At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(70)

“You were watching me tonight?”

“Of course I was watching you. I’ve been watching you for weeks. I even broke into your house a few times to find out how to make you happy. I went through your files so I’d know what you liked. I found the photos of that girl—I think she’s an ex? So I bought lingerie like that to wear for you. Then, to test it, to make sure I was right and that I wouldn’t disappoint you, I left those flyers on your doorstep. I came back later and saw that the only flyer you kept was the one for the burlesque show.”

Verraday’s head was swimming. He couldn’t believe that anyone had been in his space and he hadn’t noticed. That she had repeatedly violated his inner sanctum and he hadn’t noticed. So much for his powers of observation.

“I went to so much effort to please you. Because I loved you. But you tore my fucking heart out. You were the only one I invited into my world. The only one. And you betrayed me. We could have been such a force. Taken down so many assholes together.”

Verraday tried to buy time. Maybe if he could just calm her down, he might get a chance to disarm her.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” he said. “Now that I realize it was you.”

“Of course it’s too late. I offered myself to you on a platter, and you rejected me. I had to sit there in the dark like an idiot tonight watching you kiss that woman, holding her body against yours. Throwing yourself at her. You hurt me to the core. And now you’re going to die. Slowly.”

“Please don’t do this,” said Verraday weakly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“And yet you did. But don’t worry. Even though you hurt me, I won’t make you feel that much pain. I put Ativan in your brandy. A lot of it. I know you always have brandy before bed. And I know that you have a prescription for Ativan. You should be more careful what you put in your recycle bin. The police department could use something like that to discredit you. I saw them going through your bin once, you know, while I was watching you. Fortunately, I’d already taken out your empty prescription bottle so there was nothing much for them to see. They’re morons. But what do you expect from a cop? I mean, who could possibly be interested in fucking a cop except for some pathetic piece of shit.”

Verraday saw the hunting knife coming at him. He tried to move but his legs felt leaden. The blade sank deep into the long muscle of his thigh, and he screamed. He tried to grab her wrist, but the Ativan had made him slow, and she leapt out of the way.

“What you said in class, about Wall Street psychopaths? You’re wrong, you know. Those hedge fund managers might be psychopaths, but the rush they experience is just a substitute for what I can do. I know because I fucked a few of them. For seven hundred dollars a pop. And you know what? They’re so sublimated it’s pathetic. Look at Donald Trump. What a needy asshole. He’s begging to be respected, so he builds these fucking monuments to himself all over the place because he can’t face up to what he really wants to have: power over life and death. So because of his programming, he finds a substitute instead. I, on the other hand, already have what I want: the ability to totally dominate another human being. I don’t need all that money to make me feel powerful. I am powerful.”

“No you’re not,” said Verraday. “You’re dead inside. That’s why you need to do things like this.”

“Well, it’s irrelevant for you, because you’re about to become dead inside and outside. You’re going to bleed out very slowly. And there’s enough Ativan in your system that you won’t be able to do one thing about it.”

She put the hunting knife aside and pulled out a long stiletto. Verraday’s hope sank at the sight of it.

“I’ve always been curious to see how many of these punctures it would take to kill a human. I’ve used this on dogs and cats. Once even on a raccoon that was foolish enough to walk into a trap at my parents’ house. I was going to use it on that rat I left on your doorstep, but this doesn’t leave much of a mark, and I didn’t want you to miss any details.”

He raised his arm to block the stiletto and felt a wave of agonizing pain as it punched through the palm of his hand and emerged out the back between his tendons. He grabbed at her with his other arm, but she was quick and leapt backward out of the way.

“You know, I could just plunge this into your liver or your heart. That would kill you pretty much instantly. But what would be the fun in that?”

He winced as the stiletto sank into his abdomen. He felt the warmth of the blood rolling down his side under his shirt and blackness closing in around him.

*

He came to with the terrifying sensation that he was drowning. There was water in his nose and throat, and he couldn’t breathe through his mouth. Verraday tried to move his lips but realized that Jensen had sealed his mouth with gaffer tape while he’d been unconscious. He coughed desperately trying to dislodge the water in his nose.

“Don’t worry,” came Jensen’s voice from behind him. “I won’t let you drown. Yet. I’m going to keep you alive a little longer.”

She moved into his line of vision now, staying far enough away that she knew he wouldn’t be able to grab her in a sudden lunge, even if he were able to rally the strength. She was holding a pitcher of water.

“You were disappointing as a lover, but you’re quite amusing as a playmate. I like to think of this pitcher as half full, not half empty.”