‘This room… is not for you, Mary,’ Quaddra said, and for the first time ever, Mary detected something in his voice that she had never heard before – anger.
She finally turned around, her eyes shifting from her cellphone to Quaddra.
He was standing at the bottom of the stairwell, wearing only his boxer shorts. His expression looked relaxed, but his eyes scared Mary. There was a fire burning in them that she had never seen before… not in anyone’s eyes.
‘Baby…’ Mary tried, her voice so unsteady that it didn’t sound like her own. ‘What is this?’ She brought her right hand down – the hand holding her cellphone – but she never tapped the stop button. The phone was still recording. ‘What is this room?’
Quaddra kept his arms by his side. There was no tension in his posture.
‘You know what this room is, Mary.’ As if Quaddra had flipped a switch, the tone in his voice went back to being calm and relaxed. There was no rush… no recrimination… no anger.
‘No.’ Mary shook her head. Her tone, on the other hand, was still jittery, maybe even a little more so now given Quaddra’s composure. ‘I don’t know what this room is.’
‘So why were you filming it?’
‘I…’ Mary couldn’t think of anything to say. Her eyes moved down to her cellphone before returning to Quaddra, and as they did, they filled up with tears. ‘Why?’ Some of the tears moved down to her throat. ‘Why do you do this? Where does it come from? You’re nothing like this.’
Quaddra stepped away from the stairwell, moving to the left of the workstation. That was the shortest distance between Mary and the stairwell. For her to get to it, she would either have to go through Quaddra, or round the workstation through the other side. Too far. She would never get to the stairwell before Quaddra got to her and she knew it. Still, she took a step back, trying to maintain a reasonable distance between Quaddra and herself.
‘You think that this is a choice?’ Quaddra asked, his eyes shifting to the wall for a heartbeat before coming back to Mary.
‘Of course it is,’ Mary replied. ‘Everything we do is a choice.’
‘That’s not true,’ Quaddra said, with a very subtle shrug. ‘No one choses to have cancer, for example… or MS… or Parkinson’s… or Alzheimer’s… or any other terrible illness that will completely alter their lives.’ He took another step forward.
Mary took another step backwards.
‘This.’ Quaddra indicated the wall again. ‘Is exactly the same, Mary. This is my cancer. I didn’t choose this. It was chosen for me.’
‘Chosen for you?’ Mary looked back at Quaddra in complete disbelief. ‘Chosen by who?’
‘By my genes, Mary… by the biology in me… by my DNA.’ Quaddra peeked at the wall again. ‘This isn’t a consequence of a fractured mind. I was never abused as a kid. I was never bullied in school either, and I don’t come from a broken home. I was a great student… a happy child… and adored by my parents. I also never had any problems with women and I don’t hear voices in my head. None of the clichés fit me, Mary, except that for some reason I wasbornwith this…’ Quaddra clenched his teeth, as if what he was about to say angered him. ‘This never-ending desire to do this.’ He indicated the wall again.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Tears began rolling down Mary’s cheeks.
‘You think I didn’t trynotto be this person?’ Quaddra chuckled. The fire inside his eyes seemed to be gathering momentum. ‘I tried… God, I fucking tried, but it just kept on coming back… stronger… angrier… hungrier… and there’s only one way to feed it.’ He extended his left arm to indicate the women on those Polaroids. ‘But as long as I feed it every now and then, it leaves me alone, Mary, so that I can have a normal life.’
‘A normal life?’ The words came out unclear. The cold and the fear were starting to sink down to Mary’s bones. She could barely control the clattering of her teeth anymore.
‘Well,’ Quaddra shrugged again. ‘My life with you is pretty normal, isn’t it? My life with my friends is normal. My life at work is normal.’ With his fingers spread apart, he moved his left hand in the direction of the wall a couple of times, in a pumping motion. ‘I keep this completely separate. Never in San Francisco. Never anyone I know. Never close to those who are important to me.’
Mary’s eyes pinged to the wall then back to Quaddra. ‘These women were important, Quaddra. Maybe not to you, but theywere important – to their partners, their mothers, their fathers, their siblings…’ Mary didn’t want to cry, but the tears just kept on coming. ‘All of these women… however many there were, they were important.’
‘Nineteen,’ Quaddra said, matter-of-factly.
Mary’s eyes narrowed at him.
‘Nineteen women,’ he repeated it, his head tipping towards the wall.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Mary breathed in through her nose, but the air came in in lumps, as if the air around her was barely breathable. ‘You’ve tortured and murdered nineteen women?’
‘So far,’ Quaddra replied, his voice so calm it was chilling, but Mary noticed that his eyes moved to the workstation as he said those words.
Instinctively, she looked in the same direction, and what she saw made her go dizzy.
Just to the left of the computer monitor there was a new set of Polaroid photos… a new woman… but Mary could only see the top-most photo.
‘Did… did you kill her?’ Mary asked, pointing at the set on the workstation, her voice a lot thinner than seconds earlier… her heart tying itself into knots inside her chest… the room threatening to whirlwind around her. The Polaroids on the workstation were of Denise.
