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“So you do not know if it could have been something else entirely.”
“No.” I know what she’s referring to. Lack of empathy… yes, that is definitely characteristic to a certain type of person and she’s afraid to say the word—psychopath.“It didn’t matter, I functioned perfectly fine. I went to University, all went well, I was excelling in all the technical subjects and that is when the idea of my company started forming. What happened after is totally different story. I was twenty-two when I killed for the first time, not long after Uni and it felt like a burst of energy that had been dying to come out my whole life, always there… always hiding, always craving…”
Suki watches me with wide eyes but doesn’t move. There’s something in her gaze, something I can’t quite place…
“When his guts spilled on the floor, and the room filled with his pain, I felt it. I recognized the emotions, his fear, the defeat, the sadness, and it fueled me. The sight of his blood on the floor was like fucking gasoline and I had a big smile on my face when I watched his eyes go from showing his excruciating pain to lifeless orbs as his soul left his body.”
“Something was born inside of me that day, this burning desire for more blood, something I unconsciously suppressed my whole life and I could have never gone back even if I wanted to. The next one I killed was a child molester. I split his dick open as he watched, I fed him his balls, and the satisfaction I felt as he died was unmatchable. Until the next one I killed, a woman this time, stupid fucking whore that killed her own child. She died with her womb hanging out of her body.”
Suki flinched on my lap, and I felt her legs trying to get closer to each other, cringing at the vivid picture I painted for her.
“I couldn’t give a fuck who I kill, Suki, but I prefer to choose the ones who deserve it, the ones that slip through the cracks.”
“How many?” she asks, and I know she fears the answer.
“I don’t know. I don’t keep track. I’ve slowed down since I moved here.”
“Five, ten, fifteen? You must know a ballpark. How many?” Suki’s tone is more urgent, and I’m not sure why a number is so important to her.
“Maybe around thirty. I don’t keep track, nor do I revisit their files.”
She takes a deep breath, her lips parted, her heart beating hard in the silence of the office.
“You’re a murderer,” she whispers.
“So are you, little siren.” I hold her stare and challenge her.
“It only happened once.”
“And you’ve craved to do it again since. I see your demons, Suki, they sing the same old song as mine. Listen to it. Harness it. Accept it.”
She shakes her head violently. I’m trying to understand her adamant rejection of her nature. Why?
“What are you afraid of?”
She stares at me, various emotions twisting the expression in her eyes, but she doesn’t answer.
“So, you use your skills to research these people.” She changes the subject, urging me with her eyes to move on. Fine I’ll play… for now.
Sighing, I finally answer. “I do. I need to make sure all bases are touched, that I cover my tracks, and if it’s too complicated or risky, I leave it for the authorities to solve. Maybe I’ll throw them a bone. I need this, my soul fucking needs this, but I don’t need the complications that may arise, so I don’t throw myself in situations that are too fucking complicated.”
“Like what?”
“Loving wife. Big families. Too many people that care. I’ve done it before, I’ve managed it, orchestrated some twisted situations where they left their families and ran away to the Dominican for a new life or some shit like that, but it’s too much work and I can’t be bothered.”
“And… you have no regrets, no remorse?” she asks like she’s looking for reassurance, not an actual answer.
“None.”
Her eyes go down from mine before she turns around and looks at the photo of the man that put her through hell for the last six months of her life.
“None…” she whispers.
SUKI
I look at the brown eyes staring back at me from the screen and I am not sure what I am feeling. Shock that Niklas found him, and this could be all over soon, or fear, because I am sitting on the lap of a serial killer? Is he a serial killer? Or an assassin? Or just a murderer?
No matter what his brand is, he kills for pleasure and I am not sure if it is fear or jealousy that I am feeling. There is a pressure in my chest, in this hollow place below my sternum, a pressure that I started feeling after I killed my mother, behind the walls I built and whatever is on the other side is fighting to get out.
