Every Night....

Every night Peter went out to save the world in his own little way. Tonight it was a cold October evening, the heating was off and he felt a shiver up his back as he stood staring out the window at the dark, star speckled stars in the sky.
It was 5am and his phone kept buzzing in his pocket. It was his wife again, probably wanting to know where he was, who he was with, was he coming home or sleeping with some dirty whore.
She was always paranoid, thinking he was up to no good when in fact he was doing the exact opposite. His nightly missions were important, for him, for society and especially for his lovely  wife, Sarah. No matter what she said to him he loved her with all of his heart.
Too long he had been doing the Police's work. Catching the criminals that fell through their net. He liked to pretend the role of a Super Hero when he went out on his missions. Maybe Netflix or Prime would be interested in his heroic story of citizens justice. How one man cleaned the mean streets of Windlesham, that tiny village full of criminals that the police always chose to ignore.
As head of the local Neighbourhood Watch he was consumed with power. Drop a Snickers bar wrapper and you better pick it up or face a £200 fine. Peter always had the time and patience to wait with a suspect before the real police came to either fine or ignore the offence. Sometimes it was even himself that got arrested for withholding a suspect without due cause. Rules, stupid rules that stupid people always stupidly followed.
Peter really thought he should have a badge. Something that showed the world he had authority. A man not to be messed with. Instead all he had was his plastic neighbourhood watch laminated badge and a stack of printed “See something, do something” cards. Cards he would often find discarded on the pavements of his village streets. People had no respect these days,
Bzzzz, bzzzz, the phone kept ringing and ringing, Sarah his wife again. He put the phone on silent. There was nothing more annoying than a phone going off in the middle of the night, that is, if your sleeping. However Peter was wide awake, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he carefully picked out the correct instrument for the job.
Peter turned to the man taped tightly to the pool table inside the villages only pub, “The Sun”, with the landlord lying prostrate and groaning. There was no-one in right now except the landlord and Peter. “You don't mind do you?”, he asked before walking over to the bar and pouring himself a fine Glenfiddich single malt.
“Bottoms up!”, he said, before downing the drink and smiling at the man strapped to the table in cellophane, ropes and with plenty of sheets below and around the table.
Too much blood was already on the green felt from the many fights that had occurred here over the years, but caution was the 2nd rule, just after the 1st, “Don't get caught”.
Peter wiped the whisky glass clean and placed it back in the stack, two from the bottom.
“Now Mr Landlord or should I say, Stephen Thompson, rapist and abuser of women. How many has it been now? 10, 12, 15 maybe? Preying on drunk female customers offering them free lock-ins, only to be fed GHB within their drinks you kindly offer.”
Muffled sounds of a taped up man were all Peter could hear as he walked up to Stephen, the respectable landlord of the villages only pub. Peter had no actual proof that he had been raping and killing women, there were no actual bodies that had been found, but rumours existed and there was no smoke without fire.
“Mr Thompson, I'm afraid it's closing hours for you, at least”, He picked up the 8” Spear Point blade from the side he had selected earlier and stood over the frantic, scared, begging eyed rapist as he pleaded for his life with his eyes.
Peter ignored these crocodile tears, not that he could easily tell any-more when someone was really crying or not. The accumulation of eye water over the years had made him paranoid and untrustworthy, could he really tell if someone was sobbing for honest reasons or not? It was something he and Sarah were working out during their marriage counseling.
Peter stood above the head of the taped up man, “Sorry landlord, it's early retirement for you. The Sun is getting a new owner”, he crackled a short laugh through blood thirsty lips then plunged the blade deep into his victims coronary artery. The wound killed him almost instantly as the blood pumped it's way out of Stephen's body turning the polythene sheets red as it leaked.
Peter liked to watch his victims die, intensely and close as the body depleted itself of it's life source. Just before the last breath left his victims body, he liked to take a photo of his victim. A trophy, a reminder of the deed that he could relive whenever he wanted. He snapped his iPhone at Stephen prostrate body, and saved the photo in a fake cloud account.
Satisfied that the man was dead he started the clean up job. Wrapping sliced chunks of leg and arm into black bin liners always took at least an hour but finally the job was done, just one more little thing to do. He picked his phone out of his pocket. 6 missed calls from Sarah.
He speed dialed her number. “Hi babe, no need to worry I'm on my way home now, there was a leaving do for Jack at work, I couldn't say no.”, “But where have you been all this time” she replied, “Oh just a lock-in at a pub near work, I'll be home soon, love you”. He switched it off and calmly walked out from the back of the pub with his collection of bin liners.
The body parts would later be found at the bottom of a Golf course water hole, unrecognisable from fish bites but until then there would be manhunts, worried notes stuck to lampposts and regular stories about the missing landlord in local papers. Peter actually enjoyed that part, maybe a little too much. He liked to stand by a labelled lamppost and comment to passers by how sad it was that another person had gone missing, hiding his smile from the outside world as the passer by chatted along.
After disposing of the bags of flesh Peter had jumped over a small fence leading from the Golf course to the main road and continued towards home. Another mess left alone by the Police but cleaned up by him. He was just thinking about how he should be awarded a medal for his work when a sharp pain shot though his right ear into the centre of his brain.
These shocks were getting worse and worse and he had no idea what was causing them, Maybe he needed to visit his doctor to find out more. Actually he should probably pay him a night visit at his home.
He was sure Dr O'Hara was some kind of serial killer, probably finishing his victims like Dr Shipman, with high doses of Pethidine. He had no proof of course, but then that was the difference between him and the Police. Evidence wasn't actually a main consideration in who he decided to punish, it was more a gut feeling he got when he looked into their eyes. Their crimes always reflected back from their pupils. He was probably the only man alive that could read a persons whole history from a cursory glance at their face. Peter opened his phone and spoke “Make appointment to see Dr O'Hara”. He put the phone away and smiled as neared the home he shared with his wife. His lovely Sarah, so beautiful, and full of life, too good for him that was for sure.
At home Sarah waited anxiously in bed for the key to turn in the front door, a 6” Gut Hook blade lay beneath her pillow. She sat shivering with fear and anticipation. Her monster was returning and she had to do something to stop him before it was too late for her. Once he was up and in bed she would stick him with the blade then cut herself all over her arms and legs to make an alibi that she had been attacked. The Police would surely find the photos she had secretly found on his phone of all his “neighbourly” kills and take her word for sure.
The keys turned in the front door lock, Sarah checked her knife and pretended to be asleep. It was now or never.....

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