Chapter Thirty Six

Thomas pulled the baseball cap down over his eyes. He was following far enough behind the man to go unnoticed, but close enough to make detection a tantalizing possibility.

The need to kill never really went away. It was beyond his control. Like an addiction, the craving was ever-present. With time, the malevolent urge would fester deep within him until it was a raging inferno that threatened to overtake him completely. The longer he left his darkest urges untended, the greater his satisfaction when he found and dispatched another victim.

It had been a while. He had wondered if married life might weaken or even eliminate his bloodlust, but only a few days in as a husband and here he was on the street, hunting. And loving it.

He enjoyed killing for the sheer pleasure of the act itself but he had decided that, like his father, he would kill only those who deserved to die. Case in point: the man he was following tonight was a pedophile who had gotten off on a technicality. Tonight the man would pay for his sins. There would be no mercy. No going free. And there damn sure wouldn’t be any more kids suffering at his demented hands.

Thomas hated people who preyed on kids. Sick fucks who did that deserved to die, the slower the better.

He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he sped up. The man heard his footsteps and turned around as if trying to figure out if he knew him.

“Hey, I know you. I’ve seen you in the paper.” Thomas stuck his left hand out as if he was going to shake the man’s hand. The man held out his right hand as he usually would, then hesitated as he realized he needed to offer his left instead. That moment of hesitation was all Thomas needed. He raised took the icepick in his right hand and brought it down fast, driving it into the man’s temple. The gloves he wore would prevent any fingerprints and the fact that it was an old icepick from a thrift store would ensure the authorities wouldn’t have any hope of tracking where it had been purchased.

The death was quicker and, thus, more merciful than the guy deserved, but Thomas didn’t have the luxury of time to torture him if death was slow. The man dropped to the sidewalk and Thomas quickly turned the corner, walked back to his SUV, and headed home. There would be no more children who would suffer at the hands of that pervert. He pulled out of the alley and glanced down the deserted street before turning for home. His need to kill had been sated, for now, and another sick fucker was off the streets—his streets.

He hadn’t expected his wife to be awake when he got home.

“Where have you been, Thomas?” She was in bed, reading. She was reclining against the headboard, wearing one of his t-shirts. She hadn’t climbed under the covers yet, and her long, silky legs seemed to go on forever. “Thomas?” She sounded pissed and Thomas shook his head as he struggled to gather his thoughts and form a complete sentence. Nouns. Verbs. Legs. Fuck.

He was a husband now, and he hadn’t told his wife he was going out or why. In hindsight, he recognized that this had probably not gotten their married life off to the best start. Only a few days in and he was already fucking things up.

He knew the truth might make things worse but lying about it wasn’t an option. So he took a deep breath and went for broke. “I killed a man tonight.”

She lowered her book down next to her on the bedspread. “Wow. Most guys would just tell their wives they’d stopped off for a drink with the guys.”

“I’ll never lie to you. I promise you that.”

“I know,” she said, swallowing hard and frowning. “So, um, this guy. What happened?”

“He was a pedophile. He had been acquitted. Not because he was innocent, but because of a technicality. Somebody forgot to dot an i or cross a t. He was a free man, out for an evening stroll, probably hoping to find a child who’d wandered away from his parents, and he’d be only too glad to help. Sick fucker.”

“So he’s…gone now.”

“Yes.”

Silence reigned as he watched her reaction. If she couldn’t handle something like this, they were done. And he didn’t want to think about what that would mean. What he would have to do.

She looked him up and down, then crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re a mess, you know.”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“Take your clothes off before you get blood all over the place. I’ll wash them, unless you’d rather just burn them. Then get in the shower.”

He watched, slack-jawed, as she strolled past him to start his shower. She wasn’t pissed anymore. She was perfect.