“Who told you the code?”
With another tsk he reprimands me, much more seemingly entertained. It’s then that I find I’ve repositioned myself to face him squarely. With his head still firm against the far wall of my bedroom, he turns to look at me and for a moment, I see an outline of his face.
The way he turned and a hint of light from a passing car down the back alley behind my apartment aid me in the moment.
There are details of plump lips and a sharp jawline. Not the hideous face of a killer I once placed on him years ago. I dare to think that he’s handsome even. But just as quickly as the light fell on his face, it’s gone.
“I have a question for you first.” A hum of what could be laughter is caught between his lips as he straightens to ask me, “Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Tell who?”
“I don’t want to play games, Delilah. The kiss.” The singular word is hissed although there’s no anger that lingers. Not even a threat lays on the word, yet it sounds worse than sinful. “You didn’t tell Cody about our … moment.”
“I—” It’s a struggle to identify why, caught in his gaze I can’t decipher. The moment after between Cody and I … I should have, but I lied. “I didn’t want to upset him.”
“It’s not because you’re ashamed?” he asks.
“Maybe partly,” I say and the heat of anxiety dances along my skin with the admission. It doesn’t escape me that this man could do awful things to me if only he wanted, and yet again, I find myself glancing at the gun. I’m dealing with a sociopath; at least that’s what his profile determined years ago. I’m well aware of the risks. A smidgen of fear trickles down my spine at the thought of disappointing him … but I imagine it would be much worse if I lied. Something in my gut refuses to let go of that hunch.
It’s Marcus’s sudden movement that prevents me from lingering on the horrid possibilities. With an easy stride he takes up residence by my vanity in a tufted chair that’s far too small for him. It’s almost like a throne he’s outgrown.
“It’s been a long day and I’m sure you have more … interesting questions than the last one you asked?”
His statement lingers in the warm night air as the heater kicks on and I can’t remember what I asked him last, only that my first question bored him. “I’ll give you one more question. Only one. Do you still want to know how I knew the code? Or is there something else burning inside you’d rather have answered?”
His posture isn’t expectant as he waits for me, but it’s in this moment I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to ask him what pricks at the farthest spot of my consciousness. The article about Cody’s brother and the other boys that would still light up on my laptop screen if only I brought it to life will haunt me if I don’t ask.
“Do you know about …” Hesitation wraps itself around me and I have to clear my throat before continuing, “What do you know about Christopher Walsh or the other boy who died … the one named Marcus?”
“Hearing that name …” His tone is dampened with sadness. “I know everything about it. More than any one person should. I know the men didn’t suffer enough. They never do, though? Do they? It’s not about them suffering.” He adds the last bit almost as if it’s a reminder for himself. “It’s about ending what they’re capable of.”
“You were there?” All the questions I want answered could fill a vault and I edge against the warmth of the comforter, closer to his now hunched figure. But all that anticipation is quickly put out like the flame of an extinguished candle.
“That’s another question.”
“Please,” I beg him out of instinct, my fingers gripping the comforter tightly with the single word. Marcus’s head rises ever so slowly and a pale, pale blue stares back at me. The case matters. I knew it did. Other questions scream in my mind. What about Cody? How much does he know? They line up one by one, held back only by biting the inside of my cheek.
He’s my witness, my ghost. But this isn’t a courtroom, a cell or an interrogation. I don’t have an ounce of power here and I’m left at his mercy.
The small voice that’s been reckless and foolish reminds me of the kiss we shared and my gaze drops to his lips. It reminds me that he came to me. There’s a small bit of power in my grasp, but just like every other fact I’ve uncovered, I don’t know why. “I just …” It takes great effort to lean back in my bed and its groan of protest doesn’t stop me from a plan that’s more than likely foolish. “How do you know Cody? You know him, don’t you?”
“He thinks I’m someone I’m not. He wants me to be that person.” Marcus’s swallow and exhale reveal the cues of a man struggling. But also a man who’s dying to confess. I can be his priest, his doctor, his executioner … whatever he wants, so long as I’m given that confession. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything else in a long damn time.
“I’m not that person, but he keeps my secrets and pretends. And together, we’ve done so well. We both lost someone at the same time in our lives. I think it’s really the bonding that binds us together more than anything. It’s the loss.”
The cryptic words don’t tell me everything, but they tell me enough to know Cody lied. He lied to me. He’s keeping Marcus’s secrets … or at least that’s what this man believes. “What about—”
“Stop,” he commands with an authority that’s frightening. One not to be denied. “Shhh.” He’s quick to add the gentleness to his voice when he shushes me, but it’s far too late to prevent fear from pressing my back firm against the headboard. “I gave you another question because I have one of my own.”
“Yes?”
“Did you like it when I kissed you?” he asks, repositioning himself in the chair, leaning forward so his forearms rest on his thighs as he stares at me through the dark.
The rush of my blood in my ears nearly drowns out every other sense.
Logically, I should tell him yes to appease his ego, his need for control. I’ve been trained on how to deal with personalities such as his. Although, this is much, much different from any scenario I’ve confronted in the past. The reality, the truth of his question … it’s still a yes. Even as scared as I am, there’s a spark that crackles between us. Knowing what he’s capable of and yet how soft he has been with me draws me to him for reasons I can’t explain.
“Yes,” I say and take a deep breath.
“Another trade?” he asks me and before I can stop myself, I answer yes. More than any other reason, it’s because I don’t want him to leave without knowing more. I need to know what happened.
“A touch for a touch?” he says and my eyes widen at the offer. “I didn’t let you last time and that seems … selfish of me.”
I can’t help the innate fear I feel. The idea of him getting closer to me, close enough to touch, to kiss, all while I stay buried in my bedsheets is both erotic and terrifying.
I know he must see it; I’d be a fool to think I could hide it. Hell, my heart beats so hard, he’d have to be deaf not to hear it staggering with dread. “I’ll sweeten the deal. I’ll tell you how I know your code. I’ll tell you now, if you want.”