Chapter 26
Him
I stand over him in the cold basement. The knife feels warm in my hand from the cut I just made across his ribs. Blood covers his body, and he breathes in short, wet gasps like a broken machine fighting to stay alive.
Fresh blood drips from the wounds on his chest and gathers into a small pool on the floor beneath him. A deep, warm feeling rushes through me. This is exactly where he belongs. Turned into a weak, crying mess because he dared to touch what is mine.
I wipe the blade slowly on a clean cloth, taking my time because I enjoy watching his eyes follow every movement. They are wide with pure fear, the kind that finally makes him feel something.
The memory comes back to me, clear and sharp. Her house had been quiet when I let myself in.
I moved through Iris’s room slowly, studying everything the way I always do.
Every detail, every small piece of her life.
My fingers brushed over the objects on her dresser before stopping on a soft scarf folded near the edge.
I lifted it, the fabric still faintly warm with her scent.
For a moment I simply held it there, breathing it in before slipping it carefully into my pocket.
Then my attention moved to the photographs scattered across the wall and desk. I looked at every single one of them. Iris smiling with parents. Her at the beach. Her laughing in moments she thought no one important was watching.
My eyes eventually settled on the journal resting near her bed. I shouldn’t have opened it. But I did.
The pages revealed more than I expected. Entries filled with frustration. Anger. Confusion. And one name that kept appearing again and again. Mike.
Rumors he had been spreading about her at her office. The way people had started looking at her differently because of him. Then the entry that made my hands go still on the page.
The day he tried to touch her. The way she wrote about how uncomfortable it made her feel. How she had pushed him away. How no one seemed to take it seriously.
I closed the journal slowly. And that was the moment Mike’s fate was sealed. Now he sits in front of me, bleeding, shaking, finally understanding the consequences of his actions.
"Why did you do it?" I ask him in a calm, steady voice. I lean closer so he can see my face clearly. "Why did you spread those lies about her? Why did you put your dirty hands on what belongs to me?"
He starts begging right away. His voice shakes with pain and fear. "Please. It was just talk in the office. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Let me go. I promise I will never say anything again. I will disappear. Just please stop."
I stare at him, cold and empty, because his words mean nothing to me. I press the knife into the soft skin of his thigh and twist it slowly. A fresh scream fills the room. "Tell me the truth or I will keep cutting for hours until you beg me to kill you."
He screams even louder. His body jerks hard against the ropes as new blood flows around the blade. "Stop! It hurts so much, please. I will tell you everything. Just stop."
I pull the knife back a little but keep it pressed against his skin, ready for the next cut. "Who told you to spread those rumors about Iris in the office?"
He gasps for air. Tears mix with the blood on his face.
"Someone threatened me. I got an anonymous email about my old conviction from eight years ago. I was found guilty of child molestation, but there was not enough proof, so they let me go. He had the video. He said he would send it to the news and the police if I didn’t do exactly what he wanted. "
A small spark of anger rises in me because this is new information that changes my plans. But I keep my face calm and still. "And what exactly did they want you to do? Tell me every detail or I will start cutting your other leg."
He keeps begging, his voice breaking apart. "He told me to start the rumor at work about her old university video. Make everyone think she got the job out of pity or to look modern. I only did what he said so I could survive. Please, I didn’t want to, but I had no choice."
I nod slowly and think about his words while the feeling of power rushes through me.
"So you told lies about her just to save your own worthless life.
Pathetic. But you also touched her, right?
In the cafe, your hand on her thigh, your elbow against her chest like you had any right. Who told you to do that?"
He shakes his head fast, snot and tears running down his face. "No one told me to touch her. That was my own mistake. I thought I could get closer to her and scare her a little. I’m sorry. I swear it was a mistake. I’ll never go near her again."
Anger burns inside me like a fire because no one touches what is mine. I grab his right hand. "You should not have touched her. Only I decide when she feels fear. Only I get to break her."
I pick up the blowtorch and light it with a soft click.
I run the hot blue flame slowly across every finger of his right hand, one after another.
The skin bubbles, melts, and turns black as the fire eats deep into the meat.
The smell of burned flesh rises and the sound of his pain fills me with deep, sick joy.
"This hand hurt her. Now it pays the price. "
He howls, his voice raw and broken. "Stop! Please. I’ll never go near her again. Have mercy."
I move to his left hand and pour thick acid from a glass bottle straight onto it. The liquid hisses and smokes as it burns through the skin, muscle, and down to the bone in seconds. Chunks of flesh fall away like wet paper.
His screams turn into heavy sobs. His body shakes hard. “I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know she was yours! Please… please don’t. Have mercy.”
Next I grab the power drill and press the spinning metal bit into his chest. I drill one hole after another, going deeper each time so blood sprays out in small fountains.
I take my time with every hole because each one sends waves of pure pleasure through me.
"You touched her. This fixes that mistake, slow and painful. "
He gasps hard. Blood bubbles from his mouth as he fights to breathe. "I cann… Plea…"
I clamp the jumper cables onto the fresh open wounds on his chest and thigh, then flip the switch on the battery.
Strong electric shocks rip through his body, making every muscle lock tight and jerk hard.
"You thought you could take something that was never meant for you. This is your last lesson about what happens when you forget not to touch what isn’t yours. "
His body shakes wildly as I watch him die slowly, feeling only deep satisfaction. He is gone now and can never touch her again, never tell another lie, never live in her world.
I take his phone from his pocket and check every text and email with calm, careful eyes. I search for the source of the threat. I find the email about his video, sent to him as Andrew Sanders.
I search the name "Andrew Sanders" on the internet and find the old news article about his trial. It says he was set free because there was not enough proof.
I place a single iris flower next to the article. I know Iris will see the pattern when she finds it later. I take a photo of it with his phone.
I send an anonymous email to Hazel with attached article and the video. I send it through many VPN servers and the Tor network, bouncing the signal through several proxy servers so the police can never trace it back to me.
The message is short and clear. ‘Andrew Sanders is Mike. The video is real.’
When everything is done, I sit back and think. Someone else tried to put fear in her eyes. The thought settles slowly, and with it comes a sharp edge of irritation. Whoever sent that threat to Mike thought they could play games with her.
They were wrong. That was never their place.
I wipe my hands slowly, the anger cooling into something colder and more focused. If someone is watching her, if someone thinks they can frighten her for their own amusement, then they have made a mistake. A serious one.
I will find out who it was. No one interferes with something that belongs in my world and walks away from it.
The strange part is how strongly the thought affects me. Iris has done something no one else ever has. My mind tries to explain it logically. She is unusual, unpredictable, a puzzle that refuses to behave the way people normally do.
But logic doesn’t fully explain the feeling growing beneath it. Possession.
She owes me her fear, her attention, the way her eyes search the darkness when she feels watched. Every reaction, every tremor of uncertainty. That belongs to me.
I finish cleaning my tools and set them neatly back in their place. The anger has settled into calm again, replaced by something quieter and more patient.
The next step is already forming in my mind. Soon she will find the iris flower. And when she does, she will understand something important. She is never alone. I am always watching.
I turn off the basement light and head upstairs, the fading rush of the kill still humming faintly in my veins. Sooner or later, Iris will learn the truth. Every fear she feels will lead back to me.