Song: Killing Another by The Cure

"Let the torture and suffering in me end."—Ronald Gene Simmons

As I placed her body on the table, the towel I had wrapped around her came loose. However, I did not care. Actually, I liked it. There was this kind of fear that grips a person when they wake up to find themselves naked. Moreover, I wanted her feeling every kind of fear possible to man. I wanted her crying, begging, and thrashing around like a chicken about to be slaughtered. Above all, I wanted her to die an excruciating death.

I wished I could send her to hell, to dwell in the bosom of the devil, and to be tortured by his demons. To you this might sound hypocritical of me, considering I kill people. However, abuse of a child is on a different level. Ninety percent of the time, children that turn out to be killers, thieves, and every other kind of criminal out there is as a result of childhood abuse, either physical, emotional, or whatever floats your boat.

Her fair facial features called unto me. Judging by her looks, one would think she was not capable of hurting a fly. Nevertheless, behind that wall of beauty sat a soul trapped in an abyss with no possibility of coming out.

My mind wandered back to the activities that occurred earlier and I realized that I had written a letter. Do I have a thing for letters? Because here I am, writing this letter to the media. If I include all the other letters I have written to the media, the letter I made my second victim write and the one I left for the boy's parents, that would be many letters.

The only thing that occurred to me was that I enjoyed writing and it was a way of riding the demons in my head. Then it dawned on me that the act that seemed honorable wasn't as it seemed. It was never about confessing or about wanting to be caught. It was about freeing myself. I gave a voice to the demons thinking they would leave me be. Instead, they made my mind their dwelling place. That is the reason I keep killing. I need them to shut up.

On the bright side, I realized my humanity remained. To an extent at least. My soul had not been consumed by the demons. That is why I kill bad people. The first victim was an impulse kill. Like a hungry lion sighting a deer not knowing it was a trap set by poachers. However, in my case, my impulses did not drive me into carelessness. One could say that two personalities dwelled within me. One driven by the demons and the other driven by the human. However, this two personalities overtime have learned to co-habit and satisfy the other's desires. The desire to kill and the desire to help children.

What does this make me? A killer with a soul or a human with no soul?

Her gentle moans dragged me out of my thoughts. I stayed silent, watching and waiting for her reactions. The rope I tied around her would hold her in place. She wouldn't be able to escape.

As she awoke, she asked the question that I was tired of hearing, but, still, every time I heard it, it sounded like music to my ears.

"Where am I?" Her eyes scanned the room. Then she tried moving. "Why am I tied?"

"Because I wanted to," I said as I approached her.

Her mouth hung open for a few seconds. "Huh? Who are you?"

"Guess."

"Some psycho who preys on innocent people?" she said but it sounded like a question.

I shrugged. "Well, you got the psycho part right. However, the part about you being innocent is a big fat lie."

She adjusted in a bit to loosen the rope. "Please let me go. I haven't done anything to you."

A grin spread across my face. "Hmm, I like you. I haven't even started with you and you are already begging."

"Please whatever you think I did to you, it was a mistake," she said as she tried to get free.

"Oh no! You didn't do anything to me. Just the innocent boy you have been molesting. Lord knows how many more are out there."

She stopped moving. "Those brats are the reason I'm here? What are you? Avenger of the molested?"

My fists clenched. "So, I was right. There are more out there. I want their names. They will need serious counseling to get over what you have done to them."

"Like hell I will give you their names. I'd rather die than let you help those brats that think because their parents are rich they have the right to turn me into their slaves."

I shrugged. "Fine by me. I gave you an option of the easy way out, but you chose the hard way. Either way, you will give me those names before I kill you. Are you sure you don't want to change your mind?"

"Go to hell!" She spat at me.

"I'm already doomed for hell," I said without care.

"How do you think you will make me give you the names?" she asked.

"Like this." I snapped the pinky of her left hand. Her screams filled the room overshadowing the sound of bone cracking. "One down, nine more to go. You can still change your mind."

"Like hell. I am going to die, either way."

I shook my head. "Such a shame that you are loyal to a wrong cause." I snapped her left ring finger. She didn't scream, though. Instead, she pursed her lips so tight. Sweat trickled down her face. Sweat covered her body. If she were clothed, her clothes would be drenched.

She breathed heavily. "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of hearing my screams."

I broke the left middle finger. Her teeth dug into her lips, drawing blood. "Just give me the names. Jeez, it's not like I'm asking you to sell government secrets and betray your country."

She shook her head. "Never."

Merely breaking her fingers was not doing anything. So I decided on a different approach. I walked over to my toolbox.

"Where are you going? Tired already?" She sneered.

"To get this." I raised a hammer so she could see it.

Her eyes widened. "What is that for?"

"To break your fingers of course."

The light in her eyes dimmed. Fear became apparent. Then she began to struggle to free herself. "Please, I will talk," she cried out.

I rolled my eyes. "Too late. You had your chance. Now, you will talk, either way." I slammed the hammer over her left index finger. Blood mixed with flesh and bone splattered over the table surface.

She screamed out and sobbed. "Please..."

I ignored her and struck her left thumb. Her screams filled me with joy.

"Okay, let's take a break so I can write the names. Don't lie to me. It will do you no good." I went upstairs to fetch a piece of paper and pen. When I came back, I said, "Start talking."

Ten minutes later, I had the names of twenty children, male and female, that she had molested.

When we were done she asked, "What now?"

"We continue from where we stopped."

She blinked several times. "What?" she croaked.

"You didn't think after all your vices that you will die a painless death, did you?"

I spread out her right hand and hit her fingers without stopping until they were all broken and bleeding. Her screams filled the room, but I paid her no heed.

After that, I spread her legs apart and began mutilating her private part. She screamed and cried as she bled out.

"This part that brings you pleasure when you molest kids will be the death of you," I said. Although, I don't think she heard me because she was screaming and crying. Her screams had reduced, though. She had become weak due to blood loss.

When I was satisfied with cutting her, I stopped, leaving her to die by exsanguination. I watched as her screams turned to moans. Her eyes pleaded with me to help her. But, it was too late. Time had run out. Her head slumped to the side. Her eyes wide open, staring into my soul. Death had claimed her as his own.

"We do in all honesty hate this world."—Marshall Applewhite

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