“But you like to watch.”
Zillis said nothing. He hung his head.
In some ways, this was easier than Billy had expected it to be. He had thought that asking deeply unpleasant questions and listening to another human being grovel in despondent self-justification would be so distressing that he would not be able to sustain a productive interrogation. Instead, he had a sense of power from which he drew confidence. And satisfaction. The ease of it surprised him. The ease of it scared him.
“They’re very nasty videos, Stevie. They’re very sick.”
“Yes,” Zillis said softly. “They are. I know.”
“Have you ever made any videos of yourself hurting women that way?”
“No. God, no.”
“You’re whispering, Stevie.”
He raised his chin from his chest, but he wouldn’t look toward Billy. “I’ve never hurt a woman that way.”
“Never? You’ve never hurt a woman that way?”
“No. I swear.”
“How have you hurt them, Stevie?”
251
“I never have. I couldn’t.”
“You’re such a choirboy, is that it?”
“I like to… watch it.”
“Watch women being hurt?”
“I like to watch, all right? But I’m ashamed.”
“I don’t think you’re ashamed at all.”
“I am. I am ashamed. Not always during, but always after.”
“After what?”
“After… watching. This isn’t… Oh, man. This isn’t what I want to be.”
“Who would want to be what you are, Stevie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Name me one person. One person who would want to be what you are.”
“Maybe nobody,” Zillis said.
“How ashamed are you?” Billy persisted.
“I’ve thrown the videos away. Lots of times. I’ve even destroyed them. But then, you know… after a while, I buy new ones. I need help to stop.”
“Have you ever sought help, Stevie?”
Zillis didn’t respond.
“Have you ever sought help?” Billy pressed.
“No.”
“If you really want to stop, why haven’t you sought help?”
“I thought I could stop on my own. I thought I could.”
Zillis began to cry. His eyes were still glazed from the Mace, but these were real tears.
“Why have you done those things to the mannequins in the other room, Stevie?”
“You can’t understand.”
“Yeah, I’m just stodgy old Billy Wiles, got no zing, but give me a try anyway.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, what I did to them.”
“For something that doesn’t mean anything, you sure put a lot of time and energy into it.”
252
“I won’t talk about this. Not this.” He wasn’t refusing as much as pleading.
“I won’t.”
“Does it make you blush? Stevie? Does it offend your tender sensibilities?”
Zillis cried continuously now. Not wrenching sobs. The steady, scalding tears of humiliation, of abashment.
He said, “Doing it isn’t the same as talking about it.”
“You mean what you do to the mannequins,” Billy clarified.
