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I went overboard with this one. A woman gets brutalized, that's the whole story. It's a hard read.

"I remember you tho."

Tiny droplets sprouted on her forehead.

"I remember everything you did."

He locked the door and tossed the key. It slid across the oak desk.

"I'll sue you. If you don't stop this you'll be in a lot of trouble."

He opened the window. Sweet air flooded his office.

"I remember all things said and done."

She circled the desk talking, buying time, searching for it. The earth swallowed that key and vanished without a trace.

"You think you can do this and walk away? Do you think you're important?! You're nothing but a stupid, little man. When * insert a random witch here * finds out you'll suffer - "

He lunged for her purse and tossed it out the window. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He tapped his fingers staring deep into her eyes.

"I'll give you a chance to live: jump out the window."

She threatened she would do this and that but tears choked her. The woman sounded like a deskjet printer. She clawed at the door, screaming for help. The office was high up. No chance of surviving the fall. 

He closely watched her moves. The man stood still, hands by his side just a couple of feet away from her. While she worked up the courage to curse and get aggressive, he didn't speak. 

As soon as the woman grabbed an electric kettle he rammed his fist into her face. Another kick in the guts hand her crying on the floor. The kettle slammed down on her head, over and over again. He stopped after a massive gash exposed the white of her skull. 

"When they'll find your body there won't be much left. I promise."

He slid a chair closer and sat down. Although the pool of blood was impressive in size her wounds were not life-threatening.

"Your family will see what is left of you. When I'm done they won't be able to hold an open casket burial."

She sobbed and bled. Her palms slipped when she tried to stand. He punched the back of her head. 

"Your life ends today, with me as your executioner."

He clasped her face with both palms the instant her sobs grew great. He dug his thumbs in her sockets. Her gaping mouth spiked his rage. He cursed as teeth tore flesh from his knuckles. The woman lost a couple of them. Blood oozed from her mouth as she was forced to tilt her head forward, pouring it at his feet. He didn't shy away. Her breathing worsened. She tried to make sense of the world around her but the red veil obscured her sight.

He washed his pierced knuckle under cold tap water. As the woman managed to scale the desk he threw a chair. The wheels hit with a deep thud. She slipped. Her nose splint open on the sharp edges of the desk. The woman lay still. 

He cut sterile dressing and patched the vicious gash in his hand. He filled the kettle and watched it boil. Steam rose from his mug which brewed green tea leaves. The man stood over her and poured out the kettle onto her face. She woke screaming, trembling in agony. The stench made his nose wrinkle. In what dark place was he to tear raw, soaked flesh from her face with his bare hands? He could grab only a small patch. It displeased him. She put up what fight she had left in her but the weight of his stomps left her hardly breathing. A set of pliers made the work easier on the wrists. The woman screamed. She watched him eat a piece of her cheek and saw all the evil in the world manifest in one man. Her vision slowly turned red, then narrowed until it all went black.  Silence fell in the office. 

He released his death grip. Such was the man's strength. He snapped her neck while choking the life out of her slender body. Leaning back on his leather chair he admired his work. The stench of blood was powerful. He took off his shoes and socks and soaked his feet. Using a butter knife he tore open her neck and reached inside. What gore he pulled out he smeared on his face. He cradled next to her, eyes closed, breathing deeply. 

The man checked his watch. It was late.

"Another late night at the office, honey. You know how it goes. Don't wait up." His wife was used to late nights.

The phone was sticky. He stripped and tossed his clothes in a plastic yellow bag meant for burning. He wiped the hardline clean with strong, clear alcohol. Not that it mattered. His knowledge of the human body was vast. Atop a shelf was the body bag. He placed it there in August.

"This room won't be your permanent home. I have a special place for you. Nothing will remain by the time I'm done."

The package was placed on the desk. Naked, he mopped the floor until clean. He tossed the rags in the yellow bag. The tea got cold. He brewed another cup and then tossed the kettle in a yellow bag. He remembered her handbag, some nearby street cameras, and people who might know she showed up. The thought didn't upset him. He was ready to pay the cost for the rest of his life. Not to serve time, but to forever be in debt to those who clear his name.

The hot shower took with it all that lingered on his skin. Down the drain, she went. The man dressed sharp as always. He called downstairs to see if storage space was available. He took the woman and locked her up in the cold room. 

The next day in the morning hours he was there. His colleagues gathered around to hear his teachings and admire his skills.

"Doctor, what happened to her?"

"What do you think happened?"

"Some kind of animal mauling perhaps?"

"We may never know the truth."