It had been a week since Sandra had told him her name, and since then he had become much more relaxed around her. She knew that he was letting his guard down, soon she’d have her moment and she’d be able to escape, she just needed to hold on a little longer. On the eight day, he moved her from the room again. She hoped that it didn’t mean what she thought, but she knew what he was going to do.
He returned a short while later, letting Sandra out and leading her back to the room. A young man was bound in the chair. Beside him lay an assortment of knives. She stepped into the room and tried to keep her face blank. She picked up one of the knives, the largest and began to work. She just needed to hang on a little longer. Just a few more days and she could escape.
Sandra showered slowly and carefully, making sure there were no traces of blood left on her. She had detached herself from it all, she could remember it, but it was like watching something on the television. It wasn’t her. Not really, after all, she couldn’t do something like that, wouldn’t do something like that. He had lasted much longer than the woman. He had screamed and screamed, begging and pleading until the end, it hurt her ears.
He looked at the body, wondering what he should do next. He wanted her to help dispose of it. She needed to learn, but it might be too much too fast. After all she had already dealt with two people, could she handle getting the body ready for disposal on top of that? He moved towards the body. If he pushed too much, it could mean disaster. She could help him dispose of his next choice. That would be the best course of action.
Joe had reconsidered acting too quickly on the matter. After all, it could be dangerous, they would be expecting him. No, it would be best to let the matter lie for now. Ariadne would live in fear for the next few weeks, maybe even months, just waiting for him to attack. She’d never be able to relax. He didn’t suspect she had anything on The Lambs, really, what could she know? But he didn’t really care. That wasn’t important. She was a loose end that couldn’t be left alone. Loose ends had a habit of unravelling the best of plans. He’d seen it before and he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. After all, this was his final job. He and Mary would be able to live luxuriously when all this was done. That was the main thing and Ariadne couldn’t be allowed to undo it.
Ariadne had begun to feel better about living with Patrick. She had started to see a therapist, though her parents were paying. She was still helping Patrick, but only once or twice a week now. The woman he hired seemed to be getting into the swing of things quickly, but Patrick still seemed a little wary of her. Ariadne had begun to fill out job applications, once she began working she would start to pay back everyone she owed. Patrick hold told her there was no need, that he enjoyed having her around the house, her parents assured her that it was their job to care for her, yet she couldn’t accept it as charity. She would accept their help, but only as long as she was able to repay them. At first she was worried it would be awkward, seeing a therapist, but she was adjusting to it surprisingly fast. She thought that perhaps the journaling had helped prepare her to talk about it.
Patrick was enjoying work, though he found himself working later and later. Even with Ariadne in the house he didn’t like spending too much time there. He had caught up on his work with relative ease, but now he was finding excuses to stay longer. The new girl was working out well enough, though he didn’t like her staying all the time. She thought the office was only open for a few hours on the days she wasn’t in. He didn’t want people to know how long he was spending in the office. They wouldn’t think it was healthy. He knew it wasn’t bad, that it was fine, he just needed some time away from the house. He preferred the clients who were not aware of Diane’s recent death, some of the others treated him gingerly, as though they were afraid to say the wrong thing, or even move too suddenly. He could see the pity clearly, that was the worst part of it all. He didn’t want pity, he wanted people to treat him normally. He didn’t want the looks and glances of sympathy, he didn’t want the awkward, murmured apologies. He wanted life to continue, he could only hold on if things were normal.