I reach over, and tug her gag out of her mouth, and her sound of relief is like a wash of sweet, cool water.
“What am I going to do with you?” I grumble aloud.
It’s odd, the anger I often feel towards humanity for being capable of the cruelties and stupidities large and small isn’t in the pit of my stomach where I expect it.
Instead, there’s the lightness that only comes after I kill a victim.
Weird.
“I didn’t see your face!” she blurts out.
“Oh lapochka.” Why am I calling her that? It seems right. “You just revealed to me that you saw my face.” I tap the steering wheel. “Now Ireallycan’t let you go.”
I’m gleeful. Elated. My heart lifts in anticipation.
“I haven’t!” she insists.
I glance across at her. She’s exceptionally pretty, even when scared and tearful.
“What’s your name?” Not knowing anything about my captive makes me itch. She’s a puzzle, and I love solving puzzles far too much for my own good.
“What’s yours?” she shoots back mulishly, defiant despite her fear.
“That’s a terrible idea.” The less she knows about me, the safer she is.
“Well, I’m not telling you mine, either.”
I shake my head. “Lapochka it is then.”
“What does that mean?” she asks in a small voice.
Darling. Sweetheart. Cutie. It’s an endearment for a loved one. A girlfriend.
I go for the literal translation, though I’m not sure whether that’s better or worse. “Little paw.”
“Oh.” She’s clearly baffled. As am I. Why I’ve chosen to give her a sentimental nickname is beyond me right now.
“What were you doing out so late?” I demand instead.
“I work at a pub,” she says in a small voice. “I have to clean up before I can leave.”
Relief that she’s old enough to work in a pub wars with irritation that she took such a risk. I scowl.
“It’s not safe walking around London in the dark.” Anything could have happened to her, and that doesn’t sit right with me.
“It’s perfectly safe when there’s no murderous man in a mask,” she says under her breath. “I haven’t got the money to pay for a cab every night. And someone’s waiting for me,” she adds, too loudly and like she’s only just thought of it. “They’ll know I’m late and will call the police.”
She can’t lie at all. Interesting.
“There’s no one waiting for you.”
She tugs at her taped hands, mouth set in a line, and my heart squeezes.
“Why did you kill that man?”
“Because he deserved it.” He actually deserved to die much more slowly and painfully, and normally I’d be furious that I was denied that. Strangely, I’m pretty calm about this turn of events, like this girl is a balm to the dark creature in my soul.
“Why?” she asks cautiously.
