Ten feet from the water, Michael forced her to lie on the ground. She stayed on her back; she needed to see him. The grass was damp and smelled infectious. The night buzzed with insects. She remembered the swarm of mosquitoes that had hovered over Julie’s head the last time she had visited. She was shocked to see a similar cloud above Michael. It was as if nature shouted:

“There are demons here, watch out!”

Only she had failed to listen.

He snapped open a green bag and tossed in a few rocks. Kneeling, he pulled the bag over her legs. It reached past her waist; she managed to keep her arms outside. He drew out a long piece of duct tape and circled her torso. Then he stood and searched for more rocks. The next bag would go over her head. He would cover her with two or three layers. He would not need to drown her—she would smother.

She tried not to cry. She was so scared.

“Scott,” she said softly.

“What?” He sounded impatient. The neighborhood rocks were small. He feared she would float to the surface come morning.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said.

He stopped and stared down at her.

“Why?” he asked.

“You fucked Brenda. She was your first. You fucked Julie. I don’t want her to be your last.”

He knelt close, his eyes shiny black dots. Already, he breathed heavily. “You messing with me?” he demanded.

“No.” She moved her hips suggestively. “Take the bag off. Take your dick out. I’m wet, you have to fuck me before you kill me. That’s the best time to do it, you know it is.”

He sat back on his heels and chuckled. “You really are a cunt, aren’t you?”

She licked her lips. “We’re all cunts. Get your dick out. I want to see it. I bet you’re already hard.”

“I ain’t stupid. I know you’re just trying to buy yourself some time. But it ain’t going to help you none, and I’m going to fuck you anyway.” He began to unbutton his pants. “But you’re going to love this.”

“I know it.”

He was erect. He was smart, but not as complex as his brother. He was a straight-out-of-the-book psychopath. He got off when he killed. As he struggled to get his pants down to his ankles, she tested the limits of the duct tape and managed to reach in her pocket and draw out the needle. The night protected the move but could it save her?

“Fucking cunt loves it,” he whispered to himself. He was in a hurry to mount her. He momentarily forgot the plastic bag, and then angrily tore it away. No matter—he had a whole box left. He reached to rip off her pants.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He froze. Obviously, he didn’t often get that request.

“What?” he said.