Chapter 2

I buried Ethan in our quiet hometown. We didn't want the media and clout-chasing TikTokers to disturb him.

My elderly, white-haired parents wept bitterly at his grave, lighting candles. My wife, Sarah, had fainted from crying so many times.

But I kept my distance and didn't show my face. I couldn't drag them into my mess.

When it first happened, Sarah slapped me hard. She screamed at me, asking why I hadn't noticed Ethan’s pain, why I hadn't fought for justice.

I had even refused the school district's offer to simply suspend the bullies.

Because to those monsters, a suspension wasn't a punishment. It was a shield.

I would deliver their real punishment myself.

I bowed to my son’s grave from afar. *Dad is going to get you justice.*

There were four bullies in total—two boys, two girls.

The next target was Brandon Miller. He was also on the basketball team and a straight-A student.

His father, Richard Miller, was the School Board Superintendent. It was Richard who pulled the strings to bury Ethan's case, preventing us from even getting an independent autopsy.

News of the Sterling family's slaughter had leaked, but the media was being heavily censored. A massacre like that would throw the entire city into a panic.

Honestly, I was confident the police wouldn't find me anytime soon.

As a surgeon, I knew how to maintain a sterile environment. I knew exactly how to leave no trace.

But I was running out of time. I couldn't stand the thought of those monsters breathing for another day.

And they were starting to feel the heat, too.

That evening, over dinner, Richard warned his family:

“Be careful when you go out. Actually, don't go out at all. Brandon, you're staying home from school for a few days.”

Brandon's mother, Vicky, protested:

“I can stay home, but what about our son? He can't miss school. He'll fall behind.”

Brandon chimed in:

“Yeah, Dad. We have the championship game coming up.”

Richard slammed his fork down.

“Are you both brainless? Do you have any idea that the Sterlings were slaughtered?”

“It was probably Marcus Vance—Ethan’s father. If he could kill Tyler's entire family, do you think he'll spare you?”

But Brandon didn't look scared at all. He smirked.

“Who? That wimp's dad? We beat his son to a pulp and he couldn't do a thing. If his dad comes, I'll handle him too.”

“Dad, just hire some security. Get those guys who helped us take the body last time.”

Before he could finish, Richard slapped him across the face.

“How did I raise such a stupid son? Do you have any idea who those people are? Having them do dirty work comes with a steep price.”

Vicky shoved Richard angrily. “If you don't care about our boy, I do! He's just a kid. So what if he made a mistake?”

Richard was about to yell back:

“Murder isn't a mistake—”

But suddenly, a heavy wave of drowsiness hit him. He looked over and saw his wife and son already slumping over, their eyes half-closed.

He realized what was happening, but it was too late. He drifted into darkness.

When they woke up, they were tied up back-to-back in the master bedroom. The whole family, nice and neat.

Thanks to modern medicine, it was easy to get my hands on tasteless, odorless sedatives to slip into their dinner.

Richard was the first to fully wake up. When he saw me, panic flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it.

Typical politician. He spoke to me in a calm, soothing voice:

“Marcus, please. Don't make things worse. I promise you, I will get you justice for Ethan. Just trust me.”

I had heard him give the exact same high-and-mighty speeches on TV. Back then, people clapped and cheered.

But his audience tonight wasn't buying it.

Vicky spat, “Richard! If he touches our son, I'm divorcing you!”

Richard snapped, “Are you blind? Look at the situation! Shut up!”

But right after he yelled at his wife, his idiot son opened his mouth.

“Marcus, right? You better hope I don't get loose. If I do, I'll beat you just like I beat your useless son.”

“Who did he think he was? Trying to get better SAT scores than me? Trying to steal my girl?”

Hearing his words, a sharp pain pierced my heart.

Ethan had once told me that a girl at school liked him. But he had ignored her to focus on his studies.

Brandon kept mouthing off, calling Ethan a weak coward.

Furious, I took out my surgical hammer and smashed it directly into his groin.

He instantly doubled over as much as the ropes allowed, screaming in agony, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Vicky screamed, “You animal! Don't touch my baby!”

But when *my* baby was being tortured, who was there to protect him?

When *her* baby was destroying lives, who was there to stop him?

I smashed the hammer into other parts of Brandon's body. Every single strike mapped to a bruise I had seen on Ethan.

I was going to make him feel ten times, a hundred times the pain.

Finally, Brandon started begging for mercy. But it was too late.

I knew Ethan must have begged him too, and Brandon hadn't stopped.

So, I wouldn't stop either.

Then, Vicky sealed their fate. She shrieked at Richard:

“He's castrating your son and you're just sitting there? Tell this psycho that his son is already dead, but he still has a wife! He still has parents! Doesn't he care about what happens to them?”

Richard’s face drained of color. He looked horrified.

He knew Vicky had just crossed the ultimate line.

The next second, I slipped the hammer away, pulled a scalpel from my pocket, and sliced it across Vicky’s throat.

She looked at me in shock, trying to speak, but no sound came out. A fountain of dark blood sprayed from her neck.

Blood splattered all over Brandon’s face. He lost his mind, sobbing and begging, kneeling as much as his ropes allowed.

“Mr. Vance, I'm sorry! Please, we were classmates! I'll apologize to Ethan. I'll buy him flowers, I'll do anything!”

Hearing him mention Ethan only made me angrier.

“You knew you were classmates. What kind of sick hatred drove you to do that to him?”

“Bullying is fun, right? Now that you're the victim, do you regret it even a little bit?”

Brandon opened his mouth to say “I—”, but I drove the scalpel straight into his temple.

His eyes bulged, shocked by how fast death had claimed him.

Richard watched his wife and son die right before his eyes. In an instant, he seemed to age twenty years, his shoulders slumping in total defeat.

In that moment, I saw a reflection of myself in him.

The absolute, gut-wrenching despair of having nothing left.

For a brief second, I wondered if I should spare him.

Then Richard spoke:

“Marcus... you lost your son. Now I've lost mine. And my wife. Isn't that enough?”

“Just pretend I'm dead too. I'll spend the rest of my life doing charity, helping schools... please.”

Hearing this, I put my weapons away and stood up.

He let out a long sigh of relief, slumping against the floor, relaxing his guard.

But then, I slammed the surgical hammer straight down into the crown of his skull.

He was the one who ordered Ethan’s body to be cremated. He denied me the chance to even look at my boy one last time.

He had essentially murdered Ethan a second time. How could I ever let him live?

I walked out of Richard's house and spent the night hiding under a bridge.

A homeless man walked under the bridge later that night. I don't know if he saw the look of a killer in my eyes, but he took one glance at me and immediately hurried away.

The next morning, I headed to the old town district. The next target was a girl named Chloe Bennett.

Ethan used to talk about her. He said she was beautiful, bright, and sweet.

Yet, she was deeply involved in the bullying that killed him.

I wanted to know exactly what role she played in his death.