Page 29 of Devotion

Layla: The only place I’d ever let you meet me is at the police station to turn yourself in.

Unknown: I’m curious. What would you gain from putting me behind bars?

I scoff at his arrogance.

Layla: Well, for starters, it wouldn’t be about me. It comes down to a simple fact. That people like you belong in confined spaces with around-the-clock security, so the community can rest easy at night.

Unknown: And what about you? Would you rest easier?

Layla: Of course, I would. I’d go on living my life in peace, knowing another piece of shit was taken off the streets.

Unknown: I see. Perhaps knowing a piece of shit like me is out roaming the earth is the reason you couldn’t enjoy your meal tonight.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I’m completely frozen, taking in his admission. I recall the figure I spotted underneath the awning tonight while Martinez and I dined. I’d convinced myself that I imagined it because he vanished so quickly, but he’s all but confirmed that I’m not, in fact, as crazy as I thought.

Unknown: Or maybe you were disgusted when you realized that asshole’s idea of fine dining is a trash heap known for its two-for-one nacho special.

Layla: That was you. You were the one watching from across the street.

Unknown: You’ve missed the fucking point.

My heart races, sensing the frustration and venom in his words.

Layla: Then, tell me. What’s this grand point that I’ve missed?

Unknown: That I’m more than just some shadow moving through your world. I’m the one looking after you, taking care of you when you aren’t even aware. The one who’d drop a body for you simply because it’s a fucking Tuesday.

The evaluation he’s just made is locked in my head, despite knowing it’s completely irrational to compare Martinez’s gesture—nachos—to someonedropping a body for me.

But then I snap out of it, ending the brief lapse in character where I subtly romanticized his murderous habits.

Layla: What you did to that librarian… that wasn’t for me. That blood isn’t on my hands.

Unknown: You planted the inspiration in my thoughts. I simply painted the picture. Like it or not, that kill was intimate, Layla. A partnership, if you will.

My stomach turns, hearing his explanation.

Layla: Don’t pull me into this shitshow with you.

Unknown: Some might argue that you’re already knee-deep in this shitshow, but… whatever helps you sleep at night.

I pause with my fingers over the keys again, hating how he’s somehow established dominance in this conversation, reducing my responses to short, defensive outbursts.

Unknown: We work so well together, I say we paint another. Tell me what you envision, and it’ll be done by morning.

An unruly rush moves through me, a sense of power as he awaits my response.

Layla: I’m not playing this game. I only came back to tell you to go to the police.

Unknown: Is that so?

Layla: Yes, I was on my way in to tell the chief everything this morning, but he was in a meeting. Consider that a sign that you’re meant to be a man and do this yourself. It’s never too late to do the right thing.

He takes longer to answer this time, and my nerves get the best of me, thinking I scared him off. Possibly forever. If that were to happen, the department would lose its one connection to a man who’s shaping up to be this decade’s most notorious killer.

Unknown: Maybe you’re right. Your sudden change of heartisa sign. But not quite the sign you’re thinking it is.

Layla: What does that even mean?

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