When they touched her they must have felt like big bad men, when they violated her they probably felt like kings, when they killed her they must have thought they were gods. They must have thought they were the worst men on the planet. But I am so much worse than all of them combined and I loved her. Now they know what it's like to be hunted, stalked, and killed. It is not enough that they die, I will break not only their bodies but their souls, I will inflict a pain on them so severe they will remember me in the next life, and the one after that and so on for all eternity. If my own soul is damned in the process I just don't care, if I have to I will walk over the bloody battered body of Jesus Christ himself to get my revenge. I cannot be reasoned with, or intimidated, or bought, and I cannot be stopped. I found the first one, stripped naked his hands tied behind his back and hung from them, I showed him a photo of her so he knew why he was going to die in such a terrible grotesque fashion. I showed him the photo I had taken of his wife as she slept in their bed, I showed him the necklace I had cut from his daughter as she slept. "Please don't kill my family, they have nothing to do with this, they are innocent," he pleaded. I pointed to the photo of her, my angel, my reason for living. "So was she," I said.