5. Ashmaker #3
The words hang in the damp air between us, a last holy benediction.
A sense of calm, absolute rage slides over me, like a wave from the turbulent sea.
His chest hitches a final time as his body gives up the struggle to stay alive.
We can't have that now. There is no surviving me.
I plunge the blade over and over again into his body until he's more shredded meat than solid.
The scent of copper and iron fills all my senses, and it's glorious and righteous under the descending rain.
I slam the hilt of the blade down on the side of his head, disgusted with his blank, sightless stare.
"Demon, you got off too easily. They suffered, you must suffer. "
I carve his eyes from his skull, crushing them between my fingers and palm. "Eyes that sought them out."
I use the hilt of the blade to push his cock further down his throat, before cutting out his tongue and allowing it to fall to his lap. "Mouth that used false words to convince and poison them. Cock that abused them."
I rip his bloody shirt open, exposing his toned chest, and plunging the blade into his malevolent heart, before using it to carve open the cavity of his chest below his ribs, and forcing my hand past the organs obstructing my task. "Black heart that chose to hurt them rather than help them."
I savagely rip through tissue, my gloved hand slippery, the warmth coating my digits.
I crush and destroy everything in my path, ensuring I leave nothing intact, just like he did to those poor kids who had the misfortune to meet him.
Once I'm satisfied with my destruction, I sit back on my knees and stare at the shell before me.
Somehow it's still not enough, yet I know I am on precious borrowed time.
Just one more task left to ensure he receives his full punishment.
My slick fingers pick up the severed tongue, and push his cooling body to the side, until his pale, flat, hairy ass is on full display to the distant moonlight.
"This will only hurt for a moment, Georgie Porgie.
We both know how you like anal, so it shouldn't be too bad. "
I impale the tongue on the end of the slim blade like a skewered shish kabab, pry his asscheeks apart, and slam the hilt home until all you see is the tip of his tongue sticking between the ring of thick muscle.
I turn his body back around, so that his sightless eyes stare up at the night sky that granted him no mercy.
I rise to my feet and yank cardboard and trash from the dumpster, draping it around George like a shrine to my work, before coating them with the accelerant from my bag.
I rip off the gloves, laying them on his prone body, grab the small bottle of bleach from my bag, and drench them.
Once I'm happy with his position and my makeshift artwork, I pull out my disposable lighter and strike a flame.
The beautiful ambers, reds, blues, and oranges momentarily hypnotize me, and I take the first satisfying breath I've had tonight.
"We will meet again, George Weston, but for now you can't hurt any more of them." I grab my bag and throw it over my shoulders.
I throw the lighter and watch for a quick moment as the trash ignites around him. The sight is so stunning that I would love to remain present until he is nothing but ash, but I can't risk it. I still have too much to do, so many more to punish.
A wave of dizziness overtakes me, forcing me to stumble, and darkness tries to crawl into my mind.
"No... not... yet," I groan, compelling my fracturing body away from the mouth of the alley.
I carefully step only in the deepest puddles, letting the pouring rain wash away the tread of my boots and disguise my retreating steps.
A sharp, white-hot pain tears through my skull, mimicking the heat of the fire behind me.
Nausea crawls up the back of my throat, threatening to overcome me, and a cold, slick sweat coats my limbs and back.
Still, I propel myself forward. "No... fuck... wait…"
I stagger through the dark passageway until I reach the shadows behind a dilapidated restaurant where my vehicle sits hidden.
My fingers tremble violently as I pry the door open and collapse into the driver's seat.
Pressing my forehead against the cold leather of the steering wheel, I force myself to take deep, calming breaths.
Some of the suffocating mental fog recedes, but the countdown has started.
It is only a matter of time before I completely lose control.
I need to get somewhere safe before the darkness claims me.
I cannot allow anything to stop this holy work.
Just as I shift into drive and begin to pull away, a sudden flash of bright white catches my glance in the rearview mirror. I slam on the brakes, my tires screeching softly against the wet asphalt. My eyes lock onto the reflection.
Large eyes stare back at me out of a complexion as bloodless as a ghost. The figure stands entirely in the dark, draped in all black from head to toe, crowned by the brightest, most striking white tresses I have ever seen.
Broad, cruel lips curve upward into an amused, sinister smile.
With agonizing slowness, he blows me a kiss and, in the blink of an eye, dissolves straight into the shadows as if he were never there.
What. The. Fuck.
Fuck, this is bad. I should get out and give chase.
I can't leave a witness. Just as I grab for the door handle, another wave of dizziness assails me, completely halting my momentum.
My heavy eyelids shut of their own volition, and I force them back open, biting down on the inside of my cheek until the sharp, metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.
The spike of pain acts like a lifeline, temporarily pushing the fog and the encroaching darkness away.
I'm almost out of time.
I force my gaze forward and slam on the gas, leaving the alleyway and blending into the rainy night. The distant sound of sirens spurs me forward, pumping adrenaline into my exhausted system. A terrifying question burns through my feverish mind: Who is hunting the hunter?
It looks like I'm not the only ghost wandering through the darkness. Whoever he is, he had better hide. He just became one of my targets.