Chapter 1

The truth lies in what never leaves our tongues. Sweet twisted tales of tantric themes too sharp for the human psyche to handle on its everyday operating level. The clichés are reversed in cosmic irony as walks of life cross in common everyday ways, yet the forces they pull on each other work like the mechanisms of a carefully oiled machine. The man who glanced at you while you picked your bag of apples at the grocery store. You’ve seen him there before, or was it somewhere else? Our climax saturated lives numb us to the glances that could save or lose our lives; always waiting for the next thing, like materialistic gluttons.

My hands gripped the shopping cart’s metallic handle in anticipation, watching the shoppers drone through their simple routines. So subtle are the urges, the tendencies and nuances we hide to our fellow man. Our addictions played out in forms common: alcohol, narcotics, self-manipulation, sex. The need, the thirst, for something outside of flat-lined feelings and fake emotions. Our drug of choice marks us, regardless of how we’d like to think. My thirst yearned at my core, a sickness that sent my skin crawling, and only one thing would quench my restless throat. Tonight. Yes, tonight we would no longer be parched.

It was always there, in the backseat, the urge, pulling at me; making me restless. The routine subdued Its picking at my skin. Spaces were kept compulsively tidy, methods handled to an exact order, and every activity of the day had its specific ritual. Life was a surgical procedure – everything was put to its place, at its time, doing its part exactly how it should. In this world, Its world, there was no room for compromise. This was a sterile area. There was no room for mistake. This is how we operated and tonight would be no different.

We like to think we know how we're going to die. We like to tell our friends that we'll go out in a blaze of glory or quietly in our sleep. We like to think that we have control over fate. And the moment we watch that control slip from our fingertips, a gleam of adrenaline hits our eyes like we've just seen God. Vulnerability has an appealing light. I've seen it come on and go out more than most people have seen a camera flash.

Tonight was Don’s night to shine.

He hung almost saintly, his limp figure drawing down like a cross to the world that would take him. Dust hung in the air and sparkled like embers under the rusty deteriorating shop lamp, which swung back and forth. This pendulum motion, this balance and rhythm, was hard to maintain. Even harder was it to keep natural, to blend in this khaki-colored society. I watched the light swing slowly and took a deep breath of the hot, humid air, staring intently at my hung savior.

Don was no saint, however saintly he hung rested. The grease and sweat clung to his dirty skin like a disease and he reeked of ill intention. His face hung in disregard, like he honestly thought in his unconscious state that he'd been doing this longer than me. He looked average enough. A lean man, no more than six foot. Scrappy, they’d say.

Time ticked tirelessly. His breath increased and his face tightened. Soon. Soon we would dance.

With a tattered breath he shook suddenly and ripped his head backwards, his body thrashing against the wall, shackles clanging loudly. The disruption echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse. He sent his head loudly forward and stared at me in an angered panic. Ten feet between us, the light sparkled an aura almost otherworldly as I sat backwards in the metal shop chair, silhouetted, my arms crossed in content. I smiled at him, genuinely. I was, after all, incredibly happy to see him. Well, as happy as someone of my emotional experience could be at least. I'd been needing to have this conversation for a while. I gazed up at his dirty, backwater clothed flesh through my black hair and waited patiently for a response.

"What the hell?! Who are you! What the fuck is going on?" he rattled and screamed from his cross.

Cloaked in shadow I drew in a saturated breath, "This," I exhaled, "is deliverance."

"Fucking woman?!"

Like my gender is going to really matter in ten minutes but with the men it's a guaranteed shock, every time. Pushing my chair out in front of me, beyond the light, I walked to stand enveloped in it. I reached out with my right hand and pulled beside me a surgical tray armed with a variety of tools from scalpel to bone saw. The glimmer of the metal flashed across his detained portrait and the cold handle sent an invigorating chill down my spine. Alive.

“Who are you?”

“I am someone who fixes things. I’m going to make sure you don’t hurt anyone. Ever again.”

“What?! I-Wh-I haven’t killed anyone!”

“Ha!” I covered my smile. “No one said you had, darling.”

I looked down at my surgical tools, the yellow light and dusty atmosphere tainting their perfect silver shine. Soon they’ll be dancing in the rain, washed in the red moonlight. I took in a vigorous breath, my nostrils flaring, my eyes widening with the exhilaration of expectations soon to come.

"You don't do nice things, Don." I said gazing at the shine as my finger rolled the scalpel back and forth on the tray. "A few days ago I had to reset both of a young girl's thighbones. I had to stick rods inside both of her bones." I walked up and placed my hand on his thigh. "You see Don, the thighbone is like a big tube.” I moved my hand up his leg, pressing to feel the bone beneath. I pushed my weight into his leg so he could feel my strength. His muscle twitched as if it was seizing, his face contorted in an effort to not show any pain. “What you have to do,” I compressed his leg with full force. He grimaced a yelp of pain. “is you place a rod into the middle and across the fracture. Then you lock it down with screws which pass through the bone and across the rod." I looked up and focused into his eyes and waited. "Do you know how much force it takes to break someone's legs, Don?"

Don scoffed and pulled back. "Fuck you." His spit landed onto my face. Sticky and repulsive.

I looked back behind us into the dark. Shrouded, just barely visable was a large pile of steel pipes. I looked back at Don, an eyebrow raised and a small moment of fear spread across his sick face. I smiled and walked back to the surgical tray. The footsteps echoed cavernous, the surgical tray screeched as I pulled it to the vertical table where he hung. I lifted up the scalpel and slowly walked back to him. I stood face to face with him, my eyes narrow.

“Confess.”

“Fuck you.” He spat through his teeth.

“No. Admit you broke seventeen year old Casey’s legs before you raped her, then slammed her head so hard into the pavement she needed brain surgery.”

“No! No, no, no.”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes.” I sneered, moving closer.

He looked away from me, his head toward the ground. Shame? Remorse? Surely not. This was a monster. Casey was not his first and of that I was irrevocably certain. Don Celler was a monster. His eyes, his smell, even without the evidence of his acts gave him away. We always know when we’re in good company.

“Confess.”

“No!” he screamed.

I threw my hand against his neck so tight his eyes bulged trying desperately to escape his face. I drew the scalpel right at his lips.

“Confess or I’ll cut the skin from your lips.” I threatened calmly.

Cold steel just millimeters from his lips proved convincing and they parted carefully.

“I did it. I broke her legs. I fucked her!” he spoke confidently through his teeth. "And I'm not sorry." His breath heaved agitated pants and I could feel his heart rate increasing as my hand clasped his neck.

I pulled back and stared at him for a fleeting moment. His eyes held true in the thought that he’d make it out of this alive. I pulled my tray closer to the table and let my hand grace over all the cold, metallic wonders. With a simple press of a button I shifted his table horizontal, the light hanging perfectly center over his laid out carcass. I looked down on him and watched his eyes with a devilish grin. I gracefully lifted a ten blade from the table. I held it above him, gazing deeply into its shine.

“Look at that. Steady as a surgeon.” I smiled. I could see his dirty mouth fall open in the reality of his swiftly arriving torment. From the shadows I pulled units of blood and fluids. I grabbed a ball of gauze and grabbed him by his hair, forcing the gag into his mouth.

"It's a long surgery." I picked up the bone saw, reached up and pulled the light out of its pendulum rhythm. I held it for a minute, the bone saw gleaming, then turned it onto Don's face. His eyes were red, his face rushed with panic, stained with sweat.

"I'm going to enjoy performing it on you."