Tracing the scar around her left eye, Maggie sighed. It had been almost two years, and she still had not grown used to seeing it. She wondered if she ever would. The months of torture Maggie had endured replayed in her mind every night like a bad black-and-white movie with shitty popcorn.
How he laughed at her her when she asked him why. When he finally did answer, he said, "Simply because it was Tuesday." Now, understandably, her least favorite day of the week. When he got tired of the screaming, he flipped open his pocket knife and slicked into her flesh. The other scars she could hide under her clothes, but not this one. "I want you to remember me every time you look into the mirror," he said to her as she kissed her forehead and sliced open her flesh from the top of her brow to the bottom of her eye.
Each morning, Maggie wakes drenched in sweat, having to remind herself it is over and she made it out alive. However, she knew that wasn't true. Deep inside, she knew that it wasn't over. As long as he was in head she would never be free.
Digging her nails into the bottom of her scar, she let out a heavy breath as blood trickled down her cheek. She needed to evict that bastard like a deadbeat tenant.
"Dead," Maggie whispered to herself, "dead."
The determined woman dove into her unsolved case for the next couple of months and set to do what the police couldn't. Maggie knew they could care less about her abduction, about the fact that she was tortured, about how she suffered. She was just another woman from the street, another hooker who was jamming up their system. But she was a person too; she suffered too, and she delivered justice.
While doing her research, she studied different ways to draw him out. Cognitive interviews with a new therapist helped her recall details that she didn't know she knew. Drilling the officers on the case led to insights and information that brought her to the discouraging factor that the man who tortured her was a snitch, a snitch protected by the law that had failed to protect her.
Using her professional skills, Maggy lured in her first victim. Just another "John" looking for a good time, looking to get something for practically nothing, and then throwing her away like garbage. Not this time. This time, he would get more than he bargained for. Slipping a little something on her nipples, she rubbed them on his lips, sliding them in his mouth, making her mark easy to handle. Minutes later, she had arranged the body, pulled out her knife, and carved her message into his milky white body.
A couple of kills later and Maggie had gotten what she wanted. Watching the cop who promised her justice, she watched as he had secret meetings in the shadows with an unknown male. Keeping to the shadows, she inched within earshot to listen. Her breath stopped hearing the rough, patchy voice of the man who haunts her dreams.
Starting with the cop who promised her justice, Maggie lured him over, wanting to "talk about her case." When he arrived, she offered him coffee with a little something extra and then, with water boiled on her stove, poured it over his well-formed flesh, as it had been done to her. She sent a message from the officer's phone and arranged a meeting with her tortuer.
"Well, well, well," Maggie said, stepping out of the darkness.
Stomping toward the woman who had gotten away from him, the angry man growled. Prepared for such an event, Maggie pulled out a trank gun from her purse, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Having timed it just right, the broad-shouldered man stumbled. At the same time, a black van pulled up. Two burley men stepped out, picking up Maggie's tormenter and throwing him into the truck as Maggie calmly got into the passenger seat.
Arriving at an old warehouse, the men carried the man inside, bound him with chains, received their payment, and were on their way.
Tonight was the start of him learning who the hell she was. She would do to him things he never thought to do to her. It was time for Maggie's healing to begin.
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