Page 6 of Antihero
"Your family is here?" I ask, watching her.
Her eyes flicker to me for a moment. "They were."
There it is, that something I've seen in her before. Maybe it’s the thing that’s drawing me to her, as screwed up as I am. Some undefinable sadness in her eyes, under the sweet demeanour. Something that warns not to be pressed.
I don't know if I should press, so I don't.
"You?" Paige comes to sit next to me, her hip almost brushing mine as she sways and playfully nudges my shoulder with hers—although with the height difference, this pretty much results in her brushing my bicep. "Here to start a family?"
Laughing, I shake my head. "Not quite."
"Good."
I raise an eyebrow. "Is it?"
"Well," she muses, leaning back on her hands and swinging her legs. The back of her boots thump softly on each mossy impact. "I can't have children." Paige spots my confused frown and manages a weak smile. "Just a medical thing."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be! I don't think I like kids that much, anyway." Paige tilts her head away. Her next words tumble out awkwardly, like she's embarrassed to have alluded to the possibility we might one day do anything that could make babies. "Maybe that’s too much for a first date. I just like to get that information out there early. Wouldn't want to waste your time if you're set on dadhood."
I look at her for long enough that she’s forced to meet my eyes. "You're not wasting my time," I say, and the smile that grows onher face in response is warm enough to burn away some of the ice over my heart.
The light is dim as we descend back into town, the rocks slick. Until now, Paige has been nimble on the uneven ground, not slipping once. So, when she takes my arm as though to steady herself, I feel a treacherous warm glow spread through my chest, one to match her warmth seeping through my jacket.
It's going well until we get back into town. The restaurant is closing, and my curfew is due soon. Paige picks up a newspaper left on a table, looking for the movie schedule for our next date. Which, she told me, had to be somewhere warmer.
The death of the former deputy is on the front page as I turn to face her. "Bit of a local haunting, huh? The Wraith?"
She peeks at what I'm talking about, then opens back to the movie’s page somewhere in the middle. "Oh yeah, for a bit over a year now. He's got some agenda alright, who knows what."
"She," I say absently.
Frowning up at me, Paige asks, "What?"
"I, uh, I think it’s a woman."
Shaking her head once, the newspaper lowers. "Female serial killers are very rare." What would she say if she found out that I was related to one of the worst of them? If she found out that I, myself… "Why would you think that?" Paige prompts.
"Well, she's targeting mostly men, older, usually single, usually in their homes, with no sign of forced entry. Like they let her in. She might seduce them, or otherwise charm them." Paige looks sceptical, and I find myself barrelling on. “And the one woman she's attacked was on the street, so less reliant on trust, more sneaking. Then there's the manner; strangulation. Usually, a man will only strangle their victims if they've already committed some act of violence towards them; beating, or rape, and they'll do it with their bare hands. But to use a cord, it’s almost the non-violent route. More of what a woman wouldchoose. An angry one, but one who's not naturally violent. So, she probably feels that these people have wronged her somehow."
Silence. A beat later, Paige says a little weakly, "Right."
I wish I could bite my tongue off. What the hell am I doing? Mentioningrape, of all things, on a first date? She's still staring at me. I clear my throat. Now, of all times, I decided to run my mouth. Really? "Anyway…"
Paige laughs uncomfortably and folds the newspaper, probably regretting ever picking it up. "What did you say you did for a living, again?"
God, here's where my unlikely story comes to bite me in the ass. "Just an accountant."
"With a penchant for crime stories?"
"Yep."
"Um…" She puts the newspaper back on the table. "Well, I should be…"
"Yes. Goodnight.” I give an awkward wave, like a teenager who's never talked to a real woman before, and I quickly turn away. I spend every step that it takes to make it back up the cliff before curfew, cringing at myself.
That night, the brief, light doze I somehow manage to fall into gets broken by a man’s voice.
