The woman that I’d married sat next to me in a hard-backed chair, with uncomfortable cushioning. Her head in her hands, and her tears seeping through her fingers.

I sat next to her, in a seat just as uncomfortable, rubbing her back in a manner I've seen on several television shows and movies. I do it to comfort her, though, I don’t know why she is crying. She wasn’t the one that was told they had a few months to live.

I guess over our decade-and-a-half-long contract she has formed some bond with me that I have failed to truly grasp. Though I am no fool; I make a face that mimics grief but hold strong for the woman I call wife. I do it more for the doctor in his white lab coat that sits across from me than for any actual feeling. He’d probably think it odd that I show no emotion to his revelation of my quickly onsetting expiration date.

I rub her back and she cries some more, my touch only seeming to spur on more tears. The sound is grating, and I can feel a muscle in my neck twitch.

It seems the facade has started to weaken over the years. I quickly let my face fall just a little so that the doctor can’t see my full features, it gives me the time to pull the mask back into place, and weld it firmly back on.

The woman finally raises her head from her hands and looks at the doctor.

“Are you sure? Is there really nothing we can do?” The questions are fleeting, nothing more than a vain attempt to grasp at straws that have been out of reach for months.

“I’m sorry Miss, but your husband's cancer is terminal. He’s too far along, maybe if we had caught it sooner….” He lets the words hang. I have to admit, he’s a good actor, almost as good as myself. The dead air gives the feeling of remorse, like a superhero who laments their inability to save everyone, but the flaw in his performance is the fact that he didn’t use our names.

He doesn’t care, “Miss”, “Husband” no effort whatsoever to retain our first names or our last name at the very least lets me know that this man just sees us as another set of sorry saps he has to give the news to.

I don’t hold it against him though. He’s probably had to go through this routine so many times that it’s made him numb, like how I assume a butcher stops feeling anything as he holds the stun pistol to the top of a cow's head, pulling the trigger sending it off to be flayed and gutted. That is if they had felt anything at all in the first place.

I don’t say anything as she goes back to crying, no one expects me to, after all, people deal with harsh news in several ways. Like the stages of grief.

For all the doctor knows, I'm in complete and utter shock, unable to muster words to express my either profound grief, extraordinary anger at the unfairness of it all, or my solemn acceptance. But the last one would be bad to show. It might make people suspicious of who I truly am, even if people express themselves in different ways.

The woman finally calms herself, and unsteadily raises out of her uncomfortable chair. We bid the doctor farewell, and walk out into the waiting room. The other families there pretend to not pay attention to us, some actually do, but I can feel the expanding anxiety of those that watch as I walk out with her, my arm draped around her side.

Some of them will be able to fight the disease and others will be in my boat, well, not exactly, I assume most will take it worst than I did.

The drive is mostly silent, with a little sniffle from her every now and then. Then she breaks the peaceful quiet as she asks, “How are you so calm?” I knew it was coming, knew that I should have put on more of a show, but that kind of display of weakness would have been good for no one.

It would have made her more frantic if I feigned falling apart, and it would have just been another performance I would have to layer on top of the one I was already putting on. I decided to lie like I always had from the moment I said: “I do”.

“Well there's nothing I can do about it, I don’t want to spend…my last moments in grief. I want to spend them with you. If I let grief take hold…who knows if I could ever get it to let go? So I'm going to be strong, strong for us.” As we pulled up to a red light, I finished my little monologue, took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and looked her in the eye. I let a little fear seep into my gaze, just a bit, like adding some salt to a meal when you have high cholesterol but don't listen to your doctor. With that, my performance was done. I could see its effects take hold, she squeezed my hand back and gave it a kiss, her eyes sparkling again. A little fear went a long way to making yourself look more human.

I made the drive home a slow one, and after my soliloquy, she was graceful enough to let the drive continue in silence. I enjoyed the meandering tranquility. It was cold and quiet, how I liked it.

We had been together long enough to where sharing lengthy silence wasn’t awkward, at least it wasn’t to me. I was lucky enough to pick a partner that was satisfied with just my close proximity and empty conversations where I made a corny joke that I’d stockpiled in the back of my head, that would make her snort were just a nice bonus I added in, just for her.

It was dark by the time we arrived home. She exited the car and took a few steps before realizing I was still behind the wheel. She walked to the driver's side of the vehicle and stooped down to my level as I rolled down the window. “I know what I said about spending time with you but…I need some time alone. I’m just going to go for a drive.”

“I understand.” Her reply was quick concise and filled with compassion, something I could never truly feel. She was better than me in that way. Her humanity was the opposite of my lack of it.

As I sat in the car looking her in the eyes, I realized I had gotten a lot luckier than most. I felt as though this was a moment I should have felt something, maybe gratitude to the universe for sending someone like her, or happiness that near my end this was who I got to share it with, but I was afforded no such luxury, just like from the first moment I could remember, my mind was void of any emotion.

Even at this point, with my clock reaching closer and closer to its final tick, maybe she was also lucky that my time was soon up. Because though I had kept the facade in place for a long time, it would be good for me to die without her having a chance to glimpse behind the mask to see who I truly was.

As I made to back the car out of the driveway. I saw my daughter pull open the door to the house. Twelve years old, as beautiful as her mother, with emerald green eyes that looked out on the world like it was hers to be conquered. And truth be told, one day, I was sure she would.

She ran up to the car, took her mother's place on the driver's side, and looked me in the eyes. We shared an almost telepathic moment. She knew why we were going to the doctor today, and the look told her everything she needed to know. She ran back inside and slammed the door, her head hanging low, I could hear her sobs over the sound of the engine.

“I’ll try to talk to her,” my wife said, “but you know how she can get.” I nodded. I think most people would have found it selfish, to leave a wife alone to take care of the emotional state of a child, but then again, most people wouldn’t have been told they have a few months to live that same day, so I’m not really sure.

I pulled out of the driveway and started on my journey.

I started my ritual how I always did, I drove around the neighborhood five to ten times. Stripping away the layers of falsehoods and masks that I had put up over the month.

I had been doing it long enough to where putting the masks on was easy, but taking them off and keeping them in order was always a task. I reached the bottom of the metaphorical pile and let my true self swim to the surface.

Ivan was finally awake and he was ready for the hunt. I checked my mirrors to make sure I wasn’t being followed, pulled a CD I had made myself from between my seats, and popped it into the radio. “They’re Hanging Me Tonight” by Marty Robbins span up over my speakers, and the ritual began in earnest.

The CD was twelve versions of the same song. All with slightly different variations I had edited in myself, one had the chorus removed, another was just the vocals, and the one I called its sibling was just the instrumental.

I let the ballad walk me through my transformation. The narrative of a man longing for a lost love taken by another so strongly that he would kill for it touched a part of me that never really existed. I wished for that feeling, the righteous rage, which could so strongly blind one to cold logic.

His remorse, I could never understand it. While I had a fleeting notion of why he committed the acts that he had, I couldn’t understand the line “I think about the thing I've done, I know it wasn't right.” in my mind, he was within all his rights to commit his act of retribution.

But the narrator didn’t see it that way, he was remorseful, maybe for having caught his love in the crossfire of his blind anger. Or maybe for having gotten caught, and the domino effect of his punishment quickly approaching. I’d never truly know, even with my own expiration date creeping in by the minute.

Nevertheless, as Gloom came to an end, a track that was slowed and had the instrumental dampened, I arrived at my destination.

I was five houses down, and parked under a street light that the city never managed to fix. I'd picked this target months ago. Just like the cancer that festered in my body, slowly eating away at my sands of time, weighting to toll the bell on my very existence, just so, did I creep and wait to strike on my unaware victim.

I pulled my bag of fun things from beneath my seat. Not the best place to hide such utensils, seeing as a traffic stop could have very well ended my streak, but in my long years of late-night outings, I guess I had gotten sloppy.

The zipper on my bag made a hiss as I pulled it open, this sound was the last thing that ended my ritual. It sent Ivan into a controlled frenzy, biting at the gates for me to let him run free. I pulled the leather gloves from the bag and slipped them on. Squeezing my hands, the sounds of the well-worn leather made me feel at home and comfortable.

I took the ski mask from the bag and pulled it over my head, Ivan now had a face. A gnarled smile pulled across Ivan’s face, the only true smile it could ever hold. It had no emotion behind it, it was more like a natural reaction, like flinching at a fist flung at your face.

I stepped out the car door, bag in hand, and walked towards my hunting ground. Staying out of the street lights. I walked openly and freely, none of the houses had any cameras, something I had checked for each time I scouted out this location. My heart rate picked up with each step along the street. I was alive, Ivan was alive. I could feel the rush of blood in my ears. I craved this feeling more than life itself.

Ever since Ivan's first outing when we brought a righteous end to Anthony Burk the town bully when I was thirteen, I craved this feeling. This feeling was more pleasant than any drug, any stimulant. I felt as though I could live off this feeling like it was a boundless source of energy, but that obviously wasn't true seeing as I wouldn't be there to see my daughter turn thirteen.

I approached the backdoor of the lavish house. I could never afford one such as that if I was given three lifetimes, my meager office worker salary couldn’t hope to attain such a feat. But it didn’t matter, I didn’t do what I did out of such petty things as jealousy or spite. My work was grander, bigger than even myself.

I crouched down, taking a set of worn lockpicking tools out of the bag. A camera in the top left corner peered down at me, seeming to watch my every move, but with all the money the homeowner had in his bank account, he had decided to skimp on security; thinking that fake cameras were good enough to keep away threats. He didn’t even go for a more convincing brand or more convincingly hang the limp wire that hung from it, which was supposed to indicate that it led to the main power source.

I inserted the pick into the lock and went to work. I’d been doing this little routine for years, and it was one of my favorite skills I had mastered over the decades. So comfortable were people when they were stowed away behind the little contraption, never suspecting that someone like myself would dare to so easily snatch that security away from them.

Fifteen seconds. It wasn’t my best time, but I would never get tired of the satisfying click of success.

I pulled open the door, not a sound. I moved inside making as much noise as a shadow. I closed the door and locked it behind me. All the lights were off, but there was a soft glow of the clock on the stove as I moved through the kitchen.

The house even smelled rich, and overly clean, like no one actually lived there, but still took the time to hire a full cleaning crew once a week. The sterile scent was mixed with the smell of new furniture that was barely used; at the tail end of the aroma was just a hint of lavender.

Into the living room, minimalistic and analytical. One couch, a large plain gray rug that sat a few feet away from a fireplace that seemed to never have been used, and lastly a large screen TV above said fireplace. I could almost respect the simplicity of it. Even the walls were bare, except for one.

One wall was covered with his trophies. Framed newspaper clippings, of each and every trial that he won that was big enough to get news coverage. I pulled a small pen light from my bag and looked over them.

“Ryan Goodall manages to do the impossible…” “Ryan Goodall allows another criminal to walk free…” “Career criminal found not guilty, all thanks to Ryan Goodall”

Frame after frame, it went on, headline after headline. Gracefully, almost lovingly they hung—trophies to his success. I didn’t feel anything, I think even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have felt anything. He was just a guy doing his job after all. But Ivan wouldn’t be here, standing in his living room if there wasn’t a reason.

Ivan’s interest peaked when I saw his latest trial a few months ago. And Ivan put Ryan in his crosshairs when the trial was completed. The last framed newspaper headline hung at the very end, one open space next to it waiting patiently for Ryan’s next big win. “Alleged serial rapist found not guilty, thanks to lawyer Ryan Goodall”

In the picture under the headline, if you tried hard enough, you could see just behind Ryan’s smiling face over his right shoulder, with his arm wrapped around the creature, he had managed to let go free. If you looked hard enough you could see a bespectacled man with drab brown hair looking directly into the camera. It was funny, how after all these years, after all the caution I had taken, I still managed to get my face on the front page.

Even with that case ruling though, Ryan still wasn’t on Ivan's list, he was in the crosshairs and Ivan's finger was on the trigger, but he hadn’t started to squeeze yet. The trigger was pulled when not even a week after the scumbag had walked free, they found him inside a college girl's apartment, but this time he wasn’t satisfied with just taking what wasn’t given, he took everything.

The girl put up a hell of a fight, the creature had a busted lip, chunks of hair ripped from its scalp and the tapestry of scars on the creature’s face told a story of struggle that seemed hard fought. But she left her apartment in a body bag, while the animal left in cuffs. Subsequently out of Ivan's reach.

I moved away from the wall and started my way up the stairs. I moved like death's shadow, not a sound. I didn’t stop to think about the thing I was about to do, I’d done it before and it never changed anything, it only heightened the chances of getting caught by wasting time.

I checked the other rooms, a bathroom just as extravagant as you would expect of such a home, a study that was so over the top it didn’t fit the house, and a hallway closet with some toiletries and cleaning supplies. I knew he never touched the stuff, his housemaid Yolanda, who would be here in two days used all of it.

If I could, I think I would feel pity for her, she'd be the one to find my finished work.

I moved to the bedroom door, readying my lockpicks, but before I did I checked the nob, you'd be surprised how many people didn't lock their bedroom door, and as luck would have it, Mr. Goodall was amongst the people who chose to sleep unprotected.

The door swung open soundlessly, and I moved inside, closing and locking the door behind me, my shoes cushioned on the thick shag carpet as I glided across the room.

Ryan lay on his bed, a heavy expensive-looking blanket rose to his chest, swaddling him comfortably like a child.

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His breathing was calm and slow, he was in a deep slumber. I stood there watching him for some minutes, the things I would do racing through my mind. My heart rate picked up then, it was excitement, pure and true.

It was at moments like this that I think I could actually feel things.

It was mixed with something else though, I wasn't sure what. My heart in its great anticipation was ladened with something else, it was heavy and cold. I think it was longing maybe, or... or something else. Maybe, regret. I wouldn't know, I'd never felt such a thing in my years of this, this feeling was something new.

It ate at me, slowly but surely consuming the excitement that had just sprung up. I didn't like this newfound feeling. It was distracting and was taking up my time.

As I started to pull away from this new feeling to accomplish the task at hand. Ryan started to stir, maybe he felt my presence in the room, or maybe his sound sleep wasn't as peaceful as I had thought. But his eyes shot open and locked onto mine behind Ivan's face.

For someone that was just entrenched in the depths of slumber, Mr. Goodall sprung into action immediately, he started to raise from his island of a king-size bed and began to open his mouth, but I was bright-eyed, out on the hunt, and I hadn't just been sound asleep.

My right hand lashed out, outstretched fingers tensed and hardened, and struck the soft flesh of his throat. The beginning of a scream cut off and snuffed out, like a candle extinguished by the very thing Ryan Goodall couldn't quite pull into his lungs.

He continued to rise, hands to his throat, a rather unflattering sound for a man of his status coming from his mouth.

Moving like the wind, I slid behind him, sitting seiza between his back and the head of the bed. My left arm slid around his neck, under his chin. My right elbow was placed gently down onto his shoulder in a practiced motion, my left hand locking into place in the crook of my elbow. My right hand slid behind his head, my cheek resting against the back of his head locking the position into place; like a python with its prey wrapped in its body, I squeezed.

Instantly, his neck injury was forgotten, as he remembered the stranger in his room that now was wrapped around him. He bucked his hips upward instinctively, and I pushed myself upward to get off my knees, placing my legs overtop his and locking my feet behind his knees, my hooks sank in deep and Ryan was all but finished.

His floundering, and attempts to pull my arm away from his neck were pathetic as a darkness that I knew well started to take him, he was limp and little more than lifeless in seconds.

As I started to push his unconscious body off of me, only then did I notice the sound of a soft click. And watch motionless as the bedroom door swung open. A figure stood in the doorway. In the shadows of the room, most of their body was masked by darkness. I smoothly pushed myself off the bed, Ryan's body falling limp to the floor as I did.

The person didn't move, maybe stunned, or frozen in fear, I was sure that Ryan lived alone, but as I approached though, the figure started to take shape.

They slipped a set of newer lockpicking tools into their pocket as I got closer. As I stopped, feet away from the person, I took them in. From behind a pink ski mask, I saw the emerald green eyes of my daughter.

"So, you started the fun without me." She said with a cheeky grin.

I let out a breath, not out of fear or relief, just the fact that I wouldn't have to work another body into a plan that I had been preparing for months.

"I thought you wouldn't be coming, didn't you have homework?" Ivan asked my daughter. "Plus I didn't see you in my rearview mirror."

She smiled again, it was cold like mine. "I finished that hours ago I wasn’t going to miss this and maybe your eyesight is getting worst in your old age Ivan, or maybe I'm just that good."

"How did you deal with your mother?" Ivan asked.

"You're gonna love this," She said proudly, "I prerecorded audio of me sobbing, it's set to play for about thirty minutes so it'll sound like I cried myself to sleep. Mom is a real softy and tried to talk to me through the door but I told her I wanted to be alone, she shouldn't be an issue. And if she does go in my room and finds me gone, I'll just say I needed some time alone, after all, that's the excuse you've been using for years right?"

Ivan smiled at this, she was learning quickly, and had the tactical mind of her old man. A bloom of something in my chest emerged, it wasn't like the thing I had felt a few moments ago, but it was warm and light. I liked how it made me feel but it was still distracting when compared to the complete cold detachment I usually had.

"You'll be great one day kid." Ivan said, reaching over and rubbing her head through the pink ski mask.

"I know," She replied beaming from the positive reinforcement. "Any way you ready to handle sleeping beauty?"

We moved towards our slumbering subject, and I reflected on how our duo came to be. With all my planning and caution, she had been the first to see through my mask.

She’d approached me one day as I sat at my desk in my room and simply said, "Dad, you're not normal are you?" the words truly came out of nowhere and if I had been a less skilled man I would have frozen, but I just replied, "What do you mean sweetheart?"

She went on to claim that she could see who I hid behind the mask, who I was; what I was. "You're like the monster that my friends say hides under the beds. You're what scares most people, mom can't see it, or maybe she doesn't want to, but I can see it. You're like me." The last bit of her speech actually caught me off guard.

"What do you mean, I'm like you?" I asked inquisitively.

In reply, I saw her change, subtle things, a slight change in posture; like a lion about to pounce on its prey. Her breathing became a slow steady rhythm, it was something I did when Ivan came out that steadied my mind and pulled my heart rate into a focused staccato. A small smile that could never reach the eyes pulled across her delicate features, knife sharp and that could send chills down the spine of normal people that saw it.

Most of all though, her eyes; the sparkling green became a sharp effervescent typhoon, like the thick green of the Amazon rainforest, her eyes were that of a cruel green landscape that would put the end to any life that didn't show it the respect it deserved.

The orbs told tales of how the owner could and would easily snuff the life of those they saw fit. I saw myself in those eyes. Never before had I ever felt such a connection to someone, and before I knew it, Ivan sat there in my office chair, at my tiny desk looking down at the small form of my daughter, a new kinship having been found.

So I taught her my ways, how to scout for the right target, and track their movements, and as it turned out, tonight would be my final lesson for her.

After lifting Ryan's limp body onto the bed, and tieing his arms and legs to the four bedposts we found ourselves looking down on his unconscious form, my daughter to his left and I to his right.

"Now watch carefully what I do, we want them to be conscious for what comes next." She looked at me attentively giving a stiff nod. I leaned over Ryan, making a fist, and brought it to the center of his chest, leaning in, I rubbed my knuckles back and forth forcefully along his sternum. His eyes shot open instantly and he sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and let out a choked groan.

His eyes met mine and somehow went even wider. He seemed to realize that he wasn't just having a bad dream and the nightmare of the masked man that had punched him in the throat and choked him out was real.

"What the hell is going on?" He frantically asked, his attention solely focused on me.

I ignored him, "Now personally, I can go for either or, either you can let them talk or you can gag them. It's your special night so I'll leave the decision up to you."

Ryan finally realized that there was a third person in the room. "What kind of sick shi-" I slapped a hand over his mouth, my leather gloves giving a satisfying smack as my hand impacted his lips. I brought a finger up to my lips and shushed him. "Shhh, language there's a child in the room."

"Now sweety which will it be." She seemed to really think it over, one hand supporting her elbow as she brought her other hand to her chin to think.

"We don't want any of the neighbors to hear his screams, but I kinda do wanna hear how he sounds. It's not worth the risk. Tape it is."

"Good choice, while this house is pretty big, you'd be surprised how well screams can travel, especially in the dead of night."

I reached down into my bag, pulling free a half-used roll of duct tape. Ryan was quivering, rivulets of cold sweat beading along his face. I tossed the roll to my daughter who snatched it out of the air. She climbed onto the bed positioning herself near Ryan's head, she fumbled with the tape for a few seconds, her hand clumsy thanks to the red winter gloves her grandmother had hand knit for her. With a trademarked ripping hiss, the tape finally came free. Tearing a piece off, she began to bring it to his mouth.

"Hold on little missy, aren't you forgetting something." She paused, thinking for a second, then she smacked the end of the tape onto Ryan's forehead and hopped off the bed moving to one of his drawers.

Finding what she was looking for after rummaging through the final drawer, she came back to the bed working a thick black sock into a ball as she did.

Climbing back onto the bed she held the sock to his mouth which was now firmly clamped shut. "How you gonna figure this on out?" I asked from behind Ivan's face with a smile.

Climbing down once again, she moved into the hallway. Walking back into the room a second later she held a sparkly pink backpack, an old thing her mom had bought her, that had some cartoon character I hadn't taken the liberty of learning the name of stitched into the front. Pulling open the zipper she pulled out one-half of a neon green safety scissors. Once again on the bed, she brought the broken scissors to Ryan's neck.

"I'm gonna need you to play like this is a dentist visit and open wide for me Ryan." The cold detachment with which she said it made the heat in my chest reignite. She was truly made for this.

Ryan snorted, the piece of tape still attached to the center of his forehead fluttering as his exhale hit it. "I'm not letting some pint-sized psycho tell me what to do, especially not under threat of arts and crafts equipment." His words were clipped as he spoke through his clenched teeth. Unwilling to open his mouth fully, even for his snarky remark.

My daughter simply brought the blade of the scissors to his cheek and drew a line across, the edge that I had sharpened myself, bit into the soft flesh cutting a divot under his left eye. Ryan squealed, still keeping the mental fortitude to keep his teeth clenched as he howled, his scream was cut off as she slammed a hand over his mouth.

Hot blood escaped down the side of his face as he bucked and screamed. My daughter's eyes went wide as she realized she was losing control of the situation. She looked at me and I saw the spark in her eyes waver as she asked for my help. So I stepped in. Raising a fist high, I brought it down onto Ryan's solar plexus, a rush of oxygen escaped out his mouth and through my daughter's fingers as I drove my fist down.

She removed her hand and Ryan opened his jaws wide sucking in air, his supply was viciously cut off as a thick black sock was quickly wedged into his mouth and a thick piece of tape wrapped halfway around his face, locking it in.

She stepped back off of the bed, and I could see that she was upset at losing control. Glossy green eyes looking downcast at the floor.

I moved over to her side of the bed and put a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, it's alright you're still young I expect you to make mistakes, heck first time I did something like this the guy kicked me in the face and nearly escaped. We all gotta start somewhere." It was easy to put on the compassion mask and soften my voice, and even though I knew she could see through it, from behind her mask her eyes grew in resolve.

"So hows 'bout we finish this?" She nodded at me, and we got back to work.

I moved back to Ryan's right as I watched my daughter take the scissors in hand and wedge the blade under the big toes toenail of Ryan's left foot. I watched as she went to work, forcing the blade deeper through the nailbed, Ryan screamed again and tried to thrash but she had positioned most of her body weight on his left leg.

I stopped down next to Ryan as I heard the slick sucking pop of his toenail coming free, "Hey Ryan, do you know why this is happening to you?"

She started onto the next nail, "You remember that scumbag you let walk free? The monster that YOU allowed to go into that girl's room and take everything from her. Her body, her dignity, her life."

His eyes went wide as the concoction of the pain and my words hit him, he looked at me his brown orbs pleading with me. I felt nothing. "You probably want to say 'you were just doing your job.' or 'it's not your fault' but you know that's a lie, don't you?

"I want you to look at her," I pointed at my daughter. "She is..." I had no words. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what to say. It was that the words were charged with emotion, and it had taken me aback that I could feel them so strongly. Yes, I knew I could feel when I was on the hunt, when Ivan was out on the prowl. But this was different.

As I sat there looking at my little angel, carving away at Ryan's feet and as he squealed ineffectually from behind his gag, I realized that I didn’t have to put on a mask to fake the words.

“That girl that died because of you. She had someone like me, maybe her father, or brother, someone that loved her, and they can’t ever see her again because you let that creature walk free. Now, I don’t have much time left, cancer you see, I’ve got it bad, and I won't be able to watch my little girl grow up.” I spoke softly to the man who seemed to be passing out from the pain so I smacked him one across the face.

“Wake up Ryan! I’m not done talking. Good. You see, my little girl is going to have to grow up without her dad, and the thought of people like you letting monsters like that walk free, doesn’t sit right with me. So this is your penance, Ryan. See she’s like me, strong and cold. But she’s also like her mom in a few ways. She can have emotion, she can be happy, genuinely. I’ve seen her laugh, real laughs. So she’s better than me, but I have to make sure that she’s strong for when I’m gone. Because I won't be there to protect her. I’ve seen the horror this world has to offer, hell, I’ve been the horror on multiple occasions. So if I have to mold the parts of me that I can see in her, into something truly terrible so that she can take care of herself and her mom when I’m gone, so be it. And I think it just hit me I’ve never really been able to feel emotions but I do feel something when I think about my wife and daughter…”

I looked at my daughter, and she looked back up at me only having two more toes to go, she sent a beaming smile that made my old unused heart feel something. I smiled back at her.

I looked back at Ryan, sweat covered his face and heavy tears raced down onto his pillow, but he managed to stay conscious. He looked at me, his eyes pleading, but I felt nothing for him.

“I love my family Ryan, and it hurts to think I won't be there for them, maybe it's some kind of punishment for the death that I’ve spread. Nonetheless, if I had to kill the world for them to be safe, I’d end every life on this rock with a smile. I’d do it a hundred times over Ryan, because I love them.”

As I rose from Ryan's side, words dripping from my mouth that I didn’t think I could say with any sincerity, I felt something on my face, hot liquid ran down my cheeks, quickly being absorbed by Ivan's mask.

My eyes were glossy and I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision. I was confused until my daughter came over to me and asked.

“What's wrong Ivan, why are you crying?”

I was shocked, these tears were the first I’d cried. I’d never cried when my old man hit me, or his wife put her cigarettes out on my skin. I wasn’t sure what to do, I just stood there as they seemed to just fall without any sign of stopping.

Then I felt pressure around my waist. I looked down to see a pink ski mask pressed into my stomach as my daughter hugged me tightly.

I hugged her back, and this time it was real. Filled with all the emotion I’d never thought I could feel. The feelings hurt, not physically obviously, but the pain was as close to real as it could get.

As our moment came to an end, we looked at Ryan. “So what do you want to do now kiddo?” I asked her.

“There's more we can do but let's wrap this up, I’ve already got my souvenirs.” I looked down as she held an open palm up to me, Ryan’s toenails hastily carved off and coated with bits of skin and blood sat in her gloved hand.

I smiled at her and rubbed her head through her mask.

“Good job. Okay, let's get this done.”

I walked over to my bag and reached inside, it took me a split second to wrap my hands around the handle of my favorite tool.

Out came a short knife, with a chipped point, but with a razor-sharp edge, it had been with me since my first hunt and it was here for my last, when all was said and done it would be my daughters. More as a memorial item than an actual tool, the thing needed to be replaced.

We positioned ourselves on opposite sides of Ryan as his eyes flicked from her to me, his heart looked like it would stop from how rapidly he was breathing.

“You ready?” I asked as I positioned my knife.

“You bet I am.” She said back, her emerald eyes flashing.

“Now get ready for the splatter, it can be pretty messy.”

She nodded her head and I could see her eyes focus on her task. Ryan thrashed and bucked, but he could only move so much.

“Alright, three, two, one.” We pulled out hands back, my knife and her half scissors sliding across Ryan's throat, I stepped back instantly but from her position on the bed she was slower, blood sprayed from Ryan's opened throat like a broken fire hydrant and splattered the walls, and half of my daughters face as she tried to move. She fell off the bed with a thud!

She sprung to her feet quickly, as the blood started to lose pressure and trickled off. I couldn’t help but laugh as she looked at me, half her pink mask looking as though it had been dunked in red paint.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at old man.” She said pouting, crossing her arms.

“I told you to be ready.” I said still chuckling. “Alright, let's get out of here.”

She started to take her mask off but I stopped her. “We don’t remove the masks until we’re gone from the scene.” She nodded in acceptance still not pleased at having been splashed.

We packed up our things and left the corpse on the bed for the housemaid Yolanda to find.

Closing the door as quietly as I had opened it, the hunt came to an end. We walked back to the car, my arm draped over her as she walked her bike alongside her.

Putting her bike in the trunk, I made sure to close it quietly. We hopped in the car and I started the engine. Once we were on the road, I pulled off Ivan's face. It was the last time I would wear it, but my daughter would carry on my legacy, so I was fine.

She pulled off her pink mask and her blond hair fell to her shoulders, tossing her a pack of wet wipes from my bag I placed it back under my seat.

She started scrubbing away at the blood, looking into the mirror to make sure she got it all.

I turned on the CD player and Marty Robbins started signing his ballad again as we listened to the words and the melody. I think I finally started to understand the emotions of the narrator. His sadness and woe. I still believed he was justified but I did understand him.

Rain started to fall and the song seemed to get stronger. This was my last drive, I wouldn’t be able to do this again but I was fine with that, my priorities had shifted.

My bell would tole soon, and my quest to cleanse the world was done, I couldn’t focus on it anymore.

My daughter looked at me and smiled, and I smiled back. She would be fine, I was sure. And for now, as we drove back home, I decided I would spend my last moments with my family. I was a monster there was no doubt, and the universe seemed to be correcting its error at having made me, but my daughter nor my wife looked at me like I was a monster, and they deserved to have me be with them with the time I had left.

I was lucky to have them, for the short time I did, and with my remaining time, I would make every second count.