[ WP ] One last time

This would have to be the last. 
 
 Jim thought about it with regret, but it was true- it had to end sometime, and things were just too heavy. Retirement was so bittersweet. 
 
 `` No more,'' the nude man in the chair whispered, through a mostly toothless mouth. Most of his teeth were lodged in his urethra. `` Pleashe, mister, no... no more...'' His remaining wrist bled where he had struggled against the rope. The cauterized stump of his right arm wiggled feebly, and the blood from the amputation still stained the floor, though it was long since dried. Blood still leaked from the man's anus, which had repeatedly had a massive dildo forced into it. 
 
 Jim chuckled humorlessly. He picked up a blowtorch from the table and said to the man, `` Sorry, but this is just what I do.'' A flint lit the blowtorch with a *whumph*, and the man's skin crackled like bacon in a pan as Jim held the flame against it. The man screamed, and screamed, and Jim smiled thinly. He loved the screams- they were what made this hobby fun. The screams drowned out his own, the ones he let out at night when he saw Allie in his dreams, her wrists opened and the bathtub filled with red-tinged water. 
 
 The man continued to scream as Jim replaced the blowtorch and grabbed a sledgehammer. Weighing it in his hands, he turned back toward the man. `` Pleashe... oh god, pleashe... I won' tell anyone, just lem me go... three daysh in here... pleashe... oh god...'' The man could only manage a hoarse whisper now, and he craned his head back to look up at Jim's low, bulky figure. Jim looked into the man's remaining eye, peering out of greasy black hair and filled with pathetic tears. Jim knew the man's name was Horace, knew he lived alone with no family to speak of. He knew because of the police report he'd stolen a copy of, but he'd tailed him for a week to be sure he had the right man. 
 
 Jim felt a moment of pity, as he always did. Then he remembered the girl, crying, cupping her crotch in pain while she bled into her panties and her boyfriend held her close. The college girl, weeping, filing an ignored police report. Dropped due to lack of evidence, his friend at the station said. In the man's face he saw the face of Allie's father, and every bastard after that. They were all the same. All the same. He imagined Horace's greasy black hair hanging over the girl's face, his chapped lips grinning. 
 
 `` This is just what I do,'' Jim repeated with resolve. `` Just what happens to men like you.'' He hefted the 10 lb sledge above his head easily, and brought it down as hard as he could onto the man's kneecap. There was a snapping crunch, like a dry branch breaking, and another ear-shattering scream. Jim smiled again. This would be his best one yet, with any luck- he was only a few hours from his personal record. He thought back to his first one- Allie's father. Jim had been young and inexperienced, and he had only lived a day and a half- and that was due only to luck and Jim's natural talent. Now, Jim was almost onto 43 hours. A swan song for the ages, he thought. The police would be too suspicious after a while, and he could n't trust his friend to keep quiet forever. It would have to end sometime. But for now, he enjoyed the moment, drinking in the man's screaming and sobbing and pleading and cursing. 
 
 He looked across his table, looking for a new tool to use. His eyes settled on a pair of pliers, and he grinned, ideas springing into his head. He picked them up and turned to the man, the smile still on his face. 
 
 One last time.
