Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
THE TASKMASTER
Present Day
Isaiah Dalton.
I no longer used that surname. I didn’t carry anything from my old life, only the vengeance of a boy who didn’t have the strength to fight the demons that haunted him back then.
But I had that strength now.
I also had the means and the capabilities to avenge every wrong that had been done to me.
.. in the worst fucking way. They deserved it.
They were the architects of their own agony.
Every cut, slice, stab and gouge they’d earned tenfold.
At this point, I’d almost worked my way through the staff at Clivesdon House.
The ones who turned my nights into a living nightmare that no child should ever have to endure.
Maybe it was time I moved to the social workers, the healthcare liars. .. and the police officers.
I watched Officer Dan talking to the reporter on the news. Telling them...
“We’re reviewing the files, using fresh eyes to assess this case, and I can assure you, no stone will go unturned. We will find out what happened to these missing men. We will get answers for their families. I won’t rest until that happens.”
I knew he was tenacious. Kind and empathetic. But he was also fucking gullible, letting the likes of Wilson twist the narrative without questioning a goddamn thing. I wasn’t worried, though. He wouldn’t find those men, and he wouldn’t find me.
But I wanted to find him.
I wanted to see what kind of life he’d led, since the day he’d turned his back on me, believing the lies of other adults and abandoning me to the wolves.
Officer Dan wasn’t a bad guy. Not like the men I dealt with day-in and day-out.
But he could’ve done more. And in many ways, I was intrigued about the kind of man he was now.
How he lived his life. I didn’t care about anyone, but I had a mild curiosity for this guy.
I walked to the middle of the room and bent down to pull the wooden crate over to the right position.
Then I stood on it and peered up at the noose hanging from the rafters of my living room.
I slid the coarse rope over my head, tightening it around my neck, then I leaned forward, pulling on it to make myself choke, but not enough to kill myself. Just enough to dull the voices.
Was I a masochist?
Probably.
Did I want to die?
Sometimes.
Most people cling to life; I’d learned that from the many deaths I’d meted out. That last minute, the last second, when they know their time is up, they’ll do anything to stop it. Clawing, ripping, clamouring to cling on to this life. Dreading the hell that awaits them.
But I wasn’t like that.
For me, death would be peace. An easy way out. It was living that was hell for me. But I couldn’t leave this earth without making them all pay. I couldn’t leave until my work was done.
So, why did I keep a noose in my room?
Because it reminded me of what’d happened to my mother, the catalyst that hurtled me into a life of unimaginable terror.
But it also served as a reminder that I was in control.
.. of it all. I could kick the crate away and hang myself.
Put an end to the hurt. Or, I could do what I was doing now.
Stare at the trinkets on my mantlepiece and fucking laugh like a lunatic, my eyes wide and the veins pulsing in my neck as my face grew hot and red.
A jawbone, a femur, metacarpals and phalanges.
All of them lined up on the mantlepiece like treasure.
You didn’t think I’d let them rest in pieces and not keep one of those pieces for myself, did you?
I kept laughing, imagining how fucking amazing it’d be to create my own skeleton from the bones of all the dead motherfuckers I’d killed.
They might’ve controlled me all those years ago, creating pain that I still carried to this day in my mind, but I was in control now.
And I could do whatever the fuck I wanted with them and their corpses.
Later that night, I got to work, finding out what I could about Officer Dan.
I checked out his social media, of which there was very little.
He kept a low profile. There were no personal accounts, only stories of his work in the police force, and a few posts that mentioned his name, linking him to charity fun runs and other community-driven shit.
But then, I guess most men his age, and especially a high-profile officer of the law, would keep their private lives private as much as they could.
When there were men like me lurking on the internet, it was better to be safe than sorry.
And was he sorry for abandoning me so easily?
The last guy that’d done that had learned his lesson.
There’d been a boy who’d come to Clivesdon House and tried to befriend me, promising me shit he couldn’t deliver, and he found out the hard way.
Everyone has to pay a price when the axe of redemption falls.
And boy, did I make it fall hard for Will fucking Stokes, the soldier of Brinton Manor.
There’s an African proverb that’s always stuck with me.
‘The axe forgets but the tree remembers.’ I remembered everything they’d all done.
The nights they made me scream, torturing me for their own sick kicks.
The days they’d kept me hidden, turning me into a ghost boy, a shadow of a human, a vessel with no emotions.
Why have emotions? They only hurt you more.
Sometimes, it was better not to feel. To switch off.
And then there were the ones who stayed silent. The ones who could have done more.
I knew Officer Dan was married. He’d been with the same woman for over thirty years. He had a daughter, too. And knowing that made my twisted, vengeful side burn with temptation. I always preferred a little manipulation and family participation. It made things so much... sweeter.
After days and nights of research, I decided the time for thinking was over. Now, it was time for action.
I stared up at the brick house with immaculate lawns and pretty plants in pots by the highly polished front door.
The windows cast a glow in the darkness, giving the house a warm aura, a feeling that was enjoyed by others, never me.
But I didn’t shiver from my place in the shadow of the trees as I watched for any movement.
I didn’t feel anything as I glanced from window to window, waiting to see someone walking past inside.
They had security here, but the CCTV only covered the periphery of the house, not the garden.
It didn’t matter, though; I’d be able to hack into their system easily and disable it when I needed to.
Officer Dan was security conscious, but I was a master.
I checked the time on my watch. It was ten p.m. I needed to make a plan of action, check out the weak spots, scope out the exits, find out what to do next.
I could approach them as a builder or worker of sorts.
Gain their trust that way and find an in.
Or I could do it the easy way and just take what I wanted.
That was my preferred method, after all.
Just as I was about to break my cover, I heard the click of the lock on the front door, and it opened, bathing the front path in light as voices echoed in the night.
“You know you’re welcome to stay here. It’s late and I don’t like to think of you going back to an empty apartment.”
Officer Dan appeared at the door with his wife standing next to him. Both of them smiling as a young woman stepped past them out of the house to stand on the step.
“Dad, I’m fine. I like my apartment. And it’s only ten o’clock. It’s not that late.”
There stood his daughter, Abigail.
Officer Dan had lived in this house with his wife, Yvonne, all their married life.
I found that out from my online research.
But their daughter, Abigail, had moved out four years ago.
And watching her standing in front of me, hopping from one foot to another as she said goodbye to her parents and rubbed her arms to ward off the cold, I was intrigued.
“Why don’t you let Dad drive you home?” her mum said, but Abigail shook her head.
“I told you, I’m fine.” She gestured down the street. “I have an Uber parked right down there waiting for me. I can’t cancel that.”
Her dad reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, opened it and took a few notes out.
“Then take this to pay for it,” he said, offering the money to Abigail.
She stepped back, shaking her hands as she said, “I don’t need you to pay, Dad. I’ve got it covered.”
But he insisted, thrusting it into her hand, forcing her to take it.
“Thanks,” she said, hugging her dad, then her mum, before turning to leave, telling them, “I’ll see you Wednesday,” over her shoulder.
Her mum stood on tiptoes, calling out, “Ring me when you get home, so I know you’re safe,” as Abigail strode down the path to the street.
“Will do,” she called back, lifting her arm in the air to wave them goodbye.
Her parents stayed at that doorway, craning their necks to watch her until she was out of sight, before they reluctantly closed the door. I don’t think they wanted to close it. They’d have followed her all the way home if they could’ve. But they didn’t. That was my job tonight.
I stayed a fair distance away from Abigail as she took long, confident strides down the street. I had to admit, I liked the way her long brown curls bounced as she walked. Like her hair had a life of its own. Vibrant and alive.
When she reached the main road, she looked both ways, then sprinted across to the other side. There was no Uber waiting for her. That money her dad had given her had been pocketed, and she was heading home on foot, despite what she’d told them. She took risks. She was a wild one. I liked that.
I followed her as she made her way down the street. She kept her head down, eyes on the floor as billows of smoky breath danced in front of her face, clouds created from the exertion of her moving at a fast pace. For a wild one, she was being slack with her self-awareness.
Keep your head up, wild one.
Be aware of what’s around you.
If you walk with your head down, it shows weakness and timidity. Everyone knows that. Think smarter.
Or are you asking for trouble?
Looking for someone like me to take advantage?
I kept pace with her, wondering if I should walk a little faster, show myself to her. Jump a few stages in my plan and take what I wanted to prove to her daddy that the world wasn’t a nice place. Something he needed to remember.
As she turned a corner, I sped up a little so I could keep her in my sights.
Her hands were stuffed into her coat pockets as she strode on, and then, as she turned to head down a darkened alley, I didn’t know whether to curse her stupidity or smile.
It seemed fate was handing me a gift here.
This was the perfect place to reveal myself.
No one would suspect a thing, and there was no CCTV.
I reached the opening of that alleyway at the same time as fate made the choice for me.
The rush of excitement I was revelling in turned to warped fascination as another dark figure emerged further down the alley.
He darted in front of her, startling her into giving a pointless scream as he grabbed her and hissed for her to “Shut up” as he covered her mouth with his hand.
I couldn’t deny, I loved it when a night of stalking turned to mindless violence. What better way to spend an evening?
He held her tight against his body as he restrained her, her back to his front. She tried to fight him, but he was stronger, and he shoved her body against the fence, forcing her into the shadows, away from the world.
He thought no one could see them.
He thought he could take his time with this one.
But I was watching. Studying how he moved and how she responded. Calmly contemplating how long I should let this play out and when I should step in to make my mark.
He thought he was in control tonight.
But the only one who’d control how this ended was me.