Where were we?
Right. I asked Alexandra about the knives, then saw the hands coming out of her pillow. I’d hoped to catch her off-guard with the question, and I did, but well… The hands.
They were slender and strong. Bone-white. And unnaturally large. They moved quickly, wrapping themselves around her face and pulling, her head slipping smoothly back into the pillow. She was in up to her neck before I could even react. I leapt onto the bed and got my arms around her kicking legs, but by then she’d been pulled through to the waist, and I couldn’t get enough leverage to fight it. So I just held on for dear life and followed her in.
The other side felt like being underwater. Not wet, but the same muffling pressure on the ears, the same dim, refracted light. Otherwise, it was the same. Alexandra in her hospital bed, me in the chair beside it. As if nothing had happened. Except…
Except that the ill ease she felt at my knife question had dissipated. In its place was an eagerness, a glint in her eye that bespoke some secret thrill. I was disappointed that I’d lost the upper ground in the interrogation so quickly. But then her lip curled, and a different kind of excitement rose in my chest.
“You want to know about the knives?” Her voice was deeper. Husky.
“Yes. Please.” I couldn’t keep the edge of desire out of my voice. Didn’t particularly want to.
“Alright. The first time was on my 13th birthday. Someone… a man… came into my room at midnight. He had this… long knife in his hand. Like a kitchen knife, but bigger. Shinier. More dangerous.” Her eyes flashed. “I was so scared. But he didn’t do anything. Just came and sat beside my bed…” She reached out. “Kind of like you’re doing.”
I took her hand in mine. “I don’t have a knife.”
Eyes level, voice cool. “You have a gun.”