| Does he know I'm
here, I wonder. Crawford called him, warned him. I heard the telephone ring. I moved closer so that I could overhear Will's end of the conversation. I think he hung up half way through it. I've been trying to imagine what dear Jack might have said. I expected him to immediately arm himself, but he didn't. In fact, he stepped into the kitchen and, for the first time since I've been watching him, he didn't check behind the door. In the back of his mind, he's been expecting the bogeyman. Now he knows there's a worse fate in his not-too-distant future. Me. He wears only shorts, a tight white tee and a denim shirt that has been used to clean the oil from more than one boat motor. No where to conceal a weapon. He isn't meeting me unarmed though. His mind is the sharpest I've ever known. I'd once thought to eat his heart. But since then I have found another, sweeter recipe. I've been watching for twenty-four hours, and his lack of purpose tells me that he's simply awaiting death. Now he knows how close it is, and how it will come to him, all that has changed is the fear with which he seeks it. I am the devil he knows. He understands that to die in my arms will be more personal, more intimate than at the hands of some masked serial killer. The sun is starting to set. I can't wait any longer. Silently, I move along the deck to stand behind him, where he sits in the chair overlooking the ocean. "Hello, Will." He doesn't even flinch, and I feel a stab of pride. When he first came to see me at the asylum, he couldn't bring himself to approach the glass. With each visit, he drew closer. Now there's no glass, no chains, no men with guns watching over him. There's only the two of us. He doesn't even turn. "How've you been?" I smile at his courtesy and reach out, trailing the backs of my fingers down the back of his neck, pressing lightly through his soft, sun-bleached hair. And for just a moment, I truly do not want to hurt him. "Well, thank you. They offered me a room with a view, but I decided I'd been incarcerated for long enough." He leans back, just a fraction, into my touch, and it surprises me. I'd thought never to be surprised again. "Is Chiltern dead?" "Yes. He flew to the Caribbean and I followed him. Crawford was late calling you. I'd already been free for a day, but he was too busy to even think of you. Chiltern died as I cut out his liver. I made sure he could see what I was doing." "And now you've come for me." I open my mouth but the word 'yes' sticks on my lips. He's still leaning into my caress, utterly relaxed under my fingers. And suddenly, I don't want him dead. I need him alive. |