Contractual Retribution

Don’t worry, you’re still alive. You’re blindfolded.

The room you’re in is the last room you’ll set foot in.

The sound you hear? My tools need to be kept sharp.

You didn't see me coming. From behind. When I grabbed you and cuffed your hands behind your back. The tape to your mouth quickly silence you as I dragged you into the back of my van. It was quite easy really. As you always follow the same routine. I just waited patiently for the right conditions - a nice overcast evening, with a blustery wind and cold snap to keep the throngs of people that usually populate this part of the city at bay. Then, snatched you from your life.

I've been watching you for a while now. I know you very well - better than you know yourself, likely. Predictability is the downfall of a large percentage of humans. It's easy to stick to a routine and encouraged. To stop your life from becoming too chaotic - you need a schedule - a plan - a running order for your year, month, week, and day. And you, well, you take the advice to the extreme, don't you?

I know what you're thinking - I would be too if I was unfortunate enough to be in your position - with such a tight schedule people are going to miss you. Right? Well, usually, I'd agree with you. If I’d snatched that nice, polite blonde you were curt with on the bus a few nights ago, I’m sure she has a wide circle of family, friends, colleagues and even not very close acquaintances who'll miss her. That's why she wasn't my choice.

I’ve been doing this for an exceptionally long time, you see, Rena. There are a few kinds of people others just don't miss. You can...well I can snatch them from their life and take them as my own. No one bats an eyelid. Like you, Rena. Ah, Rena, I’m almost impressed with your accomplishments. I admire the artistry and commitment to skewing societal norms. Don't get me wrong, you’ve done fine work over the years. It’s because of your achievements, I’ll give you special treatment. Often, I've been known to just snap a neck or pierce flesh and extract each vital organ one by one. It's a wonderful way to see their life light diminish gradually. I always end on the heart, of course.

By now, my tributes would’ve lost their sight. However, you’re a special case, Rena. I’ve decided to let you see your fate. Seems appropriate, given our history.

Once the blindfold comes off - you’re going to feel a full range of sensations, thoughts and feelings. You know the five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance? It's similar to that, but with a different end.

First, you’ll feel tingles of denial – there’s no way, you could be about to face their demise, after a short three score years of making other’s lives a misery. You already feel it, don’t you? I see you questioning me behind the blindfold.

Second, you’ll feel anger towards me, for stopping you, for daring to challenge you and take you out. Then anger at yourself, justifiably, for being easy prey.

Then you’ll bargain. Try to make a deal to spare you, maybe even entice me to collaborate with you.

Then you’ll feel depressed. This is the hardest part, really. As those feelings, emotions and that ravaged conscience you’ve tried to suffocate over the years, bubble to the surface. Watching my tributes suffer… is an unmatched joy. My employers understand my need to find some enjoyment in my work. As long as the heart’s ventricles are intact. Ah, your shoulders have gone down – making swift progress, Rena.

I wonder who’ll surface first? Our delightful little grandmother or my dear mother? Do you remember them?

I’m sure it’ll bring you great joy to know you were our family’s ruiner when you ripped the hearts from those women.

I gave up worrying about your motives. Disturbed, neglected, underdeveloped, all words that mean the same – excuses. Rena. The walking excuse. This is where we’re different. I’ve been commissioned to a purposeful line of work. You just chose the weakest and most malleable individuals to wreak havoc on. My admiration for your powers of manipulation and mutilation don't negate my lack of sympathy for your motivations.

Maybe it’ll be that little girl. Remember her? I bet you do. What was she? Hm? 15 weeks old. My word. I offer my tributes to despicable people, but even they were shocked at your lack of empathy or anything approaching humanity. Does she still scream?

“Fiction is the truth inside the lie. We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.” – Stephen King

Whatever happens next. We’ll experience it together.

Finally, you’ll accept. Accept your sorry excuse for a life has reached its expiry date. It’s not the innings you were expecting, but as you’ve proven again and again to the many others you’ve manipulated and slowly petered out to nothing – life is rarely fair.

I love the sound of resignation. That muffled sigh.

Then, I’m afraid, it’s business as usual. I’ll present my offering – your just torture and punishment followed by your execution and then maybe, I’ll get a good night’s sleep. I wonder if Rena, you’ll be a worthy enough tribute to free me from my contract. Does peace exist?

You see, plucked from obscurity, to do good. I entered into a contract with an organisation a long time ago and I’ve been providing them with tributes – the most awful humanity has to offer. I long for freedom from my cursed existence and it’s fitting that my final tribute, would be you.

I miss your laughter, my sister. But you chose this path.

“I’m sorry”

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: 999 words according to Vocal's counter. This is for Kenny Penn's Frighten Me! Please? Challenge. I published a story yesterday that was too long for Kenny's challenge, but this one falls within the 600 to 1000 words. There is still time to enter it!

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