NOW

Any apprehension that what they were doing was wrong had long since fled.  He no longer remembered how they began.  Had it been a certain way Andy had looked at him?  Had it been something he’d said?  His last memory was of he and his brother following him, stalking him, as he made his rounds through the neighborhood. Once he had reached his daughter’s window, that’s where the grey area began.

He looked down as his hands, which were now throbbing and covered in blood that may or may not have been his own.  He could feel it on his face, slowly running down his right cheek.  His shirt was damp and sticky, covered in splatter from this night’s gruesome work.

“Wha-  What have I done,” he asked nobody in particular.

He was standing in the shadows, about as far from where they had planned to shackle their captive as he could have possibly moved.  He looked to where Andy should have been, to where the others should be, but there was only a large puddle of blood on the floor, and his bloody footprints, suggesting anyone had ever been there at all. It looked as if, from whatever he had done, or witnessed there, that he had back pedaled to where he now stood.

His vision blurred, and he lost his balance, falling into the wall next to him as a brief flash of memory suddenly leapt to the surface.  He saw the bloody face of his daughter’s predator looking up at him, smiling, even though his lip had been split and his eyes were swelling closed.

“…and it wath tho good,” the apparition spat, taunting him.

“…noooOOOO,” he wailed.  It was a pitiful sound, not so different than the heartbreaking cry when his baby girl had finally broken, that took him to his knees as the emotion overcame him.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained this way, but it was a firm hand on his shoulder that brought him back.  Slowly, John looked into the grim eyes of his brother, who, like himself, was covered in the blood of their victim.

“It’s done.”

John only stared at him blankly, the pain from the realisation of what they had done still having a firm grip on him.

“John?  Are you good?”

He nodded, using his brother’s offered hand to pull himself up.  He couldn’t help the tears that had fallen down his cheeks, in the same way that his daughter couldn’t help the tears that had fallen down hers.  Very much like her, his innocence had been stolen by this most foul of men.  While hers had been physical, and not of her own will, his was spiritual and knowingly given.

“I’m sorry,” he started shakily.

“No,” his brother interrupted.  “Don’t apologize,” he said with a reverent tone.  “You’re a beast, John.  A fucking monster!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he answered solemnly.