Page 23 of Slaying for Sloan

When I finally sever the hand from the wrist, I hold it up to the light. The severed hand dangles loosely from my grip, fingers splayed out like a grotesque offering to dear old daddy’s precious God who’s watching.

The hand is the perfect fucking gift.

It’s exactly what I needed.

“Thanks for the gift, dude,” I murmur, my voice low and dripping with satisfaction as I lift the severed hand higher, tilting it just so the moonlight catches the pale skin and crimson edges. It’s almost poetic, in a twisted, macabre way—a testament to what I’ve become, what I’ve always been.

This is it. The perfect offering, the ultimate declaration. Sloan, my sweet, naïve doe, will know exactly who it is from themoment she opens it. No more shadows. No more playing the “good son”. No more hiding behind a mask. After tonight, she’ll see me—really see me—for who I am.

And she’ll accept me. How could she not? After all, she’s been part of this game from the start. Every step, every move, every choice she made led her to this moment. To me.

The thought of her unwrapping the box sends a thrill through me. I can already picture her face—the way her eyes will widen, not in fear, but in understanding. She’ll finally see the truth. She’ll understand the lengths I’ve gone to for her, the sacrifices I’ve made. This is love, raw and unfiltered, stripped of pretense.

I chuckle, low and dark, running my thumb over the cold, lifeless fingers. “No more secrets, Sloan,” I whisper, almost to myself. “After tonight, there’s nothing to hide. You’ll know me—every piece of me. And you’ll love me for it.”

I stand, brushing the snow from my knees, and take a moment to admire the scene before me. The blood, dark and rich, already soaks into the ground, its crimson hue staining the pristine white snow like a grotesque work of art. The body lies there, lifeless and discarded, as though it had never mattered in the first place. Everything is exactly as it fucking should be.

But I’m not one to leave loose ends.

I bend down, grabbing the poor fuck’s phone with the video ofAlex, ending the recording before tucking it into my pocket. I pull Alex’s phone from my other pocket, and toss it to the crimson snow next to the body. After all, I have no use for it anymore and if the video evidence isn’t enough, finding my pathetic twin’s phone on the dead guy's body pretty much seals his conviction. Especially with him being MIA. People will just assume he ran. Took off to avoid a murder charge on top of his ungodly sins.

I reach for a nearby branch and sweep it across the blood-slicked snow, masking the worst of the carnage. Then,methodically, I start shoveling handfuls of fresh snow over the body, the icy cold numbing my fingers as I work. The snow piles up quickly, burying the lifeless form in a pristine white shroud. Layer by layer, I erase the evidence, entombing him beneath the wintry blanket until the ground looks undisturbed once more.

I step back, surveying my work. The scene now looks untouched, peaceful even with the freshly fallen snow.

Perfectly hidden, perfectly forgotten. Just like he deserves.

But there’s one last thing to do.

I glance toward the trail, knowing the gift shop isn’t far. My pulse quickens as I move, feet crunching against the snow with hurried steps. The cold bites at my face as I tuck the severed hands into my pockets, but I barely notice, too focused on getting this shit done and getting to the church.

When I reach it, the contrast is almost laughable. The gift shop glows warm and inviting, decked out with garlands and twinkling lights, as if mocking the horrors I just left a few steps away from their door. Inside, shelves are lined with bright ribbons, holiday trinkets, and neatly stacked boxes waiting to hold something special. Something unforgettable.

I tuck the ski mask into my back pocket before pushing open the door, the faint jingle of a bell breaking the eerie silence of the night. The air inside is warm and smells faintly of cinnamon. It’s offensively cheerful, but perfect. Just the place to find what I need to make this gift as memorable as possible.

“Evening, Alex. We’re just about to close,” an old woman calls from behind the counter, her voice weary but polite.

“No problem,” I reply smoothly, flashing a disarming smile. “I’ll be quick.” My tone is light, casual—nothing to draw attention, nothing to linger in her mind after I’m gone.

Warm light spills from the fake holiday candles spread out around the store, casting a golden glow on the small space.

I head straight for the display of gift boxes, the red and green foil paper shining obnoxiously under the twinkling lights. My eye catches on a shelf containing dark, sleek boxes.Perfect. I grab the biggest one and pair it with a spool of thick black ribbon sitting on the counter nearby.

Dropping both items onto the counter, I offer the old woman another easy smile as I fish a few bills from my pocket.

“Just these,” I say, sliding the money across.

She rings me up with a polite nod. “Merry Christmas, and say hi to your parents for me,” she offers with a faint smile, her voice tired but genuine.

“Right, of course. You, too,” I reply, my tone almost cheerful as I pick up the bag. “Have a great night.”

As I leave the shop, the bell jingling behind me, I can’t help but laugh. The thought of Sloan opening that box, her sweet doe eyes widening in horror when she sees the contents, is almost too much to bear. The image plays over and over in my mind, each time becoming more vivid, more real. She’ll get it. She’ll finally understand the lengths I’m willing to go to when it comes to protecting her,us.

I circle around to the side of the building, out of sight of any prying eyes. The cold bites at my skin, but it doesn’t bother me. This is where the real work begins. I crouch down under the dim light of a single bulb, the glow casting long shadows against the brick wall.

The hand fits perfectly inside the box, the severed wrist pressing against the bottom like it was made for it. I press the lid down, feeling the cold, slick surface of the skin as I arrange it just right. Satisfied, I grab the wide black ribbon I just bought. It’s shiny, it’s sleek, and it’s exactly what I need.

I wrap the ribbon around the box with meticulous care, tying it into a big, elaborate bow that’s just a little too perfect. The endresult is absurd, and that’s exactly why it’s so fitting. A festive façade for something far darker lurking inside.