“Want to hear another one?”
Selena knew he didn’t before she looked up from the letter.
“Sure,” Adam said anyway. Humoring her.
She looked down at the pile and picked another envelope from her desk at random. He could’ve left three letters ago if he’d just shown her the courtesy of at least acting excited for a minute or two, instead of letting her see he was bored — maybe even annoyed — with her success.
The letters were always interesting, and sometimes fun. Today there were plenty of both types. And it was nice to see them all in a pile. Her ratio of emails to letters was at least ten to one, but Selena could never get excited about the stuff she read on a screen.
Her P.O. Box got hit with a dozen letters the day after her interview. Yesterday, almost twenty. Today, thirty-one. They were all over the place so far, though that wasn’t unusual. Selena had seen it all, read the creepiest confessions, from murderous thoughts to things that person wanted to do to her. Most of it excited her, even the letters telling Selena that she would go directly to hell with all the murderers she made excuses for. She’d never had so many all at once. Her career had finally reached escape velocity, headed straight for the stars.
She opened the envelope, plucked out the letter, and read it aloud.
Dear Ms. Selena Nash,
Thank you for the brave work you do to understand something that most people will never try to. I used to think I was crazy, because I could never get these thoughts outta my head. It was always the same. I would grab someone, in my mind she usually had dark curly hair in tight little ringlets. I would take her and put tape over her mouth so she couldn’t scream. Then I could put the cuffs on her. I always do the tape first and the handcuffs second. I keep all of that stuff in a box in my closet. It’s full of other kinds of toys, so no one will ever think anything if they look.
Selena looked up from the letter and gave him a wink. “Kinky.”
Adam gave her a thin-lipped smile.
I first got the handcuffs before I ever had the thoughts, back when I was into this girl who was into that kind of stuff, the handcuffs I mean, and so we liked to play with them, but then things didn’t work out with her and so I moved on and eventually I started wanting to use the cuffs on someone else, even if they didn’t like it so much. I thought I could get them into one of my rooms and I could leave the tape on and same for the handcuffs and we could watch porn together. Maybe they would warm up after a while but probably not and if they don’t then it will have to go violent. But if they were good then I give them a bath.
She looked up again. “This is still all one paragraph. The whole letter is Dear Ms. Selena Nash, and then allthewords.”
“Is it over?”
She continued reading.
All of this is the stuff I can’t talk about with anybody because nobody would ever understand me or even want to. I told two people and then I could never tell them again. Twice. Because sometimes you have to delete stuff. I delete stuff on my computer all the time. Sometimes there are crime scene photos and you can buy them and if they are really gross they are exciting too. I bet you see stuff like that all the time. I like all of that and the porn but not with the kids that’s not for me. Anyway to tell the truth this is all the stuff I think about and like I said I can’t really talk about it with anyone but maybe you could like me too. I have supplies if I ever meet you, and maybe you could like sex with me together. Or—
“Why are you reading this?”
“People’s most intimate confessions? The heartbreaking, the brilliant, the daffy … you love this stuff.”
“You should report this.”
“There’s nothing to report.”
“How does that one end, the one you’re reading now?”
“I don’t know. You haven’t let me finish it.”
“I’m sure you have an idea.”
“What am I supposed to do, Adam? Take it to the police?”
“Yes, Selena. Take it to the police.”
“Why? You’ve never wanted me to do that before.”
“It’s never been so close to home.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” She laughed. “If I thought there was any danger, or that the police could do anything with any of these letters, then I would pass them forward. But we both know I’d only be wasting their time.”
“Why don’t you give them to Detective Sharpe?”
“Reading these letters isn’t part of his job.”
“It is if this has something to do with the murders.”
“Do you think that any of these letters have anything to do with the murders, beyond—”
“Let’s just drop it.”
“I don’t want to just drop it. You’re obviously bothered and I want to know why.”
Adam looked at her like she was crazy. “You know why.”
“No. I’ve always gotten letters, and I’ve always read them out loud. You’ve never reacted like this before. Not even close. Sometimes they’ve even turned you on. It’s reasonable for me to want to understand the difference. If I’m doing something wrong, don’t you want me to know what that is so I don’t do it again?”
“You know what it is because it’s the same conversation every goddamned time. We’re all happy for you, really we are, but we’re also all a little sick of The Selena Show.”
“Thank you for telling me that, Adam.” She started pacing. “So … what? Are you and the boys having little pow-wows behind my back? Should I brace myself for an intervention?”
“No. But I can tell that what the boys want most is to be your sons, not your audience.”
The moment settled. Selena was already feeling sorry. She took a breath and stopped pacing, then she half-smiled at Adam and walked over to take his hands.
“I really am sorry. I’m not trying to be negligent with you guys, or make this all about me. I’m just listening to Sam, and he says that it’s time to capitalize on all of this. Everything is happening fast, and while I can’t exactly stop the murders, or control what’s going down in Almond Park, I can control how it affects our family. This isn’t just about striking while the iron is hot. It’s glowing red right now, and Sam doesn’t think we’re going to have to wait on the pilot, because within the next couple of days we’re going to hear that they’ve ordered at least a half-season up front.”
“I get all that. But I’m not talking about any one specific thing that you’re doing …” Adam drew a breath. “I just mean that you’re making this — all of this — all about you.”
That was fair. But Selena couldn’t exactly argue that point.
Because she knew what he didn’t.
This was all about her. And she had proof, or at least so much as such a thing was possible in a situation like this.
Something tightened in her gut. A very specific sort of hunger. She needed to see it for herself yet again.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, squeezing his hands tighter. “I promise to try harder.”
They stood in her office, holding hands. He obviously wanted to believe her, but the anger in his eyes still intensified.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Thanks.”
His fingers tightened around hers, and he leaned closer, like he was thinking of kissing her.
Absolutely not. She was not rewarding his pissy, jealous behavior with sex. “I’ve got more work to do. Sam needs—”
Adam dropped her hands like Selena was an open flame.
“Of course. Whatever Sam needs. We know what's most important.”
She let him stomp out, and stayed in her office long enough after he left to make it seem like she was finishing something up, but each one of the eleven minutes spent behind the closed door felt close to an hour of waiting.
When she did leave her office, she didn’t see Adam anywhere downstairs. Their bedroom was mercifully empty, so she went straight to her closet.
She dug through everything again, but they were still there, just like they were the last time she’d checked.
The red scarf, the green scarf, and most chillingly, the bright blue one with the yellow bees.
Selena couldn’t believe she’d missed it after the first two scarves, though she had an excuse, seeing as how they were both solid colors and rather generic. But the third had been practically blinking in neon.
After that third scarf was discovered, and Selena realized just what she was seeing and what that might mean, she couldn’t wait to get to her closet, not quite knowing if she was nervous or excited or terrified or all of the above.
But all of her scarves were there, so the killer hadn’t been in her house so much as paying close attention.
To her.
Selena loved wearing scarves and had quite the supply. She never would have started it herself, but it began one night in her junior year of college while club-hopping with her roommate, Julie.
She and Julie were working the club with their usual goal — to have the time of their lives without spending a dime. It usually worked. When Selena and Julie put their minds to it, they could party hard for the cost of half a cab. This night, they met an Englishman visiting the States for three weeks. He’d worn the most hideous scarf that Selena had ever seen. It was almost ugly enough to be beautiful, like a bulldog. The Englishman defended it to no end, saying it was the very scarf that Doctor Who wore in the original series.
Julie giggled like a minx as she left the club with Doctor Who, then came back to their apartment Sunday afternoon, wearing the scarf but missing her bra. Julie gave the scarf to Selena.
It’s magical. You should wear it when you want to get fucked all night like I did.
Julie still sent two scarves every year, one on her birthday and another on Christmas. She hadn’t missed even one over the years. So yes, Selena had a lot of scarves. But that one with the bees was too distinctive to ignore.
Now her heart was pounding.
Because she’d just noticed that the Doctor Who scarf — which had been hanging on a hook in her closet, so that she could see it whenever she opened the door, a reminder of those happy days and the friend she’d shared them with — was gone.
And after seven minutes of searching, each one more frantic than the last, Selena was certain. The Doctor Who scarf wasn’t in her closet.
She thought hard.
Had she moved it, displaced it somehow while obsessing over the other three?
She hadn’t, she was sure of it. Someone had taken it.
Someone was trying to get her attention.
She’d had that thought before, but this time it felt like a plane falling from the sky to land on her psyche.
Adam.
What if for all of these years, she had been wrong? What if he didn’t have a simple, bloody fetish? What if he was a serial killer and her lack of attention had pushed him into the arms of his inner monster?
The hair on her arms was standing and her shoulders were pinched in knots. Her entire body felt stiff and heavy.
She had to talk to Adam.
So Selena closed her closet and went downstairs.
But he wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen or his office or anywhere else in the house.
Adam was gone.