Lie Girl

Chapter 16

Zareef flipped a switch. Florescent lights flooded the parlor, the walls covered with photos of his tattoo work inked into people's arms, chests, and backs.

"What do you think?" he said, pointing at the pictures.

"Yes, very nice," I replied. His placid face glowed, perhaps with pride in his work. It was quite a change from his stunned, horrified expression when he saw Niya and Umair's butchered bodies. An hour later, the bulging eyes and grimace had disappeared. Was his shock at Umair's apartment all an act? Who killed my friends? Keep him calm.

I returned to the question I had asked a moment ago. "Why was I a problem?"

Zareef tilted his head side to side as if loosening muscles. "He wanted you out of his apartment. You knew that."

"I was paying rent."

"So little. He was doing you a favor."

"But—"

"Umair told me he was afraid. Someone was hunting you."

My mouth went dry. "They killed Niya, not me."

His green eyes fixed on my face. "Are you certain?"

For an instant, I was not sure. Did I stand here a ghost? My uncertainty and dread must have shown, for he held up his palm as though to reassure me.

"I meant they made a mistake," he said. "You look so alike.

"Would you have made a mistake?"

"Umair was my friend. I knew Niya."

Every muscle in my body tensed. "If you knew someone was hunting me, why would you take the risk of inviting me into your home?"

He pushed his fingers through his thin blond hair. "There is a risk involved, yes."

"For what gain?"

"Artistic." His lips twitched, and as if suppressing a giggle, he covered his mouth, "Sorry," he said into his hand.

I was dealing with a madman. I could think of only one thing—staying alive. To do so, I had to become other than who I was: a scared kid, mourning friends. Like water, able to fit into what vessel it is poured. I screwed my face into a smile. "Then you're an artist?"

He threw his hand out toward the wall of photos. I nodded. "Yes, of course. Your tattoos. Your art."

"You'll be my muse—and my model." He clasped his hands, beaming with excitement.

My heart was racing. I stole quick glances, looking for a means of escape. A window. A door. Something, anything which I could hurl myself through.

He held out his bare forearm, revealing the inked portraits and patterns on his skin. "I'm becoming quite well known. You can ask around."

How heavy my body felt, each beat of my heart like the thrust of those machines that draw oil from the earth. What was he going to ask me to do? Pose naked for his fucking photo? I drew a quick breath. "Your tattoos are beautiful, Zareef. Did you do them yourself?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you are a true artist."

"You'll have your own room. As much food as you want. The run of my place. All you have to do is obey me, and I'll treat you like a Pakistani princess."

What's wrong with him? "That's very kind of you." Oh, what a creep!

"I was to meet you tonight."