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Wendy discovers how long Greg has been fucking her daughter.

One day you came back early from school, you saw your mother with the neighbour. The memories and indoctrinations still burnt strong.

Bernard was shocked. Through a sliver of a gap in the wooden window pane, he saw his adopted mother on her knees, holding Mr Resnick's thick cock in her hand. She cupped his balls and wrapped her lips around the shaft. Her mouth moved back and forth, slurping at the turgid organ.

Mr Resnick closed his eyes and gave in to the pleasure. His fingers clutched her hair and he fucked her face at his leisure. After several minutes, she rose and playfully pushed him onto the couch. His erection pointed skywards. She straddled his hips and impaled herself on it. Her moans became louder as she bounced on his hardness. His hands were around her hips, supporting her.

Bernard felt sick. He got on his knees and felt his palms go cold. Blood pounded in his ears. Suddenly, he seemed to hear his father's voice berating him and his mother screaming in the throes of orgasm. Both sounds mixed and formed a terrifying track in his head. He clutched his hair, but the sounds continued in a repeating loop. They were growing louder by the second.

He stood up, resolute in his purpose. His father had shown him how to punish the sinners. He knew where his foster family kept the keys to their gun cupboard and he also knew the yard door could be opened silently. He felt a pang of regret, but it passed in the relentless swirl of words and screams spiralling around his head. Those voices would not release him until he fulfilled his task.

When the police found the bodies, Mr Resnick still had his penis inside the married woman. Both had been shot during intercourse and neither had seen it coming. One of the Dawson family's guns was missing and so was Bernard.

Kirkland stopped again and gauged the response from the other side of the table. Bernard seemed to be reminiscing on this memory and the rush of adrenaline it gave him. His first two murders.

"You entered New York under a false identity and became a bouncer at a nightclub. You had a deep hatred for married women who cheated on their husbands. You found them out, followed them to confirm their cheating for days, even weeks, at a time. You then kidnapped them and brought them back to an abandoned warehouse where you repeatedly raped them before finally killing them with multiple stabs. Every body was wrapped in a tarpaulin and left in an alley with a copy of the Bible beside them. You thought it was their repentance, didn't you?"

"Maybe," Bernard sighed. "You seem to have me all figured out then."

"Would I be talking to you if I did?"

Bernard smirked. He crossed his arms and leaned over the table.

"You went to great lengths to be completely anonymous, Bernard. You used disguises, dropped your bodies in the middle of the night and never used the same park twice. You made my job tough."

"That's why Uncle Sam pays you," Bernard drawled.

"What did you do in your free time?"

"My day job, bar hopping and trolling infidelity stories in the Loving Wives section of Literotica," Bernard shrugged. "My days were usually slow before I decided on a cheating broad to teach a lesson. The week after that was usually more interesting."

Kirkland diligently took notes.

"Can I ask a question or two now?"

Kirkland paused to consider it. DNA evidence had proven this man's guilt conclusively. Nothing he could say could save him. He nodded.

"What were you hoping to achieve with your TV appearance the other day?" Bernard asked.

"I was giving your profile to the general public," Kirkland said, swallowing his emotion.

"Really?" came the incensed reply. "You said I was an impotent loser who takes out his anger against women on unsuspecting housewives. You said I was probably cuckolded and now feel the need to project that anger on married women as surrogates for my wife."

"I knew it would get a reaction from you," Kirkland said.

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