Page 12 of Strings Attached
When I was done, I took a seat on the sofa, regretting my choice of placement. The closest one to the armchair. “I’m guessing you’re here to discuss my proposal?” I asked in a small voice. It was so unlike me to waver. As though he had some sort of power I couldn’t fight against.
“I’d like to set a condition before I agree to this interview. As well as some clarification.” He leaned back in the chair as though he was the most comfortable he’d ever been.
I, on the other hand, clenched the material of my dress into my fists, bunching it. “Let’s start with clarifications, then?”
“Would this be a one-time interview, or does it span over several days?” He drummed his gloved fingers against the armrest. “Or are you expecting to follow me everywhere and also watch me... work?”
I gawked at him. Would he actually let me do that? I’d be a witness, something he never allowed as far as I knew. “Is that...a possibility? The second option, I mean...”
“Yes, but this is where my conditions come in,” he said with amusement. “I’ll ask something of you after every time you interview me.”
“Something?” I repeated, arching an eyebrow. Did he want me to kill someone?
“For example, I might ask you a question about yourself. And I’ll want the truth.”
I thought on that for a few seconds. “The methodology for the interview is supposed to be done in an unbiased way. Getting to know the interviewee could skew?”
“That’s my condition,” he said with a shrug.
I thought of a few more arguments but had the feeling when this man made up his mind about something, there was no changing it. “Okay. But when I ask you questions, I want the truth, too.”
“Agreed.”
“Could you give me another example of doing something? I mean, I don’t want to aid you in killing anyone if that’s?”
“I’ll never ask you to hurt someone or take their life.” He leaned forward, and I stiffened to stop myself from backing away. “What I may ask you is to act as bait to lure someone out of somewhere.”
I didn’t care for that at all, but refusing might end up with him refusing the interview. And if he said no, I wasn’t sure he’d give me the chance to disappear like I planned. Not to mention, it was a bit of a bluff since I didn’t really want to start over someplace else. “I agree. Any other conditions?”
“No.” He put out his hand, and I took it, shaking on their agreement. His palm was warm through the leather, and I let out a small breath, relieved he wouldn’t kill me. Not this day, anyway.
He chuckled. “I’m surprised you didn’t name any conditions yourself.”
“Interviews are supposed to happen naturally. Putting conditions on my end would be detrimental to my data. The only thing I need to do on my end is input my PIN every evening.” I scratched at my leg and winced when my fingernails caught the cut from the night before. I hissed through my teeth and twisted in my seat to look at the wound. There hadn’t been time to disinfect it, and with the way this building was maintained?or rather, wasn’t?I wouldn’t be surprised if the cut got infected if I didn’t do something about it soon.
I got to my feet and walked past him. “Excuse me a minute.”
Inside the bathroom, I took out the rubbing alcohol and band-aids and set them on the tiny amount of counter I had next to the sink. The room was small, but it was enough for what I needed, and I wouldn’t complain. Although doing acrobatics to try reaching my leg wasn’t too fun.
He stepped into the doorframe, and I froze, staring up at him while sitting on the toilet seat. I hadn’t closed the door; it always made me too claustrophobic, and I hadn’t even thought of the fact I had someone in my home. He crouched, grabbing the makeup removal pad with alcohol I’d been trying to use on the wound. It reminded me of how he’d sat next to me when he’d drugged me the second time. It had been a lot gentler than the first. I rubbed my neck at the spot, recalling all too well the pain of being stabbed with a needle.
“Does the PIN change every day?” he asked so nonchalantly I didn’t realize what he was really asking at first.
“It does. I get a random code sent by email I have to decipher each time.”
“That’s quite the software engineering skillset you have. And deciphering codes? You’re interesting...” He opened the band-aid and put it against the cut, rubbing it with his thumb a few times.
I got to my feet, and at this angle, when he looked up at me, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. His eyes weren’t ever visible, but I could sense his stare each time. Like in the grocery store. “Did...you want to start the interview now?” I asked in a quiet tone.
He straightened, towering over my five foot six; he was likely around six-four. Even with the jacket, his muscular arms bulged beneath the material. No wonder he could easily kill people; even with my bat, I likely didn’t stand a chance.
“You seem nervous,” he said, and I could hear the smirk.
“I don’t like being...” I didn’t want to tell him my fears. He could easily use them against me if he wanted to. “I’d like to step out of the bathroom and go back into the main room if you don’t mind?”
He looked around, the black mask with the smile catching the light a few times. “You don’t like being what?”
I was about to lie but remembered I agreed to his condition. Telling the truth was part of that. “Is this your favor for the day?”
