Ghost Peppers

Ghost Peppers
Prologue
The morning sunlight filtered through the trees lining Heritage Lane, casting long shadows over the neatly manicured lawns. The killer drove the unmarked van with precision, the Amazon logo painted on its side offering a shield of trust. Inside the vehicle, his tools were organized with surgical precision: zip ties, gloves, syringes filled with Succinylcholine, a matching set of red lingerie, and a silenced handgun tucked into its holster. Among them, a carefully folded white pillowcase embroidered with the letter “J” lay as the final touch to his work.
He parked at the curb, scanning the quiet suburban street. The timing was perfect—early enough that most residents were preoccupied with their morning routines but late enough to avoid the rush of commuters. Adjusting his hat, he grabbed the decoy package and stepped out of the van, his movements calm and deliberate.
As he approached the Carter home, he allowed himself a faint smile. No cameras pointed directly at the door. Perfect. He rang the bell and waited, the crisp uniform lending him an air of authority.
Alice Carter opened the door, her damp hair still clinging to her neck, a floral robe tied loosely around her waist. Her warm smile faded into hesitation as she looked him over.
“I didn’t order anything,” she said, looking confused.
“Sometimes they mix up the labels,” he replied smoothly, holding out the package. “Better early than late, right?”
Alice hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess so.” She reached for the box.
Before she could fully grasp it, he shoved her back into the house with a forceful step, closing the door behind him.
“What—” she began, but the sight of the handgun silenced her.
“Not a sound,” he commanded, his voice cold and measured. “Where’s your husband?”
Her lips quivered, and she gestured shakily toward the stairs.
“Good. Let’s go.”
The master bedroom was bathed in the soft morning light. Adam Carter sat on the edge of the bed in his pajamas, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Alice entered, the killer’s gun pressed to her back.
“What the hell is this?” Adam demanded, his voice rising as he shot to his feet.
“Sit down,” the killer barked, his tone sharp and commanding. “Now.”
Adam hesitated, his eyes darting to Alice before complying.
“Listen carefully,” the killer began, pulling a syringe from the box. “We’re going to play a little game. You,” he said, pointing the gun at Alice, “are going to help.”
“No,” Alice whispered, shaking her head.
“Oh, you will,” the killer said, his tone almost conversational. He handed her the syringe, his gloved fingers steady as he held the cap. “You’re going to inject your husband in the neck. Right here.” He gestured to the carotid artery with a gloved finger.
Alice’s knees buckled, and she began to sob. “Please, don’t make me do this!”
“You want him to live longer than the next thirty seconds?” the killer growled, pressing the gun harder against her temple. “Do it.”
With trembling hands, Alice took the syringe. Adam’s protests turned frantic, his voice a mixture of anger and pleading. “Alice, don’t! Don’t do this!”
“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered as she knelt beside him. Tears streamed down her face as she found the vein and injected the Succinylcholine.
Adam’s body seized momentarily before going limp, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on Alice as his muscles betrayed him.
The killer smirked, watching the paralysis take hold. “Good girl. Now, tie his hands and feet.” He tossed her the zip ties. “Hands in front, so he can see everything.”
Alice obeyed, her hands shaking violently as she secured Adam’s wrists and ankles. He made no sound, only helpless grunts as his body remained frozen.
“Now,” the killer said, turning back to Alice, his tone almost pleasant, “it’s your turn. Let’s make you look nice for the occasion.”
He grabbed the box and pulled out a red lace bra and matching panties. “Put these on.”
“No,” Alice pleaded, backing away.
The killer sighed, his patience thinning. “You don’t have a choice. Do it, or I’ll make it worse for him.”
Defeated, Alice changed under his watchful eye, her movements robotic as she donned the delicate lingerie.
“Perfect,” he muttered, admiring his work. He moved quickly then, injecting Alice with the same syringe, her body going limp as she crumpled onto the bed.
The killer worked with calm efficiency, positioning Alice’s body on the bed in a way that was both deliberate and grotesque. Her hands and feet were zip-tied in front, her head tilted slightly to the side looking right at Adam. The bright red lace contrasting vividly against her pale skin.
Adam watched helplessly as his wife laid there helpless. “Not such a tough guy now, are you Adam? Jasmine is safe now; you can’t hurt her anymore.” The killer tormenting him.
The killer placed the white monogrammed pillowcase next to Adam’s head, smoothing the fabric to ensure the letter “J” was visible.
He stood back, surveying his work. The scene was immaculate, each detail carefully arranged. The silenced gun came up, aimed precisely at Alice’s temple. The shot was a muffled thud, her head jerking once before going still.
He turned to Adam, crouching beside him. “You were a fighter,” the killer said almost kindly. “Too bad it wasn’t enough.”
With gloved hands, he tightened his grip around Adam’s neck. The fight drained from Adam’s eyes in less than a minute.
The killer stood, removing his gloves with a practiced motion and collecting every trace of evidence he had brought. The empty syringes were the last thing he picked up, tucking them in his pocket as he exited the house.
The neighborhood remained still and unsuspecting as he climbed into the van. Starting the engine, he blended back into the mundane rhythm of suburban life, a specter vanishing into the daylight.