Back at work the next day, my boss was gone again. After work, I waited until dusk then decided to fly by his house and check up on him.
The lights were all off, the front door was unlocked. I opened it and poked my head in.
“Bill, you home? It’s me.” I heard a wet cough coming from the next room. My heart sank; I could feel what was coming next.
“Oh shit.” He was alive, barely. His face was blood and puss. Arms, legs and fingers all broken. Burn marks dotted his skin, torture, looked like he’d been electrocuted in a few places.
“Bill, who did this?” I knelt beside him.
He coughed blood and forced a smile. “So. Sorry. Lasted so… long..*hurk*gave... finally told him.”
My jaw dropped, this was about –
“You, tor-tortured till I told him about you.*kaff* Tried… to be hero… good like you.”
“Goddamnit, it’s my fault. I’m so sorry Bill.”
“Told… told him your name, just your name, so sorry-“ he coughed once more then closed his eyes and stopped. Stopped moving, breathing, living.
My phone rang. I chocked down the lump in my throat, it was my ex-wife calling.
“Yeah?” I answered.
“Da-Daddy?” My son, he sounded terrified.
A deep voice answered. “Come home, save him if you can.” Then laughter. Laughter coated with insanity. Laughter soaked in murder.