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Putting my toolkit on the ground, I peer around the sensors of the door for any obstruction. Nothing. Pushing the button, I jump back, holding my hands in the air, trying not to frighten it. The door lowers, closer, closer…then stops. Again. The car hails its smugness by beeping again before opening its gaping maw at me. I bite my tongue to halt the multitude of curse words to volley upon this fucking metal box. Resting my fists on my hips, I sigh.

King turns in his seat. A giggle spills out before lifting his hand to wave at me. Closing my eyes, I count to three, then hit the button once more. Widening my stance, I watch as the door begins to lower. The beep of annoyance rings in my ears like a starters pistol. I throw the full weight of my body onto the door. A gentle click settles something deep in my chest. I step back with a satisfied smile.

I win, bitch!

Javi needs to improve his chop-shop service. He rarely lets me down, but occasionally there are bugs in the system. Grabbing my bag, I open the passenger door, and King smiles at me.

“Ok, King, we’re here. Let’s go for a walk in the woods and find lightning bugs…hmmm.”

He giggles, extending his arm. I gently take hold of his elbow to help steady him on his feet. We walk down the path until it splits. I lead him down to the right. It’s a slightly more advanced hike. Luckily, we aren’t going far.

King stumbles a few times, nearly taking me with him. I’m able to steady him at the expense of my calves. A bench framed by over-arching trees comes into view. Thank fuck! My thighs sing their relief as I sit him down.

Opening my bag, the tools glitter at me in the moonlight. With a smile, I push my devoted friends aside to find the rope. King remains transfixed on the flowing creek beside us while I loop the rope through the gaps in the bench on either side of him. When his attention shifts back to me, his eyes light up as they settle on my breasts. Slipping his arms through the rope, I hum my favorite tune, and his eyes drift closed at the tenor of my voice. Walking behind him, I thread the remaining section of rope through the bench slat behind his head. Then I widen the loop to slip it over his head with ease. The rope falls snuggly around his neck. He struggles to lift his heavy eyelids to find me out of the corner of his eye. Arching an eyebrow, I lean closer and smile.

Reaching down I grab the small bar from my bag and slip it through the loops of all three sections of rope. I begin turning it. Three turns and the ropes finally tighten.

My trifecta garrote!

My muscles ache, but I keep turning until a guttural noise escapes from his lips. Sliding my finger between the rope and his neck to check the snugness of the collar becomes increasingly difficult due to sweat banding around his neck. When I’m confident the collar is snug but he isn’t going to lose consciousness, I secure the bar.

I remove the other syringe from my bag. His unfocused eyes follow as I press the needle deep into his thigh. The fog in his gaze shifts as I slip the headphones over his ears. His shoulders rise in tension. The rapid pulse of his jugular lets me know he’s starting to understand his predicament. He lets out a moan. My eyes drop to a pine cone in the dirt, and I shove it in his mouth, silencing his sniveling pleas.

“You’re a real piece of shit, King. Don’t believe me? Here, see if this helps…” Pressing play on my phone, I let the real victims in this sad saga reap their vengeance. A recording plays on a loop. The victims recounting their trauma reaching out for help in sexual violence support groups. I really shouldn’t have recorded their stories. It’s an invasion of privacy, but it serves an important purpose. I think the girls would forgive me if they knew my intentions. Pulling out the scalpel, I glide it into his line of sight. His eyes dart from the blade to my now grinning face.

Spitting out the pine cone, he begins to wail. Pleading. Pathetic. Always the same. The big bad wolf becomes a sobbing baby. Shaking my head, I lean forward until I can see the light ripple across the veins in his eyes.

“Oh honey, I haven’t even started yet.” I know he can’t hear me, but it makes me feel better. Using the scalpel to remove the buttons, I tear his shirt to expose his chest. His body becomes rigid before trembling like a Jell-O mold.

The shaking of his shoulders slowly subsides as I set the scalpel down. Good little toy. His eyes continue to plead for mercy. If he only knew. There is no mercy in my darkness.

I pluck at his belt buckle, and his eyes dart to my hands. I remove the belt slowly, drawing out each delicious second. When I tug the waistband of his boxers down, I smile up at him before exposing the shriveled worm between his legs. If it weren’t for the gloves, I’d never bring myself to touch the disgusting, crusted appendage.

I take a deep breath as I pick up my scalpel. When I open my eyes, tears are streaming down his face. Tilting my head, I watch the tears fall. Each one reminds me of the sorrow he’s wrung from so many people. I wait for the anger, but it doesn’t come. Moments like this are when my mind finds peace. Clutching his shriveled dick, I slice it off at the base. His screams echo through the woods. Sweat beads down his neck. Pinching the bloody diminutive thing with two fingers, I dangle it in front of his face. His screams turn to ragged breaths as shock takes hold.

The pool of blood between his legs grows as I plunge the scalpel into his jugular. Blood ripples over the rolls of his neck. Tossing the bloody stump to the side, I sink onto bent knees and watch the black pitch of his eyes slowly veil with lifelessness. After a few minutes, the gurgling is replaced with peaceful silence. The only sound is the creek whispering through the woods.

I run the blade around his neck. Once the incision is complete, I grab my saw and continue working through the flesh. After a few hard strokes, his head pops off. I lift it from his neck and set it on the bench beside his body. I slap his chubby cheeks, and a giggle slips loose from my lips.

“See? I told you it was going to get worse, but don’t worry, it’ll be beautiful when I’m done…” Patting his head, I step back to take in my medium.

Pulling out my mapping floss, I begin to mark his neck with pattern I’ve carefully created. I run the string from the collarbone to the bloody edge in crisscrossing diagonal sections. Once I have all the marks in place, I take out my scalpel and begin to carefully follow the outline. Long, soft strokes at first to break through the skin, then deeper still until the pieces start falling down like leaves.

When I finally stand and look down at the body, I can see the first breath of life beginning to form.

Humming as I work, the occasional lyric or two works past my lips. “A dream is a wish your…hmm hmm…Whatever you wish for…hmm hmm…”

Eventually, I set my scalpel down and step back. Now for the pins.

Curling the sticky flesh to form my petals is painstakingly difficult, but if I pinch it just right—excellent.

“It’s perfect!” I giggle. My feet kick up dust as I twirl in triumph. “You know, the only thing that would make this better is if…”

A branch snaps behind me. After his wails, animals wouldn’t be here. Crouching, I put the remaining tools in my bag as I peer into the woods but don’t see any movement.

With one last glance at my display, I hold my breath and listen.

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