Twisted (Burbank and Parker 1)

I can’t stand it any longer.

And I can’t escape it.

I’m waiting for the extra syringe of morphine I injected to work. The seconds have ticked by so slowly—it feels like an eternity. This throbbing must stop.

I did as the demons commanded. I watched the most recent videotapes. I could see for myself the power I wield, the enormity of the purification process with which I’ve been entrusted.

I know what I’m capable of doing to a filthy Ji Nv like Tyche.

The demons have ordered me to wait. Disinfection first. Revenge later.

But Tyche won’t get away with her intolerable desecration. She’ll suffer.

And she’ll suffer by my hand.

Till then, let the whore parade around campus, boasting of her physical prowess, feeling utterly victorious and safe. On the other hand, if she’s smart, she’ll lock herself in her dorm room and tremble in a corner, knowing full well she’s not.

Soon. The demons will demand it. There will be no shame in the pleasure I take. Not with her. I’ll revel in the terror in her eyes when I have her. When she realizes it’s me. When she finally comprehends that there’s no escape. That my violation of her unworthy body is only the nightmarish beginning. That she’s going to die. That her death will be prolonged, and preceded by unendurable suffering.

I’ll describe to her what might have been. She’ll hear my voice every second as I slowly cut her flesh. No drugs. Not with her. I want her to be wide-awake and alert. To hear every word. Feel every slice. Watch every rivulet of her blood seep away. By the time death comes, she’ll welcome it. Scream for it. Beg for it.

That image alone will have to suffice for now—until the demons decree otherwise.

Right now they condemn another Ji Nv to die.

I must regain full use of my body—now. The pain is inconsequential. I’ll manage it with the morphine. But the rest…how can I accomplish everything I have to in my current condition?

Weakness is unacceptable. One more day. That’s all I’ll allow for my injuries. Tomorrow night, I’ll silence the demons.

The morphine is starting to work. Good. Because tonight I have a different, more important task to attend to—choosing an alternate goddess. I must study my Ancient Greek literature. The goddess I select will be far more deserving than the original. So will the woman I choose to embody her.

And, in the end, she’ll join the others.

Starbucks

120 West Fifty-sixth Street, New York City

9:20 A.M.

Derek carried a tray with two tall steaming Starbucks cups and two blueberry scones over to the corner table.

“One venti cappuccino with skimmed milk and one venti café americano, black,” he announced, setting the cappuccino down in front of Sloane and passing her a blueberry scone.

“Thanks. I only ordered a grande.”

“I know. But I owe you. Not only did you battle rush-hour traffic so we could talk before you headed over to Midtown North, but you convinced Erwin to include me in your meeting. I normally avoid stepping on the NYPD’s toes, especially in situations like this where I technically have no connection to the case. My connection here is you, and the fact that your stalker’s cell phone was found at the crime scene. On the other hand, after Tina Carroll’s attempted abduction, we’re no longer talking about the single John Jay disappearance Erwin’s investigating. We’re talking about at least two related attacks, with the possibility of others. And with the two attacks we know of occurring in two different states, FBI involvement might be imminent anyway.”

“I agree. So based on all of the above, I accept the extra-large cappuccino. I need a hefty jolt of caffeine. As for the blueberry scone…” She eyed the one in front of her. “We had a very recent conversation about how seldom I eat junk food.”

“Yeah, but you love Starbucks’ blueberry scones.”

A half smile. “You always bought two for yourself, because I pretended I didn’t want one.”

“I remember. And you took ‘just one bite’ of my extra scone until it was three-quarters gone.”

“Half,” Sloane said in defense.

“If you say so.” Derek sat down across from her and took a belt of coffee. “Either way, feel free. I’ll polish off whatever you leave over.” He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers in front of him and meeting her gaze. “I know we discussed this ad nauseam on the phone last night. But I want to try to make some sense of it before we head over to Midtown North—and I can’t. That cell phone the TCNJ cops found in the woods on campus means that the bastard who’s been stalking you is the same guy who attacked Tina Carroll.”