Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
There was also a very special word for him in some of the crime books I read: pedophile.
He was the worst of the worst by criminal standards—even murderers would be appalled. And according to every story I read, he would never be able to stop himself.
There would always be more victims.
It wasn’t until the autumn of that year that I realized staying away from him would only protect me, and no one else.
Cindy Kline left a “So sorry, I can’t handle this pain anymore, I love you Mom and Dad” note in her locker, hours before police found her hanging in her aunt’s closet.
While Tom Raider provided snacks for her funeral, everyone in town whispered and wondered what “pain” she could’ve possibly been talking about. What could she have possibly been going through at such a young age?
I knew then and there that there was only one way to make his victim count zero.
And it wasn’t by snitching.
He’d just donated fifty thousand dollars to the law enforcement fund and committed to keeping their snack pantry full for five years.
Well, or so he thought.
“Mr. Raider?” I knocked on his door on a Sunday, right in time for the “boy” part of his pattern. “Are you in there?”
“Who is it?” he called out.
“It’s James from right next door!” I said. “Do you have any new ice cream today?”
“Always, always!”
“Can I climb through the basement?”
“Of course you can! Come up and meet me in the kitchen, okay?”
Okay. Perfect.
I climbed through the window in a pair of oversized boots, then walked to the corner where I’d hidden one of my father’s old handguns and tucked it into my pants.
Letting out a breath, I braced myself.
I knew he wasn’t in the kitchen.
I knew he was going to lure me to the bedroom, and today was going to end in one of two ways: the police would show up and find him in bed, the victim of an apparent suicide.
Or, they would discover it was me, and I would say he tried to touch me and get all the neighborhood kids to finally fucking say something.
“Are you here, James?” he called from his bedroom as I ascended the steps.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m here.”
“Come check out something in here for a second.”
“Gladly.” I moved closer.
He was standing in front of a mirror, wearing nothing but a pair of ugly fish-print briefs.
“You’re growing up to be so tall and strong.” He smiled at me. “You’re destined to be at least six feet tall.”
And you’ll be at least six feet under.
“I hope so,” I said. “If writing doesn’t work out for me, I can keep playing basketball.”
“It’s usually the other way around for the other boys around here.”
“Yeah, well…” I stalled as he pressed a hand against my cheek.
“I have something else you can taste before the ice cream,” he said. “After you lick it a few times, you can take as many bars home as you like, okay?”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Not so fast, James. We’ll get there slowly, alright?”
“Alright.” I tried not to flinch as he pressed his thumb against my bottom lip.
“It’s something that you can’t tell anyone else about, okay?” His smile was the stuff of nightmares. “Promise me that first.”
“I promise.”
“Good boy.” He sat on the edge of his bed. “Before I let you see it, let me see you first.”
“Huh?” I hadn’t prepared for this part.
“Take off your pants and let me see you.” He was damn near salivating. “Then place your boxers in that middle drawer over there for me, okay?”
I looked toward the middle drawer and spotted something I’d missed while watching him all this time.
It was only cracked open a bit, but I could see what looked like other underwear inside.
What the…
“Go on.” He slid a hand into his boxers. “Get undressed and let me see you.”
“Wipe my fingerprints off the metal, ditch the clothes, wipe my fingerprints off the metal,” I muttered.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said, leaning back. “I can shut my eyes until you tell me you’re ready for me to look.”
I waited until he shut his eyes and counted down from five.
Then I walked over to him and took out the gun, positioning it like I had so many times before.
“Okay, Mr. Raider,” I said, pressing the barrel against his head. “You can look at me now.”
“What the hell are you—” His eyes fluttered open, and I pulled the trigger.
He dropped to the floor within seconds, and the world was instantly a safer place.
I wiped my fingerprints off the trigger and placed the gun next to him.
Then I walked to the drawer he’d mentioned and pulled it open.
Dozens of girls’ panties and young boys’ boxers stared back at me. Some had name tags in his handwriting.
Others had dates.
I made sure to leave the drawer hanging wide open so the officers could see his depravity, so they could see that he deserved to die.