“I’m serious. Did you sleep at all?”
“No.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
He holds my eyes. He looks into them so intensely that I wonder if he’s trying to read my mind. When he finally answers, it’s not an answer at all, but merely something that gives rise to more questions.
“You. You happened.”
My mouth drops open. “Me? What did I do?”
“You dug too deep. You gave too much. Now there’s no going back, whether you want to or not. It’s too late. You’d have to leave here to escape me.”
A chill chases its way down my spine despite the balmy morning temperature. “I don’t want to escape you.”
He threads his fingers into the bound hair at my nape, working the strands free from the confines of the knot I tied them into. “Good. Because I’d find you. No one can hide from me.”
With a mixture of last night’s fierceness and this morning’s odd desperation, Jasper strips me of every piece of clothing, lays me down on the soft grass and makes love to me with the murky waters of the lake lapping just behind my head.
—
“So what’s the deal with this tattoo?” I ask Jasper as I trace each sadistic-looking thorn that makes up the tangled bramble inked across his right chest and shoulder.
“You don’t want to know,” he says in his guarded way.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know,” I reply with some amount of exasperation. Trying to ferret information from him is exhausting.
“There’s a thorn for every person I’ve found, every assignment I’ve completed.”
My heart trips over itself. Maybe I thought I’d misunderstood what he was getting at last night. Maybe I just refused to believe it. Maybe it’s just easier not to. But now, here, in the bright light of day, it’s unavoidable.
I gulp, but keep my voice as steady and unaffected as possible. “So these are all for people you’ve k-killed?”
Saying the word, even pushing it past my lips, is like giving birth to something I don’t want to acknowledge. I say a silent prayer that he’ll tell me I’m wrong. That he’ll tell me I misunderstood.
But he doesn’t. Because I didn’t misunderstand.
This man is a killer.
His head bounces in one short, sharp nod. “I told you.”
“You told me what?”
“I’m a monster.”
When panic threatens to pull me away from him, I reach for the things that I know about Jasper, for the things that I feel about him, and I cling to them with a desperation that’s almost dizzying.
The emotional side of me wants to run. In disappointment, in disgust. In confusion. People like this exist only in the movies. What am I to do with a real killer? How can people interact with them like they’re normal?
My breath freezes and my heart stutters as icy fingers claw and grip, pulling me deeper into fear. I shiver in response.
That’s when the rational part of me steps in, the part that comes from my father. It’s the side of me that doesn’t get much love or attention. It’s the side that thinks with a level head and straightforward thought processes, devoid of emotion and weakness. It’s this part that saves me from falling apart, that keeps me from running away. It walks me through this in even, logical steps, each one a checkmark in the column of reasonable explanations.
Jasper knows my dad. My dad is a good man.
Check.
Jasper worked with my dad in the military. Our military isn’t comprised of monsters. It’s comprised of heroes who sacrifice for the safety of others.
Check.
Jasper takes lives for the greater good, probably the lives of war criminals and terrorists. My father, although he never gave me details, has alluded to having to do some very difficult things over the years, having to make some very tough choices. This makes them good men, not bad ones.
Check.
My father trusted Jasper, not only to find him and then not kill him, but he trusted Jasper with me. And I trust my father. Ergo, I can trust Jasper. Whatever his deeds, he’s done them for the right reasons.
Check, check.
Once my mind has calmed, I reiterate my rationale aloud, almost like saying the words will cement them, make them so. Make them true.
“You worked with my father in the military. Doing what you’re called upon to do for our country is something to be proud of, not something you should be ashamed of or something you should feel the need to hide from people. You’re a national hero, Jasper.”
As I work to convince him, I’m still convincing myself, too. I become aware of the slight tremor that’s shaking every muscle in my upper body and I will myself to quiet.