Page 8 of A Very Killer Christmas
“Right.”
He comes over, unfortunately all dressed, and quickly slashes through my restraints. “Let’s go.”
I stand up but resist when he pulls me after him. “Where? What are you going to do?”
A sudden wave of fear clogs my throat and tightens my stomach. All of a sudden, his touch feelsveryreal—and inescapable. He said he’ll kill me, didn’t he?
I think I’m afraid of dying, after all.
“I’ll tie you up in the attic,” he says with a tight frown, eyes averted from my face. “Come on.”
Panic sets in, and I dig in my heels, desperately trying to stay right where I am. It’s not rational, but I feel safe in the bathroom. Here, he is the man who let me look at his naked body. Out there, he’s a killer.
“Look, I can help you!” I ramble as he pulls harder, and my socks slide helplessly on the tiles. “I’ll pretend to be your sister, girlfriend, whatever you want! I will lie to the police! See? That will make me an accomplice! You won’t have to kill me.”
“Not gonna happen,” he hisses through clenched teeth as he drags me into the cold, dark corridor. “I’ve made enough stupid choices in one night. Come on, don’t make this harder.”
“I’ll do anything!” I sob as tears stream down my face. I shake, stumbling helplessly after him. “Anything at all, just tell me what you want. Please!”
He moves so fast, I get dizzy for a moment. As my back hits the wall and his incensed breath is on my lips again, my heart stutters, just once, and goes back to a more or less normal rhythm. My panic inexplicably disappears.
Something’s wrong with me, but I don’t have time to wonder what.
“Donotgo there,” he says, his every word an angry puff of breath landing on my lips. We’re awfully close. “I’m not that kind of killer, you understand? I don’t torture, I don’t rape, I don’t mutilate. I don’t fuck women I’ll have to kill, so don’t even try to tempt me.”
“So if you fuck me, you won’t kill me?” I ask in a tiny, hopeful voice.
His forehead presses to mine, and I choke on the hot air he breathes out.
“I am not going to…” He stops speaking when a clear, shrill sound comes from downstairs.
A doorbell. They came for him.
Chapter 4
Prudence
The doorbell rings again. A muffled voice drifts to where we stand.
“Open up! Police!”
“Wow, that was quick,” I whisper, staring up into the dark, brown eyes of the killer.
I realize I don’t know his name, and I’ll probably never learn it if he’s taken right now.
His mouth is slack, quick breaths fanning past his full lips. His tongue darts out to moisten them, and he swallows, staring at me in a way that is either helpless or apologetic, I’m not sure. Our eyes are locked.
“Open the door!”
My gut plummets, filling with a sense of loss. They will take him away, and I’ll be alone.
No.
I can’t be alone tonight. I can’t.
He takes a staggering step back, his eyes flashing in the dark, wide and crazy. He looks around, one hand curled tightly around the handle of his knife, the other burying in his hair, still wet from the shower.
“Trust me,” I say, my voice low and insistent as I plunge straight into insanity. “I’ll save you if you don’t kill me. Deal?”
