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He deserved so much more death. He deserved to die for days. But I can’t do that right now. It’s risky to be doing this at all.
I swim under the cold water, washing all the blood off me, ignoring the way my tired muscles protest the chill. Pushing that beast uphill was a struggle. Not to mention those effin’ stairs.
When I emerge, I watch him waver on top of the water. It holds him up with too much ease, despite his size.
The more body fat, the easier they float.
As soon as the current grabs him, I head back, picking up the hoe near the water’s edge, and start digging up my tracks with it. I take my route in reverse as I hold the small but bright flashlight in my mouth to see.
It’s two in the morning, but I had to wait until now to dump his body. The bastard has neighbors within earshot, so torturing him was a pain in the ass. Fortunately, he had a basement.
Hence the damn stairs I was referring to.
I also had to hose said basement down with bleach and water to get rid of the blood. Counter forensic measures were needed for once.
Killing is so much easier when it’s on my list. Less cleanup.
I want them found when they’re on the list.
Kenneth has too much trace evidence that has to be destroyed, so the large body of salt water will do the trick. Not to mention all the little critters in the sea will get a nibble before or if he’s found.
The pictures I found in his nightstand told the story before he could. Seventy small children were in those pictures, mostly naked. Polaroids are a terrible creation, and pedophiles love their pictures.
There was one picture out of all of those that I took. I’m not sure why I took it. But it was Hadley at age eleven. He labeled them. Marked their ages too.
For some reason I know she won’t enjoy her coworkers seeing her face on their board if his body is ever found and those pictures are discovered. She’s strong and prideful, and most likely felt like it really was in her head all this time.
They convinced her she was crazy. Her own mother convinced her she was making it up. Paid a professional to aide in this, simply because the woman couldn’t come to grip with the possibility she was married to a pervert who was molesting her daughter.
Hadley ran away.
She ran because she thought she was dirty and wrong.
So many good people in this world, and it took a monster to end the suffering of so many innocent children.
I have no reason to feel indebted to a girl who wants to take me down, but there’s something forcing me to feel as though we’re kindred. I’d have gone crazy or killed myself without Jake.
She never had a Jake.
Maybe Logan is the closest thing to Jake she has, which is why she came after someone she thought was playing him.
I’d kill a bitch for Jake.
Hadley doesn’t deserve to be broken, so she’ll never see that picture.
I change out of my clothes on the gravel driveway, carefully watching anything that falls off me. My hair is bound tightly to my head and covered with a plastic wrap under a beanie.
My clothes are nothing special—generic brand things bought at any local store. I’m careful to buy all things that are found everywhere, so as to have nothing special isolating me.
The nail falls from my pocket, and I lean over, picking it up. I’m not sure why I’m taking a nail from his house. He’s not on the list. Maybe it’s a habit. Or maybe I really have adopted the serial method of trophy collecting.
Where they die, a nail gets taken.
His nail will go beside the others, finding a home with other perverted sons of bitches.
Warm and toasty in my clean, dry clothes, I drive back to the drop spot, making one detour.
An old woodshed is twenty miles down the road, resting on private hunting ground. I open the door, and hear a scurrying of motion.
