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Fuck!
She must have been wandering the neighborhood and spotted me going down into the cellar of death. She stood at the bottom of the stairs with a look on her face that I will never forget. Disgust, rage…fear.Genuine fear.
Her fists were balled, and her eyes were on the knife. My heart lurched when I realized that she thoughtIkilled the rats. Made them suffer.
“Oh my God, Bastien!” she shrieked. “Why would you do that? Why?”
“I didn’t kill them! I found them here!” I dropped the knife on the ground. Like that would help.
“Why are you lying? You have the bloody knife in your hands.” Her voice was a desperate wail, torn from her throat.
“Camille, I would never hurt a defenseless animal,” I protested. “I love rats, you know that!”
I don’t, and she knows I’m grasping at straws. How the hell can I tell her the truth? That it was a man I cut into pieces who did it.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” she screeched. “You don’t love anything! You sick, disgusting pig! You monster!”
Every word was a body blow. All of this rage over some fucking rats? Rats I didn’t even kill.
Not rage.
Fear.
Shock.
I felt myself shattering.
She couldn’t speak to me like that. She was mine. She had to love me.She had to.My existence depended on it. Her love was woven into the threads of my very being. I could make her do anything I wanted her to. I could make her love me again.
I dropped the knife, leaped to my feet, and ran toward her. She let out the most piercing, shattering scream I’ve ever heard and shot up the stairs, running for her life.
I chased after her. I knew how to bend her and break her. I’d make her listen to me, and then I’d make her say sorry for ever thinking I could do such a thing. I’d make her say it again and again; she’d be on her knees begging me for forgiveness.
But as I rounded the corner of the alley, I saw her running toward a blue-uniformed member of thePolice Municipale.
She would never snitch on me.
But she did.
She pointed at me, babbling. I stood there, a block away, struck dumb. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw the look of disgust and anger on the officer’s face.
There was no point in running.
The bodies of the rats were confirmation.
I wasn’t a criminal mastermind, but I understood the basics of forensics.
There would be blood from the man I had just killed, mingled with blood from the rats— because I used his own knife on him. My fingerprints would be on the weapon.
If I was lucky, they wouldn’t do an analysis of the blood on the knife and realize that some of it was human. They would just think that I killed the rodents. The nuisances plaguing the area.
And that was a best-case scenario.
I walked toward the officer, keeping my face calm. Another officer was walking toward us, and Camille ran to him, hiding behind him. I was blank with shock. She peered out from behind his broad back, and I could see from the look on her face that she didn’t love me anymore.
My heart detonated inside my body, spewing shards of agony. My feet kept moving, the world kept turning, yet the universe had just gone dark.
She hadn’t even given me a chance to explain. If she had, I would have confessed to her. I would have put my life in her hands. I would have told her about the man I killed and taken her to where I had hidden his body parts.
