.CHAPTER 18.

A geriatric leaking ceiling. Rusty water pipes. Religious wallpapers. Hanging crucifixes. A small Bible with yellowed pages. A handmade crown of thorns. Dim candles. The stagnant smell of bleach, lust and charred flesh. A now empty table where the last victim had been housed...

A woman's throaty moans pierced the air. A man's deep grunts reverberated, balancing the woman's shrill pleas, levelling her gasps.

The religious fanatic was touching himself now. His sharp eyes trained on the video playing on his desktop as his calloused palms stroked his engorged member with vigour. His grotesque pale skin, marred with scars the number of stars was coated in sweat that seemed to catch the light from the candles and sparkle.

She'd been distracted. They'd been in the kitchen.

He'd set the cameras.

Now he watched.

He watch