I feel a sudden rush of relief. He outgrew it. It was just a phase. Maybe I overreacted to the whole thing. “So what do you like to watch now?”
“Whatever is good. I’m a big fan of Quentin Tarantino.”
Quentin Tarantino! That’s not better than slasher films! It might even be worse. Well, I’m not sure it’sworse, but I don’t think it’s better. Those movies are incredibly violent. Wasn’t there that movie where that woman cut off like two-hundred ninjas’ heads?
“But we can watch whatever you want,” he says. “Wecan watch a chick flick, whatever. I don’t care.”
He must really like me. He’s giving up control of the television to me. “Let’s just see what’s on TV,” I say.
Brady flicks on the television, which is tuned to the ten o’clock news. Much to my dismay, the reporter is talking about Shelby Gillis. In a segment that was likely filmed earlier in the day, they’re showing the area on the hiking trail where Shelby’s body was found.
“Twenty-six-year-old Shelby Gillis was found with multiple rope burns on her body and stab wounds on her chest,” the reporter says. “Both her hands had also been severed prior to death.”
I glance over at Brady, to see his expression. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised or disgusted by the whole thing. “Scary stuff,” he comments.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
“It’s sort of like that serial killer a while back, right?” he says. “Aaron Nierling. They called him the Handyman. Do you remember? We must have been about eleven or twelve years old then.”
I think back to the first night I saw Brady at the bar, and how quickly he knew the game show answer that was my father’s name. “Not really,” I mumble.
“You know.” He nudges me. “He cut off all his victims’ hands and saved them in this big chest like souvenirs or something crazy like that.”
I feel bile rising in my throat. “Please don’t talk about it…”
Brady’s eyes widen. “Oh crap, sorry. I’m making you turn green. I didn’t want to upset you. I just kind ofremember you weren’t bothered by stuff like that. And you’re a surgeon, so…”
I swallow hard. Of course, I had to expect this story would be everywhere. I just don’t want to hear about it right now. For a little while, I was trying to pretend it didn’t exist. I scrounge around on the ground for my scrubs.
“Hey.” He sits up in bed. “Hey, I’m sorry. You’re not leaving, are you?” He starts grabbing for his own pants. “Hey, you can’t leave.”
I pause in the middle of turning my scrub shirt inside out. I look up at Brady’s brown eyes. “Why can’t I leave?”
“Because if I knew you weren’t going to be here, I would’ve gotten onions on the pizza. So this really isn’t fair.”
My shoulders relax. I don’t know why I’m letting myself get worked up. I came here to forget about everything. At least for a little while.
“I’ll stay for the pizza,” I say. “But I’m not watching the news.”
“I’ll find something else awesome for us to watch together,” he promises.
I watch as he settles back against his pillow, flipping through channels on the television like it’s his mission. Despite everything, I have to smile. He’s really cute.
While Brady finds something for us to watch, I get up to go to the bathroom. The hall outside his room is completely dark, and I almost stub my toe on the door frame. The bathroom is on the left, and right next to it is that other room. His office. The door is still closed. Presumably locked.
Once again, I’m seized with an uneasy stirring in my chest. Why would he keep that room locked? It’s such a strange thing to do. I mean, the apartment is locked and he’s the only one who lives here. So why would he need to lock that room as well? I can’t help but think back to what Mrs. Chelmsford said when we were at the drugstore.
I hear screams coming from upstairs at night. Women’s screams. Crying for help.
I glance back into the bedroom, where Brady is still flipping through the channels. Instead of going to the bathroom, I take a step closer to the door of the mystery room.
It’s just an office. I’m sure he’s telling the truth. Why would he lie?
Of course, why did my father lie about what was in the basement?
Not every man is a psychotic killer, Nora.
Brady is nice. He was nice back in college and he’s still nice now. This room is just an office. I’m sure it’s exactly what he said—he keeps it locked to keep his financial documents secure. Especially since this is a bad neighborhood.
