Page 102 of Rampage

"The police?" I interrupt, selecting a pair of bolt cutters from the table. "You think the police are looking for you?" I laugh, the sound cold even to my own ears. "As far as they know, you skipped town after your release. Violated parole. No one's coming for you, Walter."

Fear sours the air as my words finally sink in. He struggles harder, the chair legs scraping against concrete.

"Please," he whimpers, his bravado evaporating like morning dew. "I was just doing what Frank asked. It wasn't personal."

"Not personal?" I repeat, my voice dangerously soft as I approach him. The bolt cutters feel heavy in my hands, solid and purposeful. "You kidnapped the woman I love. You put your hands on her. You threatened to rape her on camera." Each accusation drops like a stone between us as I move closer. "That feels pretty fucking personal to me, Walter."

I crouch before him, bringing my face level with his ruined one. "Did you think I wouldn't find you? That I wouldn't tear this whole town apart to get her back?"

"She's just a witness," he protests weakly. "Frank said?—"

"Lily is everything," I cut him off, my voice like ice. "And you're going to pay for every mark on her body. Every second of fear you caused her."

I stand, circling behind him. Walter's head swivels frantically, trying to track my movements despite his blindness.

"What are you going to do?" he asks, voice cracking.

I place my hand on his shoulder, feeling him flinch violently at the touch. "I'm going to make sure you never hurt another woman again," I say calmly. "And I'm going to take my time doing it."

For the next hour, the basement fills with Walter's screams. I work methodically, surgically, each injury designed to maximize pain while keeping him conscious. My medical training—meant to heal, to save lives—serves a darker purpose now, guiding my hands with precision.

"Please," Walter begs when I finally pause, his voice raw from screaming. "Just kill me."

I wipe blood from my hands with a shop rag, studying my handiwork dispassionately. "Not yet," I tell him. "First, I want you to understand exactly what you've done. Who you've hurt."

I pull up a chair, sitting directly in front of him. "Lily survived years of abuse from your brother. Did you know that? Frank tortured her, terrorized her, broke her down until she believed she was nothing." My voice remains steady, conversational. "But she escaped. She rebuilt herself. She found strength and love and purpose."

I lean closer, my words dropping to a whisper. "And then you came along and tried to destroy all that. You tried to take her back to that place of terror."

Walter's sobbing now, incoherent pleas spilling from his broken mouth.

"The difference between you and Lily is that she survived. She fought. She never became the monster that hurt her." I stand, selecting a scalpel from the table. "But me? I don't have her restraint."

As the man sobs and pleads for mercy, my rage boils over. In a swift motion, I cut off Walter's pants, revealing his cowering genitalia. My hands don't shake as I grab the man's penis and squeeze it viciously.

"This," I spit out. "This is what you thought you could take from her? This pathetic excuse for a manhood?" I can't even bring himself to call it by its proper name in front of such a disgusting specimen of humanity.

Walter screams in agony, but I don’t let go. Instead, I position the scalpel against the base of Walter's penis, my gaze cold and calculating. "Scream louder," I say, my voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. "Maybe your brother can hear you in whatever hellhole he's rotting in."

With a quick flick of my wrist, I sever the organ from its owner, dropping it onto the bloody table with a wet thud. Walter passes out from the pain, but I'm not finished with him yet. I splash some water on the unconscious man's face, bringing him back to horrified consciousness.

I grab a dirty sock and stuff it into Walter's mouth to muffle his screams before shoving Walter's severed member in too, taping it shut afterward. "I don't want to hear another sound from you."

Tossing the bloody scalpel aside, I look at the man before me—no, I can't even call him that—at the monster before me, with disgust and loathing. I no longer recognize myself in this moment, but I know deep down that Lily is worth every second.

I watch as the blood pools beneath the chair, spreading in a dark crimson circle across the concrete floor. Walter's chest heaves with ragged, weakening breaths, each one more labored than the last. His body twitches involuntarily, the instinctive fight against the inevitable.

I don't look away. I owe Lily this, to witness every second of Walter's suffering, to ensure justice is complete. The metallic scent of blood fills my nostrils, but I breathe it in without flinching. This is the price of touching what's mine.

"She fought back," I tell him, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "Even bound and outnumbered, she fought. Remember that as you die."

Walter's breathing grows more erratic, wet gurgling sounds replacing his earlier screams. His head lolls forward, consciousness fading as blood continues to drain from his mutilated body. I check his pulse, finding it weak, thready, but still there.

Not done yet.

I circle the chair, observing the man who dared to hurt my Lily. There's no satisfaction in this, not really, only grim necessity. The world will be better without Walter Dawson in it. Lily will be safer.

"Look at me," I command, gripping his chin and forcing his ruined face upward. "I want my face to be the last thing you feel before you die."

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