Statement? The Larsens killed people. Brutally murdered them. No politics involved. Nothing but death.
"Angels of death," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "They took what they wanted without a thought for anyone but themselves. And you, of course. That's all that mattered to them. Their family. Nothing else. They understood what it meant to take a life."
No, I was pretty sure they didn't. No one could destroy other human beings that way and fully comprehend what they were doing. Unless they just didn't care.
"You look like her, you know." He rose from his chair. "Except for the hair. Hers is dark. Maybe if you dyed it..."
The tip of his tongue slid between his teeth, rapturous. I glanced down at the scissors that dangled by his side and inched my fingers along the sheet.
"No," he said, straightening. "That wouldn't be right. It's Todd's color. A tribute to both of them. As it should be." He rested a knee on the edge of the bed. "You are beautiful, Eden. A perfect blend of your parents."
I resisted the urge to inch back. Keep still. Let him think he can come closer.
But he just stayed there. My gaze dropped to the scissors to measure the distance. He followed it and lifted them, casually, n
o menace, but I pretended to flinch.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Eden. I just brought these to get that." He pointed to the curl on the dresser. "I'd never hurt you."
"Then put them down."
His lips twitched in a knowing smile. "Um, no. That wouldn't be wise, would it?"
"You said you aren't going to hurt me--"
"I'm not. But that doesn't mean you won't hurt me, does it? First chance you get. I know that. I'll keep these. To defend myself and"--that smile again--"to keep you from getting your pretty hands on them and making a pretty mess of me with them."
"I wouldn't do that. You're a"--I struggled for a word. Hated the one that came to mind--"fan of my parents."
"Which wouldn't keep them from gouging out my eyes with these if they caught me in your motel room. And won't keep you from doing the same to get away."
"I'm not like them. I've never hurt anyone."
"But you could. You just need the right circumstances. And I'd rather not provide them." He twisted, lowering himself to the edge of the bed, scissors resting on his thigh. "I'm supposed to help you, Eden. You walked into my motel, and I knew it was a sign." His gaze met mine. "Do you believe in signs?"
"Only the ones that give me directions."
He laughed. Loud and long, the sound raking along my spine. "Oh, signs all give directions. Mine told me that you needed help. They kicked you out, didn't they? Those people who stole you from Todd and Pam. They kicked you out, and now you're all alone. That's why you had to come to a cheap motel like this. You don't have any money. I do." He pulled a thick wad from his pocket.
"I don't need--"
"I know you do. I bet you need information, too. About them. Your parents. I know all about them and their lives and what they did. I'll give you that, and I'll give you money. I just want one thing."
He rose, gaze fixed on me, eyes glittering. I inched away.
"No, not that," he said. "I respect your parents too much for that. I just want to touch you. That's all."
He moved closer, hands on the bed, scissors loose under one. His breath came harsh, pupils dilated.
"You can leave your panties on. I won't touch you anywhere you don't want me to. I just want to touch--"
I grabbed the scissors before he could get a firm grip on them. He lunged across me. I swung the scissors with everything I had and buried the blades in his side. He howled. I yanked them out and stabbed him again. Blood sprayed across the white sheets, across him, across me.
I wrenched the scissors free and cut the cord. He lurched for me again. I stabbed him in the thigh. He let out a wail and dropped to the bed, clutching his leg, scissors still embedded in it. I leapt out of bed, grabbed my glasses, purse, and briefcase.
He was stretched across the bed, yowling and holding his thigh. Blood streamed between his fingers. I hesitated. Then I ran to the phone and yanked it over onto the bed, within reach.
I started for the door again. Stopped again. Looked at the wad of money fanning across the carpet. Reached down, scooped it up, and raced out the door.