It’s sad, but a great gift to me, that the well of depraved sick bastards never seems to dry up. Especially now, when I really need to use my blades.
My feet ache to take me through the moist mulch of the forest.
My hands are tingling, wanting to bury another grave.
Angel shut the door in my face, tears in her eyes. But I’ve kept true to my word, I haven’t left her.
I follow her as she goes to work.
I watch her as she tries to have a social life with her waste of space friends.
I dream of her as she undresses at night.
She just doesn’t know it. Not yet, she isn’t ready. But she will be. I can tell she has become more vigilante, looking out her windows more often. Checking her phone on a routine schedule. She’ll never see me though, not until I want to be seen.
Just like with Vincent Harbringer here. I scroll through the information I’ve found on him. Blinking to focus my eyes in the pitch black.
Age, fifty eight.
Seven counts of molestation on under aged girls. Registered sex offender. Three counts of breaking his conditions.
The next victim. My next victim.
I spend the next few hours switching between the research on Vinny and the rest trying to keep my fingers from clicking the live feed of Angel’s house.
It’s going to be a wonderful day.