The Things No One Saw
362 Words
She met him at the bar.
Not the kind of place she liked — loud, cheap whiskey, sticky floors. But predators liked easy terrain. So did she.
He was laughing when she saw him — leaning too close to the bartender, fingers brushing her wrist too long. She recognized the smirk. The kind that dripped with false charm. She’d seen his name before — on the file she kept in a locked drawer beneath her bed.
Elliot Crane.
Age 38.
Two rape charges dropped. No conviction.
Three missing girls — all under twenty.
The world didn’t see him for what he was. But she did. She always did.
She played her part well: lipstick smudged just enough, dress short but not desperate, a little tipsy smile. It didn’t take long. Men like him were always looking for a thrill they thought they controlled.
He followed her to her place. Thought he was in charge. Until the door shut.
She offered him a drink — laced with ketamine. Not enough to kill, just enough to fog the mind, slow the reflexes.
“Let’s play a game,” she whispered, watching the drug slip into his bloodstream, his pupils dilating, his body relaxing. “Tell me what you’ve done... before I decide what I’ll do.”
He blinked, confused. “What?”
She circled him like a shark, then leaned in. “You like hurting girls, don’t you, Elliot?”
He laughed — a small, weak sound. “What the f**k are you talking about?”
She pulled out the wire — thin, strong, already looped.
He didn’t get to laugh again.
The struggle was brief. She’d done it enough times to know exactly how long to pull, where to press. His eyes bulged, face turning colors, lips gasping for air that would never come.
When it was done, she stared at his face. He didn’t look like a monster anymore. He just looked dead.
She always felt something after — not satisfaction. Not guilt. Something in between. Something hollow.
She placed his photo — bloodstained now — in the second row of her wall.
Two down.
But there were still so many left.
- Writer
