Page 19 of Drag You Down
Anger roils within the pit of my stomach, and I turn partially to glance at him. “I don’tneedto do anything,” I say coolly. “But don’t worry. I’m not leaving. Not yet.”
I grab the container of gasoline I’d set nearby for this occasion, and his eyes go wide.
“Wait, no! No. You said?—”
“I said I wouldn’t cut you to ribbons,” I tell him, flashing him an icy smile. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to light you on fire and leave you to burn to death like those poor souls.”
His babbled pleas reach my ears, but I feel nothing toward him. No sympathy, no hesitation, no regrets.
“Do you think I’m the Devil yet?” I ask him.
“Yes!” he yells. “Yes, I think you’re the fucking Devil! Is that what you want to hear?”
I purse my lips. “I hate when people tell me what they think I want to hear,” I tell him. “I much prefer honesty.” I shrug. In the end, it doesn’t matter, does it? “If you believe in God, you should start praying,” I tell him.
It won’t matter either way; if there is a God, he won’t intervene in something like this.
He never has before. Why would he start now?
I open the container, then slowly circle Moretti as I pour it generously onto the floor in a circle around him. I consider him, then decide I don’t want to be merciful and risk the chance of him dying of smoke inhalation — or of this being stopped.
I dump more of the gasoline over his head, and it splatters all over the place. These clothes, I’ll have to get rid of instead of simply washing, but that’s fine. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.
Humming again, I tune out his pleas — he’s begun praying — and start to dump the rest of the gas in a line leading toward the door. The remainder is left in a pool right beside it, and I take several steps back before lighting a match.
I throw it, and as much as I want to stay and watch that motherfucker burn, I turn and walk away.
Icheck the camera feeds on my phone, noting that the halls of the first three floors are empty. It’s every bit as strange as no one leaving the building at all, and while it’s fortunate for me, it also has my hackles up.
There’s a part of me that wonders if this is a trap, but at the same time, I know that’s paranoia talking. They have noway of knowing about me… unless my little lamb decided to tell someone about this.
I don’t think he did, and I would be disappointed if he had. That means someone else could be living with him, and that this is a calculated risk.
But so is everything I do. Every time I hunt and kill, it’s a risk, and this one is much less so than normal.
I’d watched the feeds enough to know that while people go into apartment 302 more frequently than anyone else, Levi and his sister mostly go to 304.
I haven’t seen him leave it since the last time he went to 302, though, and the video footage of him leaving had been strange. He’d been walking oddly, leaning against his sister. I’ve watched the video several times, trying to discern what’s wrong, but I can’t quite determine what might have happened.
I stroll into the building like I own the place. There’s a rusty elevator, but I choose to take the stairs because it’s faster and quieter. I get to the third floor, and in front of the door to apartment 304, I set down the gift box. It’s neatly wrapped in shiny silver wrapping paper. I’d debated the one with hearts on it, but that seemed too blatant.
The tissue paper inside does have little pink hearts all over it, though, along with sheets of pink that surround the jewelry box with my gift inside.
I purse my lips, wondering if the accompanying note inside will be enough to coax him out.
It’ll need to be enough.
I straighten, wishing I could knock on the door and demand that he come with me now. But no. I have to be patient.
Hewillcome to me.
CHAPTER 5
LEVI
Lamb,
Meet me. You know where. Saturday, 3 p.m.
