Page 97 of Guarded By the Phantom

When he closed his eyes, his mumbling growing faster while sweat poured down his face, I sighed.

“Man, I’m just trying to have a conversation here. Did I or did I not give you a fair warning?”

He opened his eyes, without the glow this time, and nodded frantically. I grinned.

“Yeah. Let’s see now.”

I crouched by his feet. He realized what I was about to do and tried to jerk his foot away, but I caught it fast. When he tried to kick me with the other, I sighed, slid nearer, and grabbed his leg. Catching his ankle and knee, I brought his calf down over my knee hard, like snapping a branch.

His shin bone broke in two. He howled.

“That will teach you to kick me,” I said pleasantly, grabbing his other foot again. “Now, what was it? Ah, pins. While I do that, let me tell you why you’re here.”

I carefully slid the first pin under his filthy big toenail. He cried out in pain, shaking. He stood no chance. There he was, sitting in his filth, and I knew I’d kill him tonight and leave him buried here forever, but for now, I would enjoy myself.

It took me over a fucking year to find him, every day of that year snapping tighter and tighter with urgency. That time was heaven, because my doll was with me, loving me and smiling at me every day. And it was hell, too.

Every day I was more and more aware that the person who threatened her walked free. That awareness was like a cancer, burning through my happiness and waking me up at night. Nat tried to talk me through it, using logical arguments.

He got paid to hurt her. The real perpetrators, meaning her mother and Ernest Ladnizza, were in jail. They couldn’t hurt her anymore. The mind manipulator had moved on. He wouldn’t hurt Barbara again.

That session had been profoundly unsuccessful, which Nat had expected. The nature of my survival instincts meant that they were irreversible. Once I locked in on a target to kill, it was over. Either they died or I did.

“You hurt my girl,” I growled, looking at the pathetic rakshasa man who howled in pain as I stuck another pin under his nail, his face wet with tears and snot. “And I’m not built for forgiveness, my friend. I am built for vengeance.”

Nat knew I was here, and he promised to keep his mouth shut. Now, I was grateful for all the times my baby forced me to get him gifts or invited him over, but I also knew he would have been loyal without it. My doctor and friend understood on a deep level how big of a gift my trust was.

He was theonlyperson who knew. My doll thought I was with him tonight, and he was my cover. I would lie to her about it, lie shamelessly, because I knew she wouldn’t be able to handle the truth of why I killed this man.

It’s all for my doll.

She was the reason for his death, and I would hide it from her until we both lay down in a marital grave, buried side by side for eternity.

“That’s all your toes,” I said after I was done, three pins stuck under each nail. “What should we do next? I brought lots of toys.”

His eyes rolled, his head lolling against the pole. He was close to losing consciousness. I considered briefly whether to give him a shot that would force him to stay awake for long hours of torture and finally decided against it. Instead, I cut the tiesaround his wrists, securing much looser ones in place. Now his blood flowed unobstructed into the necrotic areas.

I brought out my historical romance novel featuring a lord and a sassy governess, and read, waiting to see what happened.

But I barely got through a paragraph when the mind manipulator whined in pain. He shifted, trying to move his arms. Then, he whimpered. And then, he screamed.

I put my book away with a sigh, watching as he writhed in agony. I had thought it would bring me peace to see him tortured after he’d caused my sweetheart so much suffering, but his screams quickly got boring.

“Oh, do shut up,” I said finally, putting a bullet through his skull.

And that was that.

I packed my shit and doused the area in bleach, though I doubted anyone would ever find this little bunker. I went out, breathing in the clean night air of the forest in fall. It was cool, and it woke me up, lending me the strength I needed to haste back home.

My bike was parked a long trek away from the bunker, and I walked with pleasure, lightness suffusing my bones. Because that mind manipulator was the last one. I’d dealt with Ernest Landizza and his son, Adonis, a month ago. Both ingested poison, Ernest in prison, Adonis in a hotel.

And since my doll still cared somewhat about her parents, I left them alone. Clarissa was harmless in jail, anyway. I sent her letters every month, just to piss her off. They contained clippings from magazines with my and her daughter’s photos, showing off our unconventional lifestyle.

Barbara’s father was free, his career having survived the ordeal. He sent her a handsome check every month, which allowed me to leave the MSA. Fatima visited us sometimes,bemoaning the fact I was gone but never pressing hard for me to return.

I had a permanent assignment, though, and no space left for anything else. My doll, who attended college, danced modern jazz, and volunteered in a cat shelter, was not only my wife but also my principal.

She would remain it for life. I was her servant, her protector, her lover, and everything else she needed me to be. Taking care of her fulfilled me like nothing else ever had.

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