“You fantasized about those unattainable girls. You pictured them as you worked out in weight rooms, shedding those pounds. You starved yourself. And then one day they discovered the tumor in your head and the surgeons cut it out and suddenly you could hear. You were whole. Nothing would stop you now.”
I pause, watching him, sensing how close I am to the truth. He has a lock of Piper’s hair in his mouth.
“So what happened?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“Let me guess. You asked one of the unattainable girls to go out with you and she said yes. She was nice. Friendly. Pretty. She didn’t tease you. She didn’t call you names. She didn’t make fun of your hearing problems. You were over the moon. You walked on air. You had never been happier in your entire life.
“It’s not that you wanted to have sex with this girl—not straight away—you wanted to talk, to romance her, to show her what you had to offer. But then you froze. You got tongue-tied. Being able to hear didn’t make any difference because you’d grown up being nervous and slow. You didn’t know how to relax and just be yourself. Instead of being a new man, you were the same old Gerald—the slow Gerald, the paranoid Gerald.
“Did she laugh at your first crude attempt to kiss her? Or was the whole date a joke? Maybe her pretty friends put her up to it. Is that why you chose Natasha? She reminded you of those girls who laughed at you. She was provocative, flirtatious, vain, out of your league…”
His eyes flash open, full of hatred. Violence. “You think I cared about that slut?”
“I think that answers my question.”
“She got what she deserved.”
“That’s why you mutilated Natasha. It was hatred, not love. Your desire had become twisted. Corrupted. Violent. It demanded you step aside. It negated the rights of others. It cleansed. It poisoned. It dictated your beliefs. You must have dragged that hatred around with you for years. It was gnawing away inside you while you watched other lads get the pretty girls, walking them home, getting invited inside, despoiling those sweet young bodies and then boasting about it afterwards.”
“Keep talking, Professor, it’s her time you’re wasting.”
I glance at Piper. Her breathing has grown ragged. The sedatives are being absorbed into her bloodstream.
“Why is it so important that I kill you?” I ask.
“It’s over for me. There’s nowhere else to go.”
“Give me Piper and I’ll leave you the gun.”
He shakes his head. “I want you to pull the trigger.”
“Why?”
He smiles. “It’s like I told you that first day I drove you to Bingham—killers and kidnappers know when they cross a line. They can’t expect sympathy or understanding. Gideon Tyler took your wife and child. He did terrible things to them, but you said you wouldn’t have pulled the trigger to stop him.”
“I lied.”
“Show me. Shoot me now. Prove you can do it, Professor. Learn how it feels.”
“I don’t want to know how it feels.”
He runs his finger along Piper’s cheek. “Maybe if she were your daughter, you’d think differently. Perhaps Piper doesn’t mean enough to you.”
“That’s not true.”
He smiles. “You think you can read people, Professor. You pick apart their motives and peer inside their heads, but I wonder if you ever look at yourself. I think you’re a coward. I’m going to make you brave.”
“I live with a disease that makes me brave.”
“It gives you an excuse.” He spits the words. “You couldn’t stop the man who kidnapped your wife and daughter and now you’re balking at this. You’re making excuses. Stop me. She’s dying. Just do it!”
He lifts Piper’s eyelids. Her pupils have rolled back into her head and white foam is leaking from one corner of her mouth. Every minute gives the pills longer to dissolve in her stomach and enter her bloodstream. Five minutes after ingestion she has a 90 per cent chance of survival. By sixty minutes it falls to less than 15 per cent.
The pistol has grown hot in my hands. I stare along the barrel with a mixture of loathing and awe.
“Let her go.”
“Shoot me. It’s not difficult. You walk over here. Point the gun at my head and pull the trigger. Don’t go trying to miss. I don’t want to be left a vegetable. And don’t try shooting me in the leg or shoulder. This knife is very sharp. It won’t take much to slice into her chest.”
The pistol is growing heavier. I look at Piper and imagine her heartbeat slowing and her organs failing. In the next breath I can picture Charlie lying on a filthy mattress, chained to a radiator with masking tape wrapped around her head, breathing through a hose. I would have pulled a trigger a dozen times over to save her and Julianne. I would have emptied the magazine and reloaded. I would have done anything… given anything… if only…