Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Nico grabs the scissors and starts meticulously cutting the green paper in front of him. “I watch over many local towns in the area. It’s not perfect, I only have so much time in the day, but I have a system in place. I also leave gifts for those in need, but is that reported on? No. No one ever associates me with those acts of kindness. Ah, now it just sounds like I’m trying to boast. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Otherwise I won’t be able to focus on this, and I promised a friend of mine to get it done. Have you ever made paper chain decorations? You could be a real life Santa’s helper, make yourself useful. You’re already dressed like one.” He winks at me as if any of this was funny.
I adjust the blanket so my bare chest is no longer on show, and continue eating my sandwich, trying to process what I’ve just heard. “So you see yourself as a… Robin Hood-type of character? A folk hero?” I ask incredulously.
He gets up and brings me a pair of rounded kids’ scissors. Is this a labor camp now? Still, I better comply, so when he explains what kind of paper strips he wants, I get on with it.
I have never done this before, actually. The house would always be decorated by our staff, Christmas tree included. Maybe it would have been nice to have a say in the colors of trinkets or something, but I’ve always just accepted reality for what it is.
“Well, yes, I do weed out the danger, so that people can have a lovely, peaceful Christmas time. And if I enjoy it a little? No one said you have to hate your job.” His little smirk tells me how much he liked sawing a man’s head off.
The ghost of the nausea that overcame me when it happened appears back in my throat, but then I think about the new microphone I was planning to buy, and it subsides. “This might be presumptuous,” I say and clear my throat, glancing at my captor, who whistles as he continues making the paper cutouts. “But people never have a peaceful time when they worry there’s a killer on the loose.”
Nico hums. “No, that’s thoughtful of you. Maybe I should make it clearer that there is a pattern. You’re so smart. And your voice? Just like the podcast.”
The dreamy look he gives me is as enticing as it is disconcerting.
“Don’t you think all this would be comfier if I wasn’t behind bars?” I ask in the most innocent tone I can muster, because while it is obviously a ploy to run, maybe someone as deranged as this guy might believe I’m on his side.
“It would, it would, but I don’t have time to set things up tonight. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Things will get better here, I promise. I have so many questions for you as well.” He gets up, picks up the stack of papers he was cutting, then reveals it to be a long decorative chain. The links are shaped like hearts. “Ta-dah!”
Taken aback, I hide behind the mug of cocoa and use its sweetness to calm myself down. “It’s not Valentine’s….”
When Nico’s face falls, I realize these hearts were made for me, and I don’t know if I’m flattered or unsettled. “I just thought it would be nice,” he mumbles. “Spruce things up a little.”
To my disbelief, he gets up and hangs it from one prison bar to another with bits of string.
“I mean… it is, but it’s Christmas season, and the paper is green,” I mumble, too confused to think clearly. But then I remember what he said about Christmas, and clear my throat. “I appreciate the effort, really.”
He pins me with his gaze, and it feels as though he’s sawing right through me. “Are you single?”
The mug almost slips out of my hands, but I catch it at the cost of spilling some of the chocolate over my fingers. What the hell should I tell him? This freak is interested in me, and while that’s terrifying, he seems willing to be nice about… however he’s planning to handle this situation, so I nod, knowing that might be the way to make him more pliable to my suggestions. “What about you?”
“Same. I work a lot. Not just at the… you know, the killing. I have a lot to do. Even tonight. I can’t spare much more time. But I’ll get better about it. Promise.”
“Maybe you could stay a bit longer?” I ask when he gets up. Because the longer we talk, the more likely I am to convince him I don’t need to be under lock and key.
Do I even believe his vigilante fantasies? I don’t know what connection he really had to the guy who tried to abduct me first.