My Grandfather Avenged Me on the Brutal Carer

My grandfather, Terry Sims, suffered from bipolar disorder and was prone to anger and mood swings. My mother, Catherine, was his only chill pill.

On the day they were hunted down by enemies, my mom went into early labor and lost her life in an attempt to save him.

Devastated, my grandfather could not see a way out of his disorder and poured all his love into me.

He would pull out the tongues of those who mocked me and fed them to the dogs. The families of those who hurt me would meet their end.

It was known to the people of Mistvale that the granddaughter of Terry Sims was untouchable.

Due to my congenital heart disease, he reluctantly sent me abroad for medical treatment.

After my surgery, I rushed back to his side for his birthday, thinking of giving him a surprise.

However, I was mistaken for a gold digger by a carer and locked in the basement.

“Of all the things you can do for your age, you throw yourself at men. Since your parents won’t restrain your behavior, I’ll have to do it for them.”

She pulled out my tongue, dumped acid all over me, and dug out my snewly transplanted heart to give as a birthday gift to my grandfather, who had been waiting for my return.

“Mr. Sims, the skank tried to impersonate Ms. Sims, but I got everything sorted out for you.”

…

I lay on a sewage-soaked concrete floor, my body mangled and battered from torture.

Flies buzzed above me. The rats squeaked as they feasted on my flesh.

I wept tears of despair as my life slipped away with each ticking moment.

Just hours ago, I got off the plane in anticipation and took a deep breath of fresh air. Yet now, I found myself killed and tortured in the cold, damp, tiny basement.

Today was my grandfather’s birthday.

For his surprise, I spent hours on my knees in the cathedral, offering prayers for his well-being. I even had a crucifix blessed by the pope.

I slipped back into the city ahead of time, eager to give him the best birthday gift when he saw me.

Then, I met that woman.

She was Terry’s carer, Rachel Grimlock.

Terry often brought her up in our phone conversations, complimenting her efficiency, diligence, and integrity. Unlike those women who were after his money, Rachel was discreet and decent.

Rachel was the longest-serving caregiver Terry had.

For that reason, I was grateful to her. With my parents gone and my health issues, Terry could use a bit of help at his age.

Rachel saw me and approached me; the other household staff were in tow.

Thinking she had recognized who I was, I handed my suitcases to her.

Instead, I was welcomed with a slap on the face.

“Ah!”

As I was frail and recovering from a recent surgery, the blow made me see stars, and I staggered to the ground.

Rachel sized me up menacingly.

“You must be the vixen hitting on Mr. Sims.”

She smacked me to the ground. “Don’t try to play the weak damsel. Your little act doesn’t fool me.”

Pulling myself together, I stared at the household staff helplessly.

“What are you talking about? I’m not a vixen.”

Rachel scoffed and looked at me as if I was a dummy.

“Can’t you come up with something new? It’s the same trick in the playbook.”

She clutched my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. My tears ran down my cheeks, dripping onto Rachel’s hand.

“Don’t play innocent with me, vixen. I can see why you got Mr. Sims wrapped around your little finger. He’s always spellbound, staring at your photo.

“It’s a pity, though. It’s been three years since I cared for Mr. Sims. His money will go to me, so you better give up on that thought.”

Reality hit me.

Rachel got the wrong idea that I was hitting on my grandfather.

She had an ulterior motive, after all.

“I did not flirt—”

Rachel cut me off with a kick to my chest. The surgical stitch burst open as I dropped to the ground, crying in pain.

She made a face.

“Aren’t you quite the tease? I’m not a man. Your advances don’t affect me.”

She took out a photo, one I mailed to Terry from abroad.

The edge of the photo was tattered, proof that Terry often ran his fingers along it.

Rachel grabbed my throat and stuffed the scrunched photo into my mouth. She held my lips shut and whipped her hand across my face.

“Swallow it! Swallow it down now!”

I retched desperately, but the grip over my mouth only invoked a violent cough in me, and the crucifix dropped out of my pocket.