She’s sleeping when I bring her down her breakfast. I’m surprised that the ding of the elevator doesn’t wake her right away. She stirs slightly as I walk slowly into the room.

I crouch down next to her and am surprised at how vulnerable she is. In her sleep, she looks like the twenty-two-year-old girl that she is. When she’s awake, she looks older, more world-weary, although I know that isn’t the case.

I did my homework on her. It took a while, since there’s not much out there about her, but I figured out that she’s twenty-two, doesn’t have a high school education, and has always lived at home. Beyond that, there’s not much information.

She’s a puzzle that I want to solve. She’s a gift that I want to unwrap.

I place the tray next to her mattress and stand. As I turn to leave, I hear her sit up.

“Noah,” she says.

I turn back to her. “Sleeping beauty.”

“What time is it?”

I smile. “It’s morning. I brought you something to eat.”

“Oh.” She looks at the tray. “Thanks.”

That’s the first time she’s thanked me.

“You’re welcome. I don’t want this to be more uncomfortable than it has to be.”

She picks up the cup of water and drinks it greedily. When she finishes, I get her more from the bathroom. She drinks another cup but waves me away when I go to fill it up again.

“Stay with me,” she says as I turn to leave.

I pause and turn back, surprised. “You want me to stay while you eat?”

She nods, looking shy. “I sit alone in here all day. I guess I want some company.”

I nod and sit down on the floor across from her. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She picks up her toast and takes a bite. I watch as she chews and swallows. “You don’t have to stare at me.”

I grin at her. “Sorry, sugar. Can’t help it.”

“Are you always like this?” she asks, sounding annoyed.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Charming. Annoying.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Probably,” I say.

“Well, tell me about yourself.”

“That seems like a bad idea.”

She sighs. “Look, I’m locked in your basement. I don’t plan on spilling the beans when you let me out of here. But we might as well talk to each other while I’m stuck, right?”

I nod, but I know what she’s doing. She’s probing for weaknesses. It’s impressive, actually, that she’s not too afraid to push me like this. I haven’t touched her and won’t, but she doesn’t actually know that.

“I was born in this area,” I say to her. “Grew up around here.”

“What were your parents like?”

“Nothing like yours.”

“Good for you.” She frowns at her tray.

“They died when I was very young.”

She looks up at me. “How?” she asks, cocking her head to one side.

“They were murdered.”

She’s silent but doesn’t look surprised. I take a deep breath and look away from her, feeling strange in the heavy silence between us. I haven’t told anyone that in a very long time. Frankly, I haven’t even mentioned my parents, let alone their murder.

“How did it happen?” she asks softly.

“I was six,” I say slowly. “They put me to bed. My mother read me a story. My father tucked me in.” I pause as the memories come flooding back and then I begin to speak faster, shocked at how good it feels to tell the story.

“I heard something strange downstairs. I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid of the dark. My mother told me that I had to try to sleep before I came and got them, and I always did try. That night, I was trying extra hard, but still couldn’t sleep.

“I don’t remember what I thought the noise was. Maybe the television or something. But I knew something was weird. So I climbed out of bed, deciding that I’d tried to sleep long enough, and went to find my mother. She usually came into the room, turned the lights on, checked for monsters, and then kissed me. That usually helped.” I pause, trying to find the words.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

“I found my father first. His throat was cut, like a second smiling face. There was a lot of blood. I didn’t really know what I was looking at. I don’t really remember what I did, but eventually I left him and tried to find my mother.

“She was left gutted on the kitchen table. She was still alive, but barely. She said something to me, but it was too quiet. I couldn’t understand her. She passed out from blood loss after that.” I go quiet, my story finished.

Amelia watches me for a minute and I can’t read her expression. I don’t expect pity from her, considering what I did to her father, but I do expect some sort of reaction.

“So that’s why you’re so fucked up.” She says finally.

I stare at her for a second. She stares back. I burst out laughing and she smiles along with me.

It feels good to laugh. I haven’t felt any lightness about my parents’ murder in a very long time, maybe ever. Amelia is one of the few people in the world that understands how I feel, at least to some extent.

Finally my laughter calms down and she finishes her piece of toast. “You’re probably right,” I say. “I can’t really deny it. I’m definitely fucked up.”

“We all are.” She grins at me. “Did they ever catch the guy?”

I nod. “Yeah, they did. It was some rich guy that got off on murdering couples, apparently. My father had a lawyer friend that sued the guy’s family for a ton of money and we ended up winning.”

“I guess that’s how you afford all this,” she says.

“That’s right.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re a rich guy with a dark past killing bad guys. Is that right?”

“Something like that.”

“So now you kill people? Like a serial killer?”

I nod, staring directly into her eyes. “That’s right. But only bad people. Only people that deserve it, like your father.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re Batman. You know that, right? That’s Batman’s origin story.”

I lean back on my hands and laugh. “Okay, yeah, that’s true. But I’m not Batman. I’m much, much worse.”

“You’re right.” She bites her lip and looks away, the smile disappearing from her face.

We lapse into silence then and whatever strange spell had been cast by the story I told suddenly breaks. The reality of our situation returns, and the tension between us returns. Slowly I stand up.

“I’ll be back later,” I say to her.

“Wait. Please.” She bites her lip. “Can you give me something to read?”

I nod. “I’ll bring you some books.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“I guess not.”

“I’ll be back.”

I turn and quickly walk to the elevator. I can feel her eyes on me as I step through the doors and ride it back up to my main house.

I can already feel myself breaking one of my rules. I’m not supposed to get attached to people. Attachments lead to poor judgment. Attachments let people into my world, and I can’t have that.

Amelia seems different. She doesn’t seem to be angry with me for killing her dad.. Instead, she’s defiant about being locked up and wants to be free, but she doesn’t hate me. She’s interested in me, instead.

Her father’s killer. She’s interested in getting to know the man that plunged a knife into her father’s heart.

That’s fascinating. The more I get to know Amelia, the more I want to crack her open and drink her. I want to read her like a book. I want her body, of course, but there’s something else about her. Any person that’s interested in a serial killer like me is worth getting to know.

It would be easier if I just killed her, but that possibility is becoming more and more remote. She’s an innocent, although she has the power to destroy me, I can’t just take her life. I wish it were that simple.

I wish I could just finish it. Instead, I want her more with every visit to the basement.