Sociopaths In Love (27 page)

". . . I don't
know what I would call the next thing," the man said. "It wasn't
anger, exactly, except maybe it was. I was angry that I was now
expected to
do
something
."

Erica noticed Walt stiffen again.

"Isn't that how these things are supposed to
end?" the man said. "We can either do something like accept you,
make peace with you, or we can hunt you down and kill you. But,
when the killer is revealed, when the killer is found out, we
cannot be apathetic anymore. We can't just say 'Who cares?' That
looks bad."

The others in the room now gathered around
Walt, staring at the man with predatory eyes.

Surprisingly, the man stared back with
equally predatory eyes.

Even more surprising was what Erica saw
filling the doorway and extending as far back into the hallway as
she could see.

More people.

Parents, she guessed.
People like this man. But did they all feel the way this man felt?
Relieved that their children had been taken from them. Were
they
all
sociopaths? Did sociopaths just give birth to more sociopaths?
What happened when the world was overrun with them?

Erica didn't think she would be able to push
past them. There was a palpable sense of bloodlust and, part of her
was afraid she'd been implicated in the girls' deaths and would be
dealt with like Walt.

As the sociopaths began streaming in the
door, she retreated, as quickly as she could, to the cell, reaching
the inside and slamming it shut. The lock was automatic and when
she heard it catch she slumped down onto the floor, leaned against
the door, and listened to the sounds of carnage. She felt something
wet on her ass and, when she stood up to see what it was, noticed
it was blood.

Fresh Start

Consciousness was an in and
out kind of thing for Erica. At the first sound of voices that did
not sound blood crazed or psychotic, she thought she should pound
on the door and make it known to them there was a survivor in here.
But then she thought of the cave and the secrets therein and
wondered if anyone had made it around to exploring the cave. If so,
she would probably find herself in a cell like this for a very long
time. Probably the rest of her life. She thought about the MISSING
flyers she'd plastered to the wall. The names of girls came back to
her and she was able to match them to faces of boys she'd had
something to do with. She only had faces. Maybe a few names, mostly
first names. The only full name she could think of was her
father's. It had been a while ago. They were all easy prey. Men
were such suckers. She wished Walt's body were still out there,
although she doubted it would be. There was an unexplored cave
somewhere under the Ozarks where she'd like to take the body,
although she couldn't claim all of the credit. Why hadn't she cut
his dick off and shipped it to the White House like she had so many
men before him?
Sympathy
, she thought. Why sympathy?
Because he'd made it all feel new to her again. That night she
killed the other girl . . . It was different. She'd never
killed a girl before. Her mind reeled and stretched out with the
possibilities. And he'd taught her how to be unnoticeable. Before,
she'd plastered the makeup on every day, waiting for a horde of law
enforcement and television reporters to show up. She'd have to look
good. But now she didn't have to do that. All she had to do was be
herself. She thought about
Glamor
Face
and weirdstream and how contrived it
all felt. She thought about Dan Banal and how being boring was
almost the weirdest thing you could do and people would be totally
into it because, if even our celebrities were boring, then it
greatly lowered our expectations. Provided you could go unseen, the
world was a place of infinite amusement. So she lay huddled on the
floor and thought to herself how much she didn't want to be seen.
That was what she wanted. She wanted not to be seen, just like when
Walt had the cameras trained on her suffering. Only this time, it
wouldn't be only Walt, it would be the rest of the world. She
needed to get out before that happened.

When the door was finally thrown back and
the harsh fluorescent light stabbed the room, Erica scrambled away
from it, trying to find the darkest shadow she could.

She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, baby, it's okay."

It was Dawn.

"We're going to get out of here, okay?"

Erica nodded her head. Dawn wrapped her in a
soft blanket and told her she had brought some clothes. Told her
she might want to think about taking a shower. Dawn held out a
bottle of water and Erica took a few conservative sips. Dawn went
into the bathroom across the hall and ran a bath. Erica spent a
long time in the bath and got out and put on the clothes Dawn had
brought for her and looked forward to her next meal and felt
slightly rejuvenated.

"Where are we going?" Erica asked.

"East, maybe," Dawn said. "Somewhere where
we can start over. What do you think about that?"

Erica wasn't sure what she thought about
anything. It felt like she lived her life in chapters. She didn't
know if she could stop being what she was and she wasn't sure if
that was what Dawn wanted. Wasn't sure that was what she meant by
'starting over.'

"As long as we can get out of here," she
said because it expressed some kind of immediacy, some form of
gratitude for Dawn coming to get her when she could have just left
her to rot.

As they walked out of the apartment, Erica
thought the cleanup crew had done a remarkable job although, she
was sure, if she were to linger, she could find dried blood in the
cracks of the floor and in the corners of the baseboard. She
wondered if this was the end of Walt and the Boys or if it had been
the end of the parents. Maybe it had been the end of them all. She
looked at Dawn's sweet face and finally realized she was the one
who had planned all this. Probably had been planning it ever since
leaving the Boys in Missouri. Possibly even before that.

They went out into the sunshine and got into
Dawn's sporty two-seater.

"Why me?" Erica asked. "Why am I the only
one left?"

"I told you. I like you. I think you're
different."

They pulled away from the curb and wound
through downtown Dayton until they reached the highway.

Dawn was right, Erica thought. She probably
was different. She was probably way worse. And she had
survived.

She looked over at Dawn and wondered how
long she would last. How long she would be able to take her and
what her replacement would be like.

She grabbed Dawn's pale white hand and said,
"I love you."

Dawn returned the squeeze with even more
fervor and Erica wondered if there was genuine emotion, genuine
feeling in that grip, and said, "I think I just proved how much I
love you."

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