Page 58 of Pure Killers

"For what?" growling the words, he steps towards me, and I reflexively step back, coming up against the fridge.

"For Needler!" I yell back, as though it’s obvious. To me, it is.

"Needler?You think I'm Needler?"

"Why not?" I slide my back off the fridge, stepping further into the kitchen instead. “Your disappearing acts, first at the stakeout, and Butcher turned himself in the next morning… Then at the diversion, and someone else dies!” I’m convincing myself now, words pouring out of my mouth, evidence is mounting. “You know where I live,andyou found me at the filtration plant!"

"Wait, where you live?" Dirk's eyes widen, the anger of a moment ago momentarily forgotten. "Has Needler been here?"

I ignore him, shaking my head, gripping my scalp with both hands so that my hair becomes more of a mess. “You’re always trying to push me off the trail… He threatened to kill you.”

“Hewhat?” The anger is back, as is that horror I’d envisioned.

"…So I'd have a good reason to never have seen you both at once. You have deals with criminals like we thought he might, how he finds his victims... He just didn’t want you there at the same time… And the obsession with Cocooner." I'm backing away, towards the rear of the kitchen. Needler had once been in here with me. I'd backed away from him, too. "Because…”

Dirk is holding his hands out like I'm a frightened animal now. "Okay, you’re stressed, you need rest…”

“Because it isyou!”

"El…"

"You're Needler!You've got to be…"

Finally, something snaps. Dirk's yell takes me by surprise. “Are you fucking insane?”

I flinch. He's never yelled at me before. My paranoia fills the gaps. If my husband wasthat, my partner can bethis. Here I amin the corner, but he's backed into another corner. That must be why he's finally breaking. This is it. "You're not denying it."

Dirk only stares at me for a beat, then laughs, a dry, humourless choke. He runs his hands through his hair like he wants to rip it out. “I could as easily accuse you. Think about what you’re saying!”

That gets through the haze. “Me?”

“Who do usually we look to first in a murder case? Who so often did it?” He's coming towards me again, big and looming. "The spouse."

“Stop.”

“No. Think about it; Your husband bothered you, maybe beat you, assaulted you. Maybe you found out what he really was. You snapped and killed him. You spend two years fighting the urge to do it again.” I’m backing away, up to the bench. “But you can’t resist the urge anymore. You reason that if you only kill the bad ones…”

“Stop!”

Somehow, he's closed me in… caged me. I shove hard at his chest, so hard I'm out of breath, like I'd been holding it until now. He falls back a step and we both stare at each other. He's as angry as I've ever seen him. For a minute we just stand there in a standoff. Then Dirk throws his hands up. "Fuck this. I'm done."

"Where are you going?" I demand, an edge of panic in my voice as I watch him leave the kitchen.

"Off to stab someone,partner."

***

I cut myself cleaning up the glass the next day. It feels deserved, just like my pounding headache. Stopping is when it hurts most, when everything you said and did comes under a new, shaming light. I should go back to work. I know that’s my only choicebefore I manage to drain my whole life away. But that would be much easier if I hadn't screamed nonsense at Dirk yesterday.

Even harsher in the light of clarity is recognising that he's the one to have helped me the most. He convinced Tawill to send me home, then to bring me back. He wanted to save me from finding out the way I did. Now I've thanked him by accusing him of being a serial killer.

Gritting my teeth, I call him, trying not to be relieved when he doesn’t answer. I don’t even know what I’d say, how I’d explain myself. Then, half an hour later, when the phone rings and I lunge to answer it, I try not to be disappointed that it’s not him.

“H-hey, how are y-you?”

“Hey Seb,” I say, leaning against the wall, eyes closed. I’d forgotten all about Seb with everything. What must he be thinking? The woman he’s been going on lunch dates with, is now the confirmed widow of a psychopath. “I’m… well, shit, really.”

“Want to g-get l-l-lunch?” His stutter is either more pronounced or worse over the phone.

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