1. Cherise

Chapter one

Cherise

Three Months Until Christmas

I t’s only a few months until Christmas Eve, a day I’ve been anticipating not only this year, but for the past ten years—waiting patiently for when I will grab revenge by the reins and annihilate the demon from my past. Every year, on December 24th, the entire world shrinks in fear, turning out the lights, boarding up their homes, stocking up on essentials. I’m not talking about hoarding toilet paper and water like in preparation for a storm; I mean guns, ammunition, knives, or whatever kind of weapon necessary to fight off the demon and his evil minions from Hell. This is the new norm of our world. No more Christmas Eve. No more families excited to wake up early Christmas morning to gifts under the tree. No more celebration. Only the fear of evil and death it now brings on this day instead. But not me, not this time. The town of Lockwood will revel in the screams I tear from the sick one—I will be revered for ridding the world of his twisted existence. I’m going to light up my home like the Fourth of July, with a big fucking welcome sign to lure him in—the one they call The Saint.

I close my eyes, and I still see that fateful night ten years ago. I can never forget. The way he tore through everyone’s souls. His devil imps gorging on their mutilated corpses. The souls and corpses of my family.

As usual, I hear the ringing bells that keep me up late at night. The thud of something heavy on my family’s roof. The screech of his skeletal steed. The horror, the pain, the loss that crippled me, and his laughter as he took what wasn’t his to take. I was only seventeen when The Saint took everything from me.

No matter how hard I try, these memories refuse to fade, playing over and over, haunting my every waking hour of every day. And there’s only one thing that can soothe me now… Well, two things—murder and candy.

My red-bottom stilettos tap softly against the pavement as I strut toward room 25 at the shitty Motel 6, with a cherry lollipop between my teeth. My heart beats quicker as I brace myself for what’s to come.

I knock on the door, push the lollipop against the inside of my cheek, and adjust my blonde wig to ensure it’s securely in place. I trace my fingers over the red and white masquerade mask that covers half my face, and smile serenely. I can’t let him recognize me yet.

I see movement and a shift in the light through the peephole. Your escort has arrived, ready for penetration. Except it might not be the kind you like. A giggle bubbles in my throat, but I grab the stick of the candy and suck on it slowly as the door swings open. “Hi, sugar.” I pull the hard candy out of my mouth with a wet popping noise and grin wide at the disgusting piece of meat before me.

“Cherise? You look different than your picture on the website.” He runs a hand through his greasy brown hair, raking his dirty eyes up and down my body, assessing the woman before him.

“Well, it’s me. Aren’t you gonna invite me in to play, handsome?” I muse, with a cheery lilt in my tone.

With one more pass over my body, he must decide to throw his suspicions aside. He turns his body sideways to allow me access through the door. “Come on in, baby doll.”

I snort a laugh at how easy it is. As I pass by his beer belly, I trail two fingers up his chest and skip the rest of the way inside the dingy room. What a shit hole. One double bed with crusty bedsheets that sport a large brown stain near the foot of it, a cheap TV atop a nightstand directly across, and a large painting of some ocean-front resort that looks like it was made in the ‘80s. There’s a bathroom to the left, with a polka dot tie hanging around the door knob. It’s real classy; nothing gets me wetter than this lame excuse of a room.

I turn to the predatory stare of the man biting his drying, cracked lips—as if that will turn me on. I feel a sneer forming across my face, but quickly hide it with a fierce grin. Jack Scryer, one of my tormentors from my time at Silent Night. He used to shove pills down my throat against my will. Oh, how I would scream and fight when he pushed his grubby fingers down my throat with the pills to sedate me, to “make me feel better.” I marked him for death, and it was only a matter of time until I could enact my vengeance.

I bite my lip in return, mocking his stomach-curdling gesture, then take off my coat, and toss it over the TV. Placing the cherry candy back into my mouth, I suck on it slowly and sensually, holding his lustful, bloodshot green eyes. He watches me drag it in and out of my mouth while I suck my cheeks in and hum softly.

“You sure like sucking on things, don’t you, baby?” he quips, creeping closer to me. I see his tiny hard-on outlined through his brown khaki pants, and I want to gag.

I pull the stick out, just so, to twirl my tongue around the cherry-tipped candy and laugh low. “Sure do—I love candy. You gonna come play with me?” I pop my hip and run my hands over my body, spending extra time feeling over my breasts. I’m wearing a tight, red lace corset top, paired with a white frilly skirt that barely covers my ass cheeks.

He stands before me, the stench of beer and cigarettes fuming off his body, the same smell I remember lingering on his fingers when he gagged me with them. The scent makes me shudder, as I begin to stare off into space—getting lost in the memories— until I shake myself and focus on my mission. I’m going to make him choke on those same fingers. He reaches for my breasts, his hands cupped and ready to pounce on my flesh. I skip back with a giggle and pull out my phone. “Not so fast, silly. I like music in the background, to set the mood. Do you like music?” I don’t care what his answer is. I tap on the music app and play “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” by Dean Martin. This song makes me fucking feral, and I don’t know why. It gets me in the mood—to get more intimate with him than he might have bargained for.

A menacing smile spreads across my lips as I put the lollipop between my teeth. I turn towards the bathroom door, snatch the cheap tie, and wrap it around my fingers playfully. “What are you doing with my tie, baby? And what’s with the mask? I wanna see that pretty face,” he says with a low growl, as he stalks closer to me.

“Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll take it off in due time. But first,” I hold my hand out to gesture for him to stop walking. Like a meek rat, he stops. He thinks I’m playing nice—but I only play dirty. “Lie down on the bed. I know you mentioned you like to be dominated online. I’m gonna tie you up and make you beg for me.”

A smirk tilts his lips. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum already talking like that. Such a bad Mommy.”

I frown. Did he seriously just call me ‘Mommy?' “On the bed! Now!” I demand, raising my voice. He thinks I’m playing into his sick fantasy, and I’ll play the part for now. He jumps on the bed and flips on his back—I love it when my prey obeys; it makes things so much quicker.

I skip over to him and slowly climb over his body as I hum to the music playing. I snap the tie with both hands in front of his face, making a loud crack. He jumps beneath me and lets out a whimper. How pathetic, I’m not even at the fun part yet. “Feisty, Mommy,” he moans, his foul stench filling my nostrils when he opens his mouth.

I furrow my brows as I look down at him with distaste. “Put your arms above your head and cross your wrists for Mommy,” I muse in a singsong voice.

He does as I command immediately, and I bind his wrists with his tie and smile wide. He winces as I yank the material tight, ensuring he’s firmly restrained. I sing along with the lyrics to the song and stare down at him, unblinking. He inhales a shaky breath. “Why the Christmas music? No one listens to this anymore, not since he came and destroyed the holiday forever. Plus, it’s not a very sexy song.”

I run my hands over his chest, swirling the candy on my tongue as I gaze into his hungry eyes. He opens his mouth to speak again, but I snatch the white stick from my mouth and slam it inside his mouth, making him gag. “Shhh, you’ll ruin the best part, Jack.”

He raises his eyebrows in confusion. I laugh in his face, then push off him and the bed, and grab my coat that hangs over the TV. I dig into the deep pocket, and pull out the cable wire. I stand in front of the bed and unravel the coil. “What are you going to do with that? And, how do you know my name?” His voice trembles slightly—he’s beginning to worry about who he invited into his motel room. Good.

I play stupid, tapping my finger on my chin like I’m lost in thought. “Hmm, I thought that was your name. Must have been my last client, I get the names mixed up sometimes. Silly me.” He appears to relax slightly to my lie. I yank on his ankle, stretching his leg out wide and tie his ankle to the bed frame, then do the same with the other. “There, just how Mommy likes it,” I cringe. But I no longer need to keep up this charade—it’s time to play and collect my dues.

The song nears its end, so I go to my phone and restart it. A giggle bursts from my lips, and I reach back into my coat, pulling out my six-inch serrated blade. I hold it before my face, staring at my reflection; a wicked smile curls my lips. “What the fuck is that for?” He begins thrashing wildly on the bed, trying to escape his bindings. But, this isn’t my first time, and I know how to tie a good fucking knot. No, Mr. Scryer, you will not survive this night.

Ignoring his question, I jump back on the bed and straddle his twitching body. I run the knife tip gently across his cheek, careful not to break the skin. His body stills when I slide the steel over his flesh. A shiver surges down my spine as adrenaline rushes through my nerve endings. Now this—this makes me wet. “Look at me, Jack. Take a long, hard look. Scars are only skin deep, sugar.” A memory crashes into my brain, back in the Silent Night Asylum, when Jack repeated that same line to me when I was crying over my damaged, ugly skin—the scars covering my body. I struggle to catch my breath, shaking my head to rid myself of the thought. “Look at me, Jack!” I shriek, lowering my face closer to his.

His breaths are sharp and uneven, but he listens to my demands. I watch his eyes dart over my skin, and when he finally notices what’s been in front of his face all along, he slowly raises his glare to my gleeful smile. “It’s you! How… how is that possible?”

With an alluring laugh, I remove the wig, along with my mask that hid my true identity. “What do you mean? I’m Cherise Bates, your escort.” I tilt my head back and laugh maniacally.

“You died, bitch! This can’t be real!” he shrieks, thrusting his hips frantically beneath me to try and throw me off of him.

I grip his shirt in my hands and lean down. “Boo!” I rip the lollipop stick from his mouth and throw it on the bed. I reach for his bound hands and place the serrated edge of my blade on his index finger.

“Say you’re sorry, Jack!” He begins to cry out, begging for help. “Shut up! You’re gonna ruin the song!” I shriek, slicing my blade with ease through his skin—I push down hard, to break the bone and sever his finger entirely. Blood pools on the bed around the wound. “Say you’re fucking sorry!”

Tears spill down his face as he shakes his head ferociously. “I-I’m sorry, okay! I’m s-s-so fucking sorry S—”

I jam his bloody finger into his mouth with a sinful smile. “You lie, Jack. You all lie. Now choke on the same fingers that you violated my throat with.” He gags, blood sputters out of his mouth as he tries to spit the finger out.

Continuing my work, I sing along to the old Christmas tune that’s been lost to a time that no longer exists—when Christmas was full of joy and love, now tainted by the shadow of The Saint. My body aches with the desire to plunge my blade into him and make him pay for the sins he’s brought upon the world—brought to me. For now, I wait. I bide my time with these low-life pieces of shit that all stole parts of me, while adding scars to my psyche that will never heal. No, I won’t recover until revenge has been delivered to me—for my family and for every poor soul who’s been mutilated every Christmas Eve by The Saint and his Hell brigade since his reign of terror began.

Jack chokes loudly, snapping me from my wandering thoughts. I peer down at his gaping mouth, now stuffed full with all ten digits. Blood coats his mouth, face, and the bed. The tears amp up and spill down his cheeks. “What a pretty sight. How do your cigarette-stained fingers taste?” Goosebumps coat my flesh as I stare down at my masterpiece.

I giggle, bringing my finger to my mouth and biting on the tip softly. Jack tries to scream, but it’s muffled by the bloody appendages in his mouth. “You’re so pathetic,” I quip as I slice my blade across his throat. I watch the blood spurt out over his skin, crimson coloring the already-stained bed sheets. One last gurgle chokes out, before the light is gone from his eyes. I glance over to the lollipop on the bed. I pick it up and place it atop the fingers in his mouth, then chuckle. “So beautiful.”

One less tainted soul to walk on this earth. Feeling euphoric after reaping sweet vengeance, I hop off his limp body, go over to my coat, and pull out another cherry lollipop—I remove the wrapper and plop it in my mouth. I wipe the blood off the blade on Jack’s pant leg and put it into the jacket pocket.

Since I left Silent Night Asylum last December, I’ve been hunting the ones who made me feel fragile and small. In fact, anyone who preys on the innocent and those weaker than them, I silence completely. Every sick son of a bitch whose life I claim leads me one step closer to the grand finale—it makes me stronger for him, The Saint.

With one last glance at my work of art, I throw my coat back on and leave the dirty motel behind. I’m ready for The Saint. This time, I won’t run away.