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“You call this successful? You call this normal?” Her face contorts, her body tenses with anger. She rips the front of her shirt open so forcefully the buttons ping off and bounce across the room. Adam can’t help but wince. Her chest is a mass of slashes and bruises, scars, scratches, some partly healed, others red and sore around her bra. “I do this. The only way I can control what’s going on in my head. I tried to get help, and then when I couldn’t, I tried to cure myself. But knowing what’s wrong—putting a name to the PTSD, the borderline personality disorder, the reactive attachment disorder—doesn’t help me know how to fix it.” Her hand has gone up to one of the cuts; she scratches at it without flinching. The scab comes away. Blood pools around her nails. He watches with disgust, wanting to stop her, but not daring to move.
She shifts in her seat, then pulls her arm out from behind her back. Adam fixes on it. A small knife, the silver blade pointed toward him.
He needs to get away. He needs to distract her. “But why?” he asks. “Why track me down to that bar? Why—”
“Fuck you? Curiosity.” Idly, she runs her finger down the blade of the knife. A line of red blooms on her fingertip; his stomach turns. “You’re all Romilly talks about. Maggie was obsessed. I wanted to know who the fuss was for.” She shrugs. “Nothing special. But Romilly?” She looks up, a smile lighting up her face. “She is fascinating. It wasn’t hard to become her therapist. I approached her. I listened to her, sympathized, basic human connection. It’s easy to look good when all the other counselors had done was treat her like a scientific study. They wanted to write papers—can you believe that? Savages.” She points the tip of the knife at Adam again. “And I know Elijah. I understand. That love.”
“What do you want, Catherine?” he says slowly. His body is taut in readiness.
“From you? Nothing. I am here to do as Elijah asked, that’s all.”
Adam can barely bring himself to speak. “And what did Elijah ask?”
She laughs again. “What do you think?”
Adam forces himself to take a deep breath. He can feel his heart thumping hard. His gaze flickers from the knife to Catherine’s face and down again.
“I know I won’t be able to see him,” she says. “Not now. What else do I have? If he’s gone.”
She holds the knife out further, then stands up. Adam pushes backward quickly, grabbing the chair and holding it in front of him as a defense. She takes a few steps toward him.
He considers his options. He could go for the knife, try to wrestle it out of her hand. Or go for the door, get out, and trap her inside while he calls for backup. But she’s in the way, blocking his exit. And there’s no one around, no one to hear him if he shouts. It’s just the two of them.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Catherine. Give me the knife.”
He puts the chair down slowly, holding his hands out in front of him. He hopes to calm her, but it has the opposite reaction.
She lunges forward, once, twice, Adam dodging her attempts. He’s against the wall now, pinned into a corner. She goes for him again, and this time he manages to grab her wrist. But she smashes the heel of her other hand into his face, and his nose explodes in agony. He backs away from her, his eyes watering, blood pouring from his nose. He frantically wipes his eyes, trying to clear his vision, to see the knife.
She’s still got it in her hand. But he can see red now, it’s covered in blood.
He blinks and looks down. His hands are bloody. From his nose, from his … There’s a dull ache in his side, and his gaze shifts to his stomach. A bloom of red is seeping out across his shirt, a rip in the cloth visible around it. He feels a disconnect between what he is seeing and what he’s feeling. Then a slow realization. This blood, it’s his.
His legs wobble slightly. His body feels strange, as if everything is moving in slow motion. His strength fades, and he sags to his knees.
“I stood by,” she snarls. “I watched as Maggie carried out those murders. That mess, barely getting the job finished. I could have done so much better, but Elijah said no. He would need me later. I was more important.”
Catherine takes a step toward him. He helplessly holds his hands out, but he can’t stop her. The blade hits his fingers, slicing to the bone. Another jab. He feels the knife go into his stomach again. Once. Twice. The pain shooting, red hot and biting as it slides through his flesh. He drops to all fours, his hands on the ground. He lifts his head weakly, watches as she steps backward.
“I am more important,” she repeats. “I was his first.”
Adam can’t hold himself up any longer. His body gives way; he sinks to the carpet. “You weren’t, Catherine,” he slurs. “You weren’t his first.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
Adam lies on his back. He feels his blood ebbing, and he moves his hands down, a fruitless attempt to stop the bleeding. It seems to be coming from everywhere, the warmth smooth to his touch.
“His wife. Romilly’s mother.” Talking is painful. The words come in short gasps. “He loved her. Without her, he was nothing. She was the beginning. Not you.”
He looks up at her. Her face is pale, the knife still in her hand. He reaches out, trying to grab at something, anything, but his limbs feel heavy. Every movement is instilled with pain. He puts his bloody hands on the chair next to him and tries to haul himself up, but it’s no good. He looks at the pool of scarlet on the floor around him. How much? he thinks. How long before I die?
“Call an ambulance, please,” he whispers. He looks up at her. She still has the knife in her hand. “Please.”
“Don’t resist it, Adam. Your life—it doesn’t matter. Only your death. And mine.”
And Adam watches in horror as she holds the knife against her neck and pulls.
Her pupils dilate with shock. The shower of blood is thick and powerful. It cascades in an arc, her heart pumping furiously as she drops to the floor next to him. Her limbs are tangled beneath her. Her head is pushed back, the wound to her neck a yawning mouth of blood. There was no hesitation, no lack of commitment—she’s taken it almost to the bone, a jagged V of tendons and flesh and skin.
