by Dark, Aubrey
Not as badly as before, I thought, thinking about the small white seams along her wrists.
But no. I needed to train her to behave. Not to run away. To stay inside properly. She could be my pet, the little kitten. And once she learned to behave, then… maybe. Maybe I could chance something.
Not yet, though. I run the risk of overlooking something, like the window. There will be many ways to escape, and she would be looking for all of them. And it would be a terrible thing to have to kill her.
Ah, my kitten. Your curiosity infected me.
I’m human, certainly. I can breed with other humans, and my offspring would be human. I’m just not a person.
There’s no emotion behind anything that I do. This curiosity was a new thing.
In my line of work, I’ve seen many bodies. Fat, thin, muscled, scrawny. Many of them have scars. A seam along their stomach from a gastric bypass surgery. White marks on the knees from childhood bicycle accidents. I thought that nothing about a body could make me feel anything at all. It’s just flesh, just cells. But the scars on her wrists would not go away. When I closed my eyes, I saw them.
That night I stayed up staring at the ceiling. My finger drew a line down my wrist, tracing the path she must have carved with a knife. I shuddered.
Who could do such a horrible thing?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kat
An hour passed, maybe two, before he came back to the kitchen. I’d calmed down a bit. There was no way he would have stitched up a cut before murdering me, right? At least, that made sense in my mind. If I could keep him placated, I could figure out a way to get out, even if it took a while. Even if he did… other things to me. I shuddered at the twist of unwelcome desire that ran through me at the thought.
When he walked in with his knife gleaming, though, I couldn’t help but cringe.
“Easy, kitten,” he said. He opened the fridge and pulled out a plate of something, but I couldn’t see what it was. Oh, lord, I hoped it wasn’t human parts.
I swallowed and tried to relax. Questions. Get him comfortable.
“My name is Kat,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Your name is kitten, kitten. Why do you want to know my name?” His back was turned to me, silverware clanking against a plate.
“I want to know more about you.” I said, gulping.
He peered at me over his shoulder, his brows suspicious.
“A name means nothing. You can call me Gav.”
“Gav.” I cast around in my brain for more to keep him talking. “Is that short for Gavin?”
“Gavriel,” he said. “My parents were religious. At least, my mother was.”
He turned back around with the plate and I saw it clearly now. No human parts - a rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes and some green beans. He put the plate down next to my head. I could smell the meaty scent of the chicken and it reminded me of the smell of the man he’d burned in the fireplace. My stomach wrenched and I tried not to heave.
A loud clang brought my attention back to the table next to me. He’d set the knife down right next to my cheek.
“Wha—what’s that?”
“Dinner,” Gav said. He forked a mouthful of chicken into his mouth.
“I mean the knife.”
“It’s a knife, kitten. It’s nothing. Just a prop. If I’m going to be a serial killer, I have to have a knife.” He chuckled.
“You are a serial killer. What do you mean, just a prop?”
“Just a prop. Like Chekhov’s knife.” His jaw worked, chewing the next piece of meat, and I frowned.
“You mean Chekhov’s gun.”
“Oh, no,” Gav said. “I don’t believe in guns. Here.” He put a fork of chicken under my nose. “Have something to eat.”
My stomach growled. Even with the terrible reminder of the smell of meat, I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since… well, since lunch the day before. Reluctantly, I opened my mouth. His eyes tracked my lips and did not leave them even as I chewed the cold chicken. My appetite came back with a crash after the first bite.
“Why not?” I asked after swallowing.
“Why not what?”
“Why don’t you believe in guns?” I asked. He offered another fork of food and I took it.
“If you shoot someone from far enough away, you can’t even tell that they’re dying. You won’t even get to see them die. You don’t get to see what you’ve done. It’s sterile, bland. It’s not a kill if it’s not up close. You miss all the good parts.”
I nearly choked on the bite of food, but managed to force it down.
He continued to feed me, small bites of mashed potato and beans and chicken. Cold leftovers, but I had never tasted anything so delicious. Even as his words made me shiver, his actions told me that he wouldn’t kill me. No, he would do worse. But maybe I could escape.
He sighed, looking off as I finished the bite.
“Guns make death inhuman,” he said.
“Would you call yourself human?” I asked, a thin line of bitterness running into my voice.
“Of course I’m human. Human is a species. I’m not humane, that’s all. I’m not a person.” His eyes seemed to change colors as he talked, grayish shades of green and blue that swirled around on the surface but never admitted any deeper.
“Then what are you?”
He shrugged.
“A persona. A character on the page, comprising as many dimensions as the edge of a knife. I kill, that’s all. That’s what I am. A knife.”
“Nothing else?”
I wanted to see behind the mask he was wearing. I was sure there was more to him, something that I could take from him. Something I could use to guilt him, seduce him. Something.
“What do you want me to say, kitten?”
“I don’t know. Something. Anything. Or have you just always been a serial killer?”
“I’ve been many things. A doctor, a healer.”
I coughed on the bite of food, and he chuckled at my reaction.
“Yes, a healer. Now, though, I don’t just sew up wounds. I stop the wounds before they start.”
“You kill bad men.”
I tried to make it seem like I understood. I wasn’t sure if it was working. He sighed.
“I suppose you could say that. I make them suffer. I take away their sins.”
“It must be hard.”
“Which part? The kidnapping part, or the torture part, or—”
“Afterwards.”
“After I kill them?”
“Aren’t you... don’t you feel bad? Guilty?”
“I don’t feel much of anything, kitten. I suppose you don’t know much about that. There’s something in me, a shadow. It dulls everything, makes the world black and white. I don’t feel guilty, or bad, or good, not once the shadow is there. I feel...”
“Numb?”
His eyes lifted to mine, and I saw a hurt in them that immediately vanished. It was as though he’d opened up a bit to me, peeked through the door, and then slammed it shut.
“Something like that.”
A tiny plop of mashed potato fell from the fork, down my chin. It landed on my chest, soft and warm against my bare skin. His hand moved down, and I thought of how he had touched me before. The memory stirred something in my body that I tried not to think about.
He wiped up the mashed potato with a single finger, strong and hard against the skin of my collarbone. Then he lifted the finger to my lips.
“Finish,” he said.
I didn’t dare disobey. I tilted my head forward and sucked at his finger, licked off the mashed potato. His eyelashes fluttered as my tongue touched his skin and there was a softening around the corners of his eyes, but he had no other reaction. I swallowed.
“Gavriel?”
His eyes went cold again when I said his name.
“Yes?”
“What are you going to do with me?”
The calmness with which he smiled back at me only made the ans
wer creepier.
“Are you done with dinner? Yes? Then you’re going back down into the basement.”
He tucked the knife in his back pocket before releasing my straps. Before I could move, he had his arm around my waist and was helping me off of the table.
“How’s the ankle?” he asked.
“Better,” I answered truthfully. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t shooting through my leg any more when I put pressure on it. It was still nice to have someone to lean on as we made our way to the basement stairs. I limped down the steps and into the middle of the basement with him half-carrying me.
The window was covered with wooden boards screwed in on all sides. He let me go and I leaned one hand against the wall.
Gav reached out and clicked a handcuff around my wrist. I jerked my arm back, but he had already locked the other cuff onto the water pipe next to the window.
“What?” I looked down at my wrist dumbly.
“That’s so you don’t try any other stupid escapes. My alarm system is up again, remember? I’ll know you’re out before you can go two steps. So don’t try, little kitten. Even if you manage to get out, it would be suicide.”
He opened his mouth as though he was going to say something else, then closed it. A hot rage clutched at my chest. I stammered. He couldn’t do this. It was bad enough, being held captive in a basement. Now I was handcuffed to a pipe?
“Please, no.” I stepped toward him but the handcuffs held me back. “I promise I won’t try to escape. I promise. Please don’t handcuff me.”
“Should have thought about that before, kitten.”
“Please. What if the basement floods? What if there’s a fire?”
“Then I expect you’ll die. Don’t pull too hard on that pipe. Wouldn’t want a flood.”
Anger choked my throat. He’d fed me, helped me. Strangely enough, I felt betrayed. I don’t know what I had expected from him, but he had managed to make me think that he might have some feelings for me. But now he was leashing me up like a pet. My mouth was dry, but I wasn’t about to ask him for water. He’d probably set a bowl on the ground for me to drink out of.
He tossed the blanket at my feet and turned to leave. A thought popped into my mind.
“Gavriel?”
“What is it?”
“You said you don’t believe in guns.”
“That’s right.” His silhouette was dark against the light coming from the top of the stairs.
“But you told me before that you had a gun. You said you’d come down and shoot me if I tried anything.”
“I lied.”
“Y—you can’t lie!” I blurted.
“Of course I can,” he said, and even though I couldn’t see his face I knew that he was smiling. “Haven’t you ever heard of an unreliable narrator?”
He closed the door and left me. My eyes still blinked, as though if I tried hard enough, I could see something in all of the darkness around me.
Gav
That afternoon I went to the bar on the outskirts of town not far from where I lived. It was where I sometimes went to pick up women. Yes, I do that too. I’m a normal person, really, except for the killing bit. The shadow that hugs me so tight I can’t breathe.
Numb. That was a good word, numb. That’s how it felt when the shadow closed in.
But I had killed not long ago, and the craving was satisfied. The world was bright again, and I could see. My kitten was locked away tightly.
On the television I watched the news coverage. After an hour spent sipping beers, I saw the first mention of the case. My kitten’s photograph came up on the screen, and I looked down at the rest of the bar. Nobody cared. Nobody watched. Nobody knew the pretty young thing who had been abducted.
There was no mention on the news about her parents. No family at all. Nothing but a college friend, a girl with more piercings than I normally gave my victims, tearful and begging for any news about my kitten. She looked familiar, somehow.
With a snap of recognition I recoiled from the bar counter.
She’d been working at the library. She’d seen me.
My heart began to beat faster and I lifted my beer to my lips to hide my discomfort.
“Another one?” the bartender asked.
“No,” I said, throwing a twenty dollar bill on the counter. “I’m done.”
I hoped I wasn’t done for. I would have to learn more about her. Learn what she was all about, why her parents weren’t on the news begging for her to be found.
So many secrets, my kitten had. Almost as many as me.
Kat
Hours passed. It’s hard to describe how terrifying the darkness was. Dressed only in my underwear, I shivered, acutely vulnerable to every imagined horror in the corners of the black room. Every so often I’d feel a bug crawl over my foot, and I’d shake it away from me with a shudder. Cockroaches? Centipedes? I didn’t know, I couldn’t see, and that only made it worse.
Once, a bug touched my hand, and I jerked back instinctively, wrenching my wrist in the handcuff. The metal cut my hand, only slightly, but I could feel the blood slippery on my wrist, tickling as it dried. The bandages on my hands from the glass cuts began to unravel, and I tried unsuccessfully to keep them wrapped around my palms.
I didn’t know what time it was, whether it was day or night. The sedative he’d given me made my brain fuzzy, even as it was wearing off. The basement was completely, totally black and I had long stopped trying to slip out of the handcuff. I cried for a while, but that did nothing at all to help and only dehydrated me.
I needed something to drink. I hadn’t had anything when he’d fed me, and my throat was parched. My tongue stuck to the top of my palate when I touched it there, sticky with dryness. I closed my eyes and dreamed of waterfalls, of rainclouds.
Water. Oh, god, what I would do for just a drop. The gurgle of the water pipe next to my head taunted me, and I pulled at the pipe before realizing that there was no way I could break the thick metal.
“AHHHHHHHH!”
I screamed, and my throat hurt even worse, tight and dry. Only a few hours ago, I had told myself that I wouldn’t ask him for anything. Funny how things change so quickly.
For a while I didn’t hear anything. He might not be home.
Then a light came on outside the door, the thin light shining at the doorjamb. Steps came thudding down the stairs outside of the basement.
Gav. Would he punish me for yelling? He’d said he didn’t have a gun, but still I imagined him getting sick of me, raising a pistol to my head, pulling the trigger. I would have gulped, but I had no moisture left in my mouth to swallow.
The door swung open, blindingly bright, his figure dark in the doorway.
“I’m back, kitten,” he said calmly, as though he was a husband coming home from work. The coolness of his voice made me sick. “Have you been screaming this whole time?”
“Water,” I croaked. My tongue pressed against the top of my mouth, trying to wet itself. “Please. I don’t have anything to drink.”
He came forward near me. His features focused themselves as my eyes adjusted to the light. He didn’t look angry. That was good. He crouched down next to me and looked into my face, his expression almost gentle. Had he really gone out for a few hours and left me here? Then there was hope that I could escape, sometime when he was out…
“Oh, kitten. An oversight, surely,” he purred. His hand reached out to the handcuff and I offered it to him, hoping that he would unlock it. Instead, he shook his head, his fingers sliding over my hurt wrist.
“Kitten, have you been trying to escape?”
“No!” The word came out of me louder than I’d thought, and the scratchiness in my throat threw me into a coughing fit. “No, I—I—there was a bug, I pulled away and it—it hurt. I didn’t, I swear, I swear...”
I left off, the cough taking me over again. His fingers ran lightly down my arm.
“A bug? My goodness, bugs. Scary things, aren’t they?”
Amusement danced in his eyes as he looked at me.
“Please. Water.”
“Oh, yes. Water. You want water. Excellent. Then we’ll have to do a trade.”
A trade? My heart clenched tight in my chest. What kind of trade would he offer? What could I possibly offer? I didn’t have any money, and the only thing of value I owned - my car - was apparently at the bottom of a canyon, thanks to the crazed murderer in front of me.
“What do you want?” I whispered, my throat aching. “Please, I don’t have money—”
“No money,” he said, brushing my hair back with his fingers to look at me. His eyes locked onto mine and I tried hard not to look away. In the dim light, his pupils had grown into pools of black that threatened to swallow his irises.
“Perhaps a kiss?” he asked.
That was it? A kiss? I nodded quickly. There was no more willpower in me left to argue. If that was all he wanted, then let him. My lips were chapped with dryness, anyway.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay, and then—”
“And one more thing,” he said.
“What else?”
“I would like you to tell me about your parents.”
A sharp breath made my throat hurt even worse, but I couldn’t help it. My parents? I couldn’t—I didn’t want to—
“I—I don’t—what do you care about my parents?” I stammered.
“I would like to know the basic facts about them,” Gav said, pulling back and examining my face. “I want to know their names. I want to know where they live.”
“Why do you want to know that?” I asked.
“That’s not part of the agreement,” Gav said. “The trade is for water only. I need information.”
“But, I— are you going to hurt them?”
“No,” he said flatly. “Or yes. Does it matter what I say?”
My mom’s face flashed into focus in my mind, the last time I saw her. A bruise that ran yellow and blue from her left eye down her cheek. She’d begged me not to tell anyone. I hadn’t told. I was a coward. I’d left instead, left her. It was better, I had thought. I thought that maybe my dad would stop if I left. I couldn’t hurt her again. I couldn’t hurt her now.
