Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet)
The Shadow¹
The screams of pain bouncing around the cement walls are getting a tad annoying.
Sometimes it svcks being the hacker and the enforcer. I really fvcking enjoy hurting people, but tonight, I have no goddàmn patience for this whiny @$$hole.
And normally, I have the patience of a saint.
I know how to wait for what I want most. But when I’m trying to get some real answers and the dude’s too busy shitting his pants and crying to give me a coherent response, I get a little testy.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
This knife is about to go halfway through your eyeball.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
I’m not even going to show you any mercy and shove it all the way through to your brain.
??
I told you that I just went to the warehouse a few times.
??
I don’t know anything about some fuckin’ ritual.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
So, you’re useless is what you’re saying.
I surmise, inching the blade towards his eye.
He squeezes them shut as if skin that’s no thicker than a centimeter is going to prevent the knife from going through his eye.
??
I know someone there that might be able to give you more information.
Sweat drips down his nose, mixing with the blood on his face. His overgrown greasy blonde hair is matted to his forehead and the back of his neck.
Guess it’s not actually blonde anymore since most of it’s painted red now.
I had already cut off one of his ears, along with ripping off ten of his fingernails, severed both Achilles heels, a couple of stab wounds in specific locations that won’t allow the fucker to bleed out too quickly, and too many broken bones to count.
Dí¢khead won’t be getting up and walking out of here, that’s for damn sure.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
Less crying, more talking.
I bark, scraping the tip of the knife against his still-closed eyelid.
He cringes away from the knife, tears bubbling out from beneath his lashes.
??
H-his name is Fernando. He’s one of the operation leaders in charge of sending out mules to help capture the girls.
??
He-he’s a big deal in the warehouse, b-basically runs the whole thing there.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
Fernando what?
??
He just introduced himself as Fernando.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
Then what does he look like?
I grind out impatiently through gritted teeth.
He sniffles, snot leaking down his chapped lips.
??
Mexican, bald, has a scar cutting across his hairline, and a beard.
??
You can’t miss the scar, it’s pretty fv¢ked looking.
I roll my neck, groaning as the muscles pop. It’s been a long fvcking day.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
Cool, thanks man.
I say casually, as if I haven’t been torturing him slowly for the past three hours.
His breathing calms, and he looks up at me through ugly brown eyes, hope radiating from them in spades.
??
Y-you’re letting me go?
He asks, staring up at me like a goddàmn stray puppy dog.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
If you can get up and walk.
He looks down at his severed heels, knowing just as well as I do if he stands, his body will go pitching forward.
??
Can you help me out here?
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
Yeah. I think I can do that.
I say, right before I swing my arm back and plunge the entirety of my knife through his pupil.
He dies instantly. Not even all the hope has vanished from his eyes yet. Or rather, his one eye.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
You’re a child rapist.
I say aloud, though he’s no longer capable of hearing me.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
Like I’d let you live.
I slide my knife from the socket, the suction noise threatening to ruin any dinner plans I had in the next several hours. Which is annoying cause I’m hungry.
While I do enjoy myself a good torture session, I’m definitely not a dí¢khead that gets off on the sounds that accompany it.
The gurgling, slurping, and other weird noises bodies make when enduring extreme pain and foreign objects being plunged into them is not a soundtrack I’d ever fall asleep to.
And now for the worst part—dismembering it into bits and pieces and disposing of them properly. I don’t trust other people to do it for me, so I’m stuck with a tedious, messy job.
I sigh. What is that saying? If you want it done right, do it yourself?
Well, in this case—if you don’t want to get caught and charged for murder, dispose of the body yourself.
It feels like ten o’clock at night, but it’s only five P.M. As fvcked as it is after dealing with human body parts, I’m in the mood for a mean àßß burger.
My favorite burger joint is right off of 3rd Avenue, and not too far from a drive from my house. Parking is a bítçh in Seattle, so I’m forced to park a few blocks away and walk there.
A storm is rolling in, and soon sheets of rain will be descending on our heads and shoulders like icepicks—typical Seattle weather.
I whistle an unnamed tune as I walk down the street, passing shops and an array of stores with people bustling in and out like a bunch of worker ants.
Ahead of me, there’s a bookstore lit up, the warm glow shining onto the cold, wet pavement and inviting passersby into its warmth. As I near, I notice it’s packed full of people.
I spare it a single glance before moving on. I don’t care about fiction books—I only read the ones that are going to teach me something. Particularly about computer science and hacking.
By now, there’s nothing those books can teach me anymore. I’ve mastered and then surpassed it.
As I’m turning my head to look at some other shit, my eyes get caught up on a board right outside the bookstore, a smiling face beaming back at me.
Without permission, my feet slow until they’re glued to the cement sidewalk. Someone bumps into me from behind, their smaller stature barely knocking me forward, but it does manage to jolt me out of the weird trance I fell into anyway.
I turn to glare at the enraged guy behind me, their mouth opening and gearing up to cuss me out, yet the second he gets one look at my scarred face—he takes off into a half-walk, half-run. I’d laugh if I weren’t so distracted.
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