Tanda It has been three years. Three years of searching. Three years of breaking into homes. Three years of crying in my basement. Searching for my daughter. Three years ago, January ninth, 1994, my wife passed away when our daughter was born. I named my daughter Tanda--the seer of life and death. I thought that the name s meaning would transfer into a quality that my daughter would possess. My daughter and I continued our path of life as the government would want us to--gathering wisdom and making mistakes--until 2007. That night, January ninth, 2007, exactly thirteen years after my wife s death and my daughter s birth, the evening was getting colder, as the dusk brought night and snowflakes started to big bigger and the wind more violent. Tanda wanted to go over to her friend s house to celebrate her birthday instead of having a luxurious party and a trip to the spa--she was something else. She left around seven o clock, bundle in her winter coat and scarf, walking about two blocks to her friends house in an enclosed neighborhood. I thought she would have no problem getting there, but she said otherwise. I settled down in my big memory foam grandpa chair by the mantle where I lit my nicely decorated fireplace to heat the house. I waited by the door with my bourbon in hand and took a nap until Tanda called me to pick her up I haven t gotten over my wife s death so I go to sleep tipsy. I snapped from my nap thinking that it was passed the time that I would allow Tanda to stay over at her friend s house. I looked at my phone, which was way too expensive for its size and features, when it was three o'clock in the morning! I got up of my chair so quickly--drunk--trying to grab my keys that I slipped on the small rug by the fireplace. I got back
up and ran out of the door into my car which had been covered in snow. The engine rumbled so much when I started it up that it felt like a snowmobile on the coldest day of the year. I backed out of my driveway in a cold sweat and stepped on the gas pedal towards my daughter's friend s house. The car swerved like a skater on ice. *Blackout* Sir, sir, sir. a paramedic said hesitantly. My eyes shut. Doctor get the IV, QUICKLY! a nurse said in panic. My eyes shut. Sir, how are you? a close neighbor said with care. Where am I? Where is my daughter? GET ME TO MY DAUGHTER!!!! Sir, your daughter is nowhere to be found after her friend s mother let her go home after nine o clock. The police are on it, but I can t promise that they will find her. I cried with the same violence that I experienced when my wife passed away but my daughter was born. It may have been worse this time because I had to smile when I received my daughter with all the love she deserved. The doctor entered with my chart and all he could say is that I must be the most fortunate man in the world because I was going one-hundred miles per hour on the iciest road imaginable and that the car crash combined with the weather should have killed me. But the only thing I could think of is when can I go home to find my daughter but I blacked out. The next morning I arose with the full feeling of pain from the bruises and the same intensity of anxiety of finding my daughter. The doc came in and said that I could be discharged in a couple of hours because I had not broken any bones or sustained head trauma. That was the only thing I had to know--to go find my daughter.
The next months followed of police check-ups to see if any of my close family members would have any intent to stealing my daughter, but everyone went on vacation to bora-bora and the cousin that was left home was broke because he wastes his money on that last nugget of weed. All the community cameras were blocked by the heavy snow and the gates had no sign of damage, so someone must have taken my baby by foot. The worst thing about that morning when I got back home was that the snow had been stepped on by all of the people in my community and finding a specific track was impossible. I grew eager to find my daughter. I became mad. I lived like a pig. I had no sense of structure. My life had become useless As I grew into the depression, I felt my mind grow cold. I started buying guns and putting them everywhere and I started training as I where to go to war-torn countries tomorrow. I knew I had to kill the person who stole my daughter. But the optimism that my girl was alive fell by the day as she could have been raped, tortured, manipulated, or used as a sex toy by multiple-. I rather not say. June of 2007, is when I started to go find these pieces of shit! They were not going to live another day as long as I am alive. After six months of no traces and the police trying to ignore me, I would take the law into my own hands. Interestingly, this woman from my block looked out the window that night and got a look at the face. I asked her why she didn t call the police, but I forgot that the cell phone lines were down as well. She said that she had seen someone in a white van that stays by a coffee shop a couple blocks away at night that looks just like him. Without skipping a beat I went back home to prepare for tonight. From the morning to dusk the temperature stayed in the high 90s. That was not going to stop me from torturing this guy to the
point of him crying mercy and then I would wait till his blood starts dripping from his mouth and his eyes look like their about to fall out of his head while I cut him into pieces. That night, June 16, I stalked the guy the woman had described for about two hours, planning on how to come up to him. I decided to approach him face to face with a gun in hand. He rolled down his window to command me to get out of here. I definitely knew this was the guy. He looked like he had a bunch of gags and whips to abuse girls. This fuckin piece of shit was going to get a special present tonight. I never stopped walking toward him and pointed my gun right into his heart. He would regret ever living after tonight. I told him that he can either step out or get shot. He stepped out and I shot him right in the balls, throwing him in the trunk of the van. I drew this van to a old abandoned building far from people which I had already drenched with gasoline. He shouted and pleaded me to let him go. I sat him in a wooden chair to ensure that he was going to burn alive. I tied him to the chair and whipped him with his own whips right where I shot him. I gagged him and put all the devices he had available in his own truck and put as many as I could fit on his body. Never did I stop thinking of how I should have walked my daughter over to her friend s house. I waterboarded him before asking him if he had stolen my beautiful innocent girl that cold night. He was scared but managed to say yes and a lot more people enjoyed her. I fucking pistoled whipped him before he fell unconscious. I took everything from his pockets and poured more gasoline on him and made him drink some. I lit a match and told that if it would comfort him, in my heart he will always be a little fucking bitch who should rot in hell. I lit him up as he continued to shit himself. Literally, that is what he is. I sat outside the concrete building for about two hours contemplating the next thing I should do. Literally, I did not know what to do after killing someone in such a tortuous way. I
just sat there as the guy burned alive. His screaming gave me pleasure in some way--actually made me think on how I could have been holding my daughter s hand on the way home. The next morning I did not feel any sympathy for what I had done. I was proud that I had taken the life away from a pedophile that was going to cause more harm. The wallet I took from him before setting him on fire had the list of his buddies in order of least to greatest kids they raped and killed. I punched the wall so hard until my knuckles began to bleed. I knew then that my innocent girl was raped and killed. But that is not going to stop me from killing them all. On the back of the cards, had the ways they had raped and killed the kids. That is my intended way to kill all of them. And to sprinkle the icing on top, I will make them drink six cups of gasoline for the six months that I grew anxious about what happened to my girl. Next victim was going to be easy. He had raped only one girl and killed her right away. The plan is to get them next month, July, at night and bring them to the same space where I had killed his buddy. They all have a white van filled with torture devices. They didn t know that those devices are going to be their best friends before they die. July 4. Independence day. The day that this next piece of shit is going to die independently. I saw this guy for a month in his white van and he was also stationed at a coffee shop. The back door from his van was open. As I got closer I heard someone struggling and trying to scream and the driver in front moved his hand up and down by his penis--disgusting people. I came up behind by the open door and I saw him and his buddy--another person that is going to be my victim. His buddy was in the back trying to unclothe this nine year-old girl. I took out my gun and shot both of them in the head. I know it wasn't the torture that I wanted, but this girl should not be abused more just because I want to torture both of them.
I took the girl back to her home in my own truck and left her in front of her house and left as quick as possible. I went back to the white van and drove it back to the abandoned place. As I poured gasoline on the truck and on the guys, I saw that both their penises were smaller than pinkies. Both of them bitches for trying to compensate for something they couldn't do. I lit up the truck and left all the pictures of the six guys who raped girls outside the concrete building where police can see them. I left the pictures outside the building because I thought that the explosion from the truck would lure police to the building. I didn't want to kill anymore because it felt like a bigger problem that I could manage. I left the police a note as my resignation from killing the guys who raped my girl. Dear police, I heard you are going to catch the guys who raped my girl. I already did most of the work. It would be a shame if I had to help again after that. Then I would have to come after you. These people live in white vans at night. Catch them in the act so they act more surprised. Most importantly, put them in the most gruesome prison cell with the guy that rapes grown men as a fetish. Just to get the point across that they should have not raped my girl. Sincerely, The Torture Expert The months that followed after June and July, seemed like the worst parts of my life because I had lost my girl and I had lost my humanity. But life was put back into a normal perspective: to work out the mind and body spiritually, emotionally, and physically. But my basement seemed to disagree with that perspective. My basement still has all of my plans, guns,
and tokens that I took from each of my victims. And a benefit from having money is that I could return to my hobby. for life.