"Okay," I finally agree with a sigh.
Three hours later I am sitting on a narrow bed in a simple room in the Safehouse. The evaluation of the forensics in daddy's house and on my body is still ongoing, but so far my mysterious lover – no, would-be-killer – seems to have left no traces. I still have trouble processing the fact that I had sex with a serial killer. Consensual sex on top of everything else. Best sex I've ever had. – Okay, it was my first time, but I'm sure sex is not that explosive for many women, especially not the first time. The stranger who seduced me may be a cold, sociopathic killer, but he is undeniably a good lover who knows how to pleasure a woman.
My phone rings and I grab it off the nightstand. The display says it's my sister.
"Susan," I answer breathlessly.
"Heather. Oh, my god. I'm so glad you're safe. Good, that you told me everything before that psycho turned up for the third time."
"I know," I reply. "The FBI told me that the killer always kills his victims the third time."
"Yes. That's right. He killed eleven women. We've been chasing that son of a bitch for almost two years and he keeps slipping through our fingers. He's very intelligent. Our profiler estimates him to be in his mid-twenties to mid-thirties, outwardly charming and above average intelligence. We have a small lead since his last murder, but so far it hasn't helped us."
"What kind of lead?"
"Well. After killing his last victim, Julia Willerham, a young, good-looking man was spotted in the immediate vicinity of the crime scene at about the time of the victims death. The witness, an elderly lady, was walking her dog. The suspect stroked her dog and the two of them had a short and – as the old lady says – very pleasant conversation. He was charming and made a good impression on the old lady. Of course she thinks it is impossible that the nice young man could have committed such a horrible crime. Unfortunately, we all know too well that killers rarely look like ones. They are inconspicuous or even good-looking and charming people. Especially if they are sociopaths."
"Could the old lady describe the man?" I asked excitedly.
"Her eyes aren't the best any more. She says he was about mid to late twenties – which fits the profile exactly – tall, slim but well-built and with brown or black hair. He was wearing a suit. It's possible our killer works at the stock exchange or as a CEO in some company. With his intellect, he's unlikely to make a living as a simple salesman or waiter."
"Wh-why does he seduce women in the first place? I mean, wouldn't it be more likely for a killer to rape his victims?"
"He is intelligent and sophisticated. He may have a God complex. Taking a woman by force wouldn't satisfy him. He wants to prove that he has the women entirely under his influence. Using violence is not a challenge."
"Hmm. Okay. That kind of makes sense. – In a fucked-up way."
"We'll get him," Susan assures. "Don't worry."
"Can't you use me as bait? I mean, if he comes a third time, you can lie in wait and bust him."
The idea frightens me, but I also want him to be caught, so that I need not look over my shoulder all my life.
"Absolutely not," Susan snaps. "This is far too dangerous. We've tried this on a previous case, and the woman is now dead. I'm telling you, this guy smells a trap from afar. I'm not gonna risk my little sister's life. We'll get him another way."
Alic
Three days! Three fucking days since I last had my kitten. Since they took her to the Safehouse, I have been lying in wait in an apartment across the street, watching the coming and going of the agents who guard my girl. I am getting impatient. If I don't get my kitten soon, I'll forget all caution and shoot my way into the damn house. About an hour ago, another SUV arrived and a female FBI agent rushed into the house. I did my homework and studied the background of my girl, which is why I know that the agent is my kitten’s sister. I also know the name of my girl. Heather Fairchild. It's a nice name, but to me, she's simply kitten. Until I kill her, of course. If I would stick to my normal procedure, she would die the next time, but I am not ready to give her up just yet. I don't know what is so different about her that I want to enjoy her for a while longer. It should worry me – in a way it does – but I do not question my motives for keeping her longer. It doesn’t change the facts. I am in control. I will not make a mistake and get caught. And I will kill her. Just not on the third date. The plan is to bring her to my compound in Chile once I abduct her from the damn Safehouse. I'll use drugs to subdue her so she'll be awake, but completely under my power. A friend of mine created the drug. It’s a bit like Devil’s Breath, only that I can inject it with a syringe. Then, with a bit of disguise and the fake passport that I got for her, we can leave the country unhindered. I have special glasses for her, designed to fool the facial recognition software of the surveillance cameras. No one will recognize her. No one will know that Heather Fairchild left the country with me. Chile is the last place anyone will look for her, and my estate is secluded and well guarded. The new plan also helps my idea of putting her in a glass coffin. I know a man in Chile who can prepare her body so that she will not lose her beauty. I will keep the coffin with my Snow White in the secret room in the estate’s basement. So I can visit her whenever I want.
Yes, but she will never give herself to you again so beautifully, a little voice deep inside me argues. You will never feel her softness again, never again...
Stop!, I scream in my head, and press my hands to my temples, which suddenly throb painfully. I’ll kill her when I have had enough of her. It is okay if I can never have her again. But I keep her body – preserved for eternity – as a memory.
Heather
I am in this damn Safehouse for five days, and I'm ready to go ballistic. Tomorrow I will ask Susan when I can finally leave the house at least for a while. If a couple of agents accompany me, I should be able to stretch my legs a bit in the fresh air. The killer doesn't even know where I am, so he can't see me leaving the house. And it's very unlikely I'll run into him here in Denver. I could even wear a disguise, so there's really no danger. Yes, I will definitely talk to Susan tomorrow. I can't stay cooped up in this house any longer. This killer won’t take away my freedom!
I close my eyes and sigh. My mind is too scrambled to sleep. With a frustrated grunt, I roll over on my side and start counting sheep. After sheep number seventy-eight, I give up with another sigh and roll back on my back. Again and again the killer steals into my thoughts. But instead of thinking about what evil plan he has in store for me, how he wants to kill me, my stupid brain keeps rewinding the scenes in which I gave myself to the stranger. Damn it! The guy has killed eleven women in cold blood and plans to kill me, too. And yet my treacherous body tingles with longing when I remember the erotic things he did to me. The pleasure he wrung from my body against my will.
A crash from the ground floor of the house tears me from my thoughts. What was that? Maybe one of the agents on guard duty downstairs dropped something. When nothing else is heard, I'll stop worrying and close my eyes again. When I think I can finally fall asleep, I hear my door creaking. With a pounding heart, I sit up and stare through the darkness at the door that slowly opens. With a scream I jump out of bed and after a wild look around, I decide to flee into the bathroom. To jump out of the window would be suicide, and otherwise there is no escape route. I have to barricade myself in and hope that help will come before the killer can get through to me.