I wake in Monster’s bed, alone. The sun is out, but it’s still early. He’s nowhere to be seen, and he didn’t leave a note. Dragging myself from his bed, I return to my room and shower.

The weird euphoria I felt last night when he asked me to sleep beside him has worn away. Instead, I’m left with a sense of unease.

After all, we never really talked about the future yesterday. We had angry sex and then we passed out together. That’s all.

I spend the morning lying in my bed, moping and reading. In the afternoon, I get dressed and take a walk in Audubon Park. The ancient oaks and Spanish moss are my only companions.

When I return, Jack the bodyguard is waiting for me outside, an idling SUV waiting. I purse my lips and get straight into the car, rather than talking about it. Jack gives me a thin smile.

Jack and one other bodyguard drive east first, leaving behind New Orleans.

I clear my throat, growing a little concerned. “Where are we going? I didn’t really expect to be gone for very long…”

Jack looks back at me. “Mereaux.”

My brows rise. The area to the southeast of New Orleans isn’t really known for anything in particular. It’s mostly run-down residential zones, with a few little pockets of old industrial buildings.

“Why?” I ask.

Jack sighs. “We don’t know any more than you do, ma’am.”

I frown, pushing back into my seat. I stare out the windows as the city grows slowly seedier, the houses more run down and farther apart. We eventually reach a little cluster of industrial buildings and slow down, turning into the car park of an old rust brown factory building.

Jack puts his phone to his ear, looking back at me. “Yeah, we’re here. Yes. Okay.”

He hangs up and looks at me apologetically. “You’re needed inside this building. We’re not supposed to escort you. Just go up the steps in the middle there.”

Nodding, I chew on my bottom lip, opening the car door and sliding out. My heart begins to race.

What am I walking into, exactly?

I head up the steps, looking at the building before me. It has obviously not been regularly used in some years. Many of the window panes that stretch across much of the front are broken or cracked. I can’t really see inside, because dust has accumulated on the windows.

I open the heavy metal front door, hesitating when I see how dark it is inside. When I step in and the door closes behind me, it is pitch black.

“Hello?” I call out.

I can see that I’m in a small space, separate from whatever the windows look in on. I venture forward, reaching out to feel my way along. My hands come in contact with a wall; I feel around for the doorknob, and I am gratified to open another door.

The pitch blackness fades away, leaving me in a hazy world of grayish light to see by. I step into the abandoned factory floor, squinting. The ceiling here soars overhead. There are a number of large boxy shapes the size of elephants. They are covered with gray sheets, dusty and old.

I call out again. “Hello?”

This time, Monster answers from somewhere on my left.

“Over here,” he says. His voice doesn’t sound far away at all.

His head appears, sticking out from behind one of the gray-sheeted boxes. His brows lift.

“Are you coming?” he asks as if I had a choice in the matter.

Clearing my throat, I start toward him. His head disappears, and I’m left to make my way around several of the ghostly shapes.

Coming around one of them, I stop in my tracks. Monster is there, his sleeves rolled up, pondering a fair-haired man who is lying on the ground.

My mouth pulls down into a frown as I look at the man. Conscious and whimpering through the duct tape covering his mouth, he’s bound with his wrists behind his back. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shiver even though it isn’t cold. He looks at me, his dark eyes bloodshot, and tries to yell through the duct tape.

“Shut up,” Monster mutters, pointing at him. Then Monster looks at me. “This is John. John has been very, very bad. Isn’t that right, John?”

We both look at John, who tries to yell again. Monster kicks him, the sound of his foot connecting with the flabby flesh of John’s gut a sickening thud that I’ll never forget.

“What did I say?” Monster says, rolling his shoulders as if to release tension. “Fiore, do you know what John likes to do in his free time?”

My eyes flick to John, who is staring at me desperately. “No, obviously not.”

Monster walks around John’s body in slow, measured paces. “He likes to find young women. He likes to stalk them. And when they’re least expecting it, he likes to break into their homes, tie them up, rape them, and strangle them. Isn’t that right, John?”

A shiver erupts from the base of my spine. John shakes his head emphatically, making Monster smile.

“I have proof, of course.” Monster points to a pile of ten or so cardboard shoe boxes that are neatly stacked near one of the grey ghosts. “Open one of those, would you?”

I start to tremble. There’s a lump of emotion in my throat. I take careful, precise steps as I go around Monster and John, over to the mismatched boxes. All my blood is rushing fast, the sound loud to my ears.

Looking back at Monster, I reach out and take the top off of a box. Inside, there are six neat little manila envelopes, each stuffed to bursting. Tremulously, I pick up one of the envelopes. It’s not very heavy. The only seal is the little metal clasp.

I look inside, seeing only papers and a few Polaroids. Curious now, I upturn the contents into my hand. I see a much-photocopied piece of paper that contains a woman’s personal details: date of birth, height, weight, eye color.

Juanita Crillo. This woman is only a year older than me, brown hair and brown eyed.

The next piece of paper is the certificate of death for the same woman, the cause of death listed as asphyxiation due to ligature strangulation. I feel myself go pale as a sheet when I read those words.

I flip to the Polaroids, terror beginning to grip me. Still, I’m not prepared for the images, pictures of the last few seconds of Juanita’s life as she is strangled to death, a bright red cord around her neck.

In the last Polaroid, John poses for a grinning selfie with Juanita’s now-lifeless corpse. It’s him, without a doubt; his hair and eyes are exactly the same, the shape of his jaw is unmistakable. My gut churn, unsettled by the way that Juanita died. I look at John, but he doesn’t look at me anymore.

It’s no wonder if the shoe boxes are all full of the same evidence that I just saw.

I drop the Polaroids and papers back in the shoe box, disgusted. Monster looks at me with such a smug expression of satisfaction. I want to blame him, lash out at him for bringing such a thing to my attention.

“Are you angry?” Monster says, his tone far too light for such circumstances. “You should be, I think. Does the girl’s death make you hate him?”

He points to John with his foot. I flush.

“Yes,” I say, point-blank. “I’m disgusted.”

“Good. Use that. Fill your heart with it.”

I put my hand on my hip, narrowing my gaze. “Use it to do what?”

Monster gives me the most wicked smile. “I brought John here for you. He awaits his justice at your hands. What will you do to him?”

“Me?” I say, recoiling. “Nothing!”

“Oh?” Monster says. He pulls out a switchblade, opening it to show the sharp knife to me. “Should I let him go, then?”

Juanita’s frightened eyes flash in my mind, and I scowl. “No!”

“So, what then?”

He leans in, clearly expecting something from me.

“What do you want?” I ask, growing distressed.

Monster is placid. “Tell me what to do to him. Or better, do it yourself. If you don’t, I will let him go.”

I feel distinctly threatened by Monster’s words. If he lets John go, the psychopath will be free to hunt and kill more girls. I’ve read stories about men like John.

They don’t stop until they’re dead or in jail.

But what Monster asks of me… to actually kill someone… it seems impossible. I swallow against the emotion that thickens my throat.

“Kill him,” I whisper, the sound of my voice seeming loud in the silence of the old factory. “He can’t do this to anyone else.”

John starts making noise, pleading through his gag. I have no pity for him, though. It’s all I can do not to spit on him, even though he’s trussed and at my feet.

Monster raises his brows. “How?”

“How?” I echo, disbelieving. “I’m sure you know how to kill someone, Monster.”

He cocks his head. “Sure, I know a dozen ways to kill him. But I want you to pick. Think of the girls, then decide.”

My mouth pulls down in a frown. “You think that it needs to be reminiscent of the way he killed them?”

Monster shrugs. “Maybe. What do you think?”

I nibble on my lower lip, nodding. He flips his switchblade closed, disappearing for a moment behind one of the big gray shapes. When he reappears, he holds a length of bright red cord. I’m wracked with a shiver because it’s clear that Monster brought it here with the intention of me choosing it as the method to kill John.

His lips twitch. “Nice and bloodless. Is this how you want John to die?”

I get a flash of the image of John posing with Juanita’s lifeless body. The word slips from my lips, unheeded. “Yes.”

Monster nods, tying the rope loosely around John’s neck so that there are two ends sticking out. He holds one and offers the other to me.

“Take your vengeance,” Monster urges. “Do your worst.”

I shake my head. “No. I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Monster, I can’t.” Tears well up in my eyes.

His lips turn upward. “Such a soft little heart you have. You are certain?”

I nod, my lips numb. I lick them, anxious for this all to be over with.

Monster removes the knot, reshaping it to a noose. When he slips the noose over John’s head, John starts to protest.

“No one cares,” Monster informs the captive as he tightens the noose. “No one is here to see you in your last moments. I hope that I see you in hell.”

Then Monster plants a foot on John’s chest and starts pulling. John makes a strangled noise, his face going red right away. But he’s trapped, held immobile by Monster’s foot.

I look away, queasy. Monster pulls the nose harder. There is a sudden popping crunch of bone, which gives me gooseflesh all over my body.

Monster releases the noose with a flourish, looking satisfied. “It’s as simple as that.”

I can’t bring myself to look at John’s body, but Monster comes over and turns me toward him.

“Look,” he urges. “See what you were a part of?”

I look at John, who has gone still. His face is still red, his head cocked a little. His eyes are open but vacant.

I start to cry, even though I know that the world should not mourn his loss. Monster embraces me, and I burrow into him, closing my eyes.

“You did well,” he purrs. “Very well.”

“I want to go home,” I whimper.

Monster smiles at that. “That’s where we’ll go, then.”

His arm around me, he guides me out of the factory.