Page 1 of A Christmas to Die For
"Tell me what you were feeling the night you killed him."
My words cut through the silence that's pressed in on us for the last twenty minutes of this interview. The air seems to thicken, heavy with expectation. This is the moment, the part everyone's been waiting for.
"It... it wasn't even a decision," Holly stammers. She shifts in her seat, her hands trembling, fingers curling into fists before releasing. She avoids my gaze, and I can almost see her weighing the words before they leave her lips.
Up until now, our conversation has been fluid, easy—a casual stroll through her history with her boyfriend of four years. But now the air has gone still, everyone in the room holding their breath.
I lean in closer, the mic between us picking up the faintest scratch of my breath. I'm calm,but firm. "Go on."
Her eyelids flutter, and I watch a single tear tremble at the edge of her lashes. "It wasn't a hard decision to kill him," Holly admits. "Despite being with him for so long, it was just… I had to do it. It had to be done."
Holly shifts slightly, her hand absently pulling at the frayed fibers of the pillow in her lap, as if her mind is a million miles away from the room. I, however, am focused on that ratty pillow that we desperately need to replace. I make a mental note to tell Mara, my assistant, that we need some new decor in here. If I notice this small detail, so will our viewers.
"I plunged the nearby knife deep into his throat before he even knew it was coming. When I pulled it back…" Holly uses her fingertips to press into her eyelids, no doubt reliving the horrific night. "When the knife came out, the blood didn't just pour, it exploded! Every beat of his heart sent blood surging out in violent pulses, the rhythm of his life slipping away. There was a wet gurgling sound, like… like…"
I'm salivating over the picture she's painting for our audience. The imagery she's conjuring with her words is incredible. I jump in to enhance it with a vivid description.
"Like a fountain shooting out water?" I confirm.
"Yes, it was horrific. I knew I hit his carotid artery—I should know, I'm in med school—but I never realized it'd be so much. His blood sprayed all over me, getting in my mouth and my eyes, but he deserved it. He deserved worse."
"What thoughts went through your head when you knew he was dead?"
"When I saw the life drain from his face, his cheeks turning ghostly white, I felt… nothing."
"Nothing?" I repeat.
"I wasn't even me anymore.I felt like a spectator, hovering above, watching from the ceiling. My subconscious had drifted away, unable to comprehend why I'd done something like that to the man I loved."
"And you did love Jack, right?"
"Ididlove him."
"But not anymore? Because..." I press.
"Because... of all the women he killed."
"And you had no idea, no feeling in your gut that something was off? That you were under the same roof as a serial killer?"
"No. Not a clue. Not even a hint that he might have been capable of such horrific acts."
"This all happened after you found—"
"The underwear collection. I couldn't—Icouldn't—"
Holly's face twists into one of pure disgust, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment as if trying to block out the memory. She looks like she might puke up the complimentary pastries and coffee we have laid out in front of us.
"I assume you saw the photo, Sabrina?" she asks me, but it's less of a question and more a statement.
"I have," I confirm, but inside, I'm churning. Whohasn'tseen the photo? I have no idea how the media got hold of the evidence Holly found, but once it leaked, all hell broke loose.
I glance at Mara, who's been working hard to keep the interview on track, steering me back to the original question when Holly gets sidetracked.
But this time, Mara gives a subtle shake of her head, a warning to hold off on the photo. We don't need topush Holly further. Showing it now could break her, sending the interview into a spiral of tears and hyperventilation.
I do it anyway.
"This photo?" I say, ignoring the plan and flipping the tablet around.
