Page 81 of Pretty Little Fears

Searchingthe bag,Irummage through our tools and pull out the largest knife we have.Theblade is long and thick at the base, merging into a small pointed tip.Liftingit up,Iplace the knife on the table next to him.Thisis forBlair, for me, and for our unborn child.Idon't care to hear what he has to say.Ispot a dishrag next to the sink and turn on the faucet.Snatchingit,Irun the dishrag under steaming hot water and ball up the fabric.Walkingback over to him,Igrab his jaw and open it, shoving the wet material inside.

Itworks in my favor right now that he’s passed out.Takingtape from the bag,Iwrap it around his mouth and head multiple times to ensure security.Satisfiedthat he can’t speak and ruin this moment,Ihead back behind him and crawl onto the table, straddling his back.

Iclose my eyes and take a deep breath.Enjoyingthe peaceful silence for a moment longer before a beautiful harmony of muffled screams erupts from my newest victim.

Pickingup the knife,Itip the blade and press it firmly against the top of his spine.Pressingthe knife point into his neck,Iwatch as the skin starts to open under the blade and blood beads out.Haroldinstantly wakes up, screaming into the gagIplaced in his mouth, the sounds muffled behind the fabric.Theone word left in my vocabulary bouncing around my skull.

KILL.

Idon't pay him any attention though.Ipush the tip in deeper and angle the base back towards me, lining the blade's seared edge with his spinal cord.Theouter layer of skin splits, allowing blood to pool out.

Hisshrieking continues asIrepeat the process, this time going deeper.Severingmuscles, tendons, and cartilage.Thepopping of detaching flesh fills my ears and blood drips down his back, pooling around us on the table.Iknow he won't live long.Iknow he won't feel everythingI'mgoing to do to him, butIdon't care.Thisis more of a symbol of love for my angel.

WhenI'vefinally cut through all of the skin, muscles, and tendons along his spine,Istart to peel everything back, exposing his ribcage.Theaction has sweat forming on my brow and my muscles ache, butIpersevere.Theripping of his meat and the squelching sound of his bloodied flesh are more prominent now that his screams have turned into barely there groans.

Lookingdown into his open back, his exposed ribs sparkle underneath the bright kitchen lights. “Grimm, can you plug in the power saw for me?”Isay, my words devoid of any emotions.Iblink down at his back a few times until a handheld power saw is being placed into my hands. “Thanks.”

Iturn it on, careful to not cut anything other than the partsIwant to sever.Istart on the left side and bring the spinning blade down onto the first of twelve ribs.Bloodand bone fragments spray out and coat my hands, face, and chest.Iblink rapidly, trying to get some of the blood out of my eyes.

Thecracking sound of the bone under the grinding of the saw reverberates through the room until the snap of the dismembering bone lets me know the rib is no longer attached.Whenit finally snaps,Igrab it and pull it up, facing it outward from his body.

Imove over to the right side and duplicate the same process.Sawingand yanking out the bones.Ido this to the remaining eleven ribs until all twelve are poking out.Myarms are burning with the exertion of the force it takes to saw through human bones.Mysweat has started to drip off my brow, falling into his back and mixing with his blood.Thecracking of the ribs is similar to small fireworks.Ihave to repeatedly wipe down my hands to gain a better grip on the slippery blood-coated bones.

Turningoff and placing the saw to the side,Ilook down at my gruesome masterpiece.Twenty-four ribs are twisted and angled outward from his back, resembling the look of wings.Thered-stained bones drip crimson down onto the table that is covered in blood.

Thesymbolism behind this method of torture causes my eyes to water.Haroldhas long since died and his ribs give the illusion of wings.Adead angel.Muchlike the loss he has caused me.Thereminder sends a sharp pain to my chest.ButIcan't think about that right now,Ineed to getBlairback.

Kill.Kill.Kill.

Eachdemon crossed off my list brings a small sense of satisfaction to me, knowingItook another person off this planet that contributed to the harm my little obsession has endured.

Aswe leave,Ilook over atGrimm.Inotice the bags under his drooping eyes.Mytunnel vision of revenge and gettingBlairback has kept me awake for days, but it's starting to take a toll on usandGrimmgets off on this shit.Ican't getBlairback ifI'mnot sharp-minded.

JustasI'mabout to suggest we call it a day and catch up on some sleep so we don't crash, my phone vibrates in my pocket.Quickly,Iwhip it out and glance down at the new text message fromEli.

Eli: I found Oscar Pittman. Fuck man, it took some digging, but I got it. He is currently staying at the Seeding Motel. I'll send you the address.

Thatmotherfucker.Anyneed for rest quickly vanishes.Themonster who was going into hibernation for a moment slinks his way to the forefront of my mind.Fuckingfinally.Onestep closer to my little obsession.

Grimmis looking over my shoulder at my text, his eyes widening, “Ifucking know that guy.Hewas in an infomercial a few years back.”Withrenewed energy,Ihead towards my bike.

“Whatwas he selling?Fuckinghumans?”Isarcastically spit. “Let’sgo.”

Thereason we needed to findOscarin order to findBlairis because of the anonymity surrounding the buyer.Himbeing the handler meant he was the only one to know who she was purchased by.Theasshole made this last a lot fucking longer thanIwanted.Sheshould have been home with me by now.

Swingingmy leg over my bike,Iwaste no time throwing on my helmet and revving the engine to life.I'mon the road with climbing speeds beforeIcan even blink.Themeter below me reaches ninety and continues to inch higher.

I’venever been reckless with my riding, but fuck it.Ican’t afford to waste a single second right now.Everyminute that passes is another minute she’s stuck, trapped, and alone.

Wepull up to the run-down motel, the large sign above flickers, illuminating a majority of the letters.Turningoff our bikes, we look around at the area.Thesurrounding grass is overgrown and the building looks like it could cave in at any given moment andI’muncertain if the motel is still in business.

Withenough energy to slaughter an army,Iget off my bike whenGrimmgrabs onto my wrist. “Yo,” he whispers, pointing at a man leaving a lower-level room. “Ithink that’sOscarright there!”

Asif the guy could sense the danger nearby, his head snaps in our direction and his eyes widen.Thegreasy fuck takes off towards a black car. “Fuck, let’s go!”Iquickly tug my helmet back on.Iwas hoping for a surprise attack, not having to chase him.Itry not to let the panic of him getting away cross my mind asIstart my bike up again.

Beforewe can stop him, he's reversing and peeling out of the dingy motel parking lot and squealing out onto the road. “FUCK!”Ishout.I’msnapping my visor back down and taking off after him beforeIcan come up with a plan.

Grimm’svoice fills my helmet, “Wecan shoot out his tires, cause him to crash.”Hesays, confidence lacing his words.

---