Page 20 of The Devil and I
My thoughts are dark as I enter the garage, duffle bag in hand, wandering past my police cruiser and over to my secondary vehicle: an unassuming black sedan. The license plates are blacked out, but the police scanner inside the vehicle will help me dodge the cops and avoid being pulled over. It also means I won't be identified on any traffic cameras as I travel through the city.
I pop the trunk of the sleek black car to make sure it's empty, before heading for the passenger side door to deposit my bag in the foot well. While I'm there, I pull free a few small black boxes and pop them open to check the contents. My fingertips glide across the smooth, cool vials of various sedatives and drugs. Certain that I have all that I'll need tonight, I tuck the boxes back under the seat and close the door behind me.
My mind roams back to Rayna while I walk back over to the driver's side of my car. The image of her naked in my bed helps to soothe the black rage sitting in the pit of my stomach. I finally get to destroy the man that made her want to end her life, and that realization comes with a myriad of severe emotions.
I pop open the back door and pull free a smaller duffle bag, setting it on the seat so I can easily pull my planned attire from its depths. Pulling my sweat pants off my hips, I toss them into the corner of the garage and get myself dressed. Black cargo pants, a black tee beneath a black hoodie, and a heavy pair of tactical boots. The last two pieces, black leather gloves and a balaclava, get tucked into the front pockets of my pants.
With my body now wrapped in shadowy material, I get into the car and start it up. As the whisper-quiet garage door opens, I shoot one last glance towards the door that leads back inside the house. I'm going to miss her tonight, but I'm doing what needs to be done. I'll do whatever it takes to punish the fucker that haunts her dreams at night. He may be a monster, but I'm far bigger and badder than he could ever dream to be.
The drive to Toronto is long, taking me down nearly empty roads that wind through the massive forest. One of the benefits to living so far out is that I have plenty of time to get my head in the game before I reach the nightclub Mark likes to frequent.
It didn't take long for me to figure out this man's habits once I got a hold of his social media accounts. He is one of those people that posts a ton of photos with his buddies and constantly tags locations.
Everyone thinks doing so is harmless, but that is far from the truth. All it takes is capturing the attention of one psychopath, and suddenly a dangerous individual figures out all of your routines.
The illusion of safety he lives with means that I know exactly where he likes to spend his Friday nights. Club Medusa lets women in for free on Fridays, which is likely the reason Mark coaxed his sleazy friends to go out tonight. He made a post about it last night, tagging his buddies and asking if anyone wanted to come with him. The idiot made it so damn easy for me to find him.
Time passes unusually fast on the drive into Toronto, and before I know it I am pulling onto highway 401 West. My car's built in GPS makes quick work of the intricate concrete jungle, taking me directly to the nightclub's surrounding streets. Thankfully, these places are notorious for being tucked in between long alleyways.
Toronto is an impressively dense city, with plenty of dark places to move around unseen. For someone like me, it's easy to hunt here. I've been working these streets as a cop for years, and that meant I knew the underbelly of this city like the back of my hand. That was great for me, and bad for whoever had the misfortune of becoming my target. Nobody knew noble, quiet, hard-working Officer Black doubled as a psychopath.
I drive in and out of the streets surrounding the club as I survey the area, choosing to park along a dead one-way street separated from the club by a chain-link fence. The club has its own underground parking, which leaves the streets outside of it relatively empty for me.
I pull up into a space beneath a broken streetlight, close enough to the club that moving between these two spaces will be pretty damn easy for me.
Before I can find an appropriate vantage point somewhere outside of the club, I'll need to make a hole in that chain-link fence so I can pass through it. I pull out the leather gloves I stuffed into one of my pockets and then slide them onto my hands. Twisting in my seat, I grab a pair of bolt cutters from the footwell behind me.
There are a lot of elderly individuals living in this neighbourhood, and that means you don't see a lot of foot traffic along this tiny one-way street. It's dark, it's quiet, and there's nobody here to watch me alter the environment to suit my needs.
With my tool in hand, I exit the vehicle and jog quietly over to the fence. My eyes scan the area to make sure no one is watching before I lean in and begin cutting away at the fencing. Once the hole is big enough to accommodate myself and the package I'll be transporting, I jog back to my car to drop off the bolt cutters so I can grab my duffle bag.
I quietly close the car door and leave the trunk ajar as I head through the hole I just created, walking along the wall of the building towards the back door to the club. The building itself is the largest on the block. It is old, and looking a little worse for the wear. Club owners in Toronto love when their business looks rough on the outside, but sophisticated or wild on the inside.
There are multiple industrial-sized garbage disposal units sprawled along the wall of the building, scattered haphazardly underneath several dim light fixtures. A few of the lights are shattered, casting dark zones between the poorly lit spaces leading up to the back door of the club. I choose the closest lightless area and position myself behind one of the beat up dumpsters. I get into position, my eyes trained on the door as a few smokers filter in and out.
I release a deep, slow breath to steady myself. I let the threads of humanity that hold me together fall away, letting my darker self rise to the forefront, unhindered by the things I use to appear normal to everyone around me. My shoulders tense as the input of adrenaline and excitement fire me up, so I roll them until the tension bleeds away. A calmness settles over me, allowing my mind to remain clear in preparation for tonight's endeavor.
Once my breathing is deep and steady, I move to take a step towards the back door of the club. I'll step inside, walk along the perimeter and figure out where the motherfucker is hanging out. Once I see him move towards an exit, I'll get out there first. I know Mark is a heavy smoker, so it's only a matter of time before he steps out for a break.
Before I can completely step out from the darkness of my chosen vantage point, the back door swings open and two male voices rise excitedly just above the chaotic blast of music pouring outside from within the walls of the club.
I take a step back, my heart suddenly hammering violently behind the cage of my chest. Am I seeing what I think I am? Did the universe really just dump this sorry sack of shit at my feet like a sacrifice to the devil?
Mark stumbles outside, swaying on his feet as he and his buddy stomp down the short stair case into the alleyway beyond. His friend cackles like a lunatic, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and popping it between his lips.
“Aw, fuck, dude. I got this bitch in the bag. She's coming home with me,” Mark's friend slurs his speech, lighting his cigarette and shuffling down in the opposite direction from where I am standing. His mop of long, messy brown hair is greasy, and he nearly sets it on fire, trying to re-light his already lit stick.
“Fuck yeah, man. If Kelly doesn't put out, I'm gonna have to slip her a lil' somethin', somethin'. You catch me?” Mark's laughter makes me cringe, his heavily slurred speech proving him to be just as wasted as his idiot friend is. My eyes narrow at the commentary between them, feeding the slow boil of rage simmering in my gut.
This motherfucker is dressed in dirty jeans and a dark graphic tee, acting exactly as one would expect a rapist to act. Arrogant, sloppy, and clearly fucking moronic. The only reason he got away with it is because Rayna was too busy trying to recover from her injuries to deal with him in court.
Unlike Mark, I'm a calculated monster. I come prepared, I leave no witnesses, and I don't get caught. I'm a talented monster, and that affords me the opportunity to react to the obvious gift the universe has bestowed upon me tonight.
As the guys discuss taking advantage of the women inside, I lean down and quietly pull what I need from my bag. Two syringes, both yellow in hue, get tucked into my back pocket. I pull a third syringe out and pop the cap, pulling back on the plunger, and sucking an air bubble into the barrel. Replacing the cap, I tuck the syringe of blue fluid into my opposite pocket.
One of these men will die here in the alleyway from an arterial air embolism, and the other will be knocked unconscious for transport.
With my syringes in place, I tug the balaclava from the front pocket of my pants and slip it on. With nothing but my eyes and mouth exposed, I'm ready to pick these men off one at a time. I reach down for one more thing I'll need, tucking it into the front pocket of the hoodie masking my upper body. I've got one eye fixed on the backdoor as I watch Mark and his friend move deeper into the alley between the club and the abandoned warehouse next to it.
