I’m surprised by the little groan reaching my ears at the same time as the whimper, but then I realize it’s Dalton who made it, not Terry. I face him, leaving the object of my ministrations to his thoughts.
“Everything all right? I checked you for broken ribs, but maybe I should have another look?” There’s a nasty bruise under Dalton’s sweater, but that’s that.
“Y-yes. It’s just…”
Gruesome? Nauseating? Disgusting?
He hasn’t yet seen that side of me, the monster hiding under the pristine suits, crisp shirts and shiny moccasins. I don’t want to know what my mother would think if she was confronted with the reality of my work. It’s only natural that Dalton is a little shocked.
I peel off my latex gloves and toss them into the trash can, crossing the space between us. “You don’t have to watch,” I assure him, briefly wondering whether I should offer him a glass of water or not.
His shoulders rise and fall, he glances at Terry, then at me. “I just… I don’t want to leave you with all of this.”
He needs to understand that I’m in my element. I feel much more comfortable here than I was brawling in a back alley, but his concern is still sweet, and I find myself smiling.
“You can run me a bath once I’m out. And for now… just rest. You earned it.”
Dalton takes a deep breath and presses his forehead to mine. “Okay, but just say the word, and I’m here.” I expect him to walk out, but he approaches Terry and once more checks if the binds on the chair are secure.
Now that’s adorable.
He gives me a quick kiss on the way out, then puts on a Corpselock album on my phone, so I can enjoy my favorite soundtrack, and only then does he leave.
Our relationship is hardly a secret to Terry who must have seen more than I would have liked him to. Oh well, he’s dying anyway.
And now that my one spectator is gone, I have no more need for decorum.
“Who hired you to kill me?” I ask and put on a new pair of gloves before picking up a half-full bottle of vinegar from the cupboard close to the chair.
“No, please!” Terry cries out, and I couldn’t feel more detached. Just like my father taught me, I tell myself this man is no longer human. He’s a sack of nerves and meat for extracting information. But then he looks up at me with manic eyes bulging out of their sockets. “You? No! No, you’ve got it wrong! We were to kill the other one! The big guy, Dalton Cross,” he chokes out frantically. “I don’t even know who you are, man, but if I knew you were…” He looks around my torture chamber. “That you are well-connected, we would have never taken the job! We’re just mid-listers, not some spec-op commando,” he sobs, shaking like a leaf in the wind.
A dark cloud settles in my chest, and I stop breathing. “Why?” I find myself asking before I can think.
“I don’t know why! Why does the chicken cross the street?”
Now he’s getting cocky with me? I rip the open skin of his pec. We can play this game all night long.
Terry stiffens, shaking as if he were suffering a seizure.
“Why?” I demand as my insides slowly freeze with uncertainty. “You must knowsomething!”
“I can give you all the aliases I was contacted by, but it was all done on the dark web. Untraceable.” He’s heaving, eyes closed, and I’m stewing in this new information like this room is a fucking Crockpot.
Someone wanted to take Dalton away from me. How am I supposed to ever sleep again without knowing who and why?
And then on the other hand… What if this is some sinister conspiracy that goes way beyond the surface? What if I’m unknowingly playing a game of chess, and Dalton is someone’s pawn, harmless until I let myself be coerced into a trap? I can’t stand not knowing. Lack of information means control might slip from my grasp at any moment.
My feet take me to my cupboard of poisons. I pride myself on always keeping a minimum of three syringes that are ready to use, so I can easily pick up one and show it to Terry.
“This will go into your eye, and you will feel it being eaten away by the venom,” I lie, because the substance I’m holding isn’t corrosive in any way. It just kills a man really damn fast, but he can’t know that, and when I approach, grabbing his jaw and hovering the tip close to the eyeball. I can smell Terry’s fear even before he sobs.
“I’ll do whatever you want, but no more! I don’t know… I just don’t know… I’ll say whatever you want, but—” Saliva rolls down his chin, and my shoulders relax with dismay, because I’m not squeezing any more juice out of this lemon.
The needle stabs into his neck, I press the plunger, and he stiffens, choking on his own drool.
Two minutes later, he’s dead.
And I’ve got nothing of use, only his excrement to clean. I could have left him for Remo to dispose of and would havegotten—
