In Cold Blood

Darkness descended on Jane as she woke. Something rough was tied around her eye. She couldn’t move. Her arms and legs were tightly bound to what felt like a metal pole. Thick cloth covered her mouth, muffling her breathing. Stripped of her sight, she relied on her other senses. She could hear the faint chirping of crickets, the distant bark of a dog, and water dripped in a steady rhythm. Each sound echoed, making her think she was indoors. A basement, maybe. What frightened her most wasn’t just the place—it was the precision. The criminal had been into her. A demented lunatic. It's belief rooted to the Devil. it knows all her background information; what she liked, what places she went, her routine, her habits and such. Whoever this was knew everything. Jane fought against the ropes. Pain shot down her arms and into her back. The cords were cutting deep into her skin. Every movement a cruel reminder of her helplessness. Every small move burned. Her breath quickened as fear rose in her chest. There was a slim—almost nonexistent—chance of escape. The thick cloth over her eyes blocked out even the faintest glimmer of light, leaving her stranded in pitch-black uncertainty. Every second stretched endlessly in the dark, every sound magnified, every thought spiraling toward fear. The door creaked open. The sound of metal slicing through the walls came to her ears. One step. Two. Three. Then another. Each one sent her heart pounding harder, a rhythm of dread inside her chest. She held her breath. Then, she heard the other person talk, in a voice—deep and calm. “How does it feel to be deprived the right to speak?" the voice asked mockingly. “Tied up, gagged, and not so tough anymore, huh? How’s it feel—being completely helpless?” Jane clenched her jaw under the cloth, her fists tightening even in the restraints. The footsteps stopped right in front of her. She could feel it's presence now. “You know,” the voice continued, circling her slowly, “I always wondered what you'd look like like this. Quiet. Not running that smart mouth of yours.” Jane’s breathing grew shallow. Her pulse thudded in her ears, but she kept her head high—or at least as high as the ropes would let her. “If you’re not such a coward, then show yourself,” Jane mumbled through the gag, her voice muffled but defiant. He let out a small laugh. “Oh, you’re still mouthy.” Before she could react, she felt a sharp sting on the right side of her cheek. He had used something sharp—a knife, probably—to cut the cloth. The fabric dropped away, and her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to adjust. The sudden light felt like needles stabbing her vision. And then… she saw him. Clear as day.The one she had hoped—prayed—wasn’t behind all of this. He stood there, laughing like it was all some sick joke. "Hi again," he said, grinning like a devil. Jane stared at him, her blood boiling. She would’ve given anything to wipe that smug smile off his face. She smiled back just for a second and then spat straight into his face. “How about you go to hell and meet your father,” she said coldly. “Seriously. f**k you.” He didn’t flinch. He just wiped the saliva from his face, then started laughing, like she’d told the world’s funniest joke. “I love that about you. The bravery. You remind me of Leah. You two have quite a resemblance. Just like the others,” he said, shaking his head. “Acting tough. Playing the hero. You know where that got them?” He paused. The smile returned, darker this time “Dead. That’s where. I killed them and burnt all the files and evidence against my organization. And now that I’m looking at you... you kinda remind me of them. Only difference is, they were younger.” Then he leaned in a little. “Wanna hear their story? It’s a real tearjerker.” Jane stayed quiet. But he kept going. “ After burning all her files, I returned to this building where she was dozing off to sleep. Then I thought it was the best time to mercilessly kill her. And by mercilessly I meant what you investigated with her death," the killer smiled proudly."They thought they could sneak around, dig into my life from the shadows. Just like you. Thought they were smarter than me. Thought they could trap a ghost.” He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. “But I have one question for you…” he whispered, tilting his head slightly. “What made you think you would survive when they didn’t?” he asked, his tone sharp—almost mocking. “Save your answers for later,” he said, glancing down at the knife still in his hand. He turned it slowly, the blade catching the light. Then he continued. “They called me mad,” he murmured, voice softer now. “A psychopath. Said I should’ve never been born.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a split second, Jane saw something strange—something almost like sadness. “But they never asked why, did they?” he said, his voice steady again. “They just judged. And Left me to rot in the dark.” He took a step back. "But I’m not mad. I’m an advocate of change. Free from error. That’s who I am. I believe in order. And to get that? I will wipe out anything that stands in the way. Be it a man or a woman. Especially women who forget their place in obedience. The world lost its balance the moment it let them forget that.” Jane’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You call that change?” she snapped, eyes burning with rage. “You sound like a lunatic with a god complex. You think you're fixing the world? No, you're just a coward hiding behind some sick excuse. You need serious help.” The man slapped her across the face."Shut up, You little tramp. You only speak when I ask you to." he said. Jane had hit a vital point. He kept pacing around the room, clearly angry. Then he continued. “You’re different, Jane. You deserve something special. At first, I thought I’d kill you the same way I did the others. But that’s too easy. Too...predictable. I wanted something new. Something different.” He looked at her, eyes twinkling with excitement. “So, tell me, Miss Peters... how would you like your death to be?” “How about you dead first,” she muttered. He grinned. “You have any idea what a nine-inch bowie can do to a drat like you?" he said, twirling the blade in his hand. "Just give me a second. I will be right back." With that, he stood and walked to the steel table placed at the corner of the room. On it Laid out neatly were his instruments—sterilized, sharpened. His fingers hovered over them. Then he brought a weapon to his chest, held it reverently, and walked back to her. Jane looked up just as he stepped closer and her breath caught in her throat. She stared at her killer, in his hands…was the most horrifying weapon used to kill someone. Long. Rusted. Heavy. One side was flat. The other—jagged, sharp like broken bone. Stained. Made to crush and tear flesh. It's head darkened with age and use. “How do you see this?” he asked softly, stepping into the light. “You will love every bit of it. Now, shall we...begin?” Jane wanted to laugh at the twisted irony in his words, but the sight of that monstrous weapon wiped the humor from her soul. It was a Butcher's bandsaw.