Page 29 of The Arbiter
“Oh yes.”
I stand up again, letting the silence stretch until it's loud enough to drown out his racing heart. I take my time. Relishingthe way he watches me, his eyes following every move as if I'm a ghost that might vanish if he blinks.
“You see, officer… The interesting thing about justice is that sometimes the system fails.”
I gesture vaguely toward him, my hand sweeping through the cold air.
“Abusive boyfriends.”
Another step. The heavy thud of my boots on the concrete floor is the only rhythm left in his world.
“Men who think bruises can be hidden.”
Another step. I’m circling him now, a shark moving in for the final strike.
“Men who believe fear keeps women quiet.”
His breathing becomes uneven now, jagged, shallow gasps that whistle through his teeth. Good. I want him to struggle for every breath.
“You were very confident,” I continue calmly, my voice reflecting a deadly serenity.
“Very comfortable with the idea that nobody would ever come for you.”
I stop directly behind his chair. I lean down, my voice dropping to a whisper against the shell of his ear.
“But I did.”
His head snaps toward the sound of my voice behind him. Panic finally breaks through the surface, raw and visceral.
“You’re a fucking psychopath,” he spits, though his voice is trembling so hard the insult loses its teeth.
“You think you can just kidnap a cop and get away with it?”
I lean down, my mouth inches from his ear. My breath is slow, steady, and utterly devoid of the adrenaline currently poisoning my system.
“I already have, Jake.”
I let that sink in for a long, agonizing pause. He needs to understand that the world he once knew, the world of badges, laws, and protection, is gone.
“And the worst part?”
I rest my hand lightly, almost affectionately, on the back of his chair.
“Your own ex-girlfriend will examine your body after I’m done with you.”
His breathing turns ragged instantly. The air in the room seems to vanish, the walls closing in until the space feels no larger than a coffin. He realizes a horrifying irony: Madeline, the woman he thought he could control, will be the one to document every mark I leave on him.
I move back into his line of sight, watching the terror glaze over his eyes.
“There’s something fascinating about the human brain,” I say conversationally, as if lecturing a student.
“When you remove enough sensory input… it starts creating its own.”
I let the implication hang in the air.
“Hallucinations. Voices. Darkness that never ends.”
I lean one last time, my gaze locking onto his with an intensity that seems to pin him against the chair.
