Page 16 of The Madness Within

The evidence? Mishandled,accidentallydefrosted during transfer. The testimonies? All secondhand. The jury? Too shaken to see past the fresh shave and choir-boy charm.

He smiled. Shook my hand with fingers that had once held a scalpel to a child’s liver.

“Thank you,” he said. “You saved my life.”

I smiled back. “Not yet.” I whispered.

Malcolm didn’t know he was prey.

Not yet.

For nine days, I trailed him through cities he didn’t belong in, watched him slip into cheap motels under false names, watched him lie his way into bars with soft-eyed boys he’d buy drinks for, but never let leave.

He didn’t think I’d find him.

Didn’t think the Devil ever came in a suit and tie, whispering Latin under his breath and wearing fangs behind a smirk.

But I wasn’t just tracking him. I wasstudyinghim.

How he moved. How he lied. How he breathed when no one else was watching. Because that’s when monsters show their real face.

He was a twitchy bastard. Good at hiding. Better at running.

But no one runs forever.

He slipped into a cabin off a dirt road in upstate Vermont, no power, no water, no neighbors for miles. Just trees, fog, and silence. He thought it was his safe house.

He thought wrong.

I waited until night. I wanted him to getcomfortable. Wanted the stench of his sin to soak into the pinewood walls so the spirits could feed off it when I was done.

The shadows obeyed when I called them. Slithered beneath the door. Cracked the floorboards. Slipped through the chimney like smoke with teeth.

I stalked through the woods in silence, every step purposeful, my senses stretched wide like a net. I could smell him through the rain, the rot of old guilt and fresh sweat. Hear the blood moving in his veins. A twitchy, guilty rhythm.

I approached the cabin like a wolf. Silent. Unseen.

The locks didn’t matter. My magic whispered through the keyhole, snapped them open like brittle bone. I stepped inside and the air curdled.

He was asleep on the floor, curled in a fetal ball, clutching a butcher knife like a child with a teddy bear.

Pathetic.

I let the shadows crawl across his chest. Slow. Gentle. Like lovers waking him from a dream.

When he startled awake, I transported us back to his butcher shop. Ironic, I knew.

He sat up too fast. Eyes wide. Pupils blown.

“Wh—who’s there?!”

I said nothing.

Just stepped from the corner where the darkness was thicker, black coat dripping with rain, blood, and judgment.

“Dorian?” he whispered, voice cracking. “W-what the fuck are you, how, how did you find me?”

I smiled. “I never lost you. I just waited until I was hungry enough.”

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