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Another had deep auburn hair with green eyes.
And the last had bright, boxed red hair with blue eyes.
So that was what I told him, because now that I thought about it, it was ridiculous that I hadn't put it together before.
"The last one was supposed to have green eyes. The blue was a nasty surprise."
"I don't have hair like any of them did," I told him, being a stickler for details.
"Oh, but you have, haven't you. That first video you did, when you covered that serial killer in D.C., you had bright red hair." He wasn't wrong. It had been a major screw-up. Then I'd gone to the salon to get it dyed darker. Shit. Just like the auburn the one girl had. "And the second video, it was darker. You had it like that for several months. And then you did this orangey-red color." Which wasn't a normal color. So the closest he could likely get was the girl with the copper hair.
"Why?" I asked.
"I was your first fan. I don't think I ever told you that," he told me, shrugging. He hadn't said that. He'd told me he'd been a viewer and listener and follower for a long time, but hadn't given me any specifics. "When I found your first video, I was your first view, your first like. Same for every video since."
So, this was just a case of obsession?
It made sense.
It happened a lot.
But why? Why would he bother when he'd had access to me all along? It wasn't like he'd been invisible to me.
"I still don't understand. Why did you take them? Kill them? Were they practice?" I asked.
"Oh, they were just fun, Poppy. Just fun. But also a test."
"A test."
"To see if you would link them together, would trace them back."
"Why would you want me to do that, though? Did you want to be caught?"
"I wanted you to know that I'd done it as a tribute."
"You'd killed girls who looked like me as a tribute?"
"And how did you repay me? By never even mentioning the first one. Or the second. Or even the third. For months and months."
"I...I noticed them. I just, I had it in my head that they were part of a larger case, though. A serial killer case," I told him. "But I knew no one would believe me, so I didn't say anything."
"Well, you were somewhat right. A serial killer has to kill three to qualify as one."
"Is that all you've killed?" I asked. "Three?"
"No. No, of course not. But just the three since I met you."
"Do you want to kill me, Blake?" I asked.
"You know, I didn't. That wasn't the point of this. I wanted you to be worthy. I wanted you to figure it out. I wanted you to come to me."
"And what? Be honored that you'd murdered innocent girls because of me?" I asked, voice croaking. "And then what did you see in your little fantasy, Blake? Us ending up like those fucking Barbie & Ken killers? Just going around, helping you rape and kill more innocent women? Dispose of their bodies? Is that what you seriously thought I would be interested in? For you?"
He seemed fine until that last part.
That "you" was his breaking point.
That "you" was full of my disdain for him, my blatant opinion on his inferiority.
And if there was ever anything you didn't want to do to an unstable man, it was bruise their very fragile egos.
I'd gone and drop-kicked his.
By the time I'd attempted to move, he was already across the small space.
There was a lot of pain.
And then there was blessed unconsciousness.
I didn't know how long that lasted, though.
Time got wonky when you spent some of it asleep, and the rest of it in a windowless room with no way to discern what time of day or day of the week it was.
Time felt slow.
But my best guess was that when I woke up, it was one full day and a half since I was taken.
Someone should have been looking for me at that point.
But if they would ever be able to find me was up for debate.
I mean, who would think to look at Blake? And even if they did, if he was able to switch on that mask of his so easily with them, there was no way they would know he was a suspect.
They were most likely to look at Finn. Especially if Detective Lloyd was on the case. Which, of course he would be. They needed to look at Finn. But not because of me. They would waste precious time before they would get to talking to the others around me.
It would help if, when they got to Blake, he didn't look so squeaky clean.
It would help if I could get a lucky strike.
And rake my hands across his face.
