Page 19 of The Silent Night Stalker
What a surreal evening. I want to be angry at him, but my mind is still under the influence. I feel calmer than I should at the moment.If I hadn’t been drugged, I’d beat the fuck out of him again. I don’t give a fuck if he’s passed out.
And why the hell is he sleeping next to me?! Did the idiot drug himself? Nothing surprises me anymore.
My head is starting to throb as the drug leaves my system, but I need to move away from him, no matter how I feel. I slowly slide my body across my floor, careful not to wake him up, not that I care about being polite, but I need to process and decide what to do with him.
When I move away, I sit up, wrap my arms around my raised knees, and stare at the fucking psycho. Despite being more alert, I feel too good to hate him right now. What the hell did he give me?
I stand to test out my legs. While I’m still dazed, I can walk and move around fine. I head toward my closet and from the top shelf, I quietly grab my box of toys I used whenever I bring a guy home to fuck, and pull out my handcuffs.
With a deep breath, I bound over to him, quickly flipping him onto his stomach. I handcuff his hands behind him before he can react, but he quickly wakes up and makes a strangled keening noise as he starts to struggle. Ignoring his sudden panic, I sit him up on the floor and lean him against my bed.
I quickly close my door and lock it in case he tries to escape, but he doesn’t. Instead, the man cowers and whimpers, shrinking away from me. For someone bold enough to break into my home, attack me, and drug me, he is terrified. I’m stumped as to what the hell is going on.
“Who are you?!” I yell, though no rage is coursing through me. Still, I needed fucking answers. I flip on the light, and we both blink at the brightness. “Did you kill my brother, Enrique Escarra? Who sent you? Was it the Da Costa family? Do you work for them? Or were you hired? Why try to kill me? Why kill Enrique? Answer me now!”
The man visibly trembles and rocks back and forth, shaking his head as he mumbles, “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Wrong, wrong, wrong… It’s all wrong. How could I have made such a mistake? How? Stupid, stupid…”
I walk over to my nightstand, open the drawer, and pull out my loaded gun. Without removing the safety or loading a bullet into the chamber, I point the gun at him. He freezes and instantly shuts up, but tears are streaming down his face. Fucking hell. Am I still hallucinating? It’s hard to tell, but I don’t think so. I feel more lucid than I did earlier.
I squat in front of him, keeping my distance as he eyes me warily with bloodshot blue eyes. His face is starting to swell and bruise, and there’s blood dripping from his brow and bottom lip, which is crusting in his short beard.
“Let’s keep it simple, yeah? Because one way or another, I’m going to get answers.”
“Pl-please don’t hurt me. I-I-I…” He swallows visibly and tries again. “I thought I was helping.”
I raise a brow as this surreal situation gets even stranger.
“Helping? You think killing me was helping me?”
He quickly nods. “Y-you were hurting. I saw you. Heard you. You needed me… Or s-so I thought. So wrong. I was wrong.”
Holy shit, this guy is off his rocker. “Did someone send you?”
He shakes his head. “You did. You were hurting. I wanted your pain to end.”
“You’re not making any sense!” My voice booms, and he cowers again.
“If-if I explain to you and tell you… Just please don’t hit me again. Please. I beg you. It’s… I can’t. I can’t…” He starts rocking again, and now he’s sobbing.
I rubmy eyes with the heels of my hands, and then I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming or imagining all this. Never in my wildest dreams…
“No promises, but if you tell me everything, I’ll… think about it.”
His forehead is glistening with sweat, dampening his hair, which falls over his eyes. He flips his head back to get it out of his face to see better.
“God, it’s all over. I thought… My name is Arthur. Fuck, I hate that name. He made me hate my own name… But you should know. Yes, you should know and understand.”
I’m starting to feel normal again, at least physically, and with that comes my lack of patience and agitation. The thing is, I’m more curious than angry with this asshole.
“Focus,” I snap.
Another sob escapes him, and his head drops. “I failed. Oh, god… I can’t wait until next year. What have I done? I don’t know if I can take it…”
There’sthat anger, and I tap into it. “Dammit! Shut up,Arthur! Tell me what the fuck is going on here.”
“I hate that name so much. Call me Constantine.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Speak!”
