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Micaden's Madness by V.F. Mason (1)

Chapter One

Somewhere in the world…

April 2019

Micaden

The black garbage bag on the floor wrapped with tight rope shifts relentlessly while barely audible sounds come from it, probably begging.

As if I care.

Whistling loudly, I deliver another few hits with my baseball bat, and the bag slowly gets wet, if the liquid under it is any indication. “It’s embarrassing really, Ron. It’s just the beginning, and you’ve already wet your pants.” Sighing dramatically, I throw the bat on the floor and it clangs loudly as it rolls to the side. Then I grab the knife from my back pocket.

Sharp, with serated edges in a medium size, it’s perfect for what I have planned next.

Kneeling next to him, holding the knife with both hands, I stab it right in the middle of his gut. This time, his scream can be heard even through the damn gag. “A little patience, Ron. This is nothing compared to what awaits you,” I assure him, pulling out another knife and slicing the ropes along with the bag from him.

Slowly, he comes into view, pale as fuck even though his skin is naturally tan; his black uniform’s soaked in blood, and fear etches his face. He mumbles something through the tape stuck to his mouth holding the gag, and I decide to help him out.

“Here you go, Ron.” I pull it harshly, and he cries out in pain as a little bit of his skin along with blood ends up on the tape, his lips completely chapped and torn. “See? I can be nice when I want to.”

Standing up, I grab his hair and raise him up with me. He breathes heavily, adding tears to everything else, and sways in my hold, but I only fist his hair harder. “Stand still before I break your legs.” He freezes immediately, and I push him in the direction of the pool a few feet away from us.

Yes, building it inside my house, hidden from everyone, was truly a magnificent idea.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, then groans when I press on his head, indicating for him to sit on the chair located right on the edge of the pool.

The minute his ass is on the seat, I wrap chains around his middle, hooking it to the heavy bag of stones. “I—I’m sorry,” he mumbles, clearing his throat. “You are mistaken. We’ve never met.”

I smirk, tugging on the ropes, satisfied with their strength.

Stepping back, I walk around to face him and rest my palm on the back of the chair, leaning closer to him. Sweat along with blood drips from his forehead down his nose and lips. “Ron, is it nice to forget your old friends?” He frowns, gazing into my face, but by his blank stare, I understand he still doesn’t recognize me.

But then again, it’s hard to recognize a dead man.

“I have a family. They need me.”

“Considering your line of work, do you think this kind of talk works in such situations?” I ask, and he pales as desperation slowly sinks in, because he finally realizes there’s no escape.

Pity, remorse, compassion. They don’t exist for me.

At least, not for the people who betrayed me.

“I could spend hours torturing you until you finally get it, but I won’t do that.” He exhales in relief, so I add, “Instead, you are just gonna choke while your lungs slowly fill with water.”

He shakes his head, mumbling, “Please, I have two sons.” And I don’t give a fuck.

But before he dies, I do want to feed his curiosity so he knows why God sent him to me. “Atonement comes one way or another, right, Ron?” His eyes widen and his mouth opens, probably wanting to say something, but I’m done with him.

I’ve wasted more time than necessary already.

I kick his chair harshly, and he plunges into the pool with a big splash, right after his scream of fear that dies in the water. I see how his body is slowly dragged farther and farther to the bottom of the pool where he struggles still, his head moving from side to side while he tugs on his arms, hoping for an escape.

That’s what we humans do. Even when everything goes to shit and there’s no hope, we hold on to the belief that miraculously someone or something will come and save us.

But they never do, and I found it out the hard way.

A few seconds pass, and finally his body stills, his eyes wide open gazing at me from the bottom, and I mentally cross his name off the list.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I answer on the third ring. “Unexpected call.”

Silence greets me for several beats before the person on the other end of the line speaks up. “Are you sure about this? There’s no going back.”

Hollow laughter echoes through the space. A familiar hatred settles deep inside me, fed by fury that knows no mercy. “Oh, I’m sure.”

Everyone has to pay for what they’ve done to me.

Especially her.