Page 4 of Wicked Little Nightmare

The more she chattered on about what a gentleman Cam was and how smitten (who the fuck uses that word anymore?) she was with him, the more I itched to rip her face off. Only, I smiled and nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When she pointed to the street I was supposed to turn down to take her home, a frown fell over her face as I casually drove past it and kept going down to the valley just beyond the city.

“We’re going to watch the sunrise.”

She hadn’t even questioned it. Cam really knew how to pick ‘em, stupid and docile, and I don’t know if I hated or loved him for it. It made my job easier, but easy didn’t get me off like it used to. I wanted a challenge; I wanted a fight.

Parking at the top of the cliff, just outside the jurisdiction of our sleeping little town, I grabbed her a blanket from my saddlebag and told her to set it up, throwing her a couple bottles of water before grabbing my mask. Staring down at the beautiful criss-cross pattern across the eyes, and the bands of bright pink across the mouth, I smiled.

Ever since I’d watched the movie as a teen, I knew that this mask was the one that spoke to my soul. Cams was Ghostface, typical, but this one… in it’s bright pink and blue glory spoke to me on a primal level. It was beautiful. Terrifying.

I’d slipped it on and grabbed my karambits, my favorite little knives. The way they fit in my small hands, the curvature of the blade. No one ever saw them coming. They were clean, easy to maneuver in small space.

Quick.

Most killers wanted the big, hunting blades. The ones that left the most mess, with the biggest holes.

Or guns.

But I found guns uncouth. Impersonal.

If you’re going to kill a stranger, you need to look them in the eye and watch their life playing out in their final moments. It was my favorite part. Not for the demented reasons lesser psychos enjoyed it. Most people enjoyed watching people die, but I liked to see how people had lived.

It allowed me to see exactly who was behind the mask they wore everyday. Were they that confident person they pretended to be? Did they go fearlessly into the void? Had they achieved self-actualization, and could they genuinely leave this earth with the knowledge that they had accomplished enough?

As the light left their eyes, the answer was almost always no.

And since the answer was almost always no, then why were they wasting time fucking around with my man instead of figuring out who they were and what they wanted to accomplish?

Honestly, I was doing them– and the world, quite frankly– a favor. Anyone who wastes time to this degree doesn’t deserve to have it.

I digress and with a sigh, I began my ritual. Grabbing my travel bottle, I clicked open the lid. Sliding my hands across each other, I lathered with my favorite coconut and argan soap before rinsing off with a half empty bottle of water. I liked my hands being clean before I painted them red. This soap was the most moisturizing one I’ve found that didn’t also make me break out in hives. Of course, it was almost empty because Cam couldn’t seem to buy his own and kept using mine and not remembering to replace it.

Did he let her use it?

A fresh wave of anger flowed over me as I shook my head.

My mask was in place, my babies resting comfortably in my hands and my target sitting comfortably on the blanket, sipping her water. I slid in behind her, my knees resting on either side of her as I clicked the LEDs on, lighting my mask against the dawn, giving it a nice glow against the blonde of her hair.

“Cassidy? What-” She craned her neck backwards. She tried to squirm, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Shhhh. Just relax.” Of course, she couldn’t and that just sent her into a wave of panic. With a sigh, I brought my hands to her neck and with two swift movements, brought the knives down on the jugulars on each side of her neck. Just an inch on each one, holding her tightly against me, tipping her head upwards as the blood began to flow. Her panicked heart made it spurt much faster than I’d have liked, and the narrowing of her eyes spoke volumes. She wasn’t ready to die. Her arms came up, trying to clutch at my face, her hands weak attempts to grab at my shoulders, my hair, my mask.

“It’s okay, Dani… shhhh, it’s okay.” I petted her hair as I reassured her quietly. I don’t know why I had comforted heras she went. Normally I watched in silence, but something about the way her eyes held the image of fear was different to those who came before her. It was… strange. For a moment, I wondered if she saw me for what I truly was—or if she just saw herself reflected at her.

Not strange enough to cause me regret. But strange enough that I felt she deserved a moment of peace before she took her last breath and I dumped her body off the cliff and into the ocean, forever forgotten.

Dani’s fear wasn’t new; it was universal. They all looked the same when the truth hit them—that their lives meant nothing to me. To anyone. The irony? Neither did mine.

With a sigh, I gathered the blanket and put it in the metal drum and lit it on fire, along with the waterproof, lightweight jacket I had on and my pants, which were now destroyed. Socks and underwear too. My shoes would be bleached and washed. These were my favorites, and I cursed my lack of foresight at not wearing my grubbies.

Standing up, just as the sun rose, warming my skin, I stretched my arms to the sky with a deep breath. My back crackled and popped with the motion, relieving some tension. It was beautiful here. Probably my favorite place aside from next to Cam and watching the little girl.

Dressing in some random leggings that were in the bag, I checked my shirt to make sure it was clean before wiping my mask with baby wipes and putting it in my saddlebag along with my knives before closing it and heading to breakfast, checking in on my girl for an hour or so first.

The front door slammed shut just as I’d finished reminiscing, and a smile broke out on my face.

Oh, Cam was pissy, and I can’t wait for him to take it out on me. I turned off the shower and dried off just as I heard him tossing the keys on the counter.

“Laaaaakey.” He started whistling. “Ooooooh, Laaaakey.”

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