She had to draw back before she messed up her work. Seleena’s eyes popped open.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself. Close your eyes, keep them closed until I tell you otherwise.”

She closed her eyes, kept them closed. Listened. She heard the crazy, oh God, she heard it. And the bitterness, and worse. God, worse, the cold dispassion when she talked about doing her mother a favor by killing her.

“They— The police classified that as an accident.”

“Because I’m just that good, girl. Loopy, whiny old bitch made it easy, but you have to be good. Open your eyes.”

Seleena opened them, tried to mask the fear.

“Oh yeah, I’m good. Close again. You know, I learned all about makeup and hair, skin care, all of it, on the Internet. YouTube because my mother taught me nothing about nothing. I’ve got an IQ of a hundred and sixty-four, and I sure didn’t get it from her or dear old dad. Open,” she said, beginning to brush and blend liner on the bottom of Seleena’s eyes. “You’re used to having your makeup done.”

“Yes.”

“I do my own. I do everything myself because I’m smart. JJ wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t very smart, either. I used to do some of his homework and assignments for him, even after those asshole parents of ours tore us apart. They shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, they shouldn’t have. That was cruel, too, and selfish.”

“You’re damn right! JJ’s the one who taught me how to shoot because the old man couldn’t be bothered with me. Look down while I do your lashes. Not that much!”

“Sorry.”

“He was good with guns, but I was better there, too. He didn’t mind. JJ was proud of me. He loved me. He was the only one who did. And they killed him.”

“You must miss him.”

“He’s dead, what’s the point? He knew I was smart, but he didn’t listen to me, went off half-cocked. Get it? Guns, half-cocked.”

Trying to read the eyes boring into hers, Seleena let her lips curve, just a little. “That’s a good one.”

“I can be funny when I want to be. I don’t get to talk to people much, and never as myself. I have to talk to fuckheads when I’m stalking a target, but that’s not me. I’m on the inside then, and only show the outside they expect. You’re lucky, because you get to see inside.”

“It’s been hard for you, to keep yourself inside.”

“I had to do it for years, goddamn years in that mausoleum with those dried-up, whiny grandparents. ‘Oh, I’ll do that, Gram. Don’t worry about that, Grandpa, I’ll clean it up.’ They just wouldn’t die and leave me alone. Nobody would’ve put up with their shit as long as I did. The eyes look good.”

She studied her kit, chose a blush, a brush.

“They said terrible things about JJ, especially after he was dead. Terrible things, and I had to hold myself back from just slicing their throats. Maybe he wasn’t very smart, maybe he didn’t listen to me, but they shouldn’t have said those terrible things about him.”

“Their own flesh and blood,” Seleena said.

“They said he was sick, defective, even evil. Well, they paid for it, didn’t they? Not enough, but they paid. He just didn’t listen to me, that’s what happened.”

“You tried to stop him.”

Patricia eased back, studied the blush, approved. “We’ll polish that off,” she said and reached for translucent loose powder.

“I would’ve stopped him if I’d known he’d upped the time line. I still had some details to work out. And what does he do, he hits in July, when too many people are on vacation or whatever. It was supposed to be December, holiday crush. He’d have taken out twice as many. More, and I’d have worked out the escape route by then.”

“You would have?”

Patricia tipped her head from side to side, lifted Seleena’s with fingertips under the chin. “You look good. Classy professional, as promised. Want a cold drink?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

She rose, walked over to the kitchen. “I’ve got Diet Coke, water, V8 Splash.”

“The Diet Coke would be great, thanks. A little caffeine boost before we start recording.”

“Good idea.” She uncapped the bottle, poured some over ice in plastic cups. “Now, what were we talking about?”

She came back, handed Seleena the cup. “Right. JJ. Haven’t I been telling you he wasn’t really that smart? You don’t think he and those two idiot friends of his came up with all that? DownEast was my idea, my plan, and it would’ve worked if they’d waited for me to tweak the details.”

“You … planned the attack?”

“Thought it up, planned it out, stole Grandpa Shit-for-Brains’ credit card long enough to order the vests, the helmets.” She tapped a finger to her temple. “I let them give JJ credit as the mastermind up till now. We’re going to change that, you and I. Anyway.”

She lifted her own cup, sipped. “You’re set, except for lips. I’ll do them right before we start. I’m going to do my makeup now, and change into my on-camera wardrobe. It’ll take a little while. I want to look good, then we’ll get this party started. You think of some good questions, Seleena. I’m counting on you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Seleena sat for four hours under the lights, her chair angled to Patricia’s, the camera recording.

After hour two, Patricia let her use the toilet again, and changed batteries in the camera. She allowed Seleena to drink water through a straw as she touched up her own makeup, then Seleena’s.

But then it was right back to it.

As the time passed, as Seleena fell into the rhythm of interviewing, as the subject drew her in, her fear dimmed under her ambition.

She had the biggest story of her life, unfolding right in front of her. Being drugged, abducted, faded off as her own ego spiked.

She’d copped a face-to-face, exclusive interview with the mastermind of DownEast, a female serial killer. And due to her interviewing skills, Seleena’s ambition and ego told her, Patricia had given her chapter and verse on all of it. On every kill, every detail, the stalking, documenting, choosing the time and the method.

When the restraints on her ankles, her left hand (Patricia left the right free so Seleena could take notes) bit into her skin, she assured herself (and believed herself) Patricia kept them on as visual evidence to protect Seleena from any charges of aiding or abetting, of obstruction.

They were in this together, just as Patricia claimed.

The excitement of what she had right there, of what she’d produce once she got the video in? Fear couldn’t hold a candle to that fire.

Caught up, she began to imagine the benefits.

She knew how to play an interviewee, how to stroke, add understanding, empathy. This woman, this monster, poured out her sickness, her rage, her cold and calculating belief in her right to kill because Seleena skillfully led her down that path.

One day, they’d study this video in journalism courses—and she’d make a mint on speaking fees.

For Patricia, she concluded, the three boys had been her weapons, ones that had misfired on her. Her feelings for her brother came across as a strange mixture of love and disdain. And still she justified her killing, as far as she felt the need to justify it, as payback for his death at seventeen.

By Jesus, it fascinated. And if it fascinated her, just think, just think of viewer reaction.

“You’re the best interview I’ve ever had, Patricia. I’m struggling to keep up with you! Could we take another break?”

“I’m not done!”

“No, no, just taking ten?” Seleena flashed a smile. She had a powder keg on her hands, and didn’t want to light a match.

Flattery, she reminded herself. Just pour it on.

“I need to get some thoughts organized. I want to set this up for you in segments—some of that we’ll do in editing, but I’d like to organize my next questions. I could really use something to eat, another drink to keep the energy up. Plus,” she said quickly, “I’d like you to take a breath, too, recharge for a few minutes. We want you to be fresh in each segment.”

“Fine.” Patricia shoved to her feet.

“It’s so powerful, Patricia. I need a little time to absorb.”

“Fine,” Patricia said, mollified. “I’ve got some whole wheat crackers and hummus.”

“That would be great. Give us a little pickup for the next segment. And do you think I could stretch my legs a little? You’re a runner,” she said, “I’m active, too. If I could just walk around the cabin a little.” She flashed a smile again. “I’ve gotta tell you, my ass is numb.”

“Think about your fingers, Seleena.”

Seleena laughed that off because she no longer believed it. “I’m in the middle of the mother of all exclusives. We’re talking Pulitzer, Emmys. You can believe I’m not going to do anything to mess it up.”

“You’ll be a real big fucking deal after this.” Patricia cut the restraints.