Page 10 of Cut Deeper

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” I stabbed it again and again.

I tossed the knife on the table and hurled the canvas and easel to the floor. It crashed down—wood against wood—and I felt a little better. My chest was still heaving. I rotated my head, easing the tension in my neck and shoulders, then left the studio.

I switched the light off on my way out.

Day or night. Nothing worked.

I checked the doors before going upstairs, took a long shower, and climbed into bed.

Tomorrow was a new day.

A new opportunity.

?? ?? ??

A sharp pinch on my neck woke me. I moved to grab at it and found a figure looming above me, the hall light bleeding into the bedroom behind him.

His eyes were dead.

Dark and dead.

I blinked as my eyelids tried to close against my will.

“Muvver-fuk-k-k-rr,” I tried, and felt the drool leave my lips.

My eyes closed. I began to chuckle.

I was going to kill him so fucking hard.

My head began to spin.

When I woke up. I would kill him then.

Kill. Slice. Dice. Smash.

Night night.

Chapter 6

Ethan

She was clinically insane. There was no other explanation. Even as she lost consciousness, there was a smile curling her lips. If I woke up to a needle in my neck I would have been furious—or at least attempted to lunge at my attacker. I shook my head and went to the hallway to wheel the suitcase in.

I rolled her over to make space for the suitcase and unzipped it, before lifting her and placing her inside. I arranged her limbs, tucking them in carefully, admiring her foetal position.

“Don’t make me kill you,” I whispered, brushing her hair away from her face.

I closed the suitcase and zipped it up, found the handle, and lifted her. Around 118 lbs. I’d enjoy assessing the symmetry of her body properly—I’d studied every portion of her face for weeks, and watching her on camera in her studio had been a treat. But now I was taking the real thing to my basement. The place that had terrified every guest unfortunate enough to find themselves there. My playground.

I closed her door behind me and pressed the button for my car. The boot opened slowly and I placed her inside. There were holes drilled into the suitcase to allow air to circulate—she would be fine for the hour’s drive home.

I eased out of her driveway, creeping along the street until I reached the turning onto the main road.

This was it.

I’d taken Anne Selbourne.

There were hardly any cars out. I focused on the route, forcing myself not to exceed the speed limit.