books he had found solace in at times in his life. Books like
It was like she was telling him she knew who he really was and that she was okay with that. She was ready to play her part. Ready to be his captive.
He still had to keep control. It wasn’t quite time, yet. He would know when. The universe would tell him.
Until then, he remained Victor-the-charming.
Their conversation bored him at times and annoyed him at others but he did his best to stay smiling and inserting innocuous jokes where relevant. She laughed a lot and moved closer to him. He said something that she found particularly amusing and touched his arm, a quick, gentle pat. It took all his self-control not to seize her wrist, twist her arm behind her, and bite through her sweatshirt into her breast. He saw the splotch of blood soak into her sweatshirt.
Yet, he kept smiling.
“You don’t have to wait,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“My dad will be back soon. I’ll be okay. You can keep hiking.”
“How do you know I want to?”
She smiled from the side of her mouth. “You didn’t come all the way up here just to talk to me.”
“I never really have a purpose when I come up here except to get away. I’ve been to the top before. It’s beautiful but going up there is never my reason for climbing this mountain.”
“You must have a lot of stress in your life.”
He thought vaguely of his life in a series of distorted mental flashes, some stained with vibrant crimson streaks. “Everyone does, right?”
She thought of something. Perhaps of her dead mother. He knew more about it than she could possibly realize. It was amazing how much you could hear if you only listened.
“I guess,” she said. “So, this place is like a retreat for you?”
“It’s paradise.”
“A lot of work to get some peace.”
“The exertion is part of it. I get drained. All the stress falls away. Everything is clearer.”
“When everything is clear, what do you find?”
“Purpose,” he said.
“Which has nothing to do with climbing to the top?”
“Not today, it doesn’t.”
The conversation wandered off into irrelevance and even politics, something Victor could not process very well and really tested his fortitude, but it always danced back to why he was up on this mountain, why he was spending so much time with her.
She sat with her legs stretched out before her, ankles crossed, arms propping her up, head tilted back to the sky like she was sunbathing. The bottom of her sweatshirt pulled up enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin. Her blood would be so potent against that skin. So alive.
“Some people would say you’re weird,” she said. “Come up here and sit in the woods alone with your bare feet in mud.”
“I told you, didn’t I?”
“Why do you come up here?”
“To relax, like I said.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His ears felt warm. “Why not?”
She rolled her head side to side and then turned to him. “I think you followed me up here.”
“Didn’t I already answer that question, too?”
“You lied because you don’t want me to think you’re a freak.”
His palms were sweating. “Do you?”
“Think you’re a freak?” She laughed. “You did punch a teenager in a parking lot this morning.”
His hand slipped into a fist with the memory. “Probably shouldn’t have done that, huh?”
She thought about it. “The kid was an asshole.”
“Right.”
“But someone might have seen you.”
“Someone did,” he said. “You.”
She tilted her head back and sunlight washed over her face and down her white neck.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mercy Higgins was surprising herself with every passing minute. Somewhere between her initial embarrassment and self-consciousness and his vague answers about why he liked coming up here so much, Mercy discovered a girl who would have had great times at frat parties and maybe let girls suck shots off of her stomach.
Leaned back, head tilted, chest arched, she felt like a model. It didn’t matter she was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and her rattiest jeans and her hair was knotted behind her. Victor knew her as the quiet bookstore girl. And that was it. She didn’t have to stay that way. She could be the come hither vixen. Men always fell for that. It was all about attitude.
“What if I told someone? What if I reported you?”
“You didn’t,” he said.
“I still could.”
“You won’t.” His voice wavered just a little and she giggled. Being a vixen felt wonderful.
“And why is that?” she asked.
When he didn’t respond she fought the urge to open her eyes. He was panicking now, genuinely worried that she was going to report him for punching some stupid kid in the face. Moments ago, Mercy never would have been able to play this game. She would assure him that she wasn’t going to tell anyone. She’d apologize for making him nervous about it.
That woman was gone. Or at least on hiatus.
“You’re not going to report me,” he said, “because you liked that I hit that kid. He had been acting like an asshole. That pissed you off.”
“That’s why you hit him?” She broke character, looked at him.
He was staring at his feet. The mud was cracking off in clumps.
“Some people deserve to be hit.”
When he lifted his head there was something in his eyes she hadn’t noticed before. Something like darkness. Something a little scary.
“I guess so,” she said.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to get so intense.”
She laughed weakly and waited for the darkness to lift or harden into something more tangible but it didn’t change, just floated there in his face like a cloud. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Dad would be back soon. She hoped so, anyway.
There was a long pause, maybe a few minutes. A few crows were cawing back and forth somewhere not too far away. The breeze had chilled and when it ran over her body she fought the urge to curl back into a hunched- over, cross-legged position like a little kid. She had the upper hand and she couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let this guy think she was weak or easily won.
“I haven’t been honest with you,” he said.
“Oh?”
“I did follow you up here.”
