The second the words ran through Tyler’s mind, more conflicting thoughts arose.

“Maybe I enjoy the sound of their screams.”

It was almost disturbing to him. Almost. No more disturbing than Marilyn Thornhill. He figured that if he’d endured her, his intrusive thoughts were nothing. But why? Why that?

Did he enjoy it? The screams? The blood? The death? It sent him into a hyper-analysis, trying to recall every life he’d taken under her hands. He saw her face in every. Single. One. Was it the hurt he caused that gave him a high? Or was it the only semblance of control he thought he had?

That train of thought was only interrupted by you speaking, causing his head to snap up from his desk.