Hell's torturer: The Demon in Disguise

Part 13

I didn't see any surveillance cameras anywhere in the cinema and for my convenience, it was just the two of us when I entered the bathroom. I took the liberty to twist the key to prevent anyone else from standing in my way of teaching this poor man some basic manners. I pretend to wash my hands, while with the corner of my eye, I watch for when he exits the stall. When he comes out he heads straight to the door which doesn't surprise me.

"Not going to wash your hands first?" I ask, raising my voice enough so he can't ignore me.

"You're that fucker from before," he remarks. "Came here to scold me? What are you a teacher or something?"

"It's impolite to spit insults to someone you don't know. This is fatherless behavior." I put on my surgical gloves as I watched him approaching closer.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me how to ac-"

I won't even allow him to finish his sentence. Every word coming out of his mouth is like a poison to my ears. It hurts to even look at this pathetic creature as I slam his hideous face against the wall, leaving a trail of blood. One hit is enough to stun him and make him fall, spitting the front teeth I just knocked out.

It's disappointing how little effort he puts into attempting to defend himself. I could kick him while he's down, but that's not the kind of man I am, so I order him to stand up.

"Hey man, I'm sorry for hitting on you girl," he pleads, making me wonder where all the arrogance from earlier went. It probably fell out along with his broken teeth. "I promise it won't happen again. You don't need to do this."

Now he's sorry? How amusing.

"Yes, I do. Now get up and allow us to turn this beating into a proper fight."

"I already apologized, what more do you want?"

"Get up," I order him again."I'm not letting this end until one of us is dead and by the look of it, that's not going to be me."

I find myself bewildered by the words coming out of my mouth. I'm not the type of person to act on emotion, but for her, I'm willing to give in. It would indeed be unwise of me to murder him on the spot, but in an undercrowded theater like this, I'm more than willing to believe I can get away with it without any evidence tracing it back to me. His desperate cries only arouse my desire to kill him even more, but I still need to give him a fighting chance. Otherwise, it would be too quick. Too boring.

I see him attempt to get back on his feet only for me to ram my knee in his nose and shove him to the ground again. Upon his second attempt, I pin him against the wall, deciding it would be best to simply end it.

I ignore his cries, tightening my grip around his neck until I see his eyes roll back. Something catches my attention while he hopelessly tries to fight back. A small outline tattoo on his forearm of Edvard Munch's "The Scream". It's enough to make me loosen my grip, allowing him to breathe. My eyes stay focused on the tattoo. Who would expect an imbecile like him to express any interest in classical art?

"Can you tell me the name of a single painting by Edgar Degas?" I say in a cold tone, waiting for a response.

"What?" He meets me with bewilderment, gasping, still struggling to catch his breath.

"Name a single painting and I'll let you go."

With a busted face and tears rolling down his eyes, he musters:

"B-ballet?"

"I see you're not a complete moron. You can go now." I walk away, fixing my hair and throwing away my gloves. Erasing all traces I was ever in a fight.