Her words spur me into motion as I drop to my knees at her feet. If I have to beg, then I will. If I have to do whatever it takes, then I will.
“Have you turned me in?”
“No.”
The one-word answer is all I need to hear as a large sigh escapes my chest.
“Why?”
I shouldn’t ask her. She doesn’t need to explain her motives to me. I should be explaining everything to her. Yet, I ask her the question that I hope she answers.
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me what you need to tell me that’s so important.”
“I want you to understand what you saw…”
“I know what I saw. You killed a man. What more is there?”
She interrupts me before I can finish. She isn’t wrong. I killed him.
“Yes. I did. It started with this photoshoot at work that I did. I’ve always had an obsession with the tale of Elizabeth Bathory.”
“The vampire lady?” She asks with a hint of horror in her voice.
“Some have called her that. She was always a fascinating story for me. I was asked to do this calendar shoot, and I chose the holiday for National Occult Day on November 18th. I wanted to do a shoot similar to what she did. I wanted something supernatural, such as vampires, and yet not. So I chose her. I chose a blood bath with several women.”
“How did a photoshoot turn into murder, Letty?”
“The fake blood was so captivating to me. I wanted to know if the real thing would look or feel the same. I wanted to know what it felt like, smelled like, and if the real thing would give me the same reaction I had during the photoshoot.”
“So you decided to murder people!?”
“I mean… yeah. I did. I know it’s wrong, but I needed to know. Then when I felt it and the high it gave me… I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t control the feeling anymore. I wanted it like my very breath that is inside of me and fuels my body. It’s an addiction I didn’t know I needed.”
“An addiction. Something that you can’t control, right?”
“Essentially. Can I stop? Maybe. I didn’t want to. It feels so fucking good.”
“Were you planning on killing me when we first met?”
I hesitated, but that was enough for her to know the answer. Her eyes burn with both rage and betrayal. I sigh and look downat the floor. I know I’ve fucked up. She was a target for me. Then she called me sir and Daddy. She brought out feelings inside me that trumped that bloodlust.
“I’m sorry. I wanted that. I dreamed of your blood on my body. I quickly fell for you. It changed. Rather quickly.”
“So because you had feelings for me, you didn’t murder me? What the fuck!?”
She looks offended, and yet there is something else there. Something deep in her eyes. She isn’t as scared of me as I thought she would be. She almost seems… I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. Something is different with us, and it’s more than just her catching me murdering that man.
“Get out. I’m done with this conversation.”
Her words make me freeze in place. Perhaps I need to show her what I do. What it makes me feel. Will she understand it then?
Can I make her see exactly what I feel when I do this? She isn’t scared of me and she hasn’t turned me into the cops. Those two things are both signs that maybe, just maybe, I can make this okay again. That I can save us.
I have no choice but to save us.
Mind made up, I don’t leave the room. Instead, I stand up and glare at her as my mind works out the details of what I need to do. I have to find someone. Then I have to tie her up so that I can show her.
Do I tie her up and head downstairs to find someone and bring them back here? No. If I do it will only implicate her as an accomplice. This room is in her name. They will hold her liable for what I do. So bringing them here isn’t possible.
