She drove a short distance away to a wooded area concealed from the road and any homes, and she went to the back to do her business. He was beginning to come to when she opened the back hatch, so she hit him again with the taser, before cuffing his ankles and hog-tying him with the two cuffs. She then duct taped his mouth, filled him full of drugs, put a tarp over him, and drove the three hours back to the farmhouse.
He was naked with duct tape wrapped around his legs and his entire arms and midsection. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, and he laid in a forty-gallon metal stock tank. The tank was filled with water, covering everything but his face. The basement smelled of mildew and mothballs, a fluorescent light flickering overhead. From every electrical outlet, in all directions, long extension cords stretched toward the tank.
Orion knew, logically, that this specific monster wasn’t one of the men that did things to her. She had a sneaking suspicion that her monsters were disguised as doctors, lawyers, fathers. That they would not be on any lists. But he was close enough. His past was why she chose him as her first victim—her debut. He had been in a position of respect and authority, and he had used that position to sate his own sick hunger while destroying so many little boys’ lives in the process. He was the perfect candidate.
She hadn’t given up on finding the ones who had broken her, but for now, she was happy with providing revenge for those who were unable or unwilling.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t structuring this like she had planned on doing with the doctor, everything detailed, everything on her terms. She was aware it was unhinged to plan such a horrific way to kill a man, to torture him. That it didn’t exactly denote sanity.
Orion should’ve felt something. Scared. Nervous. Sick. Angry. But she felt nothing.
Calm had settled over her, a kind of emptiness. Not even hot hatred at this man and what he’d done. This was just a task. Something she had to do.
She’d also taken great care with her appearance. All of those makeup tutorials hadn’t gone to waste. Her skin was flawless. Her lips were full, painted blood red. Her eyes were rimmed with black and edged with a strong wing.
She was wearing all black leather. It made her look great and it was just practical. Leather gloves too.
His eyes clouded with confusion at first. He tried to move his arms as he observed the water surrounding him, the darkness, and then he looked at her with fluttering eyelids.
“Wh-what th-the . . . what the fuck? What are you doing?” he asked hoarsely.
“Good evening, Mr. Anderson. How are you feeling?”
He splashed around in the water, spilling some over the edges of the tank, and it funneled toward the drain at its base. Some also went up his nose and he coughed and spluttered in reaction to it, his head sinking underneath the water.
She moved to him quickly, pulling his head up and out of the water by his hair. “Now, now . . . we don’t want you dying just yet, do we? That would defeat the whole purpose.”
“What do you want?” he cried out. “Money? I’ve got some. I’ll give it to you. Everything I have!” His voice cracked with desperation.
Orion chuckled. “It’s not money I want from you, Mr. Anderson.” She let go of his hair and began pacing around the tank.
He fought to keep his head above the water, gasping for air.
Orion paced as she continued. “We’re always so sure that moments in our childhood are pivotal. That we’ll carry them with us.” She trailed her hand along the rim of the tank, staring at the man as his petrified eyes followed her. “That we’ll remember those moments, take them into adulthood where we can take them out and leaf through them like they’re a photo album.” She met his eyes. “Problem is, that doesn’t happen. I don’t remember any of them. No detail. But the parts I would do anything to forget, the parts I was sure would fade with time because no human could survive with that much horror crammed into their skulls with such clarity . . . they won’t go away. I remember every part I wished to forget, and anything I would want to remember is nothing but scraps.”
“P-please, I don’t even know who you are! What have I done to you?” He began to weep then, and it sickened her.
“To me? You didn’t do anything to me. But what about Tommy Edleman? Griffin Bellmore? Hank Jones?”
His face read understanding then, embarrassment and fear.
“Need I go on?” She met the eyes of the helpless man.
“I’ve served my time. I’ve paid my dues,” he said breathlessly. “Please.”