*Note: Don’t read this if you’re easily offended ... or if you have a weak stomach ... really, you probably just shouldn’t read this.

The cabin is a good distance from the main road, perhaps six or seven miles. The tree line is dense enough to shield any would be prying eyes. Last night I narrowed my search down to a five mile radius within French Creek State Park. It’s quiet, isolated, and visibly guarded from any fire towers. Understandable why a hunter like him would choose such a location. I knock three times, patiently waiting. The cabin is well built, but it doesn’t sit atop any visible footers. Instead the base is built from concrete and likely extends into a basement; no cellar door in sight. The hunter opens the door with a skeptical look.

“Are you Neil Rush?”

The man nods.

“Hello, my name is Adam Neilson. I’m with the Philadelphia Police Department.” I flash my ID.

“Philadelphia? Little outta your jurisdiction isn’t it?” He looks guarded but not defensive.

“Yes, but I’m not here on police business. More personal business.”

“Somethin’ I can help you with?”

“I’m here because I don’t like other hunters stalking in my territory.”

For a split second I see recognition in his eyes, but he’s had practice. His look instinctively changes to confusion; it even looks genuine.

“Um, I’m not sure what you mean?”

“ ... Kristi.” My eyes lock with his and though I can’t see hesitation, I can sense it.

“Sorry but I don’t know what-”he pauses when I reach into my leather jacket and pull out the clump of brunette hair. I wonder what kind of flashbacks are running through his head. I was enjoying a long weekend at my own cabin when she stumbled into my view: the majority of her was bloody and dirt covered, her hair was a matted disaster, and she had appeared to sustain multiple bruises, burns, and lacerations ... all consistent with a rape attempt.

“ ... would you like to come inside Officer Neilson?” gesturing through the doorway, his face now looks indignant.

“Call me Adam.” I enter, smirking.

“Miss, may I ask what happened?”

... she remained silent.

“Is there someone I can call?”

...”No,” she meekly replied.

I did my best to show sympathy. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Hospital? Police?”

“No, no police, no hospital, no reports, he made that very clear-”

“Who miss?”

She shook her head.

“Who did this?”

She shook harder.

I lean back and observed her bruises. Normally I would take the opportunity to learn from the mistakes of the attacker. In this instance however, I find myself wondering just how close I am to another like me. The Hillside Stranglers enjoyed a year-long spree of sexual torture and murder until Kenneth Bianchi fucked up. Perhaps I could find a confidant, maybe even a companion.

I can’t pass up this opportunity.

I walk to the window and observe the surrounding wilderness. I feel that familiar urge in my bones again. Here in my grasp is an unknown female with no connections and a possibility to establish a new acquaintance, maybe even one day a friend. I tap the glass with my rings and see her jump in the dim reflection of the glass. A smirk slowly creeps upon my lips.

“Alright Miss, the bathroom is down the hall. You’ll find towels, soap, shampoo, all that in the closet. I’ll leave some clothes for you on the floor outside the door. Food is in the fridge, help yourself. I’ll be back in a few hours. I have an errand to run.”

A few days ago I found a hunting arrow about two miles from my cabin, and thus began my sneaking suspicion that I wasn’t alone in these woods. With the arrow in one hand I begin my search for its owner. I travel to a few different stores, inquiring about any recent arrow purchases. Eventually I find the store manager who remembers a gentleman who bought arrows for a compound bow of his. I tell the man he’s a friend and I’m looking at his past spending habits so I can buy him an appropriate birthday present. He searches his receipts and hands me the invoices for the past six months.

I have a name.

Returning to my cabin, I check in on Kristi who fell asleep on my couch. Grabbing my leather jacket and flashlight I head off in the direction of the found arrow. After three hours of sweeping the area for any sign of another person I come across a fire pit. Stones, a log, then I notice something unusual in the dirt; a clump of brunette hair. Holding it up to the light I note that neither ends have follicles, instead it appears to have been cut. I shove the clump into my pocket and inspect the ground. The dirt was plainly disturbed though from what, I’m not sure. I notice one of the rocks encircling the pit is missing. After a quick shift of my torch I see it a few feet away, like someone tried to throw it, possibly in a failed attempt to fend off a rapist. If this is in fact where the rape occurred however he would need a way to transport the body without being seen. I sweep again and notice tire tracks in a clearing about twenty feet further. I follow the tracks and find that they lead to a small dirt road, and if I’m right it’s the road that’s chained off with a NO TRESSPASSING sign.

I return to my cabin and make preparations to visit this hunter.

Neil drove in silence, checking his rear view mirror frequently to reassure himself that his prize was still there. Arriving at the campsite, he idles for a minute while gathering his tools and shuts off the engine, lighting a Marlboro Red as he gets out. His prize stirs under the heavy blanket and he hops onto the flatbed with great enthusiasm. He takes slow, deliberate steps, letting the weight of his work boots hit the metal with a reverberating thud. He peels the blanket back to reveal a very frightened young doe like female, still wearing her Walmart employee uniform, mouth taped shut and soaked to the skin due to the ten hour car ride from Kentucky.

He pulls out his Ka-Bar and watches her squirm with her wrists and ankles duct taped together. Her whimpers reach his ear with a near perfect pitch and he feels the vibration in his dick. He takes a long drag and exhales into her face. She coughs through the tape and tries shaking her head to clear the smoke. Neil takes his prize by the ankles and drags her to the edge of the bed, slings her over his shoulder, and sets her down next to the fire pit. He douses the pit in lighter fluid and sets it ablaze, ensuring it burns hot and bright with plenty of fuel. Kristi flinches at the sudden dance of flames.

He laughs.

Taking a drag, he excites the embers on his cigarette. Watching the tip, he lowers the end towards her right eye, laughing just a bit harder as she whimpers in fear, her head straining away from his incoming hand. He stops just two inches above her pupil and flicks it, causing the excess ash to fall freely. She blinks rapidly, shaking her head back and forth. Flicking the filter into the fire, he lights another, grabbing his Ka-Bar afterwards. The blade’s sheen makes for a stark contrast against the tree line. Her rapid breathing grows louder in volume, her chest swells in timid anticipation. He kneels next to her, her body lying between him and the flickering light show. He systematically cuts through her uniform, tearing it to shreds and tossing the pieces into the pit to become fuel. Occasionally the knife “slips” and makes a small cut on her soft, smooth, skin. Now down to her bra and panties, his dick twitches ever so slightly at the sight of her before shredding those to bits as well ... He smiles, inhaling her scent and stroking her stomach. With his left hand he holds her down by the throat, making note of her vibrations. With his right hand he grasps what’s left of his cigarette and burns it into her left tit just above the nipple.

... then the right...

... then the center of her chest...

... her gagged screams fill the sound gaps of burning flesh...

He chuckles at her agony, leaning over to taste her fresh tears with his tongue: salty, yet somehow sweet. He can feel the flicker of her eyelash against his nose. It tickles. The vibrations from her throat echo in his palm, almost as if he could yank her fear right out of her. Perhaps he would. He kept up the pattern, imprinting his mark in a trail leading across her stomach down to her pelvis. Her muffled cries were enough to make ejaculate then and there, but he was ... experienced.

He knew comfort.

He knew want.

He knew to wait for the right moment.

Mascara stained her pretty cheeks. It flowed down the side of her face like vines snaking their way through a brick wall; quiet, slow, until the damage is already done. Once the last burn is made, Neil slowly runs the tip of his index finger over each mark feeling the heat radiate from her skin. Her voice grew weaker with each burn, and with each burn his satisfaction stretched across his face like a damn court jester. He began stroking her hair with an almost lover’s like touch. “Now, I’m going to cut the tape off, and you’re not gonna do a damn thing. Got it?” She meekly nodded. He rips the tape off her mouth, allowing her to fully breathe in for the first time in a long time.

“I’m so happy I spotted you headin’ to your car.” He cuts her wrists free, though it only allows for her hands to shake freely. “Then it was all a matter of trackin’ you home.” Flashback to seeing her enter her apartment. Alone. Minimal security and exposure risk. “Then of course there was sneakin’ in,” he cuts her ankles free, “and snagging my prize.” Flashback to covering her mouth with his hand. She struggles. He wins. Tape. Truck. Home. “Now yer here with me.” He smiles at her dismay. Taking his Ka-Bar in one hand, he grips a segment of her hair and cuts. “And I,” holding it up to the firelight, “have a piece of y-,” he’s interrupted by an arm holding a rock flying towards his face and drops his trophy. His reflexes were honed by years of training however; she never made it five feet.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” He yanked her by her hair back towards the fire. She screamed at the utter pain. He threw her into the dirt without much hesitation or care. He snatches his Ka-Bar in his right hand, sticking his left knee on her neck. “Did I not tell you to not do a damn thing?! You nodded your fuckin’ head you cunt!” He leaned in close to further absorb her horror.

He began cutting near her pelvis, weaving around her burn marks, but only deep enough to draw blood, possibly scar. She pushed at his knee, grabbed fistfuls of dirt and leaves, anything to distract her from the event transpiring. He stopped at the center of her chest, stuck his right knee in between her legs and leaned into her with his left forearm, covering her mouth with his hand. “You don’t get how easy it would be for me to skin you and hang you out to dry from a nearby tree.” She sobbed into his hand, exciting his hard on even further. “ ... I won’t though. I’ve come too far to just discard my prize. Especially when I haven’t even had the sweetest part of you.” He chuckled at the realization in her eyes. He stabbed his Ka-Bar into the ground next to her head, causing her to go stiff with trepidation. Tossing his coat aside, he pulled out his throbbing cock and positioned it at the entrance of her pussy. “You know what?” Pinning her wrists above her head with vice like intensity, he placed his knee in between her legs once more, “Just so you don’t get any other crazy ideas.” He thrust his knee directly into her cunt. Once, twice, one more for good measure. Her agonizing pleas to stop, please stop, reverberated in his psyche, eliciting a sly smile due to the pain he caused his prize.

Positioning himself again, he pinned both her wrists above her head with one hand; the other wrapped around her mouth and lower jaw. He always did gain more pleasure from muffled screams rather than allowed ones.

He pushed, incredibly hard and incredibly fast. Her muted cries of distress was enough to fuel his desire for hours. “Oh yeah,” he exhaled, thrusting with intent to harm, “yer gonna be a lot of fun.” The overcast moon stood in silence, witnessing her horrific nightmare with no intention of waking her up.

“Coffee?” He held up the pot.

“Yes please,” he pours it into a simple white mug and pushes it my way, “Thank you,” I say taking a sip. I glance at the surrounding furniture and knick-knacks. The cabin, while rustic in theme is very organized in nature. A black leather couch faced the brick fire place with a simple side table and black leather recliner ajar. The backs of both appeared to sit parallel to the interior walls. Any decorations, rifles, bows, animal heads, are placed with extreme precision in accordance with the wooden panels. Almost as if he had OCD, but not quite. The windows facing outside ran vertical with no visible way to open them; I doubt they open. The small kitchen held a simple fridge with a few cabinets, drawers, a sink, tiled floor, and a gas stove. A curved mirror sat in the upper corner of the walls and ceiling. In fact, looking back at the fireplace, another mounted curved mirror allowed visibility to the back hallway. I noticed he periodically checked them with his eyes; most likely out of habit. The floor is carpeted the whole way to the bedroom. A storage freezer sits off in the corner, but sat atop piece of cardboard cut a little too perfect. I took another swig and caught glimpse of the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor emblem on his right shoulder under his T-shirt.

Putting the mug down, “You’re former military?” I tilted my head intrigued.

“Yup, awhile back.” He held that familiar look of recollection. “I was part of that Operation Classic Resolve back in ‘89. I was maybe fourteen when I decided I wanted to join the Marines. I had heard stories from the early Vietnam guys, but ... they were just stories. So it was decided,” he looks amused as he’s pouring himself a cup, “I was gonna to be a fuckin’ yut yut. I was cozied up in Lebanon when Beirut turned into a shit show. Lost a lot of good friends” For a second I see pain. He chuckles to himself, “Mostly I just wanted to get away though.”

“Bad childhood?” raising my eyebrow.

“Nah nothin’ like that,” taking a drink, “I was just bored. There’s only so many trash cans you can set on fire before you go lookin’ for something more.” He pauses. “Ya know it’s weird, I don’t know if it was trainin’, the combat, or what, but somethin’ pushed me over the edge when I came home.”

I lean forward, “What do you mean?”

... “I was discharged in ‘90, before they could send me on board with all that Desert Storm shit. Things didn’ excite me like they used to. I had my scrapes with local idiots. Wasn’t enough. I tried my hand at fuckin’ girls I thought were hot. Still wasn’t enough. Well one night, I’m neckin’ with some chick I picked up after happy hour. She starts panickin’. Somethin’ about how she shouldn’t be doin’ it, God doesn’t approve, all that jazz.” He takes another drink.

“So you raped her?”

“Well not right away,” glancing my way. “We were in the woods at the time. Around midnight on a Monday so I knew we had a few hours. But she started goin’ on and on, hell this and dad’s gonna kill her that. She pushes me off and starts shuffling away ... so I go after her.” He inhales sharply. “Never in my life did I feel a rush like that ... At first I just meant to grab her wrist and try to convince her to stay. Instead it just freaked’er out more and she started runnin’ ... I went after her like a mountain lion; tackled her to the ground, pinned her. I’m sure you can imagine the rest.” He downs the rest of his coffee.