Creep - Jennifer Hillier [58]
It confused her. If he’d kidnapped women before—and of course he had, this entire room was built for it—then what was he stressing about?
She needed him to talk to her. She had so many questions and they were gnawing at her the same way the steel handcuffs were eating into her wrists.
“So. What’s going on at the university?” Sheila’s tone was casual. She could have been asking what movies were coming out next weekend, or whether it was cold outside. “Have they replaced me?”
“Not permanently. Dean Simmons sent out a department-wide memo the Monday after you left him the voice mail. It said you were taking an indefinite leave of absence due to stress, just as you told him in your message. But there are some weird rumors floating around.” There was a smirk on Ethan’s face. “Rumors that you’re going to rehab for sex addiction. Heard it from the dean’s secretary herself, the gossipy little twat.”
Sheila stopped breathing. “That’s not possible. How could she know? Nobody could know, unless you . . .” She saw the glint in Ethan’s eyes. He was messing with her. “You asshole.”
His laugh was cruel. “I’m amazed you’d even care.”
She did care. It might seem trivial to worry about her reputation, but she didn’t want to die with people knowing her secret. It was the absolute last way she wanted to be remembered. She blinked back tears, not wanting to show weakness around him.
At least he was talking. That was the important thing.
He smiled. “Nobody’s looking for you, if that’s what you’re wondering. Nobody’s even talking about you.”
“Why are you doing this?” she said softly. “Ethan, talk to me. Whatever it is you’re going through, whatever’s caused you to do this, I can help. You know I can. There’s still time to fix this.”
She had tried this tactic several times over the past few days, using her best psychologist voice to varying degrees of failure. Individual therapy wasn’t Sheila’s specialty and she was running out of ideas.
Ethan looked away, his jaw tightening. Then he stood up and began pacing the room.
She had agitated him with her question. She watched him pace, waiting. When he slowed down, that would be the time to ask another question.
His pace slowed, and she pounced.
“Have you thought about the consequences of this?” she asked.
Ethan didn’t quite break stride, but he did glance her way.
“Like after I’m dead, what will you do with my body? You can’t just get rid of a dead body, Ethan. There are a million ways to get caught.”
He looked surprised at the question, one she hadn’t asked before. “You don’t think I have a plan? I’m very good at what I do.”
“I believe you.” She did believe him. She’d been here for days, which wasn’t a feat any amateur could pull off. “I just want to know what you’re thinking. Do you have impulses? Urges? Do you hear voices?” He didn’t reply, so she tried again. “Are you acting out a revenge fantasy? Do I fit some kind of . . . profile? Were you abused as a child?”
Ethan’s eyes glinted with amusement. “What else? Any more theories?”
Her mind working fast, Sheila said, “Do you care about me at all anymore?”
He looked away again.
She’d touched a nerve. She leaned forward, her chains clanking against the side of the bed. “If you care about me, you wouldn’t do this to me. You’d let me go. It’s the right thing to do, and you’re a decent person—”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a nut job.” He turned back to her, glaring. “You don’t think I know what I’m doing? If I let you go, I get arrested. I go to jail. For life.”
So he understood that his actions had consequences. He didn’t want to get caught. Which meant he wasn’t completely psychopathic. He knew there were rules.
“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His tone was scathing. “I’m sure you’d love to see me locked in a tiny little cell, away from civilization. Wouldn’t you just love to get me out of the way, so you can