Page 77 of Vicious Hearts

I take a sip. He puts the bottle beside him and sits cross-legged opposite me.

"You must know it's over for you," I say. "Simon will tell the truth, and the cops will come. Why make it worse?"

"Worse than what?" Oliver gives a hollow laugh. "I killed six children that they know of, plus Graham Fisher. Do you think sparing you and young Eddie here will make a difference? You gonna do that thing you do, demand compassion for me? Say I'm misunderstood?"

He wants to be understood. Admired, even.

I have to keep him talking for as long as possible. If he starts telling his story, he'll want to finish it.

"I always looked up to you, Oliver," I say, "but people will find out what you've done and think you're just a loser."

Risky to say that. It could go either way.

Oliver frowns. "Hmm. Doyouthink I'm a loser?"

"Not at all. It's not fun being here like this, but you must have your reasons."

Tell me all your bullshit justifications for the disgusting things you've done. Take as long as you like.

"I was lonely," he says. "Do you know what that's like? I know you do. Your Mommy and Daddy didn't love you."

Fuck you.

"Theydid, once," I whisper, "but something went wrong."

"Doesn't it always?" Oliver rubs a crimson spot on the concrete floor. "My father spoiled me, after a fashion, but he sure as shit didn't love me. As for Momma, well. She was never as accommodating, but I could get around her."

My mind is playing tricks on me. I thought I heard footsteps overheard, but no.

"You told me you never knew your family," I say.

Oliver glares at me. "You don't think maybe I told a few whoppers, Roxanne? Everything you know is a lie. Even the numbers are wrong. Back when I had help getting my hands on the little fuckers, I killed many more than six."

My blood chills at his words.

I'm gonna die here.

"I wanted to ask you something," I say. "Why didn't you have Farraday murdered? All this effort to keep the man under control when you could have silenced him forever?"

Oliver smiles. "Truthfully? He was atrophy. I wanted to keep him in a box, just like all those sweet little fingers, and look in on him whenever I chose." My expression betrays my disgust, and he scoffs at me. "You'd have another word for that, I expect."

Despite everything, he wants my approval. I guess he's never talked to anyone about this before.

If I deny him the understanding he craves, he may be unable to resist the urge to dig his heels in and demand it. Narcissists are like that—they want their superiority recognized. I read that someplace.

Of course, he might get mad and kill me.

Don't give up. Think your way through, as Ben would.

"To be honest, I'd call it hubris," I say, "or just plain old-fashioned conceit. Amazing you managed to keep up a murder career for so long with that kind of sloppy self-indulgence."

Oliver's nostrils flare with anger, but I can almost see the cogs turning in his head. He hates that I don't see things his way.

"You don't get it. Momma's the same. She misses the point every time." He gets to his feet and starts pacing. "Those children barelyhadlives to lose. Do you think little Max Fisher was happy? Graham was a terrible parent, and his wife didn't try to stand up to him. That boy was out of the house a lot, and he used to come by my place and have lemonade. It was our secret. Wetalked. His life was worthless and difficult, so I helped him. That's what I do, remember? Ihelpchildren. I won awards for it."

I can't respond. I'm just staring, open-mouthed.Does he really believe that?

I suddenly understand. Max's body was dumped over three hours away from his home, buried in wasteland. If it hadn't been for a metal detectorist picking up his belt buckle, he might never have been found.

---