Page 97 of Half the Summer's Night
“I do think we need to have a little chat before we get started, though.” He ambles around the mattress, and my heart feels like it’s going to erupt out of my chest. But he doesn’t touch me. He just bends down and picks up one of the photograph print-outs I knocked off the wall earlier. “I always hated that bitch,” he mutters. “Ms. Staunton,esquire.” He rolls his eyes as he says the final word, then throws the photograph over his shoulder. “Shesucked my cock good, though. I think she thought it would save her life.”
Nausea rises in my stomach, but I know I have to focus. I squeeze the rope.You’re free, I tell myself.You’re free, and he doesn’t know it.
Kaplan crouches down beside me, his arms draped over his knees. For a long time, he doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me, his face cruel in the shadows. Then he licks his lips.
“I know you’ve got questions for me,” he says. “The other ones did. But you’re keeping your mouth shut.”
He reaches over to me like he’s going to cup my face. I jerk my head away, and he immediately slaps me. Pain blooms on my cheek.
“Look at me,” he orders. “There aren’t any fucking stairs for you to push me down now, are there?” He grabs my chin and jerks my gaze over to him. “That’s your M.O., isn’t it? You did it to Blake. You did it to Julian, too. I don’t give a fuck where they found his body.”
Another surge of nausea. There were two of them. Julian Bernet, a stranger, and Sheriff Kaplan. All his disrespect over the last two years suddenly feels far more sinister. A sign I should have seen coming.
“Is that what you did to Julian?” Kaplan asks, leaning forward. “Shove him down the stairs?”
I shake my head, and Kaplan slaps me again. Harder this time. Tears brim along my lashes.
“Don’t play stupid with me,” he snarls. “You and I both know Julian didn’t drink himself into a stupor out on Pier Fourteen. You killed him and then got that pathetic fucking simp to dispose of the body. Didn’t you?”
I look up at Kaplan through the glimmer of my tears, and I realize, with a jolt, that he’s talking about Nameless.
Kaplan doesn’t know he’s a killer, too.
“I always knew you were a danger to this community,” Kaplan continues. “A little lying murderess. My nephew was your first, wasn’t he?” Kaplan grabs my chin again, and anxiety spikes hard through my chest.
Blake Fletcher was Kaplan’s nephew. How did I not know that? No wonder he tried to oppose my appointment.
And no wonder he killed Olivia Pearce and Heather Staunton.
“I can’t believe you got off for that shit.” Kaplan leans in close to me, his breath blowing hot over my face. I shudder, trying to squirm away from him. “And those two cunts helped you. Accomplices, as far as I’m concerned.”
He shoves my head back, and it slams hard against the wall. The room spins as he stands up, his eyes still fixed on me. “Well,” he says. “They’re finally dead. And soon you will be, too.” He smiles. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he adjusts his crotch.
I stare up at him, my fist tight around the rope. “Julian attacked me,” I finally say. “Just like Blake did.”
Kaplan freezes, rage crawling over his face. I know it makes my situation worse, pissing him off, but there’s also something satisfying about it. Knowing how easily I can get under his skin.
“Blake never hurt anyone,” Kaplan snarls. “Blake was a fucking All-Star offensive lineman.”
“Blake was an asshole,” I shoot back. “A bully. And a rapist.” Heat floods through my face. “Just like you.”
Kaplan hits me again, and it’s not a slap, either. His fist connects with my cheek, and my head slams hard against the wall. Pain blooms in my temple, and the room blinks in and out of focus. All I hear is a kind of fuzzy static. Then?—
“—a lying cunt.”
I blink up at Kaplan, who sneers down at me, his face twisted and ugly. For a moment, it reminds me of Nameless’s mask, andI feel a twist of sorrow inside me. A simp, Kaplan called him, but Nameless isn’t here to protect me. He didn’t come to me when I needed him most.
Now, I’m trapped in this terrible room, and it’s like when I was sixteen. Blake had leered down at me, too. Smirked as he flung me up against the wall and shoved himself inside me.
And I was alone. No one came to save me. So I had to save myself.
I squeeze the rope in my fist. It’s not much, but it’s all I have. Just like I had the stairs when I was sixteen.
“I’m going to enjoy this so much,” Kaplan says, running his hands down his dark jeans. “You have no idea how hard it was to hold off until the time was right.”
There’s too much space between us. I have a rope, and I need to get it around Kaplan’s throat. I need himonme, a thought that fills me with a sick, squirmy disgust.
“How long have you been planning this?” I ask, the first thing I can think to say. He’s already shown that he’ll attack me if I piss him off enough. I just need to rile him up enough, then make my move before he can hurt me too much.
