He was dead silent, affronted, even pissed, she realized, because
she was laughing at him.
“You gave me a shot of something. What was it?”
She heard his deep breathing. “Just something I picked up in
Turkey. I was told that a side effect is a temporary sense of euphoria.
You won’t feel like laughing for much longer, Rebecca. The effects
will fade, and then you’ll be heaving with fear, you’ll be so
scared of me.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
He slapped her. She didn’t see his hand, it was just there, connecting
sharply against her cheek. She tried to leap at him, but she
realized she was tied down, her hands over her head, her wrists tied
to the slats of the headboard. So she was lying on a bed. Her legs
were free. She was still wearing her nightgown, a white cotton
nightgown that came up to her chin and went down to her ankles.
He’d smoothed it over her legs.
She said with a sneer in her voice, “Hey, I liked the slap better
than you licking me. You’re really brave, aren’t you? Would you like
to let my hands free, just for a minute, and then we’ll see how brave
you are?”
“Shut up!”
He was standing beside her, leaning down, breathing hard. She
couldn’t see his hands, but she imagined they were fists, ready to
bash her.
She said very quietly, “Why did you kill Linda Cartwright?”
“That fat bitch? She was bothering me, always begging, pleading,
whining when she was thirsty or she wanted to pee or she
wanted to lie down. I got tired of it.”
She said nothing at all, beyond words, wondering what had
made him into a madman or had he been born like this? Born evil,
nothing to blame but screwed-up genes.
She could hear him tapping his fingers, tap, tap, tap. He wanted
her to say something, wanted it badly, but she held quiet.
“Did you like my present to you, Rebecca?”
“No.”
“I saw you puking your guts out.”
“I thought you probably did. God, you’re sick. You get off on
that?”
“Then I saw that big guy, Adam Carruthers, there with you. He
was holding you. Why did you let him hold you like that?”
“I probably would have even leaned against you if I didn’t know
who you were.”
“I’m glad you didn’t let him kiss you.”
“I had just vomited. That wouldn’t be fun for anyone, now
would it?”
“No, I guess not.”
He didn’t sound old, not the age of this Krimakov character. But
was he young? She just couldn’t tell. “Who are you? Are you Krimakov?”
He was silent but just for a moment. Then he laughed softly,
deeply, and it froze her. He lightly ran his palm over her cheek,
squeezed just a bit, made her flinch. “I’m your boyfriend, Rebecca.
I saw you and I knew that I would have to be closer to you than
your skin. I thought about actually getting under your skin, but
that would mean I’d have to skin you and then cover myself, and
you’re just not big enough.
“Then I thought I wanted to be next to your heart, but again,
there’d be so much blood, fountains of it. Too many hands ruin the
stew, too much blood ruins the clothes. I’m a fastidious man.
“No, don’t say it or think it. I’m not crazy, not like that Hannibal
character. I just said that to make you so afraid you’d start begging
and pleading. Already the drug’s wearing off. I can see how
afraid you are. All I have to do is talk and you’re scared shitless.”
He was right about that, but she’d give about anything not to
show him, not to let him see that she was boiling white hot inside,
nearly burned to ashes with fear. “But then when you’re all done
talking, you’ll strangle me like you did Linda Cartwright?”
“Oh no. She wasn’t important. She wasn’t anything.”
“I’ll bet she disagreed with that.”
“Probably, but who cares?”
“Why me?”
He laughed, and she bet that if she could see his face, he’d be
smirking, so pleased with himself. “Not just yet, Rebecca. You and