You weren’t scared. The question was almost clinical.
I tilted my head to the side. “No,” I said softly.
Not yet, at least.
Again, you nodded. Resigned.
“Why do you think it’s me?” I asked.
You pointed at the laptop, but I didn’t move. I wasn’t going to give it to you yet, and you sighed. “I figured out that these missing women all came here before they died.”
“How?”
“Their social media.” My brows lifted expectantly. “They posted different things, but their locations all showed them heading in this direction. A couple posted that they were getting away for a few days, and when I looked at this area, your motel was the only one I found.”
“There are hotels in town,” I countered, and you shook your head.
“Women wanting a quiet weekend alone don’t go to fancy hotels. They seclude themselves. They hide away where no one can bother them. This is that place.”
You flicked your gaze around the room.
“I’ve wanted to come for a while, but I had to research it first.” I waved my hand for you to continue. “I knew you were raised by your aunt. I knew that she died and left the motel to you a few years ago, right around the time the first womanwent missing. I know you spent some time in jail when you were younger, and that you should be on some kind of registry, but your aunt’s friend dropped the charges.”
“I never touched her,” I said.
“No,” you agreed. “But you watched her.” Again you looked around, as if you were trying to find all the secret holes. “Your aunt’s friend was…” You smiled softly. “She was an interesting woman.”
“A batty old lady,” I muttered.
“She said she moved into the motel for a while when she was going through a divorce,” you told me, and I nodded. I knew that. “You were only twelve at the time. But she said that there had always been something off about you.”
I ground my teeth together.
“She said she found these holes in the walls, and when she peered through one, she foundyouon the other side. She didn’t know how long you’d been watching her, but I imagine it had been a while, right? And it hadn’t just been her?”
I said nothing. I wouldn’t satisfy you by giving you a solid confession. Even if you suspected it was me, and I gave you enough to infer that it was, I wouldn’t outright say it.
Unless I was ready to kill you. But I wasn’t totally sure that I was.
Then you threw me off by saying, almost quietly, “Have you been watching me, Aaron?”
My throat tightened. My heart leapt. My palms sweat.
You didn’t soundscared. That was the part I still didn’t understand.
You sounded like youlikedthe thought of me watching you. And when you ran your fingers over the cum on your cheek, licked your lips again like you weren’t only tasting me butsavouringme, I realized that was exactly it: you liked the thought of a dangerous killer watching you like prey.
You wanted to be a victim.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, and a sly smile spread across your face. Realer than before, but still…not the one I wanted.
You recognized the game I was playing, and apparently, you wanted to play too.
“Do you know what happened to those women?” you asked, your voice gentle. Coaxing. Almost conspiratorial. So much so it almost made me lower my guard. But I shook myself, my eyes narrowing as I leaned back in the chair, forcing myself to appear calm on the outside, no matter the maelstrom of chaos warring in my chest.
“Nope,” I said.
Thereit was. The real smile. The eye crinkling smile. The smile that showed all your teeth, that revealed your gums.
