Page 14 of Madness Blooms
I jog over to the side of the house, jump the fence, and set down the bag. I take out my matching black hooded coat, gloves, and my custom mask with a voice changer, affectionately caressing it. It’s white with a smiley face that I carved on it, and the shrouded eyeholes make it impossible to identify me. It resembles the mask worn by Cameron Cirillo during one of his sprees.I’ll make you proud, carry on your legacy.
Donning the mask, I’m neither Luke nor Damon.
I am what the filth of this world will soon learn to fear.
I pull up my hood, hide my bag in a bush, and circle to the back of the house. Peeking through the back door, I notice the only light in the kitchen is coming from the TV nearby in the living room. Carefully, I jiggle the knob and it turns, the door sliding open. I smile. Such a bad habit, leaving doors unlocked when there’s been a murder recently in the area.
I let myself inside. The place stinks like a college fraternity. Empty pizza boxes and Chinese takeout containers litter the table. Old soda cans clutter the counter, and dirty dishes are piled high in the sink. It all reeks of apathy, which is not surprising considering he’s a bachelor now. And a lazy one at that. His ex-wife Kimberly left him a few years ago after catching him assaulting a hapless girl trying to secure a job to feed her family.
Still doesn’t excuse turning your home into a landfill.
The shrill voice of the game show host filters in from the living room. I creep toward George, keeping my steps light. As I approach him from behind, the floorboards creak—and I freeze as he stirs. After he slumps back into his recliner, I slink closer, retrieving the knife from its sheath and raising it above his head, ready to strike. But before I can make my move, he suddenly turns around and screams.
I realize then I had not considered my reflection being caught on the TV screen. A rookie mistake.
George moves to escape, but the alcohol hampers him. I bring down my knife, stabbing him in the chest, right next to his heart. He falls to the ground, his face contorted in pain. I haul him up by his back collar and cover his mouth to muffle his cries as I drive the knife into his left thigh, disorienting him.
“Why did you have to wake up?” I ask, shaking my head in mock disappointment. “If you would have just stayed asleep, this all could have been over much faster.”
George groans behind my palm, but he eventually quiets down. I remove my hand—only for the fat fuck to start yelling again. I roll my eyes and resist the urge to slash his throat. Instead, I stab his other thigh, narrowly avoiding any major arteries.
“Listen, George,” I say, covering his mouth again as I push him back into the recliner. “If you don’t stop making a ruckus, I’m going to make things much more difficult for you. Understand?”
Tears spill down his blotchy cheeks as he nods, looking like he’s on the brink of wetting himself.
“Why are you doing this?!” he babbles, making a desperate attempt at staunching the flow of blood from one of his legs. “I haven’t done anything to you! I don’t even know you!”
I wipe my blade on his pants, smearing his blood on them. “I’m not here because of some personal vendetta, George. Youknowwhat you did.”
He coughs up blood, spattering it all over his grimy white shirt. The crimson liquid blooms like a flower, staining the material like a macabre art piece. George’s eyes flutter shut as his breathing grows increasingly shallow. I slap him, and he moans groggily.
“Is it revenge?” he mumbles. “Did Steven send you?”
I lift my brow curiously. Steven Jones is Kimberly’s new husband. “What are you talking about?”
He hacks up more blood. “I didn’t mean to touch Angie. But … I mean, the way she dresses.” He manages a weak smirk. “Those short skirts, that tight ass … Bitch had it coming.”
The mask hides my sneer as I put two-and-two together. So he molested Steven’s teenage daughter? Not at all shocking that a depraved sexual predator would retaliate against his ex by violating the dignity of an innocent underage girl. And I can’t help it—I laugh sardonically. “Oh, that is so incredibly fucked up.”
“She felt good, though. Her pussy fit like a?—”
I run my blade across his throat before he can finish his deranged bragging. “Miserable piece of shit,” I mutter, kicking him off the recliner. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out but wet gurgles. “I may be a murderer. But people like you, George,” I begin, standing over him, “you destroy lives—and let them live to suffer. You’re more of a monster than I could ever be.”
Blood pools at my feet as the spurting slows. George’s eyes glaze over as his wretched soul departs his body. Once his light entirely fades, I leave the same way I entered. I strip off my killer garb, grab my bag from the bush, and deposit my things inside before returning to my car. As I start the engine and turn on the radio, I decide on a change of plans.
I think I’ll take a littledetourtonight.
Chapter
Seven
HER
Ikept it together until Luke dropped me off.
The alcohol may have dulled the thrill of getting eaten out in public, but nothing could fully extinguish the giddiness of his affection—except maybe the bile that rises in my throat the moment I step into the foyer.
Sprinting to the first-floor bathroom, I throw my bag against the tub before vomiting into the toilet. I’m thankful that Austin left the lid up for once. A groan escapes me, the burning acid in my esophagus intensifying as my stomach violently empties. I rub my abdomen to soothe myself, remembering how Dad did when I got food poisoning at some crappy restaurant on the way to Disneyland. Back when we lived in California.