Karma (The Exodus)

H is screams are music to my ears. They play over the screams of my father—the man this asshole tortured to death. My hammer comes down again and pushes a nail through his other hand. The nail head ends up flush with his skin as it locks him to the wall. He screams again, his mouth invisible behind that horrifying gold giraffe mask. One of the last things my father saw.

Besides me trying—and failing—to save him.

“Do you remember him?” I ask.

“Who?” the man screams, spit hurtling from his mouth.