Where We Found Our Home by Natasha Bishop

 

Eddie

You’re weak, doll.

I know you better than you know yourself. I knew the moment I laid a finger on that little brat that you’d play right into my hand.

Kids really ought to pay more attention. She was so wrapped up in her tablet that she didn’t even notice me walk in and sidle up to her. Pathetic.

She put up a good fight once I grabbed her. Not as good as you that day outside of your job but decent. That was a fun game we played that day, right? I enjoyed it. I think the little shit enjoyed it too. No wonder you like her so much.

Fuck, I could barely hear myself think over her incessant whimpering. That’s one point I’ll give you. You didn’t cry like that when we played this game. You slept peacefully through most of it. As soon as I pulled my knife out, she was quiet though. I guess she’s not as dumb as she looks.

I don’t even know why she cried so much though. She was tied to a tree in a park. Big fucking deal. When I was her age I had been tied to many things—chairs, radiators, steering wheels. I’d be left there for hours. No food, no water, sitting in my own piss and shit. I had to learn to free myself. I bet the little brat won’t do that though. She’ll just cry until she’s found.

Weak. All of you women are weak.

I’ve changed the game, doll. So what are you going to do now? Try to outrun me? Try to lure me away from your friends to some other bumfuck city? I think not. I still have one more trick up my sleeve.