WARNING: There's torture in this chapter. Feel free to skip if you're faint-hearted.

I could hear Uncle Rick's cries and the crew's cackles through the door. I knocked three times and James opened it a crack. "Is he tied up?"

"Yes," he said.

"Okay. My turn now. You can wait outside, just don't come in unless you think he's attacking me, which he won't."

James must have realized there was absolutely no stopping me. He summoned the crew out. Before I went in, he took my hand gently and said, "It's the twenty-seventh."

I looked at him. "Huh?"

"Your birthday," he said.

My lips tightened. "So it is."

He kissed my forehead. "Happy birthday, love."

"Thanks," I said. My solemn face turned into a sneer. "This is the best birthday present ever."

He let go of my hand and closed the door behind me. I took a moment to examine Uncle Rick. They stripped him down to his underwear. He was bruised a little and exhausted. He looked down at the grimy floor, but eventually perked up at the sight of me. "Lucy…please, have mercy. I love you."

I didn't say anything. I just unraveled the bundle of sharp objects and lemon juice on the floor away from his reach. I then took out my phone and searched through the artist section until I found the Bee Gees. I pressed the one album they had and considered which song to start with. Stayin' Alive was too much of a cliché. How Deep Is Your Love wasn't encouraging enough for me. I chose Night Fever and put it on the highest volume. I then put it on the bundle and tapped my foot as the song started with a little smile.

"The Bee Gees? Seriously? I hate them. What are you doing?"

I picked up the bat and tapped it against my right hand a few times as I approached him. His legs, which weren't bound, tried to go away from me but I hit them both in the knees, possibly causing permanent damage. He cried out. Tears streamed down his face. "Ow," he sobbed.

I smiled and started breathing heavily like a maniac. I then hit the bat between his legs. He screamed, his voice getting higher until it cracked. "W-why?" he cried.

"So that terribly thing doesn't attack any more little girls," she said. "Or boys. Remember Frayara?"

He grunted. "Who?"

I kicked him between his legs. "She's twelve years old and she's keeping the baby."

"Who is she? A redskin?"

I kicked him again. "The term is Native American or Picanniny. She's one of many you attacked, but the only one who didn't kill herself."

"Well…I'm sorry," he said.

He flinched but I didn't hit him. "Sorry doesn't cut it," I said. I put the bat down and picked up a tiny dagger and the lemon juice. I sat on his immobile legs and said as I dipped the dagger in the lemon juice and the song changed to Jive Talkin', "Hold still now. This will only hurt forever."

I relished the sound of his screams as I cut the words not deep enough to make him bleed enough but deep enough to scar Vergewaltiger Hurensohn. That's the German word for rapist son of a bitch. I relished the sound of his screams and cries as I carved it. I put a drop of lemon juice in my mouth and spat over him. I wiped the blood off the dagger with his underwear and then put it back in the bundle. I got a bigger blade and before I could kneel to attack him, he said, "Lucy, please. I'm…I'm sorry that I ruined your live. I'm sorry I didn't learn a lesson and did it again to more innocent kids. I'll never do it again! Please, just stop hurting me!"

I cut open his underwear, then sliced off his dick like I dreamed, looking him in the eye. "Even if I were insane enough to keep you alive, I'd have to make sure."

"You're gonna kill me?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

He sighed. "I guess I deserve it. Just…do it quickly."

I stabbed his sliced off manhood because I didn't want to touch it and put it in his mouth. "Nuh-uh," I replied.

I picked up a longer knife and cut off his fingers one by one, quietly singing along to You Should Be Dancing. I poured some lemon juice on his bleeding hands and watched him cry and struggle to spit out his dick. He was getting weaker and bleeding to death. That was too much of a natural cause. It was time. I poured the rest of the lemon juice over his chest and cut him open like a frog being dissected. He screamed. I watched the life pour out of his eyes and his body get limper and limper. He gagged a little but then stopped all together.

I avenged my sister, my Picaninny friends and myself. Richard Pennington was dead at two thirty P.M. on June 27th.

I opened the door to find a lot of the crew crowded in the hall. Their eyes widened at the sight of me. I looked down at myself and realized I was covered in blood and I was tickled pink. I smiled. "Let's go home," I said.