“No. It’s okay. I think . . .”
“I’m not a serial killer, by the way.”
“I didn’t think you were. You don’t look like one.”
He was smiling now. “Isn’t that what everyone says when they catch one? ‘But he didn’t look like a serial killer.’ ”
“So are you saying youarea serial killer?” I asked, a little amused.
He waggled his eyebrows. “I could be.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” I said after studying him a little longer.
“Well, thanks.”
“Pleasure.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His smile broadened, as if I was amusing him greatly.
“You should.Notbeing a serial killer is a really good thing, or so I’ve heard.” I smiled back at him.
He nodded. “I reckonnotbeing a serial killer is actually kind of an essential human quality. Don’t you think?” he asked and I laughed and ran my eyes over him. Mark was funny and nerdy. It was a good combination, not that I was under his magical spell or anything. Far from it. But I was certainly starting to see the Mark appeal.
Mark looked over at Harun. “You think he needs anything?”
“Maybe a bowl of water. Samirah said he probably wouldn’t be too hungry today. We should just keep him comfortable and hydrated and make sure we give him his painkillers.”
He nodded and walked into the kitchen. I followed behind him and looked around. The kitchen was amazing. It looked like it had been restored perfectly.
“Did you do all this?” I asked, looking at the bright yellow painted shelves and the old Granny Mazawati tea tins that lined them, as if they’d been collected.
He looked around. “I like to collect things,” he replied a little sheepishly.
“I can see that,” I said, also noting a collection of old tin cups in bright colors hanging from the walls. “How long have you lived here?”
He reached for a bowl, filled it to the brim with water and then walked back into the lounge and placed it next to Harun.
“Four years.”
“WOW! Four years. No internet.”
“But look what else I have here.” He walked onto the veranda and flopped down on the comfy-looking daybed outside.
I stood on the veranda and gazed out over the strange, desolate landscape. It was so still, and the air seemed to throb and pulse with heat, even though it was meant to be autumn. My clothes felt sticky on my skin and I could see little perspiration dots breaking their way through the surface, leaving rather unsightly marks on my clothes. I took my shirt between my fingers and flapped it back and forth, trying to get the air to circulate. Otherwise I might soon have unsightly underboob sweat marks.
“You get used to the weather here,” Mark said, looking up at me.
“Do you?”
“Eventually,” he said with a smile. “I’ve taken to sleeping naked outside when it’s hot like this.”
I flashed him a look.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my pants on when you’re here.” He said this with a smirk. Ever so slightly naughty, and I couldn’t help blushing at the innuendo, whether it had been intentional or not.
“Uh . . . thanks.” Suddenly images of a pantless Mark flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t help wonder what it all looked like. I indulged this thought for a while until . . .
“You okay?” Mark suddenly asked.
