Page 43 of Pure Killers

"Yeah,start. She was like third.”

“But if it was him, we could look at who he was close to, for who the new Cocooner is.”

“Well, that’s the thing. He really wasn’t close to anyone. A loner, especially after Cassandra died. She had problems; drugs, violence. They’d bounced around foster homes growing up, all each other had, I’d guess. But she was coming clean when it happened. It screwed him up. Especially the way she was found.”

I nod slowly. “The Cocooner made a mistake.” In one of Cocooner’s only mishaps, the body came loose and fell into old fertiliser, which acted as acid and left little in the way of DNA but a few strands of hair caught above by the time she was found. There was some evidence of what was left of a body being dragged away, just smears on the concrete by then. Reportedly, the scene had been a horrific one to untangle. I’m glad to not have been active during that period.

“Yeah, you really think he’d have done that to his sister? He put up missing posters for her, hanging onto the fact we couldn’t attribute her death to Cocooner because of the state of the body.”

I wrinkle my nose. I remember seeing those posters, the blond woman, a bit chubby, with a big smile but sad eyes, at least in the photo I saw, which was grainy from being blown up so big. But then, it’s hard to look at a missing poster and not see sadness somewhere. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, it was shit to witness, too.”

"You're right," I sigh. This is convoluted. And if any of this is true, then who killed my husband?

***

He's here, now, in the room.

I know from the moment I open my eyes in the utter blackness. Usually I leave the blinds so that a little light comes in. But not now. I sit up with a gasp and feel him there before me. My chest rises and falls fast. "Needler?" I demand.

"Shhh," comes a soft hiss from the side of the room. Soft creaks on the floorboards, pressure tilting the side of the mattress. "Wouldn’t want your roommate hearing, would you?" he coos, voice low, so close. I reach out and feel his hand close over mine, just skin, no glove. The tiny hairs of my face tinglewith the understanding that he's come close, his breath on my lips erotic in the utter blackness.

"You shouldn't be h…" I start, but then his mouth is on mine, hot and soft. The metal brushes cold on my cheek.

It’s then, as he's pressing me back, the blanket between us, his hips weighing down on mine, that my eyes pop open with a start. I didn't wear pants tonight. I'd finally gotten tired of wearing them just in case he showed up. So all I'm in is an oversized t-shirt, and as the blanket slides down to my waist and the shirt rides up, I'm very aware of what he promised last time.

I press up on his chest, breaking the kiss, and he slides his lips to my jaw instead. My fingers curl over the curve of his shoulder. Even with my eyes open I can hardly see. He's just a shape above me, an extra darkness. Somehow, there's no blanket between us now, and my bare thighs are trapped under the coarse material of his pants. "Fuck," I breathe, "I mustn't…"

"You mustn't. I must," he grates, low by my earlobe, which he then nips.

I feel the movements, his chest pressing on mine as he takes the weight off my hips to edge his pants down. And I don't stop it. Instead, I find his face with my hands, part flesh, part metal, drawing his mouth back onto mine. "I'm going to hell," I gasp.

He laughs, static and close. There’s another sound through our mingled breath, foil tearing.

"You have a condom?" I ask, since I can't see what he's doing as his weight leaves me momentarily.

"Well, I'm not about to give you more DNA to take to your little lab, am I?"

My jaw tightens. "Take your mask off."

His laugh is half-surprised. I say again, "Take it off. You've still got the voice changer. You know I can't see you anyway."

I can feel his suspicion on me, even in the pitch blackness. I stare back at him, or where I assume he is, from the heat on my thighs.

"That’s your condition?"

"Yes. That’s my condition."

"Very well." After a pause, I hear a shuffling, something tapping down on my bedside table, beside my head. His heat comes over me again, my hands sliding up his chest over a shirt as he kisses me, and there’s no cold metal against my cheek this time. There's only skin against skin. His belly comes flush over mine, both our shirts ridden up between us, and something else, close, prodding.

I feel his tip and gasp, jolting backward. "Shh," he sighs against my ear again. "Nice and easy, just the tip for now."

My chest rises and falls fast. In the blindness, all I can do is focus on the other sensations, the touch, the heat, the sound of his breath and the way it sweeps down my neck. He presses, the first inch foreign and promising. My breath catches, then catches again on a sharp inhale as he pushes, much more than the tip. Sharp pleasure fills my abdomen. I'm squeezed around his shaft, hyperaware, tingling all over in anticipation of more. A sound, half protest, half pleasure, escapes me.

"Quiet now," he coos, pulling my hair up from my ear. "Just a bit more… your pussy is trying to suck me in…"

“Wait,” I gasp. “I can’t.”

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