Page 61 of Caution Tape

That’ll make careers.

“The Train Car Temptress”

“The Honeypot Slayer”

And I’ll be the body they never found.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cora

The adrenaline from earlier has faded completely. My muscles are aching and sluggish, and a heaviness drags at me. When you’re a kid, you can fall asleep anywhere, in the back of cars, on the floor. I remember playing outside after a snowstorm, trudging around for hours until finally sprawling out on my back in soft snow, staring up at ice-blue skies, watching thin wispy clouds drift by. Exhaustion brought its own peace.

I want that now.

But I don’t have a snow field. I have my dead therapist’s car.

Hoisting myself up onto the hood, I lean back on it, stretching out as much as possible. It isn’t great, but it’ll do. The windshield is hard against the back of my head and the hood creaks and pops each time I move, but I’m so tired I don’t care. At this point, it feels like my bed. I close my eyes and doze lightly, examining the events of the last week in my mind.

Jerald’s body seemed to mark something, a certain point of no return. I had looked down at the ruined, bloated corpse of my friend and felt very little. A small ember of anger, and I knew I could blow on it, make it burn into a raging fire or…

I could let it go. Become more like Nolan.

This whole time, I had thought I was pissed off about him taking my friend away from me, when it had been much deeper than that. Before I met Nolan, I have always wanted to kill, but I didn’t know how. I knew that it was looked down upon and I thought it was an urge I’d have to learn to live with forever, without ever being able to unleash that part of myself.

Yet, Nolan did it with such ease.

What does he have that I don’t, and most importantly, how do I get it?

As if summoned by my thoughts, the metal door of the train car screeches open, and I hear his footsteps.

If he asks me what’s wrong, I’ll scream. If I have to hear another man take that tone with me, like I’m a toddler throwing a tantrum, I’ll lose it. I’ll just fucking lose it.

The car dips lower and I hear the hood clunk as Nolan climbs up next to me. I refuse to open my eyes, but I can tell he’s watching me.

Something warm and leather that smells like Nolan is laid over me. His jacket.

Opening my eyes, I see him lying next to me, his hands behind his head, propping himself up slightly so he can watch the beginning pinpricks of light coming over the horizon. He yawns lazily.

“What a day, huh? Do you want to get breakfast?”

He’s doing it again. Being oddly sweet. The back and forth continues; one second showing you the body of your dead friend, and the next giving you his jacket and asking you to breakfast.

I can’t take it anymore. I need clarity. Or confrontation. If he’s going to kill me, fine. Fuck it, do it now. If he’s going to say he loves me and wants to run away together, okay, sure, let’s do that. I can’t exist in the grey area between us anymore.

“Why do you do that?” I blurt out.

He turns slightly. “Breakfast? I’m a big waffles guy.”

“No. You know what I mean. You kill people—“

“We both kill people now.”

”And it’s like you’re plotting to kill me, then you’re taking care of me instead. Sometimes you’re nice, and sometimes you’re pure fucking evil. You help me kill Michael, which, in your brain, was probably something really special, and then you hug me and thank me. Now you show me Jerald’s corpse like you’re proud of it. What…”

All the thoughts are spilling out of me, and I have to gulp the chilly air for breath. I turn on my side, nestling in his jacket even as I confront him.

“Nolan, what do you want from me? For this one moment, please, no schemes, no serial killer act. Tell me exactly what’s on your mind. Do you have feelings for me? Do you even have emotions? What...”

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