34 Wendy
Wendy
Manhattan, New York
I should make her wait until December so we’re even. But my daughter starts kindergarten in August, and I do not want to still be doing this then. There will be too many commitments. I want this over and done. Behind me, once and for all.
I stand in the shadows across the street from my destination. I was with that son of a bitch Saunderson for nine years, seven months, and thirteen days. She really does deserve equal time.
But motherhood changes things. It’s the only reason I’m here at all, if I’m completely honest. At first taking out these bastards was revenge, yes, but mostly it was a deterrent to ensure they could never do this to anyone else.
Men like the keepers can’t be reformed. There are high-profile examples in the news all the time.
When Olivia was born, something shifted inside me.
I realized I had to protect her and other little girls from men like this.
Maybe it’s only a handful of players but at least I’m contributing to the extinction of a fatally flawed subgroup of the male species.
If the fucking authorities aren’t going to stop them, someone has to. More women should take up the cause.
Easy to say, I remind myself. Not all women have the resources I do.
I spent an entire year taking intense self-defense classes and strengthening my body before I started this journey five years ago.
I’ve purchased all sorts of handy tools from the black market to aid in my work.
More importantly, I have firsthand intel on these bastards.
I know their likes and dislikes. I know their routines and schedules.
More importantly, I know their names and where they live. I’ve kept tabs on them since my escape.
I considered going to the FBI, but I didn’t want this to turn into another of their infamous cover-ups.
Instead, I decided to do it myself. My keeper was the first of my kills.
Looking back, I realized as he lay bleeding out that it was all in the planning.
It’s very much like preparing a holiday feast for a huge family.
Plan your date. Make your lists and ensure you have everything you need.
Start on schedule and follow the steps. Never deviate.
Never fail to be fully prepared. Nothing ruins a good souffle like poor egg prep. Preparation is everything.
Ending the next keeper was even easier, and so on. I felt no sympathy, no regret. I was doing a good thing.
As a protective measure, I never wear the same type of disguise twice, and I plan every move carefully so as not to strike on the same day of the week or even the same hour of the day as a previous one.
Every single detail is different. This prevents not only the investigators from noting a pattern, but also the keepers themselves.
It is imperative that each kill looks like a one-off—a random act of violence related to a robbery or a bad choice on the keeper’s part. All have bragged at one time or another about picking up a stray from a street corner. Though there is only one who dared to do it more than once.
Whether once or dozens of times, bad choices often do not end well.
I cross the street, careful never to look in the direction of a potential camera. I have scouted the location and feel confident I know where all the neighbors’ exterior cameras are. Still, I am cautious.
It’s almost midnight. This keeper, the one they call the Monster, loves his middle-of-the-night playtime.
He has dismissed all members of his household staff.
He will be completely alone with his toy or toys.
I go around back since he prefers his deliveries at the rear entrance.
He has an end-of-block brownstone with a side entrance to the back outdoor area.
I carry a bag filled with expensive wine and cheeses.
He has a penchant for certain cheese. He and his nasty little group liked to surprise each other with gifts.
Of course, they’re all dead now. Except for him.
I’m sure he must be lonely. This, too, makes me happy.
I press the bell three times before he appears at the door.
I can’t see him since the door has no window, but I hear his approach.
He’s checking via a security peephole to see who has dared to come to his back door.
He is likely armed. But I’m not afraid. I know the right things to say to set him at ease.
The door opens and he glares at me. Since he is completely naked save for the handgun he holds and his penis is erect, I confirm that he is already in playtime.
“Charles sent you a gift.”
Charles Renforth is a very high-profile judge who is not a keeper but who is lifelong friends with this one. The Monster conceals his proclivities from friends like Renforth. Frankly, the rich and powerful rarely look for the flaws. They would rather not see. It makes life more comfortable.
The naked man glances around, then steps back for me to enter. “Put it on the table.”
I glance at the table next to the door, then place the bag there.
“Open it.” He motions with the gun.
I do as he says, and he moves closer to see inside.
In one quick move, I jab him with the stun gun.
It’s the most powerful one on the market and still it takes a little dancing out of his reach and a second hit to put him down.
Thankfully his weapon clatters to the floor without firing.
As soon as he’s on his knees I stab him with the hypodermic needle and press the plunger.
The dose of digoxin is lethal. He’ll be dead very quickly.
While the drug does its thing, I decide to give him a taste of the medicine he so often uses on the women he abuses.
First I use a bottle of the wine to slam into his head, but that quickly breaks.
Not to be thwarted, I drag the broken, jagged edge along his pasty white flesh, drawing blood.
I do this over and over during those last desperate and precious minutes.
Then he is nothing more than a large mound of bloody flesh who will never harm anyone ever again.
The keeper before him, last year, received a heart-stopping dose of another drug. I didn’t abuse him other than to remove his male parts. I thought it was fitting. Although that aspect of his death didn’t make the news. Too bad.
Between a slip and fall in the shower and a diving incident in a pool, as well as a choking-on-his-dinner event, I’ve ensured there was no pattern whatsoever.
I look one last time at the Monster, then I go in search of his hidden play area.
As usual, I find it with ease. There aren’t that many options.
“Hello?” I call out as I descend the hidden stairs.
No one answers, so I have a look around. A sound draws me into a room where a cage much like the one I once lived in stands empty. It’s unlocked, the door open. Whoever was in there is hiding.
I consider searching a bit longer since I would love to see her face and for her to know that I am the one who has set her free, but I can’t linger.
“He’s dead. You can go now,” I say to whoever is listening.
Then I go back upstairs and make my way out of another place where an endless stream of nightmares were created. This time I go out the front and leave that door open as well. Across the street I wait in the shadows awhile to see if she will emerge. But she doesn’t.
When the street people start to arrive, I leave. I can’t risk being around when the police are called.
That’s another of my little tricks. I get the word out to those who live on the streets that an open house will be available at a certain time in a certain place. The needy might as well benefit from this devil’s gains.
And now it’s done. The last of the keepers is dead.
I never have to look back . . . except for when she comes for revenge.
And if she’s breathing, she will come.