Page 16 of The Drowned Woman
Although to be honest, I don’t actually choose them at all. That’s my secret to success. I embrace Chaos, allowing chance to guide my destiny. Everything I do is random. Where, when, how, and yes, even who.
I’m the important one in this equation, not my victims. If I want to play the game, I had to be smart, find a way to never be caught. Because a mind like mine, trapped in a cage, surrounded by imbeciles and thugs? Can you imagine anything more tragic? Almost as wasteful as a talent like yours trapped by your own body, relegated to meaningless busywork instead of exploring the world’s secrets.
No, to play the game, I must have no connection to those I touch, including you.
There is no why. No motivation beyond my own enjoyment. No signature or modus operandi, no victim profile. I am a cipher, random and unique, able to strike anywhere at any time, driven by chance alone.
No rhyme or reason. Only my unrelenting need for more, more, more…
Leah looked up in alarm.Victims?Was Risa’s letter writer claiming to be a serial killer? This had to be a hoax. “Risa. This reads like a confession. Have you told the police?”
“Yes. But there’s no proof of any crime, nothing for the police to go on. They said there’s nothing they can do.” Her tone turned bitter. “Other than to laugh me off the phone.”
If the other letters were as vague as this, Leah wasn’t surprised that the police dismissed them. After all, a well-known journalist like Risa had to attract fans who wanted her to tell their story.
Risa continued, “I read about your husband in the paper, what happened, how he was killed. So when you showed up at my door, as if…” She paused. “Anyway, I thought if anyone might understand, might give me an objective opinion, it would be you. Keep reading, then we can talk.”
Leah’s heart pounded, the memory of entering her darkened house last month overwhelming her. Frantically searching for Ian and Emily, dreading what she knew she’d find; that primal instinct screaming for her to stop, to run… but like last month, Leah ignored it now as well. She couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to.
She kept reading…
But why you?
Why choose you as my confessor, my chronicler, my cohort in Chaos… my silent partner?
Perhaps you were selected by a throw of a dart or toss of the dice. Maybe it was less than random. A glimpse of that bemused smile beaming out from the headshot beside your byline. The intelligence obvious behind your insightful interviews. A regard for the courage—almost as reckless as my own?—that drove you to explore the dark heart of humanity.
I hope I haven’t scared you away with my frank admiration. No. Of course not. You’re intrigued, compelled to follow the breadcrumbs I’ve dropped for you, determined to find the truth. No illness could conquer that relentless curiosity that once compelled you to risk life and limb for a story.
I’d read some of your work—honestly, I thought your piece on the Kurdish women snipers was much better than that series on the Thai child prostitutes that they gave you the Pulitzer for—so I was surprised when someone shared a link to a fundraiser page set up by your boyfriend.
I was certain it was a scam. I mean, he was just so damn needy. And the whole thing seemed beneath you, asking strangers to help you raise money for doctors and tests. I was angry—on your behalf—and determined to out him as a fake.
Then I found his videos of you, withered away to nothing, that tube down your nose to feed you, and the doctors with no idea what was wrong. And I kept looking, saw that you hadn’t been published in almost two years, that you were freelancing, even writing obituaries, of all things.
And I couldn’t help but think what a waste that was. A journalist of your caliber being forced to beg for scraps.
I can’t help with the medical stuff but I can help ease the boredom, exercise your mind. So here I am, offering what might be the greatest adventure you’ve ever undertaken—a journey into the heart of a killer.
Or maybe everything I’ve said is a lie—that’s what you’re thinking.
But what if it’s not?
What if I’ve told you the truth? What if you have been chosen for something more, the most important story of your life?
Would you choose to join me, experience the vicarious thrills that only someone like me can offer? Or will you settle for your current mundane, homebound, monotonous existence, your talents wasted?
No need to tell me your answer. I already know it. And I’ll prove it with my first offering.
You’ll know it when you see it.
Your devoted fan.
Ten
Leah felt Risa’s eyes on her, watching her reactions as she finished reading the chilling letter. Finally, she turned away from the computer. Unsettled, she left Risa and went to the kitchen to reheat her now-cold mug of tea. As the microwave hummed, she took a few deeps breaths to settle herself. Her stomach churned, her shoulders tightened as if guarding against an attack. More insidious than fear. Dread.
If one letter could do that to her…
