And he’d meant it.
Telling the truth cost him a two-week suspension, and he’d been grounded at home for a solid month: no television, no Atari gaming system, no Friday pizza night, no Saturday matinees. And, eventually, after a second altercation with a different student—this one involving a pair of freshly sharpened scissors—the principal called him a monster and expelled him from the school. That was when he realized he didn’t value human life like others did.
He didn’t feel for people quite like others did.
He was sick, and he knew it. He was every bit the monster his principal claimed he was all those years ago.
SHE was the only living person who knew what he had done. But she didn’t even know the half of it. She only knew about two women several years ago, but there had been many more.
SHE’D loved and protected him but had also promised that if he ever did it again, it would be the last time.
SHE’D abandon him.
He shivered at the thought.
Feeling fine rivers of blood snake down his back, he blinked back angry tears and finally accepted that hunting the women wasn’t going to be enough anymore. He had tried. He really had.
The pain was just too much.
CHAPTER 27
SWEAT ROLLED DOWN the hollow of his back, its salt stinging his open wounds. His body felt like a big open sore.
He’d watched the house for a few hours earlier in the day and had seen the brunette come and go, each time without her son. Now certain that she was going to be alone for the night, he was going in.
He circled the house, watching for lights, movement.
No lights were on and everything was still. He easily gained entry through the back door, then closed it softly. His gloved hand tightening on the knife, he walked through the kitchen, to the living room, then down the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
His heart hammered inside his chest. He felt so utterly alive he almost couldn’t stand it. No drug in the world could ever mimic what this did for him.
He stopped to check the son’s bedroom and confirmed the bed was empty; then he headed to the laundry room and opened the breaker box. After flipping all the switches to the off position, he went to the front door, unlocked it, and eased it open a few inches.
Now . . . I am ready.
He moved back down the hall and assumed his place.
His blood flooded with the thrill of anticipation as he rapped hard on the wall outside of her bedroom door.
He quickly stepped into the room next to hers and listened in the darkness, hearing her stir on the other side of the wall. A few seconds later, she approached her bedroom door and flipped the light switch.
Nothing happened.
“Justin, was that you?” she called, her voice thick with sleep. “Justin? Baby, are you here?”
She swung the door open and walked down the hallway, her steps cautious, timid. He followed her, staying several paces behind. She poked her head in her son’s room and tried to switch his overhead light on. “Justin?”
But of course there was no answer. And no light.
“Shit,” she said, and proceeded to the living room and noticed the front door ajar and streetlight filtering in. “What the hell?”
She hesitated, staring at it for a moment. Then she hurried to the door and closed it. All was silent in the house except for the sound of the front door’s dead bolt being engaged, the chain lock being put into place, and the thundering of his heart.
As she hurried toward the hallway again, no doubt heading for her cell phone, he flipped his flashlight on and aimed the beam directly at her face.
For a quick second she looked stunned, her dark eyes wide. Then she gasped and ran for the hallway. Blinded by the bright light, she misjudged her path and banged into the coffee table. She shrieked, but he clamped a hand tightly against her mouth and lifted her off the ground.
She flailed and bit at his palm as he carried her into her bedroom, but he just smiled. She was no match for him. It was like a baby bird trying to fight a wolf. Besides, when hunting, his strength and pain tolerance both increased a hundredfold.
He threw her down on the bed and pinned her. Then he shone the light into her face again.
“Please, don’t,” she begged. She’d gone to bed with her mascara still on and it was sliding down her cheeks.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried.
He thought about the question and decided to tell her the truth. After what he was putting her through, she deserved it.
“Because nothing else makes me feel good.”
Her already wide eyes widened even more.
He shined the light on himself so she could see his face. “Do you recognize me?”
She hesitated, then drew in a shaky breath. “The supermarket.”
He smiled.
“I don’t understand. What did I do?”
His face hardened. “You were a bitch to me,” he said. “Then, you smiled.”
He turned the flashlight back on her and watched her sob.
“Please . . . I’ll do anything,” she sobbed.
But he didn’t want anything. He wanted this.
She became hysterical, her chest heaving in between long sobs. “Why me?” she pleaded.
His throat clenched and unclenched like a heart. “Because you’re exactly the type of woman I like doing this to. You like to hurt people, so I’m going to hurt you.”
The color drained from her face.
Raising the knife above his head, his body broke out in a cold sweat. He smiled at the woman. As the corners of his lips turned up, they also drew back from his teeth. In the heat of murder, he became something different.
He became something sick.
He became himself.
Everything else faded away as he watched the brunette go limp. He was lightheaded with pleasure, so calm he felt he was drifting into a trance.
He realized he could finally breathe freely.
The itch had finally been extinguished again.