The last hours of the evening lay mapped out in my mind, a clear path heading inexorably to the dawn. Time relentlessly ticks away like it always does, refusing to turn back on itself with all the stubborn tenacity of a ravening beast. Even so, there are matters to attend to.

Bonnie's incessant pounding on the bathroom door has stopped, replaced by the gentle rush of water through plumbing. Perhaps she is trying to drown herself. After several necessary phone calls, and a cursory sweep of my rented abode, I return to Bonnie's empty room. I gather her purse and the various sundries I had purchased for her, stowing them in the corner of the room. I fish out her driver's license, and stow it in my trouser pocket. Standing in the middle of the room I take a deep breath, letting her faint aroma permeate my nasal passages. I record the earthy perfume for posterity, secreting it in a Canopic jar in the antechamber of my memory palace. The cape, that lovely trifling frivolity, I spread out on the bed like a duvet.

The water rushing through the pipes ceases its flow. Silence reigns once more, peppered only by the quiet rhythm of my now steady breath. I can smell the lingering scents of my two lovely captives. That unique, commingled perfume is disconcerting. And for a brief moment, they cease to exists as separate entities, instead forming a constellation in the skies above my memory palace. Clarice-Bonnie-Mischa…it's as I've always suspected. Some of our stars are the same, and always will be. I draw the curtains in my mind closed. My stargazing will have to wait until the dawn.

When I unlock the bathroom door, the air is still heavy with moisture. Bonnie reclines limply against the white porcelain of the bathtub, her hair captured in a neat twist at the nape of her shapely neck. She is quite elegant in her icy nudity. The look she gives me could shatter glass. I wonder briefly, if there is aristocratic blood mingling with the commonness in her veins. Pity, that blueblood is just an expression. It always looks the same, no matter whose artery it spills from.

I crouch beside the bathtub and trail my fingers through the water.

"You've let the water cool. You'll catch a chill."

"What the fuck do you care?"

"Such Eloquence."

I can taste her delicious anger in the humid air. I remove my cufflinks, and roll back my sleeves.

"What have you been ruminating on since our last little chat, Bonnie?"

"You're not what I expected."

"Ah. People rarely are, Bonnie. But for the sake of conversation, what did you expect?"

She looks at me know, with a cultivated air of detachment. That façade will be stripped from her soon enough. I allow her to pretend.

"I thought you'd take me back to your house and kill me."

My amusement bubbles forth in laughter.

"Is something funny?"

"I suppose not. But it just serves to reiterate the point, Bonnie, that our lives become the most interesting when people don't do exactly as we expect. For example, when Clarice offered her body and companionship to me in exchange for your life, she thoroughly expected me to comply with her plea. I'd say that when she wakes up in the morning, her life is going to get very, very interesting."

I can see a chink in Bonnie's reserve now, as my words sink in and penetrate the melancholy she wears like a shroud.

"I want very much to have her with me, Bonnie. But only on the terms that I decide. "

She winces here…funny how it still hurts her.

"And failing that, the course of the evening has convinced me that I would enjoy keeping you, at least for awhile. But I have terms with you as well, Bonnie. I believe I struck a bargain with you, and you have fulfilled your part of the arraignment with admirable courage."

I take her hand and help her to her feet. Water cascades off her in rivulets, snaking across her curves, and disappearing into the floor mats. She raises her arms as I press a thick bath sheet against her flesh, drying her. When I reach her torso, I raise my eyes to here. Tears stream unbidden from her eyes. There is an odd mix of apprehension and gratitude.

"You've waited so long for it, Bonnie. Now that you're looking death in the face do you find the fear you thought you'd left behind in your childhood home?"

For the first time this night, her voice cracks. It's already started.

"Yes. I am afraid."

Her naked honesty remains until the last.

"Good. Then I'd say it's about time we begin."

I offer her my arm, and she takes it. We proceed down the hallway and enter her room. The velvet cape drapes the bed, and I inch her backwards to it.

"Lie down. On your back."

She obeys, shutting her eyes tight as she reclines. Her hands lay stiffly at her sides. The tension radiates off her in waves. Her eyes remain shut as I settle on the bed beside her, leaning on my side, and smoothing my hand over her creased brow. I lower my voice and whisper to her.

"Relax."

She makes a conscious effort to release the rigidity in her muscles. She doesn't entirely succeed.

"Are you able to open your eyes, Bonnie?"

Her voice sounds uncharacteristically small.

"Please don't make me."

"Alright. Not just yet, anyhow."

"Thank you."

It's not just a polite turn of phrase. She means it with every fiber of her being.

"Take a deep breath in through your nose, hold for a count of three, and then release through your mouth."

"Yes, Sir."

"Continue breathing like that."

I watch her for several moments. The tightness in the voluntary long muscle fibers abates somewhat. Her eyes flutter softly but do not open. I stroke the top of her head, and she leans in to my touch.

"What do you feel?"

"Apprehension"

"You could still change your mind, you know. I'd be willing to allow you your freedom."

"You mean you'd allow my life. It's not the same thing."

"No, Bonnie. You're absolutely right. It's not the same thing."

I grasp her by the shoulders and pull her into my arms. She gasps at first, startled by the rush of motion. We are facing each other, me with eyes wide open, her with eyes shut tight. I wrap my arms tightly around her, and after a pause she lays her head against my chest. I softly kiss the arch of her brow bone, caress her face with my fingers. She shudders once, and I recognize it as the beginning of a sob. There is so much pain and anger locked inside her. The lock on the door where she keeps her rage must be almost as strong as mine.

I hold her like that for a quarter of an hour, memorizing each fascinating and intrinsic texture: The down on her cheek, the press of her breasts against my chest, the top of her head as it nestles below my chin. I feel an unexpected affection swelling inside the cavern of my heart. I lift her chin, and part her lips with my own. The kiss is long, and full, and when it is over I know that it is time. I look down at her, and her eyes are finally open once more. When she speaks to me, a note of surprise colors her tone.

"I love you."

I extract my arms from the embrace and smooth her onto her back once more.

"I know."

A question flickers across her eyes, but I refrain from answering her. When I say nothing more, she looks down and closes her eyes once more.

"Are you ready now, Bonnie?"

There is a long pause, and she lets out a soft sigh before answering.

"Yes, Sir."

"Very good. Turn your arms over, so your palms are facing up."

She exposes the white flesh of her arms to me, a delicate pattern of lacey blue veins decorating her pale skin. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and sit next to her, my side brushing hers. I delve into my pocket and retrieve the cold steel blade. I hold it in my hands, and breath onto it, warming the smooth metal. She flinches softly at the click my Harpy makes as it is unfurled.

It would be quicker to slice her carotid or femoral artery. It would be cleaner to snap her neck. But truly there's only one way that will do. I've know it from the moment I saw those anachronistic kidskin gloves.

"Bonnie, give me your left wrist."

I slide my fingertips over her wrist. I raise it to my lips and kiss the smooth pink wrinkle of scar tissue. Tears start to stream out from her closed lids.

"Give me you right hand."

She lays her hand it mine and I clasp it firmly. I press the handle of the open Harpy into her palm. Her eyes snap open, a look of panic rising in her features.

"I…I…Can't…Please…"

I wrap my fingers tighter around her palm, squeezing her fingers in on the handle of the knife.

"You will, Bonnie. I'll help you."

She stares at me for a long time, her hands caught in mine, the light glinting of the serrated blade balanced between us. It feels like an eternity. It seems that time stops. For a moment I wonder if the teacup is going to fuse back together. I feel her tears fall on my fingertips. I feel her pulse thundering through her captured wrist.

With painfully slow movements, Bonnie inches the blade towards the wrist I hold out for her. She touches the point to a cerulean vein and drags it along the skin. The cut is shallow and only weeps superficially. Bonnie sobs.

"Again."

"I can't"

"Again!"

It comes out harsher than I intended. I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand, and whisper to her.

"Again."

With difficulty, she slides the tip back across her wrist. It won't be deep enough this time either. I wrap my hand over hers, gripping the knife through her fingers, and press down. This time, the blade finds it's mark. She cries out softly as it enters her artery. A small jet of red spurts up, and bubbles down across her arm. I tighten my grip on her hand and drawn the knife firmly across. It catches on the rubbery vein. I give it a little tug, and it's free. I stare down at the blood fleeing from her body. Just a few minutes now. Ten perhaps, even fifteen. But no more. I expect to see her looking down at the wound, but when I look up, she is gazing at me. I'm locked there by her eyes.

"I'm cold."

"Yes, you're in shock. Would you like a blanket?"

The color drains from her face rapidly, her blood staining the velvet below her.

"Would you please…"

I don't wait for her to finish, instead gathering her up in my arms and holding her close. The tuxedo will have to be burned.

"Thank you."

"You're most welcome, Bonnie."

I stroke her hair out of her eyes.

"Remarkable girl."

She begins to shudder and gasp. I can see the fear in her eyes, and I lay her back against the bed. I hold her face gently between my hands. She whimpers."

"Shhhh…Bonnie, don't fight. I want you to remember the sailboat."

Her eyes begin to flutter shut. It's almost over. Almost.

"Remember the way the water felt when you trailed your fingers over the side. Remember the smell of the salt air. Remember that wonderful feeling…that feeling of being so free. Free."

The gasping stops, and the shuddering. She stills beneath the caress of my voice. And as her eyes shut for the final time, the corners of her lips turn up in a hint of a smile.

I don't know how long I stay like that, but when I finally pull myself away the blood on my hands has dried. I inhale the metallic tang from my fingertips, running my tongue along the grooves of my fingerprints. The taste is pungent and sharp. I retch.

I have never killed a person for whom I had felt a genuine affection for. It is not an experience I wish to revisit at present. Perhaps, late at night, as sleep begins to claim me, I may slip into this room and while away the night with her. But not yet. It is still too fresh, to raw. Perhaps it just needs to age like a fine wine. Or perhaps it will only sour like the vinegar whose sharpness mars the tongue and offends the palate. Only time tells. Only time.

I hoist Bonnie's body in my arms and carry her down the hall. There's still so much to be done before dawn.