Page 18 of Drag You Down
My little lamb believes I’m the Devil.
“Do you think I’m the Devil?” I ask Moretti, genuinely curious.
He stares up at me. His cheeks are ruddy from strain and panic, and he strains against the zip ties keeping him attached to the metal chair.
I casually kick him in the side, making him cry out. “I asked you a question.”
“N-no,” he says through gritted teeth.
I hum, considering. If he doesn’t think I’m the Devil when I’m about to burn him alive, why should my little lamb believe I am?
Even my own parents had thought me possessed.
But Moretti doesn’t know the rest of my plans yet. He probably thinks I’m going to use the knife I’m holding and make this fast.
He couldn’t be more wrong.
I am ready to begin cutting, though, and I anticipate the sight of even more blood trickling from each and every wound I leave behind. The two I’ve left are nothing compared to what I plan to do to him.
“Tell me if you change your mind,” I say.
“You’re a crazy fucker,” Moretti tells me, and the edge of panic is nearly palpable. I breathe it in deeply, wondering again if it’s truly something I can taste or if I am losing my mind after all.
A good person wouldn’t get off on hurting another—but a good person wouldn’t burn down a building with people inside, either. I don’t regret what I’m about to do to Moretti.
He thought he wouldn’t get caught.
Does it make me insane to want to punish him?
Does it make me the Devil, or does it make me an avenging angel?
I know what my little lamb thinks.
I realize I’ve lost track of Moretti again, and it’s a frustrating thought. I want to hear him cry out, want to hear him scream,but I want to find Levi more. I want to find a way to reach him, despite how difficult it is to get to him while he’s hiding in that apartment complex no one ever seems to leave.
A smile spreads across my lips as I think of a way Icanget to him. Apartment 302 wasn’t that hard to reach, in the end.
“It’s your lucky day,” I tell Moretti, unable to keep the excitement from tinting my voice. “I have better things to do than cut you into ribbons.”
His relief, too, is something I think I can taste.
“Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you,” he babbles. “I won’t tell anyone about this. I’ll be quiet.”
“And you won’t do it again?” I ask, still smiling at him.
“I didn’t—” he begins.
I quirk a brow.
“Never again,” he rushes to say.
“No, you won’t,” I agree.
His gaze darts from me to the door, and his breathing comes in short gasps. He wets his lips, and I see his uncertainty.
I continue to smile down at him. “I won’t keep you. You have important things to do.”
I walk off, and he shouts, “Hey, wait! You can’t just leave. You need to untie me.”
