I dragged my sleep-deprived body across the dimly lit halls, shuffling my feet as I went. I barely had the energy to walk; I was so exhausted. James' horrifying theories had kept me up half the night, my mind packed with endless assumptions and explanations.
What James had pointed out to me made sense. Harry did seem a step ahead and always seemed to know what was underlying the situation at hand. He was smart, as was he powerful. Even though he was locked up in his cell most of the day, he knew things. He had found the basement almost too quickly during that storm. And if he really did murder even more women than I had once thought, what better way to draw suspicion away from yourself than acting like the one who had merely stumbled across the bodies?
Plus, he seemed like the type who's mind could master manipulation. He could've somehow blackmailed or influenced a guard to give him the key. He may even be working with Thomas. Just the way he spoke and talked in that condescending tone like he had something on you made him seem villainous. He is a murderer, after all. It's not like he hasn't skinned women before.
All of these things James had explained to me on the way to drop me off from our date, and each sentence he spoke made sense. The more he talked, the more I began to think that the murderer wasn't an employee at all.
But as much as I wanted to believe that we had already found our killer, it just didn't sit well. Something was off. And not in James' theories, but in Harry. Something about the whole situation just didn't click. My intuition argued with my conscience, one part of me believing it was Harry and one part of me knowing that somehow it wasn't.
So now my mind was everywhere and nowhere, trying to piece together all of these events. I needed answers. Answers about Cynthia, answers as to why Kelsey was acting so strange, and answers on whether or not Harry was the killer. And what better person to ask than Harry himself?
I knew this was probably stupid, because he might target me next if he knew I was onto him. But somehow I wasn't afraid. And I didn't even care anymore. I just wanted to know what was going on for once. So I entered the cafeteria as my eyes searched the room, trying to find a tall boy with luscious lips.
But I found nothing, just the haggard, zombie-looking bodies of the other patients. He must be late again. I took a seat at the table which had unofficially become ours, lying my head on my folded arms and letting my eyes flutter closed. I would just rest until he arrived. To put my mind at bay I thought of last night and James' concerned expression as he explained his ideas after paying for our dinner. When we walked outside I had been relieved to see no stalker on our tail, the person following us had probably left. I also thought about the hug James and I shared after he dropped me off, remembering how he smelled like cinnamon. With these calming thoughts It only took about a minute for me to doze off into a state of dreams and drowsiness. I was half-asleep when my head snapped up as I heard someone approach.
"Cynthia," Harry's raspy voice spoke, coaxing me out of my sleepy state. "Cynthia Porter." His dark eyebrows were etched together in thought as he scooted a chair up beside me.
"Yeah?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. "What about her?"
I blinked a few times in attempts to wake myself up, looking over at Harry expectantly. And as my eyes scanned his figure, I could swear he got more attractive with every second. The longer you look at him the more his entirety engulfs you, seducing you into his dark world and making you never want to leave. Strong muscles were present under his skin, still smooth and tanned even though it hadn't seen the sun in months. His hair was a pile of disarrayed curls pushed back on his head away from his striking eyes and lush lips.