52. Noah
NOAH
OCTOBER FLASHBACK
Tonight’s the night.
As the door creaks open, the putrid smell of flesh and blood wafts from under the second door leading to Hell.
My labyrinth of chaos that lies just beneath my house.
It’s been my sanctuary for these last few years.
Offering me the security to enact my own personal form of justice against the scum that manage to escape their punishments.
Well, too bad for all of them, they can’t escape their fates.
“Please, help us,” the scream echoes as I unlock the second door.
From inside the tunnels of the labyrinth, you can’t even see the door.
When I installed it, I took bricks from other parts of the tunnels that looked just as damp and aged as the ones around it and seamlessly matched them up.
With how dark it is inside, none of them manage to see the small handle embedded in the crevices. I’m the only one who knows.
“Enough screaming, Rayes,” I growl, and he instantly shuts up.
My other captured soul sits quietly in his chair. Head down and not a single sound. He knows better.
My eyes are glowing from the mask. It’s designed to hide my identity, but it also adds to the fear it makes them feel. The anonymity of the reaper has become their nightmare. The one who stole them from their lives, and brought them here to this dark, damp hell.
They beg to know why I’m doing this, who I am, and what they did to deserve this.
It’s only on the final night of their life that I give them a chance.
If they can outrun me and escape, I’ll let them live.
The only other option is if they can guess who the monster under the mask really is, but no one ever does.
No one expects someone like me to be so bloodthirsty.
“Please. I’ll give you anything you want. Just name your price. Any price. You obviously know who I am. You know how much money I have…”
*Smack*
“I know exactly who you are, Arthur Rayes. I don’t need your money.”
“What then? Anything. I’ll give you anything,” he screams as blood begins to flow from his lip.
I’ve been frustrated this week. It’s especially unfortunate for him because it’s his own fucking daughter that’s been causing my frustrations, so needless to say, it’s going to be quite painful.
“Anything?” I question.
The voice changer in the mask lowers my voice a few octaves, giving it just the right pitch to send chills down his spine.
“Yes. I have houses all over the world. A private jet. A boat. Do you want an island? I have one of those, too.”
He’s rambling, searching for anything that might pique my interest. I continue to slowly walk around him.
He’s blindfolded, but even with my nearly silent steps, he can feel my presence looming over him.
My knife trails along the back of his neck barely breaking skin, and that’s when he shouts the most disgusting bribe I’ve heard from him yet.
“I have a daughter,” he screams.
My wrist flicks, letting the tip nick a bit further into his flesh. He screams in agony, and it’s music to my ears.
“A daughter? You mean Angela? Your little princess?” I practically purr my response.
His body tenses in fear. Surely he should have known I’d know all about his precious daughter. I press the tip of the knife under his chin, barely letting it draw blood. I can smell the piss running down the chair and pooling on the floor beneath him.
“Disgusting,” I snarl as I flick the knife allowing more of his blood to spill.
“Please. There has to be something you want,” he begs.
It’s only then that his fellow prisoner lets out a dry, manic cackle. One from years of being down in this disgusting place. His breath is rancid from the infection that’s been festering between his teeth. His skin is sunken in on his face making each bone sharp.
“Wha…what’s so funny?” Arthur sounds close to sobbing.
“You think he wants anything?” the other prisoner croaks.
His voice hasn’t been used much for years, other than the screams and pleas I pull from his failing body. I got all the information I needed from him years ago. He’s just a hollow husk of a man whose heart is only still beating because I force it to. He’s not allowed to die yet.
“Please,” Arthur whimpers again.
Irritation runs through my veins, and my arm strikes out slicing the knife across his cheek and splitting the skin wide open.
Even in the dim light, I can see the beautiful crimson as it flows down his face and onto his bare chest. I don’t even allow these worthless pieces of scum to wear clothes while they’re down here. That’s a luxury they don’t deserve.
“It’s not worth it, man. Don’t give him the satisfaction of begging,” my other prisoner tells Arthur.
“He’s not wrong,” I tease as Arthur continues to snivel and cry like the fucking coward he is.
Blood continues to flow down his cheek, and I’m a bit worried I might have cut too deep. I should probably fix that. Can’t have him bleeding out just yet.
I rummage through my bag of goodies looking for my blowtorch.
Mallet, no. Pliers, no. Why the fuck is there a dog collar in here?
Oh yeah, Mr. Mattison. The crazy fuck who beat his wife nearly into a coma.
The shock collar was one of the things they found at the home that he used to abuse her.
Apparently, the sick fuck would leave her chained in a kennel some nights as punishment. It wasn’t pet play, it was pure abuse.
Long story short, he wore that shock collar as I made him beg for his life.
I'd never use a shock collar on an animal, but on a piece of shit abuser, yeah. That was comical justice watching him writhe in pain as I turned up the voltage. I may have had my tech friend make a few tweaks. Let’s just say that many volts of nonstop electricity kind of fries the brain. It was perfect.
Ah, here’s my blowtorch. I swear I need to upgrade some of my equipment.
A few of these knives are becoming too dull.
While I’m all for making their torture more painful, I still do love the feeling of a sharp blade as it slices smoothly through flesh.
A blade so sharp that they don’t feel its bite until they’re bleeding out as they try to hold the wound shut.
“Now, Arthur, do you have any idea why I brought you here?” I ask as I begin to heat a chisel.
The six-inch metal blade heats to a beautiful, bright orange. I can feel the heat permeating through the wooden handle.
“No. Please. I haven’t done anything.”
I can’t help but laugh at that statement.
This man is the reason his wife is dead.
The piece of shit was so close to being put away, but his lawyer found a way to get the case thrown out the window.
Evidence that was somehow not only obtained illegally, but also had a missing signature on crucial evidence when it was being transferred.
The case was dropped. He got off scot-free after murdering his wife.
She suffered through years of abuse until one day he snapped and went too far.
The evidence was there, fucking black and white, zero doubts that he did it.
He definitely has friends in high places for this big of a fuck up to happen, but that’s where I come in.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” I lie as I press the heated steel to his face cauterizing the wound.
His screams echo around us, causing a shudder of pleasure to run down my spine.
“Sorry. I guess we both lie,” I laugh as he continues to whine, drifting in and out of consciousness from the pain.
Fucking pathetic. I saw the files on his wife. The multiple accidents she was involved in. Falsified reports just to cover up the damage he did to her. She survived his abuse for years, yet this man is falling apart from just a little pain.
“There’s…gotta be something…you want,” he says through painful gasps.
“Nope. Not really. I think I have everything I want.”
I pull a chair in front of him and sit backwards in it. I let the edge of the chisel's blade run down his arm then trace each finger. His wrists are tied to the arms of the chair just as tightly as his ankles are bound to its legs.
“Tell you what, Arthur, I’ll make you a deal. If you can guess who I am, I’ll let you go.”
“Wh…What? I can’t see you,” he whimpers.
“That’s fine.”
“You’re using a voice changer.”
“I never said it would be easy,” I tease.
“There’s no way to guess who you are. It’s not fair,” he screams.
My arm slams the chisel down, just barely nicking the tip of his pinky finger. He cries out as I grip his hair and tilt him forward in the chair so my face is so close I can smell his breath through my mask.
“I never said it would be fair,” I hiss before releasing him, letting the chair land back down fast. Too fast.
The momentum carries him back causing the chair to tip, and he goes crashing to the floor. His head bounces off the concrete floor, and the whimpers stop. Fuck. He’d better not be dead.
His head lolls to the side as a loud, painful groan vibrates from his chest. Good. The fucker is still alive. I sit the chair back upright, then circle him wondering what I should do next. I grab the file of evidence off the table. So many photos showing exactly what he did to her in the end.
They ended up classifying it as a break-in and robbery gone bad, but I knew better.
This was personal. Her neck was bruised from him strangling her.
Dark purple bruises covered her rib cage where he pinned her down with his knees pressed into her small, delicate frame.
Her nails were ripped back from how hard she fought him.
Funny that not a single piece of evidence mentions the damage she did to her attacker as she fought for her life.
Tough woman. She was strong. She was a fighter.
Unfortunately, she was failed by so many, just like my little rabbit and her mother were failed all those years ago.
That’s why I do it. That’s why I hunt down and kill every last one of them who manage to slip through the cracks. No one saved her or her mother. She never got her justice. Or her revenge, but maybe someday she will.
“What number is this one, Killer?” my second prey still decides to speak.
“Why does it matter? They deserve it. You all do.”
He laughs, and the sound is more like a cracking wheeze.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“How long have you had me down here for?” he asks.
“Four years,” I reply, never looking at him.
“Four years…That’s a long time to keep someone alive, so I’ve had a lot of time to think. Oh, it’s forty-two by the way. I’ve had to listen while forty-two men had their lives ended by you. And it’s always the same kind of men. Abusers and murderers. So that got me thinking.”
He coughs, and I can hear the rattle in his chest. If I don’t find her soon, she won’t get the chance to seek her revenge. The fucker will get off easy and not have to face what he did to her.
“Why have you kept me alive all these years? After those first few torture sessions, you’ve eased up on the pain.
I almost miss it, you know…It made my mind stable knowing the pain meant that I was still alive, but this…
Fuck. This is the real torture. So tell me, Killer. Why do you keep me alive?” he asks.
He tilts his head at me. I don’t bother with the blindfold anymore with him. He’s still naked and restrained, but that’s all.
“You’re not mine to kill,” I say flatly.
He laughs again before the wheeze is cut off by violent coughs that have his whole body shaking. He's left gasping as his grimace turns to a smile.
“You give them all the same deal. If they guess who you are, you’ll let them go. Do I get that same deal?”
“No,” I snap, and his grin only widens.
Like the creepy demented clowns at the horror circus Angela dragged me to last week, he smiles. Most of his teeth are cracked or missing. The remaining ones are black and faded with decay. Blood, and God only knows what else, fills in the gaps of his smile.
“I know who you are, Killer. It’s taken years to remember the finer details from all those years ago, but things finally make sense…and you just fucking confirmed it.”
“I didn’t confirm shit,” I bite.
Unfortunately, my rage can be heard even in my electronic voice, and it only makes him happier. He knows I won’t kill him. Not when I’m saving him for her.
“A young boy, maybe a year or so older than my sweet baby girl. You used to hang around my house too often. You were obsessed with her back then, and you still are today. Aren’t you…Noah.”
I feel like I’ve been kicked in the balls. My stomach nearly heaves when I hear him say my name. All this time, I thought his mind was broken, cracked, and on the verge of completely shutting down. But I should have known a monster like him couldn’t have been broken so easily.
“I still can’t believe after all these years you still love her. If you haven’t found her yet, you never will. I searched for that little bitch and never found her, so what makes you think you can?”
I don’t answer. I can't give him the satisfaction of knowing he rattled me. No. I need to stay strong.
“Come on, Killer. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re not still obsessed with my baby girl.
If you end up finding her, let her know Daddy’s missed her,” he laughs, and it takes everything in me not to slit his throat.
If I do, then the last few years will have all been for nothing.
I need to get out of here before I kill him.
I quickly make my way back through the maze to the stairs. His dry cackle follows me all the way, haunting each step I take until I’m out. I lock the door before climbing the steps back into my house.
I’ll kill Rayes tomorrow night. I can’t go back down there right now. I can’t listen to him, or I’ll fucking kill him.
James Parker's life isn’t mine to take.
It's always been hers.