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“For Tate’s letters. I’d guessed as much, but they won’t find anything. I burn them. I burn all the letters I receive.” He stabbed his finger into the temple. “I save the good bits in here, so any information you’re hoping to get can only come directly from me.”
“Tell me where Tate might have run to.”
Vincent leaned back in his chair. “No.”
“There’s a young life at stake.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to appeal to my emotional side,” Vincent rolled his eyes. “I brutally murdered nine girls. A young life at stake means nothing to me.”
“What about Tate? Does he mean nothing to you?”
“I enjoyed my time with him, but it’s clear that’s come to an end.”
Chad opened his mouth, poised to say something, but there was nothing. He slumped, and glanced at the door.
“Do you know what your weakness is?” Vincent whispered.
“What?”
“This young life you want to save is your weakness and I can help you with it. I can help you save them.”
“But you won’t.”
“Give me a reason to.”
“It’s the right thi—”
“No, Chad. Give me, a psychopathic serial killer with terminal cancer, a reason.”
Chad frowned at him. “What do you want?”
Vincent smiled. “That’s more like it. I want time.”
“Time?”
“Specifically yours. One way or another, I’ll lose my only visitor today, and I need someone to take his place. Your weakness is this life on the line, and I can help solve it, but I require somewhat of a reward.”
“You want me to visit you?”
“Once a week until I die. You might even find you start to enjoy our chats.”
“I doubt that.” Chad cocked his jaw. “Fine. I’ll visit.”
“You have to swear it, Chad.”
“I do.”
Vincent tilted his head as he smirked. He studied Chad for a few seconds before flattening his hand against the glass. He raised his eyebrow, waiting.
Chad lifted his hand to the glass and pressed it to Vincent’s.
“Promise me.” Vincent said.
“I promise I’ll visit you.”
