Page 23 of The Taskmaster
I still kept some traditions, though. I wore a mask, even though he knew who’d taken him. Today, it was a gas mask. It helped to keep the stench of filth he’d brought into my home at bay.
Nial Fagin was his name. And after doing a quick dive into his mobile phone and internet search history, I found enough evidence to confirm what a fucked-up sicko he really was. I was happy I could stick to my code, but I wasn’t happy about the reason why. You see, Nial liked them on the younger side, and when I say young, I mean single digits. He made my fuckingblood boil. I couldn’t wait to end his vile existence, but first, I needed to talk to him and find out how far his depravity went.
As he began to come around, he started to panic, his eyes wide as he acknowledged his dire situation. His head was in my noose, the noose I’d hung in my living room.
He started to stammer, spluttering, “What the fuck, man? Let me out. Get me out of this fucking thing.” His speech slightly slurred from the aftereffects of the drugs. He’d be screaming soon, once he became more lucid, but it wouldn’t help. There was no one close by who’d hear.
His hands were tied behind his back, and a wooden chair was underneath him, the only thing standing between him and choking to death in my noose. He didn’t thrash. He knew how precarious his position was. He stood still on the chair, his body leaning against the wall behind him. But as he became more lucid, he proved me right, screaming with his whole lungs just as I’d predicted.
“LET ME OUT, YOU SICK FUCKING FREAK!” He growled like a wild animal, spit flying as he bared his teeth at me.
I took his phone out of my pocket and held it up, tutting as I shook my head.
“Now, now, Nial. I don’t think you of all people should be throwing insults around.” I glanced at the phone in my hand and shrugged. “I don’t think I’m the sick freak here, do you?”
I moved closer, holding the phone to his face to unlock it. I tapped on the screen and opened the camera, then scrolled through his sickening photos and videos as he continued to howl like an animal.
“You are one sick, vile piece of shit, aren’t you? Do you know what I do to pieces of shit like you?”
He didn’t answer, he didn’t care about what I was showing him. All he did was wail and spit, snarling at me like that’d change a fucking thing.
I cocked my head and replied, “I send them to hell to burn with all the other pieces of shit. Are you ready for that, Nial? Ready to live eternity in the kind of hell you love to watch these poor victims go through?”
He reared his head back then spat at me, and I laughed, stepping back as his spit rolled down my mask.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I held my arms up in challenge, and he snarled, “Fuck you.”
“Let’s not delay the inevitable,” I went on. “The longer you’re here breathing air you don’t deserve, the more it pisses me off. So, I’ll cut to the chase.” I reached for the photo on my mantlepiece. The one of Abigail and her father. Then I glared at him, pointing to her as I asked, “Is it you?”
He huffed and narrowed his gaze on me. “Is what me?”
I gritted my teeth, every muscle in my body clenching as I tried not to lose my shit too early.
“You know what I fucking mean.”
“Actually, no, I don’t.” He squinted to see the photo more clearly, and then a sadistic smile spread over his face. “Is that Abi? Do you want to know if I’ve been fucking her? Is that what you’re asking?”
He started to laugh, and I moved forward, slamming his body against the wall, making his feet scrabble to stay upright on the chair.
“Don’t fuck with me,” I hissed. “Have you been stalking her?”
He wasn’t fucking around this time, and with a death stare, he glared right back at me and said, “No. I haven’t. I don’t need to fucking stalk anyone. I’ll leave that shit to fuckers like you.”
“And why should I believe you?” I stayed close, holding his body hostage against my wall as his legs shook from the effort of trying to stay upright on the chair.
“Because if I wanted to fuck her, I would’ve. I wouldn’t waste time fucking stalking her.”
I believed him. My gut did too. But my head told me to stick to the plan, and my heart fucking sang for it.
I smiled and stepped back, letting him get his balance again, as I nodded and said, “That’s right. I should’ve known. She’s a bit old for you, isn’t she?”
And then, without a second thought, I grabbed the chair and pulled it out from under him, placing it metres away from his now writhing body, as he hung from the noose. And I sat quietly and patiently down on the chair and watched as his thrashing body began to settle and swing in front of me. His eyes bulged as his face took on a blue tinge that I found so satisfying. I could’ve watched his body swing for hours. It was poetic, grotesquely so.
I sang the chorus of ‘Swing Swing’ in a hushed tone as my eyes scanned the room at the equipment I’d laid out, ready for his disposal.
Plastic wrap, check.
Duct tape, check.
