeters back and forth on his shoulders, as if he can shake away the brain fog so easily. Too bad for him, it’s not just a hangover. He probably has a concussion.

“Good morning, James. How’re you feeling?” I ask, my voice flat and animatronic, lacking any type of emotion.

“Who are you?” he asks as his eyes start to squint open.

A single lightbulb dangles just above his head causing the room around him to fade into shadows in the dim lighting. The only thing he can see of me is a figure dressed all in black with a mouth and eyes that glow a haunting red.

He blinks a few times, then pinches his eyes shut as he rapidly shakes his head back and forth. The denial that this is just a nightmare doesn’t last long before the shaking of his head causes him to vomit.

“Careful, James. You probably have a concussion.”

I take a step closer, just a single step. His head jerks up when my foot connects with the damp concrete, and his eyes widen as he fully takes me in.

“You…You…” he stammers.

“Yes?”

“Who are you?”

His eyes stay locked on me now as I take another step forward. I can see the fear in his eyes, but I can also smell it as he pisses his pants right in front of me.

“Really, James? I scared the piss out of you?”

A dark chuckle escapes me, and the electronic voice makes it even more devious-sounding. I fucking love this thing. It was worth the fifty bucks.

“Please. I don’t know who you are.”

“Oh, but I know exactly who you are, James Parker. Your wife’s name was Deborah Parker. You murdered her in cold blood, in a fit of drunken rage. Leaving your daughter, Willow Parker, alone in this world.”

“How do you know that? It’s been over eleven years. No one should remember my face.”

He looks completely shocked at how someone recognized him after all these years. Sure, he’s put on some weight, probably from all the alcohol, and his skin is a more sickly yellow. But those eyes…Those fucking eyes. I’ll never forget the eyes of the man who used to cause her so much pain. The one who used to chase me off their property with a busted bottle when he’d catch me sneaking off their roof.

They’re the eyes of the Devil himself. Ones that I’ve been searching for just so I could watch the light fade from them, seeing his green eyes turn gray and lifeless as his body grows cold. I’ll never forget them, though, just like I’ll never forget hers.

“Tell me, James, where have you been all these years?” I ask as I take a few steps around him, coming up behind his chair.

He turns his head fast, trying to track my every movement, but the jostling of his brain in his skull is too much right now, and he vomits again. The stench of stomach bile mixed with alcohol is not what I want to be smelling right now.

“Please…just let me go,” he whines like the pathetic little bitch he is.

All of them are the same. They’re weak, so they have to make someone else feel weaker, just so they can feel some sort of power and control. They beat their wives and kids, then go to church on Sunday to repent. Monday morning rolls around, and the dangerous cycle begins again until someone dies.

The cases come through my father’s law firm day in and day out. Sometimes we’re defending the victim, if they’re still alive, but unfortunately, a lot of the time we are defending the fucking scum who killed the victim.

I hate it. I refuse those cases, but my father loves them because those are the men who will pay the highest to get out of a life sentence. That’s where I come in. From behind the scenes, I secretly help feed better information to the state, hoping their detectives can put two and two together just to lock the pieces of shit away. But if the charges are dropped…Well, James will be a fine example of what happens to those whom the system lets slip through its fingers.