Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross 2)

The man, whoever the bastard was, had been inside the mysterious, despicable room while she slept. The thought made her physically ill. There was a note propped on the bedside table, where she was sure to see it.

The note was handwritten. Dear Dr. Kate, it said. Her hands were trembling as she read her own name.

I wanted you to read this, so that you understand me better, and also the rules of the house. This is probably the most important letter you’ll ever receive, so read it carefully. And please take it very seriously.

No, I am not crazy or out of control. Actually, I’m quite the opposite. Apply your obviously high intelligence to the concept that I’m relatively sane, and that I know exactly what I want. Most people don’t know what they want.

Do you, Kate? We’ll talk about that later. It’s a subject worthy of much lively and interesting discussion. Do you know what you want? Are you getting it? Why not? For the good of society? Whose society? Whose life are we living, anyway?

I won’t pretend that you are happy to be here, so no false-sounding welcomes. No cellophaned basket of fresh fruit and champagne. As you will soon see, or have already, I’ve tried to make your stay as comfortable as possible. Which brings up an important point, perhaps the most important point of this first attempt at communication between us.

Your stay will be temporary. You will leave—if, Big If—you listen to what I tell you… so listen carefully, Kate.

Are you listening now? Please listen, Kate. Chase away the justifiable anger and the white noise in your head. I am not crazy or out of control.

That’s the whole point: I am in control! See the distinction? Of course you do. I know how very bright you are. National Merit Scholar and all that.

It is important that you know how special you are to me. That’s why you are completely safe here. It is also why you’ll leave, eventually.

I picked you from thousands and thousands of women at my disposal, so to speak. I know, you’re saying “lucky me.” I know how funny and cynical you can be. I even know that laughter has gotten you through difficult times. I’m beginning to know you better than anyone has ever known you. Almost as well as you know yourself, Kate.

Now for the bad parts. And Kate, these next points are as important as any of the good news I’ve stated above.

These are the house rules, and they are to be strictly observed:

1. The most important rule: You must never try to escape—or you will be executed within hours, however painful that would be for both of us. Believe me, there is precedent for this. There can be no reprieve following an escape attempt.

2. Just for you, Kate, a special rule: You must never try to use your karate skills on me. (I almost brought your gi, your crisp white karate suit, but why encourage you to temptation.)

3. You must never call out for help—I’ll know if you do—and you will be punished with facial and genital disfigurement.

You want to know more—you want to know everything at once. But it doesn’t work that way. Don’t bother trying to figure out where you are. You won’t guess, and will only give yourself an unnecessary headache.

That’s all for now. I’ve given you more than enough to think about. You are totally safe here. I love you more than you can imagine. I can’t wait for us to talk, really talk.

Casanova

And you are hopelessly out of your mind! Kate McTiernan thought as she paced the eleven-by-fifteen-foot room. Her claustrophobic prison. Her hell on this earth.

Her body felt as if it were floating, as if warm viscous fluid were flowing over her. She wondered if she’d suffered a head injury during the attack.

She had only one thought: how to escape. She began to analyze her situation in every possible way. She reversed the conventional assumptions, and broke down each to its component parts.

There was a single, double-locked, thick wooden door.

There was no way out other than through that door.

No! That was the conventional assumption. There had to be another way.

She remembered a problem-solution puzzle from some heretofore useless undergrad logics course she had taken. It began with ten matchsticks arranged as Roman numerals in a math equation:

XI + I = X

The problem was how to correct the equation without touching any of the matches. Without adding new matches. Without taking away any matches.

No easy way out.

No apparent solution.