Well, the woman part of him loved. But that part of him was dying. He could feel it slipping further and further away with each passing second. Soon, it would be gone forever, and his transformation into the monster would be complete.
The man he used to be was gone.
Chance Zieglar was dead.
Now he was the Nursery Rhyme Killer.
He lived to inflict pain. Screams were his nourishment. Fear aroused him.
And yet, Hope’s tears were bothering him. They made him feel bad. They made him feel remorse. They made him feel guilty.
Good Chance still lived. He wasn't dead yet, and he was fighting to ascertain control. He wanted to save Hope. He wanted to comfort her. He screamed inside his head until he thought it would burst.
Desperately, he clutched at his temples. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he screamed.
He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, he had to do something to eliminate Good Chance forever.
He had to kill.
The man, theHumpty Dumptyman. He thought he might have gotten the wrong one. It had been dark, and he was tired. It took a lot of mental energy to keep the human side of him stamped down and under control. Locked safely away where it couldn’t interfere with his plans and desires.
The man he had wanted was younger, thinner, taller. He had wanted the man who had interrupted him the other day when he had tried to get to Summer. Summer was trying to get in the way of him and Hope. That could not be tolerated.
Did he kill people for revenge?
He didn’t think he did, but there was no reason he couldn’t make an exception this time around.
So, Summer Height had to die. And the man had stopped him. He’d followed him carefully, it hadn’t been hard since he’d spent most of his time glued to Summer’s side. But somehow, he’d made a mistake. And now he had this man instead.
Oh well, the Nursery Rhyme Killer shrugged.
As long as someone died, he was happy.
And he could always find the right man later.
He had all the time in the world.
Right now though, he needed to feed his bloodlust. It cried out inside him like a baby bird cheeping and holding its mouth open until it received food.
He wanted to feed his little baby bird.
The Nursery Rhyme Killer went to the kitchen and grabbed the tools he had brought inside earlier. He was glad he hadn’t left them in here when the women were unrestrained. He had never given anyone Rohypnol before, and he hadn’t been quite sure how long they would be out.
They had ended up waking a little sooner than anticipated and were already up and about when he returned to the cabin. Although they had wandered around there hadn’t been anything they could use as a weapon. And the drugs were still in their systems, leaving them woozy and unable to fight back very well.
He liked this Rohypnol stuff. He was going to have to get more and use it in the future. It certainly made things easy. Hope and Summer had been out of it enough to do whatever he wanted without any real resistance, and yet still able to do things on their own or with only some assistance.
Really, it was like a wonder drug.
The only thing would be how to get his victims to take it. Putting it in the tea had been easy, but he knew Hope and Summer, and neither had felt any reason to be suspicious or wary around him. That wouldn’t be the case with strangers. Still, he was confident that he could use it again to his advantage, perhaps he just had to rethink his victim pool. It was a thought, and one he would ponder later, but right now he had work to do.
HisHumpty Dumptyman was still unconscious. He had been for hours. Maybe he would wake up once he got to work on him. Hopefully he would. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if the man just lay there like a huge, useless lump. He wanted to hear screams, he wanted to hear begging and pleading, he wanted to feel like God. No scratch that. He wanted to feel like the Devil.
He knew how the man had to die.
Just like in the rhyme.
He had to be broken up into so many pieces that no one could ever put him back together again.