Page 102 of Serial Killer Games

Cat unwraps another present and another. Now she passes them all to Jake, but he just gives her a small smile and passes them on. He won’t keep any of the presents for himself. It’simpossible not to think of that bare bedroom at Grant’s, the Swedish death cleaning he’s already done. He drinks coffee like he’s breathing air and observes us all like a scientist watching an experiment unfold. He’s placed himself on the outside again. He did this all for us, and not for himself.

—

At some point Jake disappears,and then suddenly there are pancakes on the dining room table, and more coffee, and hot chocolate for Cat. Bill eats and eats, and Jake surreptitiously taps some pills from a box out onto the table next to his plate. I follow him with my eyes as Jake stokes the fire and cleans the mess of wrapping paper. More pancakes appear, and dirty dishes disappear, and then Christmas music is playing. Bill nods off in an armchair with his chin on his chest, and after Cat finishes cutting about a hundred sugar cookies with Laura, I melt onto the floor in front of the warm fire and play haunted Barbie manor with her. It’s something I never get to do. Or maybe it’s something my hamster brain neverletsme do. There’s always somuch—always, always go go go—studying, cleaning, cooking, driving, worrying, fretting, rushing. I don’t know when she got so big. She has a whole inner world I don’t know anything about. We both do. Fantasy worlds in our heads that we retreat to.

And then, suddenly, Christmas dinner. Norman fucking Rockwell. We sit around the table for hours, and I think of the life I told Jake I had planned. The old house, the fluffy, stupid dog, and the grandparents there to help. Laura smiles and compliments me on Cat, my strange, uncanny girl who never gets compliments, and her sweetness gives me a toothache; Bill shows Cat the pictures in a dusty old copy ofPeter Rabbitwith gnarled, trembling hands, and Cat tells him that shelovesrabbit; Princess farts blissfully on the Persian rug in his third outfit change. My eyes finally connect with Jake’s.

He’s been watching me this whole time—all day—to see what I think of his latest gift. Every time I look his way his eyes are on me. And for some reason it’s impossible to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. I feel like he’ll read my mind if I do, and I don’t know why I don’t want that—I don’t even know what thoughts I’m trying to keep hidden from him. But I look at him now. He’s tired and pale, and he never got around to shaving, but he smiles a shy, twisty smile at me—a real one—and my heart stutters, and who am I kidding? It’s obvious what thoughts I don’t want him to see.

He’s an agent of chaos. An opportunist and a manipulator of Machiavellian proportions. A magician who pulls coins from my ears and rabbits from hats, makes my problems vanish behind a false wall, cuts me in half and puts me back together again. My jack of spades with his shovel slung over his shoulder, who knows where all the bodies are buried, and can take care of a few more for me if I need.

44

Hag Dream

Jake

All evening there are littlesignals, little signs. As we wash the dishes at the sink, she stands close; her elbow touches mine. When I sweep the floor, she waits for me to finish, then takes the dustpan from me, our fingers brushing. When I pick up Cat for her from the sofa where she’s fallen asleep, she trails after me up the stairs and watches as I lay her down on her bed. She twitches the covers over her and flicks off the lamp beside the bed. Outside Cat’s room, we look at each other in the dark hallway for a moment.

I shouldn’t be surprised when she creeps into my room later and slides on top of me in the dark. The mattress dips as she slings her leg over me, straddling me, her hands on my chest pressing the breath out of me.

“Dodi?” I whisper. I’d been half asleep.

“Who else?”

I can smell her perfume and, underneath that, the smell of skin as her hair brushes my chest in the dark. My fingertips find her knees on either side of me.

“I thought I was having a hag dream.”

“Fuck you.” She laughs against my lips as she begins a kiss.

My breath catches in my chest, and I just lie there, afraid to breathe, afraid to move, afraid to fuck this up. She kisses me slowly, intensely, her soft inky-black hair spilling around us, her sharp nails digging into my skin through the fabric of my shirt. She drags her lips across mine one last time as I almost suffocate.

“I really hate you,” she whispers with a sharp smile. And because she lies to me, it’s easy to lie to myself.She hates me.This isn’t going to hurt her one bit.

The belt of her robe is cinched tight like the ribbon of a beautifully wrapped gift, and I take a chance and tug it loose. In retaliation she shoves my shirt up and over my head, and it’s such a relief—we’re doing this—it’s actually—

Her hand slithers down from my shoulder, across my torso, down my belly, and doesn’t stop until—

I bite my lip, but her lip’s in the way and I bite her by accident. She doesn’t mind. She comes back for more, and even though I feel like I’m smothering, I let her. Air is for chumps. I’m sinking into the mattress, stars behind my eyelids—

45

Our Lady of Sorrows

Dodi

I pull away. “You’re notwearing your tie,” I whisper against his cheek. “It’s kind of a problem.”

“Why?”

“I had plans for it.”

I’ve imagined two dozen scenarios involving Jake’s tie and not much else. Leading him to the bed like a leash before I push him backward and climb on. Cinched tight around my wrists. Cinched tight aroundhiswrists. Blindfolding his eyes—

I press my nails into his chest and his breath hitches. I rake my nail tips downward, and his rib cage spasms, then his stomach clenches, and he curls up slightly as I spread one hand over the warm, bare skin of his belly. Slowly, he relaxes back into his pillow, watching me in the dim light, waiting for whatever comes next. A reprise of cat and mouse, and the mouse has been dying for it.

He lets out a little moan when I slip my hand down and wrap my fingers around him. I never actually said I disliked agood pillow princess, did I? I touch him while he lies back, helpless, eyelids fluttering, and then he rolls his hips involuntarily, his hands creeping up my thighs, his fingertips digging in—

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