Page 58 of Beneath Her Skin

So close. I was so damn close to all this being over, to there being no more victims, to the streets of my city being safer once again. My heart practically leaped in my throat, and my arms shook as I further closed the gap, and then?—

A shrill scream split the otherwise-quiet night, the distinct scream of a woman in distress. Instantly, I froze in my tracks, goosebumps peppering my flesh. Because that scream was close, too close for comfort. Whoever was causing the woman to scream wasnotThe Hooded Killer in front of me, which meant there was someone else. Another man who deserved to have his balls flayed alive.

I blinked. The Hooded Killer didn’t even seem to react to the woman’s screams, which caused my stomach to churn.Of course he wouldn’t. A woman in distress means nothing to him. It probablyexciteshim even, the sick fuck.

I was torn. On one hand, I could continue to go after the hooded figure and end his tirade of torture and misery, but on the other, there was very obviously a woman being harmed that needed help right now.

I know what I have to do.

I swung my blowtorch at the Hooded Killer’s head, hoping to knock him out so I could come back for him once I was done taking care of the other threat. Yet, the dude was fast as he quickened his pace, and my weapon sliced through empty air.Fuck!The gap between us was widening, but I didn’t have time to chase after him. With one last scathing look in his direction, I tore out of the alleyway and towards where the scream had come from, leaving behind the Hooded Killer, uncaring if he heard meor not. I would be back on his trail some other night, and then, I would be able to subject him to the fate he deserved. My only thought now was reaching the woman before significant harm came to her. The scream hadn’t sounded particularly far away, so I knew it was only a matter of time before I reached her, but when I finally did, nothing but pure rage coursed through my veins.

The woman was unconscious, her head sporting a nasty gash, and towering over her with what appeared to be her purse clutched in his grubby little hands was a tall man. His back was to me, the only features I could identify in the dim light the pale skin of his hands and a mop of curly, brown hair.A mugging,I quickly realized, but even with that, the man did not seem to be in much of a hurry to leave.

Fine by me.

I stepped out of the shadows, scraping my feet against the pavement. The man stiffened at the sound, and a sense of giddiness washed over me at what I was about to do. It was clear he hadn’t expected anyone else to be there, and as he whirled around, his facial expression dropped, confusion soon giving way to annoyance and then anger. It wasalwaysanger with these men, at least until they realized what I was capable of.

And then, because I couldn’t help it, I cackled like the Wicked Witch of the West, which caused his confusion to return. “Aw, you men are so priceless!” I gushed, brandishing my blowtorch so he could clearly see what I was carrying.

The man’s gaze temporarily dropped to my weapon before traveling up my body and landing on my mask. He raised his eyebrows. “Who the hell are you?”

“Now, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” I taunted, stalking closer. “What’s that you got there?”

The man didn’t answer me. Instead, he threw the purse down behind him and, without warning, charged. I only had mereseconds before he was upon me, so I aimed the blowtorch at his crotch and fired.

His resounding screams as the fire engulfed him and his cheap polyester clothes were music to my ears, and a smile broke out across my lips as I watched the man flail about, struggling to put out the flames. At one point, he even dropped to the ground and began rolling on the pavement, but by that point, it was too late.

My fire had consumed every inch of him—his clothing, his hair, even every inch of bare flesh. His skin was riddled with second- and third-degree burns, mottled with pus-filled blisters and flakes of blackened skin. The only part of him that remained untouched were his eyes, and they stayed wide and unblinking, disbelieving. The scent of burnt flesh permeated the air as I watched his eyes glaze over.

Slowly, I approached, the blowtorch still aimed at him in case he made any sudden movements. I watched his chest for any sign of life, pleased when his chest shuddered with each irregular breath he took. The man wasn’t dead, just unconscious. But he would be soon.

I aimed the blowtorch at the first eye and fired, watching in fascination as the ball liquified and turned to mush, spilling from the socket to pool at the base of the man’s skull. Then, I did the same to the man’s other eye and watched as the liquid eyeball cascaded down the side of the man’s head to stain the pavement below. Soon, what was left were two empty eye sockets and a dead man who was burnt beyond recognition, a man who dared to lay a hand on a woman, all so he could steal her purse.

It sickened me the lengths these men were willing to go to hurt women. It was why I felt no remorse for them when they met their grisly ends. I lifted the blowtorch one last time and aimed it at the man’s chest to leave one final message forwhoever would find the body: MUGGER. That way, the entire world would know what he had done.

And I was the executioner.

3

The news reported another kill I had failed to prevent, all because I had losthim. All because I’d had switched targets—again—and by the time I’d been ready to resume my original track, it had been too late. He’d been long gone, and there’d been no way I would’ve be able to pick up his trail again.

That was the problem with my line of work. There were way too many predatory men in this world and only one of me. The only good to have come out of tonight was I was able to put another one in the ground permanently.

I called an ambulance for the woman—anonymously of course—but I didn’t stick around, not when there was another dead man near where the woman lay. Instead, I disappeared into the night and returned to my apartment, where I—once again—chucked my slasher outfit into the wash and hopped into the shower, instantly melting once the hot streams of water began massaging my back.Slasher.I liked the sound of the that, as if I were the star of my own little makeshift horror movie. I smiled as I pictured myself amongst the greats, something that could’vehappened if it wasn’t for the pitiful realization that this wasn’t a movie. This was real life.

And I wouldn’t be known as a great slasher villain. I would be known as a sadistic serial killer.I guess beggars can’t be choosers.

Barron hadn’t been home when I had returned, and he still wasn’t when I hopped out of the shower. The apartment was eerily quiet, the hum of the washing machine the only sound to permeate the tiny space. I quickly dressed in shorts and a t-shirt before making my way to the living room to watch some TV and await his return, but before I could do so, there was a loud bang followed by a resounding crash. Then, an all-too-familiar scream caused me to jump.

Shit.A woman was in distress now, one of my neighbors. And my slasher outfit was still in the wash, so I had nothing to hide my identity.

But I couldn’t just let another violent man get away with whatever it was he was doing.

Before I could change my mind, I dashed into the kitchen for supplies. Some leftover rope Barron used for a school project, the grey hoodie he had left draped over his chair from the night before, a face mask, duct tape…and then, my eyes landed on a power drill Barron must have left out.

My mouth practically started salivating.

I picked it up and pressed the power button, and the resounding noise it made as the drill spun shot a thrill down my spine.Perfect,I thought as I turned towards the door. I had another man to kill, and this one, I hoped to make nice and slow.

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