Cat in the Mouse Trap

1 | The Ramblings of an Idiot Victim

Burning. Searing. Very painfully aching, my body had been. Why must I endure such pain, such tribulations? Have I done something to anger—to garner vengeance—from the Gods above? No, no. Surely... surely it must be a mistake for I have lived a life of virtue, of true belief, of wholehearted and unselfish philanthropy. How, then, am I here? How, then, have I found myself in a predicament so dreadful—so horrible—as this? It is now that I pray to every God, every demon, every deity so that should my soul part my body that it may rest in peace.

But as I presently am, I have no need for such trivialities for I have issues seeking my immediate attendance. You see me as delusional, but you cannot fathom how paranoid, yes, how attentive I am. This "problem" you hear of is but a simple issue compared to the dozens—to the hundreds of other cases that have found a home on the very desk of the police. The name, Janine Walters—my name—among the many other God forsaken names upon that God forsaken list is a mere speckle in a dust pan. I am missing, you say. I will appear again, you preach—as if my mere disappearance is but a common occurrence. You may congratulate yourself for your eager conclusions, but I—I will be patiently awaiting my turn in the seat of justice.

I will be waiting when it is my turn to bare my fists against the flesh of the man who dared to lay his hand upon me. I will be waiting—waiting to bind his hands and to bind his feet with rope—to tear his skin and to slice his body like he did mine. I will be waiting—yes, eagerly waiting—for a chance at redemption for the anguish and afflictions put unto me by the wrath of a man whom you may consider crazy.

Yes, I, among the countless others—who have fallen victim of this man—am able to promise that my torment is not a result of jealousy—of mere envy or discontent. But my torture is of the insane ravings of a tortured and suffering mind. You, see, for I am not the first of my kind—I am not the first of the unfortunate bunch who have had the mistake of merely greeting this man.

But now as I write this, I can see your interest has been piqued, yes piqued, by my incessant ramblings of torture and of a man by a name I shall not disclose. Deserving of interest, he is not. Needing of counsel, he is not. Warranting of justice, he has no need. I can see you hesitation, your unabating need for confirmation of the truth. You will not believe me! For as crazy as this man is, you regard me as insane—as controlling as this man is, your regard me as having as much manipulation as a well learned chess master! You will say that I am lying, that my memory is but a ghost of the truth. But hearken! Hark! And heed my tale, for one day, it may be your savior.