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He sobs, his underpants soaked with his piss, more of it pooling at his knees. And for some reason, that fucking angers me even more. He chokes, screaming and gurgling blood as I grab him by a handful of his greasy, graying hair.
“How. Fucking. MANY?”
“I—I don’t know!’ he sobs. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“How many children, Kevin?”
There. There it is. I watch with a sick hunger as the light bulb goes on. As he looks at me with a fresh wave of horror, realizing this isn’t a nightmare, or a case of mistaken identity, or a robbery.
That look is Kevin realizing the sins of his past are about to come back and kill him. Tonight, right here on his living room floor covered in blood and piss.
Monsters like to hide in plain sight. This particular one positioned himself as a caregiver. A nurturer. A selfless humanitarian, taking in wayward teens abandoned by the system, into his licensed foster home in Denver. The motherfucker’s even been recognized as a localherofor his lifetime of service helping teens in need.
The actual horrific truth is that Kevin used his position of power and his standing as an unimpeachable pillar of the community to guarantee himself a steady flow of innocent victims.
Including Finn and Una.
I’ll be killing Kevin’s reputation tonight, too. I will burn his legacy to the fuckinggroundaround his corpse.
When he doesn’t say anything, I sigh and shake my head. “Kevin, monsters like youalwaysknow the number. Because to you, it’s a power thing. To pieces of shit like yourself, hurting children makes you feel strong. Like a big man. Doesn’t it, Kevin?”
“P—please! I never meant to hurt—”
I laugh coldly. Then I pull out the burner phone from my pocket, open the video camera, and start filming.
“I’m going to ask you again. How. Many.”
Kevin squeezes his eyes shut as he starts to cry.
“Tell me, and perhaps I’ll let you live.”
Oh, the lies we tell…
He looks up at me, a spark of hope flaring in his eyes. “R—really?”
“Of course. Just tell me. And, please, smile for the camera, Kevin. How many children did you sexually abuse in this foster ‘home’ from Hell?”
He starts to weep, realizing that I’m filming.
“Please! I—I’m a good man—”
He screams bloody murder when I kick him as hard as I can in the balls, making him double up and vomit as he falls into the puddle of his own urine soaking the carpet.
“HOW.MANY.”
“Th-Thirty-six!”
I flinch. EvenIflinch.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I’m shaking. And the violence I feel surging up inside of me is so fucking raw and so fucking big I’m legitimately afraid of the monstrousness that might explode out of me.
But only for a moment. After that, the fear turns todelight.
I’m going to enjoy this. And I’m going to take my time.
“Say it again,” I snarl. “Right into the camera, Kevin.”
