I manage to close the bathroom door behind me, and for a moment I stand motionless and struggle with a sudden dizziness. When the killer rattles at the door, I tear myself out of my lethargy and look around in panic. There is nothing I can push to barricade the door. It certainly won't be long before the killer has broken the door down or kicked it in. Defense is my only option. Panicked, I scan the room again, this time looking for something I can use as a weapon. The brush? No, not hard enough. The towel? If I roll it up, I can whack him with it. But will it help against a grown man? A killer? No! Not good enough. I scream as something or someone hits the door. Finally, my eyes fall on some hair scissors. I grab them as the door crashes open and a man enters the bathroom. He is about half a head taller than me, and I am not exactly small at five feet eleven. He seems to be not much older than me. Mid-twenties probably. His hair is chestnut. His eyes are brown with a touch of green. He is handsome. No! Not just handsome. He's stunning. The most beautiful man I have ever met in person. He could make a career in modeling. We stare at each other for a moment, and then his mouth curves into a mocking grin.
"Do you want to give me a haircut, kitten?" He asks with his dark voice, which sends a shiver of excitement over my body despite my fear.
"Don't come any closer," I stammer, holding the scissors in front of me.
"Or what, kitten? Think you can hurt me, huh?"
"I will!" I say with more certainty than I feel.
"You won't hurt me, kitten," he says softly. "But even so. You don't stand a chance against me. All you'll achieve is that you risk hurting yourself."
That gives me an idea. He wants me alive because he plans to kill me while we have sex. What if I threaten to hurt myself? Would that help? – There's only one way to find out. Holding the handle of the scissors with both hands, I place the tip at a slight upward angle below my breast. For a moment, his eyes widen with surprise and irritation. His lips press together to form a thin line, and he holds my gaze, as he gets closer.
"You don't have what it takes to kill yourself," he says.
"Yes, I do! I'll do it," I scream shrilly. "Not another step!"
But he doesn't stop. I take a step back, and then I swing the scissors, to make my threat real. I'd rather die on my own terms, than get killed by a serial killer.
Chapter 4
Alic
I see her decision to make the threat come true a fraction of a second before she swings the scissors. I jump forward and get a hold of her wrist before the scissors can sink into her flesh. We both go down and I turn us around, so that my body absorbs the impact and the scissors ram into my side. I ignore the pain and curse softly about my blood that sullies the tiles beneath us. I must cleanse everything before I leave with my kitten to leave no trace behind. Pushing the pain aside and concentrating on what I have to do, I take the syringe out of my bag and ram it into my kitten's neck. She screams and writhes as I push the drug into her system.
"Sshhhh, kitten. It's gonna be okay. Settle," I growl, holding her firmly in my arms until her body goes limp and her resistance dies down. I brush a wet strand of her black hair from her face as I look into her eyes. Her gaze becomes glassy, as tears well in her eyes, making them seem even bigger. "Settle, Kitten. Everything's okay. Now you'll wait for me in the bedroom like a good girl until I clean up. Do you understand, Pet?"
"Yes," she replies. Confusion is written in her eyes as her mind still struggles against the effects of the drug. A few more minutes and she will give up the last resistance and be as docile as a lamb.
"Good girl," I praise gently, stroking her cheek. "Such a good kitten."
"I don't want to die," she says softly, blinking away a few tears.
"I know, kitten," I reply gently and kiss her on the forehead. An unfamiliar warm feeling builds in my chest, as I hold her in my arms until the tears stop. "Are you okay, pet?"
"Yes."
"Will you be a good girl now?"
"Yes."
"Who's your master, pet?"
She blinks, seems to search for the right answer.
"You?"
"That's right, pet. Such a good girl. Come. Let me help you into the bedroom."
I get up and get her on her feet. She is a little wobbly on her legs, but she follows me well behaved to the bed where I gently urge her to sit down. The drug I have given her is now working. I may have to give her an additional dose during the flight. I cannot risk my kitten giving me a fuss. The good thing about the drug is that while Heather obeys my will, she seems largely normal. Her pupils are normal and even though she is extremely calm and her movements are a bit slow, hopefully nobody will suspect anything when we take our little trip.
"Good kitten. I'll just clean this up and then we'll go on our little trip."
"Trip?"
"Yes, kitten. We're going somewhere warm. You like the sun? Sunshine and swimming in the pool? Would you enjoy that?"
"Yes. I like swimming."
"Very good, kitten. I'll be right back. Stay where you are."
I'm confident I left no trace in the Safehouse. Even the garbage from the bandages I used to treat my stab wound, I took with me and disposed of on the way. Yeah, I thought of everything. Nothing to worry about. By the time the sedated agents replacements will arrive, we'll be on a plane. When the forensics team comes looking for evidence, we'll be halfway to Chile.
"Come, kitten. Give the nice lady your passport," I say to Heather when it's our turn at the checkpoint. Heather has trouble getting the passport out of the bag I bought for her. I help her, giving the woman behind the counter an apologetic smile.
"You must excuse her being a little slow. My wife is at the level of a three-year-old. A tragic accident."
"No problem. We have time."
I give the woman my passport and Heather's.
After a quick check and a look into her computer, she hands me back the documents.
"All good, Mr. Juarez. Have a nice flight."
Heather
I have a headache when I wake up. It’s like someone has filled my head with cotton wool until it’s ready to burst. I cannot gather a single clear thought, and my mouth is as dry as the damn Sahara.
"Here!" A gentle voice comes from somewhere, and I turn to the voice in confusion. A man I never saw before hands me a glass of water. Or did I see him before? There is something familiar about his appearance, but I don't know who he is. Where am I? And what am I doing here? This is not a hospital. It's not my room in Daddy's house either.
"Drink," the man says, holding the glass to my lips. I am so weak. With the stranger's help, I drink half of the water before he puts the glass back on the nightstand. "How do you feel?"
"Weak. My head..."
"These are the side effects of the drug."
"Drug? What... what happened? I can not ... I can't remember anything."
"Your head will soon clear. Everything will come back to you. Give it some time," the man assures.