Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [111]
He didn’t wait for an answer, just kept talking slowly, his voice a monotone, his expression somewhat puzzled, as if for a moment he, too, sought understanding.
“He said that when he put his hands around a woman’s throat and squeezed, their eyes stayed open and he could watch the light go out inside them, and when it was happening, he was filled with peace. It made him happy,” he said softly. “I thought maybe if I,” he sighed, then shrugged, his moment of introspection gone. “Well, it really didn’t do much for me, you know what I mean?”
“Then why did you keep doing it?” Her voice was shaky, her eyes burning with tears.
“I wanted you to notice me.” He lit another cigarette, intently watched the match burn down before continuing. “I thought it would be fun, you know? You being the big compositor for the FBI,” his voice boomed importantly. “The press out there in California made such a big deal out of you, I saw your picture in the paper, and I saw you on TV and I said, Wow! That’s Kenny! Well, I have to admit, I was proud to be related to you. I told everyone that you were my sister, not that anyone out there believed me. But then I thought, well, let’s see just how good she really is. Let’s see if she can sketch me. Let’s see if she knows me.”
You killed all those women just to see if I’d recognize your face? She willed herself not to cry out in horror, to moan with repulsion that this man, this man who claimed to be her flesh and blood, could be capable of such twisted reasoning, of such terrible acts.
“Pretty clever, don’t you think? I really thought you’d catch on, Kendra,” he said with the same enthusiasm as some others might discuss the plot of the latest mystery novel. “I thought you’d figure it out. Frankly, I was disappointed that you never did. I admit the disguises lately would have made it difficult, but your drawings, right from the start, were too good and I was afraid someone would recognize me, maybe I’d get caught before you caught on.” He sighed again. “I was really disappointed when you didn’t recognize me.”
“How could I have recognized you? I haven’t seen you in ten years, and then, you were a child! Why would I have even thought . . .” Her mind whirled at the sheer insanity of it all. “You were dead. Everyone believed you were dead.”
“I thought blood would know blood.” He hissed, and she jumped at his vehemence.
He stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another.
“Well, I’m back now, Kendra, and I’ll stay as long as I damn well please.”
Kendra sat stock-still, watching the face of the man fill with quiet rage as he spoke. There was nothing about him that was familiar to Kendra. Not the rage, not the evil, not the cold eyes, not the man who could conceive of murdering good and innocent women and feel nothing.
Her parents had both been gentle and kind souls, and had filled their home with love and laughter. How could such a pair have spawned such a monster?
“Yes,” she said, “you’re back now.”
“Home.” He dared her to challenge him.
“Yes.” She stood on weak legs and turned back to the stove, forcing a calm she didn’t feel, wondering how she was going to escape from here. “Home.”
“I thought you’d see it my way,” he said smugly. “Now, what’s happening with my pancakes?”
“Just a few minutes.” She turned on the burner under the frying pan to heat it, adding milk sloppily to the mix she’d measured out in the bowl, her mind frozen.
Her stomach lurched as the smell of the pancake batter reached her nostrils.
“Why those women?” she asked sadly, her voice quivering. “Why women who’d leave behind so much? Women who gave so much . . . who loved so much.”
“I don’t feel like talking about them now. Right now, I want my pancakes and I want my coffee,” he said sullenly, pointing out, “You forgot my coffee.”
I’ve been a bit distracted, her whirling mind