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She giggled. “No, of course not. You couldn’t be with how you look.”
I nodded as my stomach clenched. “Right.”
“I changed my mind. I’ll take that coffee now,” she said sweetly.
Rising, I went to the kitchen and pulled a mug from the cupboard above, then poured her a cup. “Cream or sugar?”
She scoffed. “Ah, no. Never.”
I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to breathe through it. She wasn’t saying anything I didn’t already know. I was overweight. I was much heavier than her, but I still had value.
Trying to lighten the mood as I returned to the living room. “The killer wouldn’t be after me since he only wanted to hurt models who finally got their big break. Wouldn’t be me, would it?”
After I handed her the mug, she looked up at me with her big blue eyes. “Why did he do it, Phoebe? Why did that photographer kill those girls?”
I lifted one shoulder. “Why does any serial killer feel the need to kill? They all had their reasons, something in their head that just breaks and they feel killing is the only way.”
She took a sip. Then licking her plump lips, she tilted her head. “I thought those models all killed themselves. How did you figure it out?”
I hugged my mug to my chest. “Didn’t seem right to me. So many models killing themselves when they finally got their big breaks.” Then a thought hit me in the face. “Did you know Suarez, that photographer? The one the police are questioning?”
She cackled. “Did I know Julio Suarez? Sure, I knew him. Him and his crooked dick. All the models do.”
I gripped my coffee mug, understanding dawning. “He assaulted you.”
She snorted. “Assaulted me? No, that would mean I had the ability to struggle. To try to get away. I don’t remember a thing. He drugged me. Took away my choices. Then threw me in the trash when he was done.”
My head felt a little swimmy. “I really hope you’re being figurative or hyperbolic or something, but something tells me you’re not.”
Her eyes went dead. “No, Phoebe. I’m not. He used me as his plaything. And the only reason I knew it happened was by how bloodied and bruised I was when I woke up in a dumpster. I wasn’t a virgin by any means, but I shouldn’t have felt like that.”
I set my coffee down on the table, realizations starting to register. “Wait, you don’t remember?”
She snorted. “No, how could I? He dosed me at a party.”
I tilted my head. “Then how did you know it was him?”
She narrowed her gaze on me. “He told me at the next party where I saw him. Confirmed everything down to the last detail.”
I leaned forward, my arms on my thighs. We were only inches apart. Then I saw the mole on her neck. “So, what did you do?”
Rolling her eyes, she set down her cup. “I went home, cleaned up, and waited for my next barista shift at the coffeehouse in Midtown. Life goes on, right?”
I pressed a finger to my temple as memories swarmed my brain. “You’re Jerika. I’ve seen your work.”
She sneered. “Very good.” Then she lifted her mitten up to her face, palm up, and blew something powdery into my face. It was like fairy dust from hell. I started coughing, already feeling a little dizzy.
With a wicked laugh, she stood and looked down on me.
My brain was fizzling and popping. Whatever she just blew in my face was starting to get its grips in me. Clutching me by the throat and forcing me to do whatever she told me. What was that shit?
Jerika stood and glared down at me. “You’re too curious and you know what they say about that?”
I felt a sob bubble up in my throat.
With a little chuckle, she stared at me. “The scopolamine will make sure you comply. Just like all the others did. I won’t have to push you, unlike your theory. You’ll jump out all on your own.”
I wanted to ask her questions, but they swirled around in my head just out of reach.
