Amara Chapman, an extraordinarily beautiful yet shy, unassuming girl, is torn from her home and all she'd ever known when her grandmother suddenly passes away.
Reluctantly sent to live with her estranged father in Chicago, he wants nothing to do wi...
*This chapter contains graphic murder scenes that may be disturbing to sensitive readers*
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I push the button on the remote to open the seamlessly hidden garage door to my abattoir.
It's disguised to look like a large advertisement sign, and when closed, you'd never even know it's there.
I quickly pull in and the door closes automatically.
From the outside, the building is old with a mix of metal and brick, and as nondescript as all the rest down here in this industrial part of town.
But inside...that's where the magic is...happens.
I had bought this place a few years ago under a bogus shell company that I had created for this very purpose, that way nothing can ever be traced back or connected to me in any way.
I left a lot of the interior original, respecting its history and past as a slaughterhouse, but made several improvements and upgrades such as soundproofing and bricking up the windows, which made it perfect for my needs.
I especially admired the meat hooks...
This place makes for easy clean up too with the floor drains and old lagoon, although I sometimes use that for other things...
I park the car and take JB out of the trunk none too gently before dragging him along the cement floor to my lair of torture and death.
I flip the bright, harsh fluorescent lights on, watching as they flicker to life, one after the other.
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I let his head drop onto the floor as I get things ready.
I take my coat off and hang it up on the wall, followed by my leather gloves and hat, replacing them with latex gloves and shoe covers.
I feel like Mr. Rogers, only the young, handsome, smart, serial killer version of him.
I walk over to a large, lighted, glass-front medical cabinet where I keep all sorts of chemicals and medicines...both legal and illegal.
