Kiss the Girls

chloroform, or maybe it was halothane. That could account for her bruising headache.
    The lights had purposely been left on in the room. She noticed they were coming from modern-looking dimmers built into the ceiling. The ceiling was low, possibly under seven feet.
    The room looked as if it had recently been built, or remodeled. It was actually decorated tastefully, the way she might have done her own apartment if she had the money and time…. A real brass bed. Antique white dresser with brass handles. A dressing table with a silver brush, comb, mirror. There were colorful scarves tied on the bedposts, just the way she did them at home. That struck her as strange. Very odd.
    There were no windows in the room. The only way out appeared to be through a heavy wooden door.
    “Nice decor,” Kate muttered softly. “Early psycho. No, it’s
late
psycho.”
    The door to a small closet was open halfway and she could see inside. What she saw made her feel physically ill.
    He’d brought her clothes to this horrible place, this bizarre prison cell. All of her clothes were here.
    Using her remaining strength, Kate McTiernan forced herself to sit upright in the bed. The effort made her heart race, and the pounding in her chest frightened her. Her arms and legs felt as if heavy weights were tied to them.
    She concentrated hard, trying to focus her eyes on the incredible scene. She continued to stare into the closet.
    Those weren’t actually her clothes, she realized. He’d gone out and bought clothes
just like hers!
Exactly to her taste and style. The clothes displayed in the closet were brand-new. She could see some of the store tags dangling from the blouses and skirts. The Limited. The Gap in
Chapel Hill.
Stores she actually shopped in herself.
    Her eyes darted to the top of the antique white dresser across the room. Her perfume was there, too. Obsession. Safari. Opium.
    He’d bought all of it for her, hadn’t he?
    Next to the bed was a copy of
All the Pretty Horses,
the same book she had bought on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill.
    He knows everything about me!

Chapter 26

    D R. KATE McTiernan slept. Awoke. Slept some more. She made a joke of it. Called herself “lazybones.” She
never
slept in. Not since before med school, anyway.
    She was begining to feel more clearheaded and alert, more in command of herself, except that she had lost track of time. She didn’t know if it was morning, noon, or night. Or even which day it was.
    The man, whoever the bastard was, had been inside the mysterious, despicable room while she slept. The thought made her physically ill. There was
a note
propped on the bedside table, where she was sure to see it.
    The note was handwritten.
Dear Dr. Kate,
it said. Her hands were trembling as she read her own name.
I wanted you to read this, so that you understand me better, and also the rules of the house. This is probably the most important letter you’ll ever receive, so read it carefully. And please take it very seriously.
No, I am not crazy or out of control. Actually, I’m quite the opposite. Apply your obviously high intelligence to the concept that I’m relatively sane, and that I know exactly what I want. Most people don’t know what they want.
Do you, Kate? We’ll talk about that later. It’s a subject worthy of much lively and interesting discussion. Do you know what you want? Are you getting it? Why not? For the good of society? Whose society? Whose life are we living, anyway?
I won’t pretend that you are happy to be here, so no false-sounding welcomes. No cellophaned basket of fresh fruit and champagne. As you will soon see, or have already, I’ve tried to make your stay as comfortable as possible. Which brings up an important point, perhaps the most important point of this first attempt at communication between us.
Your stay will be temporary. You will leave—if, Big If—you listen to what I tell you… so listen carefully, Kate.
Are you listening now? Please listen, Kate. Chase away the justifiable anger and the white noise in your head. I am not crazy or out of control.
That’s the whole point: I am in control! See the distinction? Of course you do. I know how very bright you are. National Merit Scholar and all that.
It is important that you know how special you are to me. That’s why you are completely safe here. It is also why you’ll leave, eventually.
I picked you from thousands and thousands of women at my disposal, so to speak. I know, you’re saying