His(47)

“Your parents were on the news today,” Gav said. “The local station.”

I almost knocked the pan off of the stove.

“What—what did they—”

“They thought you had run away again,” he said. “They begged for you to not do anything stupid. To come back home.”

So nobody was looking for me. Nobody thought I was kidnapped.

As though reading my mind, Gav spoke again.

“Your friend thinks otherwise,” he said. “The one with the spiked hair and all the piercings.”

“Jules,” I murmured. It seemed like so long ago I’d been shelving books alongside her, making jokes about the terrible books people checked out.

“She’s the only one who thinks you’re kidnapped, though,” he said, shrugging. “Nobody will listen to a girl who looks like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know full well that appearances are all that matter in the world today,” he said. “The eggs are done.”

So they were. I slid the omelet out onto a plate, cut it in half, made two servings. Gav came around and poured two glasses of orange juice. The silverware clattered onto the table. We sat side by side. I cut my omelet into pieces, holding the knife carefully so that he could see it. He didn’t care, or pretended not to.

“Delicious. Wonderful meal.” Gav set his knife down onto his plate, crossed over his fork. “What do you want in return?”

I shook my head.

“Nothing, yet.”

“You’re saving up favors?”

“Maybe.” Truth was, I had no idea what I wanted from him. I wanted… I didn’t know what I wanted.

“I’ll never let you go. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“What was the good news?”

“Hmm?”

“You said there was good news. Was it that my parents aren’t looking for me?”

“Oh! Oh, no. Although that is good news too. No, I was out looking for the next man to give me some release. A hundred or so miles away from the last victim, so it’s perfect. You know, I don’t normally kill close to home. This last one was an exception. He was special. That was a mistake, I suppose. It’s how you found me, anyway.”

“You… you’re going to kill someone else?” My mouth dropped open and my fork fell against the plate. I didn’t want to eat the last bite of my omelet.

“Yes. Tonight, maybe tomorrow. I’ve already laid the groundwork. Finding out his schedule, his routine. They always have a routine. You know.”

“How—how many people have you killed?”

“A few. One every few months.”

“And you get away with it?”

“They rarely get reported as murders, thank God. Most of them are businessmen who have a thousand other secrets - tax evasion, for one. The police usually think they’re skipping town to avoid the bills from Uncle Sam. Or if they’re in disputes with the local gangs, or if they’re addicted to drugs. Lots of evidence pointing in all directions. Except toward me.”

“How many?” I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know, but my curiosity got the best of me.

“Are you going to finish that?” Gav reached over and forked the last piece of my omelet into his mouth. “You know, psychopaths really aren’t that dangerous.”

“Really.” I frowned. He was acting like it wasn’t a big deal. And he seemed so normal now, in the daylight. It made me feel sick. Sick that I had been falling for him, sick that even now, I didn’t know if I hated him or if I was pretending to hate him.

“It’s only around three percent of all violent crimes that are committed by psychopaths, you know.” He chewed on one side of his mouth thoughtfully. “The vast majority of murders are done by irate spouses, or gangs, or whatever. Not by people like me.”

“I’m sure that’s a relief to all the people you kill.”

“No, I suppose not. But everybody always worries about the psychopaths coming after them, and never about the wife they’re cheating on, or their drug dealers, or their disgruntled employees. It’s just not likely for a serial killer to get you.”

“You got me.”

“Not like that, kitten,” Gav said, chuckling.

“Don’t kill him today.”

He swallowed. The smile faded from his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You asked what I wanted. Another trade, right? I want you to not kill him.”

“You don’t know this man,” Gav said, his lips pressed together so hard that they were turning white. “He was convicted of spousal abuse two years ago and bought the judge. All he had to do was pay a fine and attend some bullshit counseling sessions. He’s been fucking his intern—”