Seeing that Christopher has passed out from the pain, I grab a hammer from my bag, and wrap an arm around my girl’s shoulders. “Shall we wake him up for some more?”
Chloe nods eagerly. I kiss the top of her head, then tap Christopher’s cheek with the hammer. He murmurs in his sleep.
“Fun’s not over yet! Time to wake up.” When he still doesn’t stir, I slam the hammer down on his stomach. That gets him moving. His eyes fly open, and his back arches.
The realization that there’s no escaping this seems to finally dawn on him and once he settles down, he quietly waits for what’s to come.
“You took away all those girls’ voices. You drugged them, and raped them with your friends. They couldn’t say no, and even when they did, you carried on. My sister is fucking dead because of what you did to her!”
“I’m sorry!”
I’ve always imagined those two words to be the ones that break me. But hearing them out loud, they do absolutely nothing. I’m not more angry with him. I don’t think that’s possible. I definitely don’t forgive him. What I am is ready for this to end.
“Little sinner, anything you want to ask, do it now.”
She takes a moment to think. “What about the convent? Did you go there as well?”
I was wrong about the anger thing. If he’s hurt her, touched her, then my anger’s about to go fucking nuclear.
“No, they keep their girls to themselves. But sometimes Tristan would come here. He’d spend time with Ali while she was knocked out, but he’s not come since she moved out.”
Chloe presses her hand to her mouth. She looks horrified.
He was willing to pimp out his own daughter so he could do this shit?
“Your daughter was being raped in her bed upstairs? Why the fuck would you let him anywhere near her?”
Christopher’s bottom lip wobbles, and all he does is stare at me.
“Why?” I shout, bringing the hammer down, stopping barely an inch from his face.
“Even if I wanted to stop him, do you think anyone would believe me if I accused a priest of those things? It was a small sacrifice to make?—”
Before he can say another word, I swing the hammer down on his chest. “You sick motherfucker. Are all the girls you hurt in that notebook?”
He nods as he cries.
“How long?” I hit him again.
“What?”
Another hit, and this time I hear the distinct crack of bone. “How long have you known about Tristan Daniels’interests?”
“A-about ten years I think. Maybe more. I’m not sure exactly. Just please don’t hurt me again. I’m sorry, okay?”
In case I end up caving in his chest too soon, I move to his ankle, bashing it repeatedly until all that’s left is a gnarled mess of blood and protruding bone.
“You could have saved all those girls at the convent! If you went to the cops, you could have helped, but no, you chose to keep being a sick, twisted little pervert. You chose to give up your fucking daughter. So save your apologies, we don’t want or need them.”
Walking away from him, I take Chloe with me.
“Are you okay?” she asks, cupping my cheek.
Fuck, how is she so pure? After everything she’s been through, she’s still thinking of others and not just herself.
“It should be me asking you that.” I glance at the clock on the wall, the hands ticking closer to dawn by the second. I’m running out of time.
Pulling my knife out, I ready myself to get this over with. Then I see a camcorder. Chloe’s watching me closely. Concerned for me.
