Page 294 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Frozen. Quiet.

But feeling everything he’s about to endure.

And now, a little something before it’s time to wake up our special guest.

Iretrieve a vial of smelling salts from the prepared tray, cracking it under his nose with a little more force than necessary.

Judge Carter glares—or tries to. Hard to do without eyelids.

I wave up at the mirror, smiling like a game show host.

"Hi, Grandpa. Can I call you Grandpa?"

I let him see the tray. Tools lined up. Silence stretching like elastic.

I walk slowly around him, scalpel glinting under the low emergency lights, trailing it lightly across his skin just to watch him flinch.

“I’m going to tell you a story, Grampy.”

I can tell he tries to grunt out a swear but my cocktail is keeping him paralyzed.

Precious little left of the big, bad judge now.

Just flesh and fear. And soon–nothing.

“I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.”

His eyes scream yes.

I lean closer, resting a hand on his wrist. No pressure. Not yet.

“It’s not just the trafficking. Or the payoffs. Or the girls you fed to politicians like appetizers.”

I tilt my head, letting it land.

“It’s personal.”

I let that word bleed.

“Your son raped my mother.”

A breath catches in his throat. Denial flickers but the lie doesn’t last long.

“You couldn’t risk being caught trying your own blood,” I say softly, like a lullaby. “So you stepped back. Pulled strings. Buried it deep where you thought no one would find it.”

I tap the scalpel to his nose, then trail it down his hand—light, teasing.

“But I did.”

And then I slice.

A clean line down the side of his hand—the one he used to sign away so many fates.

It hisses as it parts, skin peeling like paper.

"And when the risk was gone, you didn’t stop. Not once you saw how easy it was to make it disappear."

I unwrap each finger like a delicate present. No screams. Just pitiful, wet noises.

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