Riptide

for much longer, Rebecca. The effects
    will fade, and then you'll be heaving with fear, you'll be so
    scared of me."
    "Yeah, yeah, yeah."
    He slapped her. She didn't see his hand, it was just there, connecting
    sharply against her cheek. She tried to leap at him, but she
    realized she was tied down, her hands over her head, her wrists tied
    to the slats of the headboard. So she was lying on a bed. Her legs
    were free. She was still wearing her nightgown, a white cotton
    nightgown that came up to her chin and went down to her ankles.
    He'd smoothed it over her legs.
    She said with a sneer in her voice, "Hey, I liked the slap better
    than you licking me. You're really brave, aren't you? Would you like

to let my hands free, just for a minute, and then we'll see how brave
    you are?"
    "Shut up!"
    He was standing beside her, leaning down, breathing hard. She
    couldn't see his hands, but she imagined they were fists, ready to
    bash her.
    She said very quietly, "Why did you kill Linda Cartwright?"
    "That fat bitch? She was bothering me, always begging, pleading,
    whining when she was thirsty or she wanted to pee or she
    wanted to lie down. I got tired of it."
    She said nothing at all, beyond words, wondering what had
    made him into a madman or had he been born like this? Born evil,
    nothing to blame but screwed-up genes.
    She could hear him tapping his fingers, tap, tap, tap. He wanted
    her to say something, wanted it badly, but she held quiet.
    "Did you like my present to you, Rebecca?"
    "No."
    "I saw you puking your guts out."
    "I thought you probably did. God, you're sick. You get off on
    that?"
    "Then I saw that big guy, Adam Carruthers, there with you. He
    was holding you. Why did you let him hold you like that?"
    "I probably would have even leaned against you if I didn't know
    who you were."
    "I'm glad you didn't let him kiss you."
    "I had just vomited. That wouldn't be fun for anyone, now
    would it?"
    "No, I guess not."
    He didn't sound old, not the age of this Krimakov character. But
    was he young? She just couldn't tell. "Who are you? Are you Krimakov?"

He was silent but just for a moment. Then he laughed softly,
    deeply, and it froze her. He lightly ran his palm over her cheek,
    squeezed just a bit, made her flinch. "I'm your boyfriend, Rebecca.
    I saw you and I knew that I would have to be closer to you than
    your skin. I thought about actually getting under your skin, but
    that would mean I'd have to skin you and then cover myself, and
    you're just not big enough.
    "Then I thought I wanted to be next to your heart, but again,
    there'd be so much blood, fountains of it. Too many hands ruin the
    stew, too much blood ruins the clothes. I'm a fastidious man.
    "No, don't say it or think it. I'm not crazy, not like that Hannibal
    character. I just said that to make you so afraid you'd start begging
    and pleading. Already the drug's wearing off. I can see how
    afraid you are. All I have to do is talk and you're scared shitless."
    He was right about that, but she'd give about anything not to
    show him, not to let him see that she was boiling white hot inside,
    nearly burned to ashes with fear. "But then when you're all done
    talking, you'll strangle me like you did Linda Cartwright?"
    "Oh no. She wasn't important. She wasn't anything."
    "I'll bet she disagreed with that."
    "Probably, but who cares?"
    "Why me?"
    He laughed, and she bet that if she could see his face, he'd be
    smirking, so pleased with himself. "Not just yet, Rebecca. You and
    I have got lots of things to do before you know who I am and why
    I chose you."
    "There's a reason, naturally, at least in your mind. Why won't
    you tell me?"
    "You'll find out soon enough, or not. We'll see. Now, I'm going
    to give you another little shot and you'll sleep again."

"No," she said. "I have to go to the bathroom. Let me go to the
    bathroom."
    He cursed--American curses mixed with English-sounding
    curses, and an odd language thrown in that she didn't recognize.
    "You try anything and I'll knock you silly. I'll strip the skin off
    your arm and make it into a pair of gloves. You hear me?"
    "Yes, I hear you. I thought you were fastidious."
    "I am, about blood. There wouldn't be all those fountains of
    blood if I just peeled the skin off your arm."
    She felt him untie her hands, slowly, and she supposed that the
    knots must have been complicated. Finally she was free. She
    brought her arms down and rubbed her wrists. They burned, then
    eased. She was very stiff. Slowly,