“Don’t pretend that’s why you’re here right now,” she says, an edge to her tone.
“Why haven’t you told Logan who I am?”
She slowly backs up, and she gestures for me to sit on the bed closest to the door. I do as the gun-wielding girl silently beckons, sitting down, and she steps back, sitting across from me on the other bed, never lowering her weapon.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I tell her, and she snorts out a laugh.
“I’ll be the judge of that. And to your other question, it’s because you told the Boogeyman you were killing him to keep Logan safe. You had no idea I was there, obviously, so that wasn’t a show. I believe you actually think you’re in love.”
“I am in love,” I immediately blurt out, then grimace. Didn’t mean to tell her before I told him.
Her eyebrows go up. “Psychopaths can’t love. They can only imitate.”
“You think I’m a psychopath? I mean, I joke that I’m psycho, but I’m not the true definition of the word.”
“Really? I saw a different story.”
I lean forward, and she wraps another hand around the gun handle.
“Easy,” I tell her, holding a hand up. “Just getting comfortable. You’re calling me names without knowing anything about me. A good profiler digs into the past.”
“I’m not a profiler. I’m a forensics expert and a tech genius. I saw what I saw. And I’m telling Logan. I just wanted you to know that first, since you killed my own nightmare and saved me from Plemmons. Call it a courtesy.”
Tears bubble up in my eyes, and the first one spills down my cheek. The air is sucked from my lungs, and my entire body feels like it’s dipped in a vat of ice.
She cocks her head, studying me, and I bat away a tear.
“Then give me a five minute head start,” I say
quietly.
I start to stand, and she moves with me, keeping her gun trained at my head.
“This gun is the only thing keeping you from killing me right now,” she says randomly.
I spin so fast that I hear her hiss out a breath, and I snatch the gun from her hand, then completely disassemble it, all in less than two seconds. I toss the pieces to the bed, feeling broken and defeated.
“No. I’m not killing you because you don’t deserve to die,” I tell her as she stumbles backwards. “Guns don’t scare me.”
“But losing Logan does,” she says quietly, her throat bobbing.
“There are only two people in my life that I love. One is like a brother. The other is the first person I’ve ever been in love with. So yes, losing Logan terrifies me.”
“Revenge killers have had a psychotic break. They lose sight of their intended goals and their morals get skewed. Revenge becomes their sole focus, and anything or anyone that gets in the way becomes collateral damage in the name of revenge.”
“You’re profiling me, yet claim not to profile. You should stick to your day job, because you know nothing about me or what I’m capable of.”
I turn to leave, and she calls out, “Wait! It was a test.”
Confused, I turn around as she stands up, her body shaking a little bit.
“Care if I put my gun back together? Obviously you’re quick enough to disarm me, but it still makes me feel better to have it after what I saw you do to Plemmons.”
“Just use the one you have under your pillow,” I tell her, watching as she pales.
“How’d you—”
“You’ve gone through a lot in the past week. It’d make sense to sleep with one under your pillow if you need it to feel safe right now. You’d have more than just your service gun. I need at least two guns to feel safe when I’m at my most vulnerable.”