Page 14 of Marked

Pathetic.

“I’m disappointed. It’s like you haven’t been paying attention at all.” I grab the rope ladder and drop it down the well. “Come on up and bring your toilet with you.” I keep the light shining on the hole as I step back.

Slowly, he makes his way up. The metal bucket clanks against the cement wall as he makes his ascent. I couldn’t have cared less if he shit himself while he was down there, but he’d let Jessica have it when he kept her locked up down there.

Once he scrambles to the floor of the barn, I turn on the set of painter’s lights, illuminating the area.

“Leave the bucket there. And go to the center.” I point to the table in the middle of the lights.

He looks over at the setup—he should be familiar with it—and blanches. For a second, I think he’s going to puke, but he composes himself.

“Look. I’m sorry. Please.” He bends over, pressing his hands into his knees and sucking air. His hair is matted to his head, filthy and sweating from his captivity. “I’ll confess. Please, just call the police.”

I stare at him. I can’t help it. There are levels of stupidity, and this man has reached every single one of them.

“Did you call the police when you had Jessica here?” I stalk toward him until he hurries his step to the table. He stops short of climbing on.

Panicked eyes meet mine.

“Oh god no.” He sobs, breaking down just like a little baby. I shouldn’t blame him. He’s just realized, finally, what’s about to happen to him. It’s a lot to take in, but really, this is on him. He should have known.

“Now, Dustin, we’ve repeated every step, haven’t we? Did you really think we wouldn’t play out the last bit?” I drop a manila folder on the surgical table, throwing it open and splaying out the photographs inside.

I jam my finger at the police report.

“Hogtied and left in trunk of a car. See, there’s the bruising from the tire iron you had her lying on.” I grab his head, forcing him to face the photograph of the ugly bruise on the poor girl’s side.

He sobs again, tries to pull away, but he’s been weakened by his ride in the trunk, and then two more days in the pit. He’s not going anywhere.

“Then an estimated forty-eight to seventy-two hours underground.” I point to the pictures of her broken fingernails.

Two of them had come clean off. Traces ofcement and dirt were found beneath what was left. I smack the back of his head, sending his forehead into the table.

“Look at the photos. Look at the cuts, the scrapes, look at the finger bruises you left on her thighs!” I punch him in the gut, making him fall to the ground with a grunt.

“I’m sorry. So sorry,” he sobs, rolling to his side and curling his knees up to his chin.

“I know you are.” I nod. “But it’s not enough. Nothing I do to you will be enough.” I grab hold of his hair, yanking him back to his feet. He’s a short man. Although he’s got an athletic build, there’s not much to him.

“An eye for an eye, Dustin.” I pull my knife from where I keep her holstered at my back. “Now, get on the table and lie on your fucking back.”

The dirt on his face runs off with his tears. His eyelashes are wet. Drool slips from his mouth, and snot runs from his nose.

He’s fucking repulsive. But it changes nothing.

He manages to get up on the table and lies back, his hands at his sides, and his eyes screwed shut. If he thinks the end is coming, he’s wrong. There’s still one more thing to do before I end him.

Before I drag my knife from his throat to his pelvis, just like he did to poor Jessica. A complete hack job, and it won’t be any prettier when I do it.

Seventeen years old. He stole her, he hurt her, he destroyed her, and then he killed her.

Death is too easy for him, but it’s all I can offer.

I flick his flaccid cock with the tip of my knife.

“Get to it.”

His eyes fly open. “W-what?” Confusion fills those beady little eyes of his.

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