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“Was it right?”
“Nothing has been right since the night I killed my mother. Nothing has ever been truly right... not since the dreams came...”
I should not have said that. I should not have said that. Why is it that every time this crazy man talks to me I feel compelled to spit it all out? Why is it that he creates this intrigue inside of me? Why is it that I enjoy answering his questions? Am I that desperate for attention? So desperate for the interaction? Or is it the fact that it is him asking the questions that intrigues me?
He does not look or act like the kind of man that pays any interest in other human beings. Not because he is a dick, but because knowing someone else’s life would not benefit him in any way. He would not be there long enough for the information to matter. He is quiet, brooding, cold...
And he makes me want to talk because he seems to want to talk to me... I feel like I do not want to miss the opportunity.
“Dreams?”
And there it is.
Oh… what the hell… “Since I was a little girl I have had these dreams... I say these dreams, it is one dream, in a different form... every night.”
His eyebrows scrunch as he weighs the words.
“Every night... nightmares?” he asks.
“They used to be... not anymore.”
He studies me, studies every single syllable that leaves my mouth, and I half expect him to press, just like he always seems to do, even when we are not talking.
“What was not right?” The question throws me off.
“Anything but the job. People, atmosphere, food, location, apartment... nothing was right. I cannot explain it, I just did not feel like I belonged.”
He nods, and I see the understanding in his features. It is unmissable. Yet he knows where he belongs, he found it, he found his place in the world, he even found his morbid calling.
“Why did you move out of San Francisco?” My turn now.
He takes a deep breath, his thick chest straining against the sweater and I am sure he is debating how much to reveal, yet again.
“It wasn’t right. It never was.”
Interesting. Another thin connection tying us together.
“That’s it?” I need to push him back.
“Things we’re becoming risky.”
“In what sense? Were your murderous extracurricular activities becoming too dangerous?” I swear, I would have more success with a pair of pliers, torturing him.
“No. Women became too risky.”
Well that, I certainly did not expect.
“I can either keep asking you question after question, or you could just give me the story Niklas.”
He sighs and rolls his eyes, and it is probably the most relaxed and comfortable I have ever seen him.
“You know I told you I owned a company. It was a big, high profile company. Because we worked in Defense Technology, we also worked with high profile customers. This meant that my extracurricular activities with women had to be so tightly wrapped in a fucking bow that no one could ever find out. I needed to have a certain reputation and my tastes in sex are anything but conventional.”
“Well, I’ll be damned... I could not have guessed that,” I say sarcastically with my hand on my mouth and big shocked eyes.
In this brief moment, my heart stops beating. His smile. A genuinely amused smile behind his bushy beard, at the brink of laughter—I did that. I made him smile, even if it was just for a couple of seconds.
Shit.
