"THE DEAD KNOW ONLY ONE THING: IT IS BETTER TO BE ALIVE."
"DING DING" went the glass as my nails tapped on it. I swivelled on the chair in the torture room—a room in Omari's house that I had designed specifically for my victims.
That's right, I wasn't just going to kill and send them to hell. Where's the fun in that?
I had promised myself sweet revenge—the kind where I make them suffer till they draw their last breath, and then I enjoy knowing that even in death, they'd enjoy no peace till the end of eternity.
The room was a little wide. The walls were painted the colour of blood, and the floor made of marble. On the walls were torture weapons of various types, hung and waiting to be used. A single dangling bulb at the center of the room lit the space, causing shadowy corners in the room. Where I sat, watching.
And my first victim was strapped up on the surgical table at the center of the room. Mr. Anderson. I was sending the bastard to hell today—as soon as he woke up.
"You sure the man isn't dead?"
I asked Omari, who stood behind me wiping a blunt blade with a small cloth.
"Since when does the dead breathe?" I heard him say. "That motherfucker is sleeping."
"Oh really? Well, you know the tale—Sleeping Beauty needs a kiss," I said as I stood up and walked over to the bed. My fingers trailed from his feet slowly upward as I walked to his face. My fingers went to his neck, and I brought my face closer to his.
His eyes flew open and locked with mine as he stared at me in shock.
"Oh, you're no fun!" I let out an exaggerated cry. "I was just about to kiss you."
His eyes darted about the room, and his shock skyrocketed.
"Where am I? Who the hell are you? What do you want with me?" he asked, noticing the straps binding his limbs and torso, alarm evident in his voice.
I inhaled sharply.
"Oh, how I love the smell of fear," I said with a smile, my hands unbuttoning his shirt.
"Take your hands off me, woman!" he said, struggling to free himself from the leather straps. "Fear, you said? Ha! Wait till I'm out of here. I'm reporting you and your voodoo chamber to the authorities!"
I smirked. I was enjoying the fear laced in his threats.
"You know what?" he continued, "I don't even need the authorities for shit. As soon as I'm out of this bed, I'll make you suck my fucking dick, you little bitch! I'll tie you to this bed while I use every single weapon in this room to plant signature marks on your body, and you'll be my goddamn sex toy till you breathe your fucking last!"
My hysterical laugh echoed in the room, causing the small man to shrink even more into the bed.
"For such a petite person, you sure use words that carry more weight than your body," I said, amused. "You know, at first I was indecisive about using this bed for my very first victim—you. You see, it's really expensive, and I was going to strap you on the torture chair and save the best for last… however, I'm glad I chose this. It's my very first operation, and I should have a little fun, don't you think?"
I stretched out my wrist to the side expectantly, and Omari stepped out of the shadows and placed the blade in my hand. He walked to the top of the bed, bent a little closer,
"Have fun in hell," he whispered, then walked back into the shadows.
I chuckled at Omari's words and then showed the blade to Mr. Anderson.
"This is a blunt knife," I said. "Why is the dullness important? Because this is your customized torture tool. Look, it even has your name on it."
I brought the hilt closer to his face. On the smooth wooden handle, Omari had carved the words 'abusive cunt.'
"Also, I figured using a sharp knife would be too merciful for you. With a dull blade, you'd feel every second of it cutting through your body."
Panic filled his eyes, and sweat covered his body as he began to tremble heavily.
I was pretty certain he was at the verge of peeing his pants.
"Is this about what you saw earlier? Did my wife put you up to this? Fine—how much did she offer you? I'll pay double."
I paused and looked at him with a serious expression.
"You would?" I asked.
"Yes! Of course! In fact, I can give you four times what she promised!"
I smiled softly.
"Well, if that's the case, let's get you out of this bed then," I said and moved to one of the straps on his leg.
"Thank you, thank you, you won't regret it—"
Then a soul-biting cry filled the room.
Instead of cutting the strap, my knife went through his ankle, cutting deep into his bones.
"Ugh, this is hard work," I said, tossing the blade aside. "Omari, get me a blunt axe instead."
Mr. Anderson's screams grew.
I grabbed a napkin from a table nearby to clean the blood on my nails.
"Can you stop bleeding so much? You're going to die, and I'm not done yet."
"Why are you doing this? What do you want?" he said, crying in pain.
"I'm sure by now you've figured out that your money isn't getting you out of this. It was never about money to begin with," I said.
"Then what is it about? Justice?" he spat out. "You think you're some hero sent to defend the weak and abused?"
I chuckled at his tone more than his words. He knew he wasn't getting out of this, no matter how much he begged, so the best option was to lash out, right?
"You really think this is just about your wife and kid, huh?" I said, collecting the small axe from Omari. "If it was, we wouldn't be here. I would have just killed you immediately—or even worse, amputated you so you never raise a hand on your wife again. But no, darling, the reason you're on this bed is way more than that. The reason I'll make sure you beg for death exceeds your abuse."
"Then what else is the reason? What in the world did I do to deserve such cruelty?"
I took the small axe close to his open wound, causing him to whimper.
"The reason you're here is because while strangling you, my eyes caught sight of something on the wall—a frame. You were there… and so were the rest of the fucking Yosemites!"
I raised the axe and brought it down with force, causing his foot to fall off the table.
An ear-piercing cry followed.