20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Ethan

Like a proper stalker, I followed Kayla to the Rusty Mug. If I had gone inside, I wouldn't have been able to stop staring at her, so I waited in my car instead, reminding myself I had to keep a low profile. I can't have the locals gossiping about me liking Kayla, not before she accepts being mine.

Fortunately, she didn't stay long. Like last time, she took an Uber home and then hesitated in front of the door for a long time. She brushed off the thought of someone entering her home to do her dishes as crazy, but the photo I put into her case file was undeniable proof. Yet, she didn't call the police.

Nor did she call the police after finally entering her house. She threatened to do it but, in the end, decided against it. She even ate the chocolate I left for her. Even if she won't admit it yet, she's beginning to trust me. I have to tread carefully not to break that fragile trust.

My poor bunny worried about the chocolate being drugged, but she never questioned why she keeps falling asleep minutes after drinking her evening cup of tea. Tonight, she was too tired to even take a shower, barely settling herself in bed before her eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep.

I waited a few minutes to ensure she was in a deep sleep, then let myself in. In what's becoming my new evening ritual, I tidied up the kitchen, took a shower, blew my load into her body lotion, and snuggled her in bed, feeling like I was in heaven.

I slept like the dead throughout the night, holding my little bunny close to me, but now my morning alarm is making my watch vibrate. Quickly, I remove my hand from Kayla's breast, not wanting to wake her.

The drinks she had last night combined with the sleeping drug make sure she won't be waking up anytime soon, but I don't want to risk it. She's not ready to wake up to me in her bed yet. She'd start screaming, and I'd have to kidnap her, and it would get all kinds of messy.

I'll have to kidnap her eventually, to give us a safe space for her to fully accept our relationship, but we're not there yet. For now, she gets to live in sweet oblivion, and I get to hold her every night. A win-win scenario.

I risk a kiss on her cheek. "Good morning, my precious bunny," I whisper, drinking in her exquisite beauty.

Her hair is free from the silky bonnet I clumsily put on her head last night because she was too sleepy to do it herself. I must have done it wrong, because it slipped off and freed the waterfall of her curly locks. One is wrapped around my finger, and I battle the urge to cut it off and carry it around with me. I can't bring myself to mar Kayla's beauty, though, so I bury my face in her hair to savor her scent, before slipping out of our bed.

I watch her as I get dressed. She's rolled onto her back, and the blanket is down around her waist. Her thin nightgown does little to hide her breasts, the taut peaks of her nipples tenting the fabric. I might have spent some time teasing them before my alarm rang. You can't blame me. I love Kayla's breasts.

Well, I love everything about her, but her breasts are currently on the top. I think her pussy will easily best them, but I haven't touched her there yet. The desire to do so rises inside me every time I hold her, but I haven't given in. Yet. My resolve is waning, though. It might not be long before I touch her. Taste her. God, I bet she tastes delicious.

With a sigh, I look around to make sure I don't leave anything behind, then blow a kiss to Kayla. "Rest well, my love. I'll be back tonight," I whisper before finally forcing myself to leave.

Sadly, I can't just watch Kayla the entire day. I have work to do.

I planted cameras in Benjamin Adams' residence yesterday. It had been an adrenaline venture, to say the least, but I managed to distract the guards for long enough to slip inside the house. Overriding the security system to hide my entry was no issue.

Adams has a lot of cameras on the outside of his mansion, covering every possible angle, but not a single camera inside. Is he just mindful of his privacy? Or is he hiding something? Like the fact that he's abusing his son?

Whatever it is, the truth is about to come out. I bugged most of the rooms in the mansion. The kitchen, the living room, Adams' study. Aaron's room. Aaron has a beautiful room, one I'm sure will pass any social worker's scrutiny. Meticulously clean, too. Too clean, as if no one lives there at all.

Then again, Adams has staff to cook and clean and watch the boy. It's possible that the cleaning lady, who nearly caught me as I was installing cameras in Adams' office, just keeps Aaron's room exceptionally clean. Because where else would the boy sleep if not in his bed?

As I get home, I head straight into my secret basement room. The basement used to be a simple storm shelter when I bought the house, but in time, I expanded and remodeled it to resemble what I believe designers call a "man cave."

I have space here to practice darts, a flat-screen with a gaming station I rarely use, a small fridge stocked with beer and soda, and a whole cabinet filled with various TV snacks.

As Ethan Bennett, the friendly neighbor, I sometimes invite my "friends" over to watch some sports or just hang out.

As Ethan Bennett, the serial killer, I uncover the door hidden behind the dart target. After entering several passwords and leaning in for a retinal scan, the door to my hidden sanctuary opens.

My official PI office is modern, but it has nothing on this room. Computer screens line one wall, providing me with a constant stream of data. I keep watch on all the important things in the town. Police reports, traffic cameras, local TV and radio stations, gossip on social networks… My specially designed algorithms crawl the feeds and provide me with condensed reports on anything and everything.

Another algorithm keeps watch on anything related to my current target, Carl Oberman, though it seems there's nothing new about the supposed child molester. I know I should dig into it deeper or at least go to Oberman's house and set up surveillance, but I'm reluctant to leave Kayla, even for a night or two.

Carl Oberman isn't going anywhere. If he is guilty, he will pay. I'll make sure of that.

I'll get to him later. Right now, I have to focus on Kayla. And, sadly, also on Benjamin Adams.

I pass by the cabinets holding various weapons and my kill supplies and seat myself comfortably in front of the screens. Switching one to display a live feed from Kayla's bedroom, I smile as I watch my little bunny still fast asleep. Good for her.

A few mouse clicks later, most of the screens are showing the camera feed from Adams' house. I keep Kayla's bedroom on one, just because I love peeking at her while I work, but focus on Benjamin Adams. He's awake already, working out in his home gym. A maid is tidying his bedroom. A chef is preparing breakfast. Scrambled eggs and bacon, from the looks of it. Hardly a healthy breakfast for a child.

I switch to the feed from Aaron's room only to find it empty. As far as I can tell, nothing has been moved since yesterday. The bed doesn't look like anyone has slept in it.

I flick through all the other cameras but don't see the boy anywhere. Benjamin Adams doesn't look perturbed by his son's absence, though. He finishes his workout, takes a shower, then gobbles down the breakfast his chef has prepared. All the while, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

Is he hiding somewhere? His hospital records mentioned panic attacks, so perhaps he prefers to sleep under his bed? In his closet? In another small space a child of his age would consider safe?

It makes sense, but at the same time, it doesn't. Something feels terribly wrong.

I leave one screen fixed on Benjamin Adams' current position and pull up the recordings from the previous day on my main screen. I bet something in there will give me a hint of where Aaron might be.

Benjamin Adams comes home around six p.m. Aaron doesn't come to greet him, hiding in a corner of his room instead, covering his ears with his hands. Clearly, he isn't happy to have his father home.

After serving Adams a lavish, three-course dinner, the last of the staff goes home, leaving Aaron alone with his father. As soon as the door shuts after them, Benjamin Adams' polite smile turns into a vicious smirk. "BOY!" he hollers. In his room, Aaron flinches, crawling deeper into the corner.

My heart speeds up as I watch Adams stalk toward his son's room, still smirking. He isn't acting like a loving father. Or like an indifferent father. Or like any father at all, for that matter. He looks like a monster ready to pounce.

Aaron doesn't make a sound as his father drags him out of his room and into the living room. He doesn't fight or cry.

Adams shoves him on the floor in front of the TV and plops down on the sofa. "We're going to have some nice father and son time, watching movies," he says, the coldness of his voice seeping deep into my bones. "Wouldn't you like that, boy?"

Aaron manages a jerky nod, tears welling in his eyes. Whatever is going to happen, he's suffered through it countless times already and knows not to draw his father's ire.

"Good boy," Adams says in a condescending tone. "And don't you fucking dare to piss on the carpet again. I'll leave you downstairs for the entire week if you do that."

Downstairs? The word has chills running up my spine. Adams' house doesn't have "downstairs." It has a basement. I didn't put cameras there because I didn't think Adams ever used it, and now I feel like a fucking idiot. Is that where Aaron is? Locked in a basement?

On the screen, Adams grabs the remote and starts going through a list of movies on a streaming service. A list of horror movies. The scariest, goriest, something-lives-in-your-basement-and-it-will-eat-you-alive-if-you-ever-go-there horror movies. Adams picks one and settles back on the sofa with a feral grin.

I've never seen this particular movie, but the opening sequence has a pretty blonde girl descending the stairs into a dark basement. Surprise, surprise, the lights don't work. The girl sighs but continues going down, undeterred by the suspicious sounds coming from the darkness.

As the movie soundtrack tenses, Aaron brings his knees to his chest and rests his head against them, closing his eyes and covering his ears. In a flash, Adams jumps off the sofa and drags Aaron's hands away from his ears.

"Watch," he commands, his voice full of sadistic glee. "Watch her. She's about to get torn apart by the monster. The basement monster. You know, the same one that lives in our basement. You must have seen it or heard it at least. Haven't you, boy?

"At night, when you lie down there, you must have heard it slithering around, moaning and groaning because it's so hungry. Does it ever crawl over to nibble on your toes when you fall asleep? Or are you quiet enough it doesn't even notice you? Because, you know, if you make no sound, the monster might leave you alone. Or it might not," he adds with an evil smirk. "Oh, this is a great scene. Just watch! That's her liver the monster is chewing on."

Bile rises in my throat, and I barely make it to the trash can in the corner before my stomach violently expels all its contents. I dry heave long after there's nothing for me to throw up, hugging the trash can and willing my heart to slow down.

On the screen, the sick fuck continues tormenting his son with the scariest scenes from the movie, telling him how the monster might come to eat him tonight if he isn't quiet.

And Aaron is quiet. Completely silent.

Though there are waterfalls of tears streaming down his cheeks, he doesn't make a single sound. He doesn't even protest when his monster of a father leads him to the basement door and forces him inside, into complete darkness.

"Time to go to sleep," Adams says, his grin maniacal. "I'll come pick you up in the morning. Unless the monster eats you, of course." Then he shoves the boy inside and locks the door.

I stagger over to the workstation and turn off the recording. I can't…I just can't.

I've seen a fair share of shit in my life, especially when digging up dirt on my suspects. I've seen verbal, physical, and sexual abuse. But I've never seen anyone mind-fucking a child this way.

What the fuck is wrong with that guy? How could he do this to his own son? God, no wonder his wife ended up in a psych ward. Anyone exposed to this level of madness would. No doubt, she tried to protect her son by drawing Adams' attention to herself. But now that she's gone, Aaron bears the full brunt of his father's sadism.

I know I'm not supposed to be killing people where I live, but at this point, I don't fucking care. My hand hovers over a gun, then moves to a display case with knives. The fucker doesn't deserve a quick death. I grab the boning knife.

I'm going to cut Adams into little pieces. I'll keep him alive the whole time.

I'll get a dog—no, a pig! I'll feed bits of Adams' body to the pig and make him watch. Let's see how he will like being eaten alive.

I'll serve him his own liver. No, he'd bleed out too fast.

His cock, then? I could cauterize the wound to make sure he doesn't lose too much blood.

I could skin him alive, too. I've heard that hurts.

Fuck, there are so many options!

My mind is reeling. I can't focus on anything other than the rage simmering in my veins. On the monster inside me craving blood. Craving death.

I feel my sanity slipping through my trembling fingers. I can't bring myself to care, though. It's like my rational mind vanished, replaced by a whirlwind of anger and the need for revenge. I don't just want to kill Benjamin Adams anymore. I want to kill his staff too, because they had to know something wasn't right. I want to kill Aaron's therapist, who's been covering up the abuse for years. Everyone who ever came in contact with the boy and did nothing to help him. The useless social workers who left Aaron in the care of a sadistic monster.

The last thought makes me pause and think.

Kayla is a social worker. I don't want to kill Kayla. I'd rather kill myself than hurt her.

Fuck! What am I doing? Am I having a psychotic breakdown? Now, when I finally found a reason to live?!

No. No fucking way. I refuse to lose my mind now.

I force my reeling thoughts back in order. Shoving the darkness into a box, I lock it away in the dark recesses of my mind. For what feels like an eternity, I repeat breathing exercises until finally, the red fog clouding my mind recedes.

Benjamin Adams is a monster who deserves to die. But I won't be breaking my rules for him. The rules are there to keep me from hurting innocent people. If I break one today, I'll break another one in a week, and before I know it, I'm nothing but a murdering monster.

I won't kill Benjamin Adams. Not while he lives in Bluebell Springs, anyway. But I won't let him torment Aaron, either.

Victoria Smith asked me for proof that Adams is abusing his son, which I have. However, she asked for proof that would stand in court. And a recording taken by a hidden camera illegally planted in someone's house won't stand in court, no matter how horrifying its contents are.

The lawful way is out, which only leaves the unlawful way. I will destroy Benjamin Adams' life. I will make sure he loses everything he cares for: his status, his friends, the respect of this stupid town.

Once his image of an upstanding citizen has been disparaged, people will stop being afraid. Someone will speak up. There will be witnesses to what's happening to Aaron. Adams will lose custody. With his reputation in tatters, he'll likely move out of Bluebell Springs. And when he does, well…

I don't kill where I live. I have no qualms about killing anywhere else.