The Executioner

Hundred and Eight

He took a deep breath before studying the photographs taped to the brick wall inside the candlelit basement room. The faces that stared back at him each had their own different history – told their own different story. A wave of excitement rushed through his body at the thought of what he’d already accomplished and what was still to come.

‘It won’t be long now.’ He smiled before running his tongue over his cracked lips. ‘Five are gone; only two more to go.’ He consulted the large calendar hanging from a rusty nail. ‘Plenty of time to achieve it.’

His eyes rested on the sketches and plans on the oversized metal table and he laughed. He’d decided to leave the best for last. He knew exactly what scared them to death – one was petrified of spiders and the other of rats. That knowledge filled him with a mind-boggling feeling of power. What he had in store for them was a masterpiece – a whole new dimension of panic and pain. He couldn’t wait to be face to face with them. To see the fear in their eyes. To taste their blood. To make them suffer. But he knew the importance of being patient.

He opened the miniature fridge at the corner of the room, and carefully ran his fingers over the small glass vial of blood he’d extracted from his last victim.

So far everything had gone to plan, but something unexpected had come into play. He glared at the photograph on the front page of the LA Times. This was something he could’ve never foreseen. But this was also something he could easily deal with. Nothing and nobody would keep him from achieving his goal.