‘Yes,’ Hunter admitted.

‘So the picture is still incomplete, Robert. You still have no idea who I really am, do you?’

Hunter and Sanders locked eyes as if in a battle. Hunter blinked first.

‘Your real name is Richard,’ he said. ‘Richard Temple.’

Sanders looked back at Hunter in bewildered surprise. It took him several seconds to overcome the shock of what he’d heard. As he did so, he laughed again, but this time it was a strange laugh that disturbed Hunter. It gurgled up from the depths of his body as if he had chewed it for a long time in his lungs before spitting it out. It was raucous with pain. Emotional pain. When he spoke again, his voice was coated with a macabre tone.

‘You’re wrong, Robert. My name isn’t Richard. My name is . . .’

Sanders paused and moved his neck first left then right in an anxious manner.

‘Squirm.’

Eighty-Eight

Six years had passed.

Squirm’s hope that the police would one day capture ‘The Monster’ for any of the heinous crimes he had committed over the years had died a long time ago. He would never be saved. ‘The Monster’ would never let him go.

Squirm was eighteen years old now. He was still scrawny, but almost as tall as ‘The Monster’. He’d expected to be dead by now, but it seemed that ‘The Monster’ enjoyed having him around.

Every year, on Squirm’s birthday, ‘The Monster’ sat with him in the kitchen and talked to him as if they were old friends. Squirm listened more than talked, but still, that was the only time ‘The Monster’ treated him like a human being.

Today was Squirm’s eighteenth birthday.

‘The Monster’ had woken him up early – 5:45 a.m. – like he had done every single day in the past six years, shackled him (by a single wrist only) to one of the metal rings in the kitchen and allowed Squirm to eat breakfast. Not from the floor. Not with his hands. But like a civilized person.

‘I have a question for you, Squirm,’ ‘The Monster’ had said as Squirm finished his piece of chocolate cake.

For the past five years, as a present to Squirm on his birthday ‘The Monster’ had brought him a single slice of chocolate cake. It had become a sort of ritual.

Without making eye contact, Squirm nodded shyly.

Squirm had grown up shrouded by interminable fear and completely stripped of all self-confidence. A comparison to a scared puppy wouldn’t have been far from the truth.

‘How would you like to possess a woman?’

Squirm paused and this time looked back at his long-term captor.

‘You are officially a man now. So I think it’s time you learn what it is to be a real man.’ ‘The Monster’ slapped his own chest twice. ‘How about I give you some time with the next piece of trash I bring in here, huh? You would like that, wouldn’t you?’

Squirm froze.

‘Actually,’ ‘The Monster’ continued carelessly, ‘thinking about it, we can do better than that. We can do much better than that. How about, after you’re done with the piece of trash, you get rid of her? And you know just what I mean when I say get rid of her, don’t you?’

The pause that followed was so heavy that Squirm thought it would put a hole through the earth.

‘I know you know what to do, Squirm. You’ve had plenty of classes over the years, haven’t you?’

For six years, ‘The Monster’ had made Squirm watch every single one of his murders. Thirty-three in total. And he had made Squirm memorize the name of every victim. Squirm would never forget their names. He would never forget their faces. He would never forget how they died.

‘You can hurt her as much as you like, Squirm. How does that sound, huh?’

Squirm broke eye contact again. He could feel his throat constricting.

‘I know you have a lot of anger inside you.’ ‘The Monster’ scratched his crotch. ‘Well, maybe it’s time you set that anger free, Squirm, and I say punish her with everything you have. Make her scream with fear, with pain, with suffering and I guarantee you’ll feel liberated . . . vindicated . . . cleansed . . . powerful. You will feel like God.’

Squirm’s heartbeat picked up speed.

‘And that is my present to you, Squirm. Tonight you’ll not only become a real man but you’ll become God.’ ‘The Monster’ let out a throaty laugh. ‘On this earth, there’s no feeling more powerful.’

Tonight?

His heart began thundering against his chest.

Tonight?

Faster still. Squirm felt like his heart might explode out of his body.

Tonight.

That one word terrified him.

He began feeling dizzy.

Tonight you’ll not only become a real man, but you’ll become God.

He couldn’t breathe.

Fear flooded every atom in his body.

Ironically, that fear, that immeasurable fear, was what finally gave him the courage he’d been lacking for six years. Courage that every night had boiled inside his brain but every morning had failed to materialize in his veins.

Today was Squirm’s birthday. It was the only day throughout the entire year when, for a very brief period of time, ‘The Monster’ shackled him to the wall by a single wrist.

For the past three birthdays, Squirm had thought about lashing out against ‘The Monster’ when he wasn’t looking, but right at that last second his courage had always failed him. And if courage had been what Squirm was depending on that day, it would’ve failed him again, but sometimes the only thing that can overcome fear is fear itself.

Squirm looked at ‘The Monster’ who was sitting to his left. This time, what collided inside of him wasn’t fear against courage but fear against fear.

As ‘The Monster’ turned to look at the clock on the wall, Squirm tensed, closed his eyes and allowed fear to guide him.

Squirm had never heard of an ‘out of body’ experience. But there was no other way he could describe how he saw the scene play out before his eyes.

As if he were watching a movie on a big screen, Squirm saw himself sitting in that kitchen, just to the right of ‘The Monster’. Suddenly, and as if the movie had been slowed down to a fraction of its original speed, he saw his right arm swing out. Not the arm that had been freed from its restraints but the one with the thick metal cuff around its wrist, from which a long chain crossed the room and connected to a metal ring on the east wall.

The shackled arm slowly gained ground, agonizingly inching closer and closer towards his captor’s face.

The spectator Squirm could barely watch. What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Stop it. Stop it.

But the Squirm in the movie couldn’t hear him. He was aiming to hit ‘The Monster’ square across the jaw, but ‘The Monster’ turned to look at the clock just in time. Luck seemed to be on Squirm’s side that day. The metal cuff around his wrist struck ‘The Monster’ at the center of his right temple.

The spectator Squirm saw the man’s eyes flicker, then roll back into his head. The scene shocked and excited him in equal measures.

Was this really happening?

Time trickled away.

Time that he didn’t have.

He screamed at the screen.

Hit him again. Hit him again.

This time, it seemed like the Squirm in the movie heard the loud shouts because he brought his right hand back and swung it against ‘The Monster’ once again. Harder this time. It hit him almost exactly in the same spot as before.

His head and arms shook as if he was having an epileptic attack.

The spectator Squirm could barely believe his eyes.