Oh, well. The coat was plenty warm enough, and she didn’t give a fuck how many people stared at her feet. At least she was in a big city instead of some rinky-dink small town. The yokels always loved something new to gawp at. She just had to kill another ten hours until the sun set. Thank God for the Barnes & Noble café.

Chapter 11

Richard slumped in the chair beside the fireplace. He’d been sitting in this room every evening since Jane had left. It had been the last place he’d seen her.

He was starving, and he didn’t care. He deserved to go hungry. And the thought of leaving—of perhaps missing her if she came back—was unbearable. What if she was hurt? What if she needed something and he was out assuaging his thirst?

Who are you kidding? She’s gone, fool. You did everything but toss her out the window yourself.

True enough. Still, he waited. It was the only thing he could do. He’d never insult her by trying to find her and convince her to return. Return to what? An unnatural existence with a monster? And what in the world could he ever say to her? “Janet, dear, sorry about kidnapping you and raping you and keeping you and all but calling you a liar to your face, kiss-kiss, let’s go home.” As the lady herself might say, “In a fuckin’ pig’s eye.”

“Dick! Stop with the fucking sulking and open the front door!”

Oh, Christ, now his inner voice sounded like her. Bad enough he was starving, but it appeared he was slowly going insane as well.

“You son of a bitch! You piece of shit! I trot my ass all the way back down here—twice!—and you keep me standing out here on this freezing sidewalk?”

He buried his face in his hands. How he missed her!

“I am going to rip your heart out and pin it to the bedroom wall with a swizzle stick! I’m going to yank the fixtures out of that stupid bathroom you’re so proud of and shove them up your ass!” Wham! Wham! Wham! “Now let me in before I lose my temper!”

That’s no inner voice, Richard. I ought to know… I’m your inner voice.

He jumped up so quickly his head actually banged into the ceiling. He barely felt it. He clawed for the doorway, raced through it and down the hall, down three flights of stairs, fumbled for the bolts and locks, and flung the door open.