Chapter 11 #3
Now he watches her sneer at him, not looking flirtatious anymore but rather wide-eyed, like a cornered animal.
She’s so different now, but that’s not entirely surprising.
He took that light from her, and it belongs to him now.
She shakes her head at him, a kindred spirit looking for parts of him to break too.
Both of them are searching, but neither will find what they are looking for.
“I found a way around the degree, didn’t I?” he says, blowing a strand of hair from his forehead.
She laughs, and he almost believes it to be genuine. She would say it’s a laugh of frustration, of disgust and discomfort. He hears something familiar in it, though.
As the evening dragged on, he became more at ease. The place was too crowded and too loud, but the music was decent, and he found himself tolerating the group of people he came with.
Emily seemed drunk, but he suspected it was at least partially an act.
She’d had a couple of drinks, but the haze of phony intoxication seemed to be emboldening her a bit.
Several times he found himself alone with her, and she kept engaging him, asking him questions about his life and interests.
He played along like he always did. There was something manufactured about most people that he didn’t detect in her.
When she leaned forward to kiss him, he didn’t hesitate to close the gap.
He found himself eager to touch her, to be the one choosing the contact.
They were sitting alone in a dark corner, trying to remember the name of some actor from some movie, but the music was so loud, they kept misunderstanding each other’s guesses.
She laughed at something he said and took the opportunity to lean in, making only half of a first move.
As soon as their lips met, he knew he was going to kill her.
He savored the moment and the taste like an addict taking one last drink.
Later, as the night wound down, he stood at the bar alone and watched her.
She was in the middle of the floor, dancing happily with their group, a big smile plastered across her face.
He took a sip of his drink and just watched.
It felt like everyone in the place parted to give him a better view.
Time slowed down as he took in every inch of her, mentally cataloging all the things he wanted to do.
“So you think Philip Trudeau has killed multiple people?” Leroux’s question breaks through Jeremy’s memories, thrusting him back to the present.
Jeremy shakes his head. “Well, that’s a gross oversimplification of what I was saying, but I also think you know he is.
” He glances at Wren, studying the way her features fight to stay neutral.
She’s starting to question things now, beginning to wonder whether Leroux is withholding information from her.
She’s broken, but Jeremy knows that it kills her when people treat her that way.
She never wants to be tiptoed around, never wants to be taken care of.
She’s fought that her whole life, and now it’s out of her control.
People are acting as if she’s a delicate piece of lace, requiring the lightest touch.
It feeds him to see it in her eyes. She flicks her gaze to Leroux, waiting for his response, waiting to see if he’ll show all his cards to her or if he’ll shut her out.
Leroux chuckles, rubbing the space between his eyes in frustration.
“You’re wrong. I don’t know that Trudeau is off in Massachusetts killing people, Rose.
” He meets Wren’s gaze for a split second, seemingly trying to reassure her that he knows as much as she does.
Jeremy isn’t sure it worked, because Wren looks caught off guard.
She always clears her throat when she’s frustrated.
She cleared it just now, as she stared daggers into her old pal Leroux.
“Come on, we both know he’s not in Massachusetts, Detective,” Jeremy says with a grin, stoking the flames, urging the fire to catch.
“You’re talking in circles now, Rose. I think this place is getting to even your rotten mind.
” Leroux is doing a great job of acting.
Jeremy wonders if she caught that overcompensation.
Leroux resorts to bad insults when he is flustered, when he has something to hide.
He holds information like a hot plate, never quite knowing what to do with it.
Despite Leroux’s feigned indifference, Wren leans forward with a look of curiosity, trying to detect what she can from both their faces.
She studies them each for only a few seconds, but he can almost see everything downloading.
She likes to think one of her strengths is reading people, but she’s shit at it.
She couldn’t read him, couldn’t see through the act for even a second.
Maybe it made her more in tune with herself, but he will always know how to trick her.
“Well, you guys must have seen them by now,” Jeremy says.
Leroux and Wren look at each other and then back at him. Leroux speaks first. “Seen what? Stop speaking like a fucking fortune cookie.”
Jeremy’s grin grows wider. He looks from one of them to the other, savoring the mixture of anger and fear in their expressions. He lets the tension rise, building it expertly to a point that is almost unbearable. After a few moments, he answers Leroux’s question. “The missing girls,” he whispers.