Page 31 of No, For An Answer
“I can-”
She tries to continue talking but I cut her off again. “Maisy was the only part of me that was good. The single most precious thing in my life and you,” my voice cracks, the burn at the back of my throat runs up to my nose. “You took her from me. So now I’m taking something from the ones that love you. Now, I’m going to ruin their life like you ruined mine.” A twig snaps behind me and I freeze, pivoting on my heel ever so slowly as my eyes rake over the figure dressed head to toe in black.
“Well, well, well,” he claps. “Look who’s more like me than I initially thought.” He rolls his arm in a circle in front of him and takes a bow.
“Casanova?” I breathe. I don’t really know if it’s him, his face is covered.
“God, I fucking hate that shit,” he groans, taking a few steps forward.
“So, what should I call you?” What the fuck am I doing engaging with him? This is the guy who’s been killing women everywhere and I’m just, what, engaging in conversation with a serial killer. Maisy’s death really did fuck me up, huh? He takes another step forward and I aim the knife at him. “Uh, uh.” I shake my head from side to side. “Don’t.”
He holds his hands up in surrender, stopping immediately. “Ok,” he says. “You can call me The Shadow, I guess.”
“Bit shit, really,” I shrug, screwing my face up in disgust.
“You think?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I shrug again. “Are you planning to kill me?”
“At some point, yes. But right now, I’m really enjoying this if I’m honest.” His deep American accent is one I can’t seem to place. His black eyes stare into me from a distance and I’m honestly transfixed by them.
“Do I get to kill her first?” I nod my head back slightly towards Fran.
“Do you… What?” He looks at me, shock at my statement lacing his face. Fran continues to sob and scream for help behind me.
I groan at the sound because I genuinely can’t believe that: A, I’m standing toe to toe with a fucking serial killer; and B, that I’m actually about to kill Fran. He barks out a laugh and claps.
“You, my love, can do anything you want to right now, as long as I get to watch.” I tip my head to the side. Do I need to mull thisover at all? I mean, he’s here right now and either way I’m dead, so I may as well get one kill off before I am.
“Fine by me,” I shrug. Turning back to face, Fran. I look at her as she hangs there perfectly still, watching the exchange between us, clearly confused. I’m really taking a chance turning my back to a serial killer, but I guess if I die now, at least I’m taking one of them with me.
“Sorry, Fran but I guess our time together has been cut short.” I remove the mask from my face and her eyes widen in shock, I brush a few stray strands of hair from my face and smile.
“Ashley?” My name comes out as little more than a whisper.
“What does it feel like, knowing I’m the last thing you’ll ever see?” Tilting my head, my smile now a crazy grin.
“No, no, no wait please-” I cut her pleading off with the first piercing of the knife in her chest. She freezes, looking into my eyes. The knife is lodged in there pretty deep, and I struggle at first to pull the knife out. I see a leather gloved hand in my peripheral and yank one more time. Removing it from her chest plate. Laughing as the blood spurts everywhere, hitting my face, hands, and chest.
The serrated edge of the hunting knife piercing Fran’s skin as I rain down blows to her chest, has me smiling from ear to ear.
“This is for every time you broke her!” I scream. Pounding into her chest the same way a hammer hits a nail. The sounds of her screams mingled with my heavy panting as I continue to destroy her body. She deserves it, she deserves every ounce of pain that this fucking knife, that I, am giving her.
I hope in her final moments, she’s using what’s left of that pathetic brain to think about all the awful things she’s done. About all the time she wasted being a vomit inducing, disgusting human being.
I hope that when she takes her final breath on this earth, Maisy pops into her mind. I’ve never been happier knowing that the last emotion Fran felt, was fear.
Because she deserved it.
She deserved it all.
Each time the hunting knife pierces her skin, her screams of pain become less and less until the only sound is that of my panting and crying.
Why the fuck am I crying?
I’m holding onto the knife that’s still lodged into her sternum. Her head now limp, and her chest is covered in knife marks, blood pouring from each wound. Turning her once white jeans crimson. A hand encases my wrist and I snatch it back, but his grip is too harsh.
“Get off me!”
