My beast. My nightmare. Those are just euphemisms for the anger I felt toward my mother's killer, all of that craziness stirring around inside of me. I had no idea what to do with it, so … I let it get the best of me. I let it put a knife in my hand, let it drag me around the city as I stalked the man, let it slash and bleed him until it was over and I was left with fresh scars of my own. Physical scars. Mental scars.
