Lily

Chapter 17: Lily

"Thanks for barging into my house."

"I'm sorry, it's just..." They were fiddling with the tassel on their shirt.

"Just what?"

They sat down on my sofa, shaking their leg. I never gave them permission to do that. "Do you remember when you killed Callum and Beth?"

"Yes. What kind of dumb question is that?"

"When people talked about the crime and talked bad about the murderer, you would always give a ten minute lecture on how people should gather all the facts before they judge. Remember?"

I began to roll my eyes. This conversation was the most boring I've ever had and it was taking me all the power in the world to not rip their larynx out their throat.

"I remember. I also remember how you ratted me out and made me spend 13 years in a juvenile detention centre. I remember a lot of things, Hannah. A lot."

They stared at me for a while. "You did the same thing with Jake."

"Huh?" I was well and truly listening now.

"Jake told me you began refuting the idea that the victim was raped. You were going on about how it could be a woman."

I really need to learn to control my words.

"And? Your point is?"

"You killed them, didn't you? You're the serial killer, aren't you?"

"And what if I am? If you think I am, shouldn't you be at a police station instead of my house?" I began slowly reaching down the corner of the couch.

"Well, I can't exactly go on a hunch, now, can I?"

"No."

Just a bit more, easy does it.

"But aren't you afraid I won't let you leave here unless it's on a hearse?"

"Very. But I had to know. I'm leaving up to fate."

Finally.

After groping around for what felt like forever down the side of the couch (I have a weapon placed in every piece of furniture), I, at last, felt my trusty dagger jump straight into my hand.

A blood curdling scream filled the neighbourhood.

I stabbed them in the thigh of the same leg that kept shaking. It was annoying and distracting. It's also the place they're least likely to die out of the places I could stab them. That would prolong the pain and torture because I sure as heck know I'm waiting at least five minutes before making them a makeshift tourniquet. I gotta let them bleed out, even if it's just for a little while.
It's not my fault they decided to come to a serial killer's house alone at eight o'clock in the night. That's their fault and a very dumb decision.

Time for the basement.