Interlude
Ten years ago…
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
Paul shook his head in response and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t speak because Ten had duct taped his mouth shut. He’d also tied his arms and legs to a chair.
It was satisfying to have power over him, for once.
They were in the basement of the same abandoned building he’d kept Ten in all those years ago. Although now, it had fallen into even worse repair. When he’d arrived earlier in the evening to prepare for tonight’s events, it had been overrun with raccoons he’d had to scare off.
Paul didn’t look the same. He’d gone gray around the temples, crow’s feet lined his eyes. He’d always been on the larger side, but he’d gained at least forty pounds, mostly in his stomach.
In fact, he hardly looked like a threat, but maybe Ten had built him up over the years. After all, he’d been the monster living under Ten’s proverbial bed for so long. Now Ten was a full grown man, and he’d been trained as a soldier. He wasn’t afraid of anything anymore, especially some pudgy, middle-aged pedophile.
After hunting down terrorists and arms dealers, Paul wasn’t even a challenge. It had only taken him a few weeks to find his house and the storage shed he now used for his extracurricular activities.
“My name’s Elijah, or at least it used to be. Does it ring a bell?”
Paul blinked, and he muttered something against the tape. Obligingly, Ten ripped it off and he gasped in pain.
“You were sayin’?”
“No, you’ve got the wrong guy.” He bobbed his head. “I have no idea who you are.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t even try to weasel your way out of this.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“They drummed you out of the pedophile ring, didn’t they? You’ve been lettin’ yourself go ever since, unleashin’ all those dirty impulses you have.”
“No, I would never—”
“How many?” Ten crossed his arms over his chest. A dark and twisted sort of pleasure coursed through his body. He drank in Paul’s terror, his helplessness, and it soothed the frightened child locked inside him.
Paul swallowed. “How many what?”
“How many boys have you molested? Twenty? Thirty? Do you even remember?”
He winced. “No, I—”
“Well, I remember every minute of it, every single second. By the way, I found the latest one.”
Paul flinched.
Like Ten, he’d been locked away from the world, only the boy had also been gagged since the shed sat on the far edge of his property. Paul evidently made a decent living, because he had several acres and a nice house.
And he had a wooded area where he’d buried several boys.
Ten had located their bodies after he spoke with the boy. Evidently, Paul had escalated since he’d kept Ten as a captive. It wasn’t enough to whip and starve them. Now he’d gotten a taste for the kill.
Well, he isn’t the only one who enjoys takin’ a life.
His chin trembled. “No, I can explain...”
“How? Tell me, what rationale can you possibly give to justify beatin’ and sexually abusin’ children?”
Paul turned away.
Ten sighed in disgust. “At least be a man and admit to your crimes.” He watched Paul carefully like an eagle eying its prey. “I set the boy free, and he’s on his way home.”
And then he began to shake, his entire body shuddering. Ten thought he might piss himself, but it didn’t bother him. By the time he finished with Paul, there’d be all kinds of fluids staining the floor.
“I bet he’s tellin’ the cops all kinds of interestin’ things about you.”
Ten had also dug up the boys he’d abused and murdered. He’d laid them out in neat rows, his brothers in arms, for the cops to find. While he couldn’t save them, Ten would make sure Paul paid for his crimes.
As Ten paced a circle around him, Paul jerked from side to side, trying to keep him in view.
“You have so many things to lose—a wife, a home. No children though, but I suppose that’s for the best. We both know you wouldn’t have left them alone, but you shouldn’t worry about the fallout.”
“Why is that?” he whispered.
Ten pulled out his Bowie knife and ran the blade up and down his denim-clad thigh as though wiping it clean.
“Dead men don’t have to worry about anythin’.”
“You don’t have to do this. What if I—”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been dreamin’ about this for years.” Ten got down on his haunches, so they were at eye level. “I want to do this.”
“No, please don’t.” Paul cringed, eyeing the knife.
He inhaled sharply. “Oh, I love hearin’ you beg. Say it again.”
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“Maybe I won’t, if you confess. You do remember me, don’t you?”
Bowing his head, Paul simply nodded.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Paul shook his head.
“Hmm, I used to beg for mercy, in the beginnin’ anyway. And did you show me any?” Ten brought the blade against his fleshy white throat but didn’t break the skin.
“N-no.” Paul shuddered.
He was woozy, a little drunk on his own power.
“Then you’ll get the same compassion you showed me. Who are you? Tell me your name.” Ten glided the knife down the men’s chest, along his thigh, leaving a thin red stripe. “You know exactly what I want to hear.”
“I’m nobody,” Paul whispered.
With a grin, Ten stabbed him in the balls.