by Melody Adams
He didn't violate you, my brain argues. You enjoyed it!
Yes, I enjoyed it, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with being attacked, gagged and tied up, and later knocked out. Neither by drugs, nor by strangulation. That's not normal! Something is definitely wrong with this guy.
The ringing of my cell phone finally rips me out of my thoughts again. Susan! Maybe it's my sister. I reach for my jeans on the floor and fumble my phone out of my pocket. The ringing stops before I can take the call, but it rings again immediately. With a pounding heart, I answer the call.
"Heather!" Sounds the worried voice of my sister.
"Susan, I..."
I’ve been trying to call you for a quarter of an hour. I was this close to sending my team to you. Why are you scaring me like that? You say you're in danger, and then you don't answer the phone.
"I couldn't answer the phone! I... I was... unconscious."
"WHAAAT?" Susan cries in disbelief. "Are you okay? Where are you? Are you hurt?"
"I... I'm in the pavilion. And no, I'm not hurt. I passed out."
"What happened?"
I tell my sister everything that has happened since my first encounter with the stranger.
"Fuck! Heather. Listen to me carefully. You are in more danger than you think. You need to get back inside the house right now and stay there until my team gets there. I'm in Canada at the moment. I would have been with you by now if I wasn't."
"What's wrong? What is it you're not telling me?"
"I'll tell you about it when you get inside the house. Run as fast as you can and call me the minute you're safely in the house. Meanwhile, I'll brief my team."
"O-okay," I whisper. I feel numb as I try to understand what is going on and what this means to me.
"Go! I'm gonna finish this conversation and you run like hell. – Understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Speak to you soon."
After the conversation is ended, I need a few seconds to pull myself together. When I finally have my muscles under control again, I flee the pavilion and run as fast as I can towards the house.
Alic
Some sixth sense tells me to stay close to the estate. I observe the house from a safe distance. As three SUVs race down the road and turn into the driveway to my kitten's house, I curse quietly. They must be FBI. Fuck! That means they will put my kitten under protection. If I'm lucky, they'll move my little girl to a Safehouse. At least there I can get to her. But if she's placed in protective custody, that's it. Damn it! I should have taken her with me. I won't make that mistake again. I'll wait and see what the FBI does. When they take my kitten away from here, I'll follow them.
Heather
I feel like I'm in a trance. None of this can be true. This is not happening to me. I haven't slept with a serial killer twice. No! I must be dreaming. Any moment I have to wake up and it was all just a bad dream. Dad's beside himself, and I think he's more angry with me than with the killer. Even the FBI agents seemed uncomfortable with the way he called me a slut before he stormed out of the room.
"Miss. Fairchild?" A warm voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I blink and look at the female FBI agent, who looks at me with concern and compassion.
"I know this must all come as a great shock to you, but you've been lucky in your misfortune. The Gentleman Killer always kills his victims the third time. We'll take you to a Safehouse until we catch the son of a bitch. But I'm afraid we'll have to give you an unpleasant examination first, in case he left any traces. Though we've had no luck so far. The bastard is brilliant and careful."
"Ex-examination?"
"Yes. We're taking you to a doctor who will check you for DNA traces."
"You mean sperm? He used a condom."
"Not just sperm," replied the agent. "Also skin particles, hair or saliva."
"You said he's never left a trail before," I object.
"That's true, but there's always a small chance that this time he wasn't thorough enough to cover his tracks."
The prospect of a "trace search" on my body is revolting to me, but there is no reasonable excuse to refuse the examination. Susan will wring my neck if I don't cooperate.
"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, whi
ch 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.
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 a
n 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.