Today my name is Tina.
I pay for the hotel room. There's a diner next door. This morning I order blueberry pancakes and coffee. In the bathroom, I wash off the remnants of Kelly. My waitress today isn't wearing a name tag. She could be anyone, like me. I like this and give her a bigger tip than I normally would have.
I have more work to do, thankfully only an hour away. Yesterday was too rushed for my liking. My first job all by myself and I rushed it, a real pity. It's all so beautiful, artistic even. Removing body parts, let them bleed just enough to send a message, not enough to kill them. Breaking fingers, pulling out nails, it's effective, yet so amateur. I just don't find things like that creative. Making someone watch as you remove the skin from their face is so much more interesting.
Dad taught me everything I know. For my ninth birthday, he bought me a book about Medieval torture methods. I still stash it the trunk of the Continental in case I get bored, along with all the other books I keep for inspiration. Books on anatomy, history, psychology, and anything else that I might find entertaining or useful.
Once again, the drive was over more quickly than expected. It's as if once I trail off into the corridors of thought, time decides to speed up on me. This time, my job is in an abandoned motel along the highway. It's funny, all the people driving by, not noticing a thing. I get my tools out of the trunk.
Around the back of the motel, an old service door had been pried open, courtesy of my current employers. I enter the building and find room 114, knock, and wait. The door opens and I am ushered in. My next victim is tied up and waiting, spread eagle on the dusty bed.
I unpack my tools, slowly this time, enjoying the feel of the knife. I intend to savor this one, make it last longer than last time. My employers would get the information they need, it's up to them to ask the questions that matter, all I have to worry about is inflicting as much pain as possible for as long as possible.
I like my victims to be able to watch as I have my way with them. Super glue works well to keep eyelids in place. Today, I'll start out slow, break him down, then work my way to the finale.
I begin by playing with his fingers. I dislocate each one at the knuckle so that he can't try to pull them away while I'm trying to pose them. I break the bones and then manipulate the fragments so that the fingers themselves are contorted into freakish positions. His middle finger is bent back and broken in five places so that the tip can touch the back of the hand. I've managed to twist the pinky around so that it is upside down.
My employers are questioning him, but none of what they're saying matters. I will be done when I am done, regardless of what he has or has not told them. Off of a whim, I remove his right nipple with a razor blade. His blood runs down his chest and onto the bed.
He's screaming. He's been screaming. This man is a good victim. With every new pain I inflict, his breath sputters out and his pulse quickens, heart pumping frantically in order to endure. Eventually I take out my needles, my favorite of all my toys. I put them one by one into his eyes, all seventy of them. One of my employers throws up.
Finally my victim is talking, telling them everything they want to know. The rein me in, hold me back from work. I receive payment and am asked to leave. I think maybe I disturbed them.
Then I'm back in the Continental, onward to a new motel and a new name.