Will he throw me over the cliff like I did Alan, just to prove a point? Is it some kind of karmic retribution on his end to make me pay for trying to use him as a scapegoat in case Alan was found?
My heart does a strange little hop in my chest and I catch my breath, hand pressed just under my sternum. It’s a new feeling, something different from the familiar cold of my fury or the numbness that takes over me when I’ve done something awful.
Am Iafraid?
“Fuck,” I whisper. This is new, this iswrong,and I don’t think I like it whatsoever. The car jolts a little, making me jerk up a hand to press against the inside of the trunk above me. My ribs constrict, my heart searching for a way out of the cage they make, and I can feel that if I let this feeling go on, my rationality will go right along with it.
I’llpanic.
God, that’s pathetic of me. I’ve never panicked in my life, and I’ve surely been through worse than this. I force myself to remember my childhood;makingmy brain walk through the day my mother threw me down a well, to think about the horses screaming under my little cold loft in the barn.
I remember that man’s hands on me, the way he tilted my face up, telling me how he’d make everything okay and that I just needed to trust him. The feeling of his smooth palms on my arms when he pushed my jacket off and his eyes had betrayed what he wanted from me.
Too bad for him, he picked the wrong kid on the wrong night. I’ll never know why he didn’t pause at the blood on my face and hands, or why he didn’t think something mightactuallybe wrong with me.
Well, the world is better with him not in it. Though I can’t help wondering what Larkin would’ve done to him. If he really was supposed to be Larkin’s first kill, was there some elaborate plan in place to kill the man? Would he have made him suffer more than I did?
The fear recedes a little, replaced with curiosity and fascination about the man who put me in his trunk. Just out of spite, I kick the top of the trunk, though I end up yelping at the pain in my toes from hitting it the wrong way. Belatedly, I glance at my phone screen, noting that I have service, and I consider callingsomeone.
Cass.
9-1-1.
Esme.
Cass.
But he’ll just lecture me, and there isn’t really anything he can do for me anyway. Unless Winnie is into some weird shit, Idoubt he’s ever had the unpleasant experience of being thrown in a trunk and driven to some unknown location to be murdered.
The cops will help, sure, until they find out what I’ve done recently. I don’t trust Larkin to keep his mouth shut, and I’msurethe video of me and Alan would end up in the hands of a detective before his body was cold, if I could even manage to kill him before he kills me.
I shine the light around in the small space again, finding nothing out of the ordinaryagain. It’s just a trunk, and there’s not even a stray tire iron I could use to defend myself, unfortunately. But then again, that would be careless. Larkin doesn’t strike me ascareless.
Taking a breath, I can’t help but focus on the tightness of my chest and the racing of my heart. I’m afraid, and still marveling at the unfamiliar feeling that I haven’t felt since I was a child.HaveI ever felt this way since I killed my mother?
The car slows and I tense, expecting the car to come to a full stop, but we start moving again, making me think it was just a stoplight. The pattern continues for a bit; slow, stop, turn, drive—until I’m staring up at the trunk with trepidation and impatience.
Where are wegoing?
I almost don’t notice when the car turns and finally slows to a stop. I’ve become too used to the takeoff happening again, so when I feel the car shift into park, my reaction is belated. Quickly, I pocket my phone, uncomfortable with how I can feel every thump of my heart in my chest. From the front of the car, I can hear and feel the driver’s door being closed once the engine is off. It’s warm enough back here that my shivers are purely from emotions, rather than the cold, and I brace myself as much as I can.
While I don’t have a plan, I can at least give this my best effort. I don’t want to die and get thrown in the bay with Alan.I may not be able to kill Larkin, but I’m determined to take a chunk of him with me. Anger and something too much like terror make my blood race, and when the trunk opens, I surge upward, not wanting to wait for the attack I foresee in my head.
But there’s no knife being plunged into my chest, though. No gun in my face. No hand around my throat. I’m able to sit up uninhibited until I’m on my knees in the trunk, hunched a little to avoid hitting my head, and staring up at Larkin as he gives me a bemused look.
“Jumpy, much?” he observes, looking me over with shrewd, dark eyes. “What’s wrong? Did you expect me to stab you and get your blood all over my trunk the moment I opened it?”
Well…yeah.I had. My hesitation makes him grin, and Larkin tilts his head to the side with an impish curl to his lips. “Poor silly girl.” With a sweeping gesture, he steps back, allowing me my space to get out of the trunk at my leisure.
I do so, glancing around the parking garage that’s not even half the size of the one for my apartment. The other cars here are shiny and new, just like Larkin’s, though nothing outright luxurious. But still, there’s a marked difference from the vehicles with their dents and dings in my area.
“Where are we?” I demand, confused. This isn’t what I expected, and I hate being thrown off like this. But then again, everything tonight has thrown me off. When he doesn’t answer, I turn to look at Larkin, a jolt of surprise going through me when I see the way he’s watching me get my bearings. His dark eyes are fixed on me, on my movements. There’s no uncertainty or suspicion in his gaze, just pure interest.
“My apartment building,” he tells me after a few seconds, his gaze dragging up my body to my face. “We’re on a date, remember?”
“We’re not on a date.” I glance around the garage, noting the glass doors leading to an elevator on one side and the closedmetal gate on the other. There’s just enough space beside the gate for a person to walk through, and I know that if I can make it out to the street, I’ll be able to use the public to my advantage. There’s no way he’ll come after me or drag me back if there are people around. With my heart racing and that new, uncomfortable fear making me feel shaky, I’m starting to think I’m more desperate than I’ve ever been before trying to save myself from a true serial killer like Larkin.
“Careful.” The word is so quiet that I almost don’t hear him. I hold Larkin’s gaze for just a moment longer, my body vibrating with nervous energy. I take a breath, then another, my body tight with tension. Something in his gaze tells me I shouldn’t do this. That I should just see what he wants, instead of making my own plan.
