Chapter One
The Bull
Silas
I sit with my eyes fixed on the piece of shit currently strapped to my metal table, waiting patiently for him to wake up. I can't help but smirk at the sight of him, helpless, vulnerable, and at my mercy. I had to knock him out before I could transport him here; it was a necessary precaution.
The sedative I injected him with will ensure he wakes up groggy and disoriented, his world spinning out of control.
He'll see distorted shapes, his vision a blur of colors—a goddamn kaleidoscope of terror and confusion.
A fitting state for someone like him, a twisted welcome to the hell he so rightly deserves.
Every second of his fear will be just a small taste of the pain and suffering he's caused.
I'll make sure he understands the depth of his sins, the depravity of his actions. Serves him right, the sick fuck. I know monsters, the damage they can cause. I was raised by one, then I became one myself. So I know, this man is a fucking monster.
Tonight, I'll be his own personal devil and someone else’s savior. This is real justice, balancing the scales of right and wrong.
His eyes begin to flutter open, and I hold my breath, barely containing my excitement to see his reaction.
Sure enough, his gaze finally lands on me.
This is always my favorite part. I love the moment when I see the fear take over.
I watch as his confusion transforms into sheer terror, realizing he is no longer in the safety and comfort of his cozy little home.
He blinks his eyes, trying to adjust them to the dim lighting.
I remain still, watching as he tries to process his surroundings.
The cold, abandoned factory, his body bound to a metal table, and the masked figure standing before him.
He attempts to move, struggling against the restraints on his arms and legs, the panic setting in while his eyes are locked on me.
I stand in the corner, silent, watching with a satisfied smile.
I let him squirm, letting the panic build inside of him.
The entire scene playing out before me makes me goddamn giddy, and this is only the beginning.
Now that he's joined the party as my guest of honor, the real fun is about to begin.
"W-where am I?" The pastor's eyes dart around the abandoned factory like a ping pong ball. "What's happening? Who are you?" His voice begins to shake. All the booming confidence he projects from the pulpit every Sunday, suddenly gone. "I demand you answer me! Why am I here? What do you want?"
I slowly push off the wall and step forward, my boots echoing on the concrete floor. "Well, Pastor, my name is Silas, and I think you know exactly why you're here," I reply, intentionally keeping my voice low and calm. "Your sins have finally caught up with you."
He opens his mouth to speak, but I silence him by placing my gloved hand over his mouth.
"Now, now, let's not waste our time with bullshit words that won't save you.
Are you a fan of history, Pastor? It's one of my favorite subjects.
" I move a little closer, studying his expression.
"You see, history is full of lessons. It's like a roadmap of the fuck-ups our ancestors made, and the successes they achieved.
We can learn from their mistakes and their triumphs.
History teaches us, guides us, and ensures we don't repeat the same damning patterns. It's fascinating, don't you think? "
I pause, allowing my words to sink in, watching as his eyes dart around the room again, frantically searching for an escape. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, his throat dry. Finally, he manages a weak reply, "Yes."
I smile, a cold, cruel smile. "Good. Have you ever heard the quote, 'Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.’ Have you ever considered that, Pastor?
That we might be doomed to repeat the sins of the past if we ignore them?
If we don't acknowledge the wrongs, how can we ever hope to create a better future? "
The pastor stammered, "No, I... I guess I haven’t."
"Typical of someone as ignorant as yourself. Now, let’s continue, have you ever heard of the Brazen Bull?"
"No! No, I haven’t, you lunatic! What is all this? Is this all some kind of sick game you’re playing? Let me go!"
I laugh and the harsh sound fills the room. "You'll learn soon enough. I promise you; this is no game. It's a lesson, and you have earned yourself a seat in the front of my class. I went through a lot of trouble to give you this little lesson. The least you could do is shut your mouth and listen.”
I take a seat on the old metal stool I have placed by the side of the table he is strapped down to and continue.
“The brazen bull was an ancient instrument of torture, used by the Greeks and later adopted by the Romans.
It was used to execute their adversaries and political opponents.
I would like to think that perhaps, it may have even been used to execute the vilest of men, despicable men who violate innocent children. "
I see the exact moment the realization dawns on him and all the puzzle pieces start falling into place. His eyes bulge so much I half expect them to pop out of their sockets. I almost wish they would, but where’s the fun in that? He deserves to see everything that's about to happen to him.
"The Brazen Bull," I begin again. "A device of slow and painful death, was said to have been hollow, crafted entirely from bronze.
Its door would be locked, sealing the condemned inside.
Then, a fire would be set beneath it, causing the metal to heat up, roasting the person within alive.
Can you imagine the agony, being locked in such a vessel, feeling the heat intensify as your flesh slowly cooks? "
I lean in closer, my shadow falling over the pastor, as I continue my twisted lecture. "Are you listening? Because this is where shit gets interesting. It's the coolest fucking part.” I begin to detail for him the inner workings of the Brazen Bull.
"The head of the bull was designed with a system of tubes inside. These tubes would channel and amplify the screams of the person inside, morphing their cries of agony into the bellowing of a real bull. But wait, there’s more.
” Yeah, now I’m selling this shit like the guy on the Oxiclean commercials from when I was a kid.
“They cut two holes in the bull's nostrils, creating an avenue for the steam generated by the cooking flesh of the person inside to escape.
Can you picture it? As the heat intensified and the flesh began to cook, the steam would pour out of the bull's nostrils, giving the illusion of a living, breathing beast. The statue would come to life during every execution.
Now that's what I call a gruesome masterpiece of ingenuity.
Pretty neat shit, huh? They really outdid themselves on that one. "
"Why are you telling me this?" The fear in his voice makes me smile.
"You know exactly why I'm telling you all of this. You’re a sick bastard. If you'd just admit to what you did, this would all be over much sooner. I might even be home in time to watch some reruns of South Park. I love that show."
"You're mad! I don't know what you're talking about!" The pastor's eyes widen further as he begins to understand the situation he’s facing. "I've dedicated my life to serving God and helping others. I'm a pastor!"
"Oh, yes, you 'help' people. You’re going to have to explain that one to me.
Your so-called dedication is a lie. You preach about morality and sin to your congregation every Sunday, yet you commit the very acts you condemn.
Tell me, Pastor, how does putting your filthy fucking hands on the young boys at your church 'help' them?
How much does your 'assistance' in finding them safe homes really cost them?”
"I've never touched a child!" he screams, but his lies mean nothing to me.
"Liar.” My control is beginning to slip. “Don't you dare pretend you're innocent. Do you really think I don’t know what you are? You take their innocence, using those boys for your own fucked up gratification.”
"That's not true! I've helped those kids!" The pastor sputters, "I've found them good homes where they can be safe and loved!"
My anger builds, a familiar heat spreading through my body.
"You call it 'help'? What do you demand in return for your so-called charity?
Your idea of assistance is despicable. Those boys are traumatized.
You prey on the vulnerable, and for what?
Your own perverted pleasure. You won't be hurting anyone else.
Not after today. This county's sorry excuse for a sheriff's department and the community may refuse to see the truth, ignoring what's staring them right in the face.
All those boys you abused, their cries for help fell on deaf ears, but not anymore.
I know, I know it all. I know about the police reports and witness statements that would mysteriously vanish, never to see the light of day. "
I stand and start to pace the room.
"I know about the cover-ups, the dirty little secrets you and your corrupt cop friends tried to bury.
" The pastor's eyes widened even more. "Yeah, I know about that too.
All the bodies you've allowed the crooked fucking cops of this county to bury in occupied graves in the cemetery on church property. It’s only a matter of time before the truth comes out.
What a shame it is that you won't be around to see the fallout. Your web of protection isn’t here to save you now. "
The pastor starts to struggle against his restraints again, his eyes wild. "Who are you? What do you want from me? Let me go!"
"I’m the man who rights the wrongs. What do I want from you?
That’s easy, I want my pound of flesh. I want you to pay for what you’ve done, Pastor.
Unfortunately, I'm not a patient enough man to construct a Brazen Bull." I gesture to the steel box I have waiting by his feet. "But I’ve got this steel box I made especially for you to celebrate this occasion. It’s my own little take on it, but not so dissimilar to the Brazen Bull. We’ll make due, yeah?
I think it will serve our purpose just fine. "
With a sudden move, I cut the leather straps that bind the pastor to the table.
This frees him only long enough for me to force him into the steel box.
His desperate struggles and pitiful attempts to resist are useless.
As I secure the door, the clang of metal-on-metal echoes through the empty factory, signaling the sealing of his fate.
I take a moment to savor the sound. His muffled cries and incoherent pleas are the sound of justice finally being served. Now he'll burn for what he's done.
The old brick factory, abandoned and long forgotten, provides an ideal setting for my brand of justice.
With each step I take toward the massive furnaces, my smile grows wider.
The fire inside one of those kilns will serve a purpose today far more satisfying than hardening bricks.
It will bring an end to a pedophile who thought he could evade punishment.
The size of the kilns is impressive, their interiors large enough to accommodate a body with room to spare. I chose this place carefully, knowing that the heat generated within those furnaces would ensure a slow, agonizing death.
I push the steel box, with the pastor inside, toward the gaping mouth of the furnace.
The metal castors make it easy to maneuver and slide inside.
Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve a stack of church pamphlets I had collected the previous Sunday, specifically for this purpose.
I had chosen them with a dark sense of irony.
The very words of faith that this so-called man of God had twisted and used to manipulate and harm others, will now be his end.
With my lighter, I set the pamphlets ablaze and watch as the flames catch, eagerly dancing along the edges of the dry paper.
I drop the burning stack beneath the steel box, the fire quickly catching hold.
I adjust the thermostat on the kiln. This external control gives me power over the temperature within.
My mother's voice echoes in my mind as I recall her advice.
"The best roasts, Silas, are cooked low and slow.
That way, all the flavors meld together and the meat falls off the bone.
" Yes, a slow roast is exactly what I have in mind. I intend to cook this bastard thoroughly, like I’m the next Iron Chef, ensuring a perfect, agonizingly slow death.
The piercing shrieks of the man inside the kiln are like music to my ears.
I can't help but grin as I hear him kick and thrash against his steel confines.
As the temperature slowly rises, his struggles become more frantic.
I imagine the terror he must be feeling.
It's a fitting punishment, though it will never truly make up for the lives he ruined. The children he has violated will forever carry their scars, but at least I can ensure this monster pays for his crimes with his life. The system failed those kids, just as it had me and so many others. No one that preys on the innocent will go unpunished under my watch. I took an oath to protect and serve, and that’s exactly what I intend to do, but I'll do it my way. Fucked up and ruthless.