CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Molly woke up, her head pounding, in a small room. Sunlight streaked through crooked blinds. She sat up instantly, and the room gave way, the walls seemed to bulge and sizzle around her.
Trying to shake it off, she began looking around herself. A bland guest room, it appeared. Or maybe that was simply the way the room blurred and phased around her. A twin-sized bed made neatly underneath her. An empty dresser. Or perhaps it had something on it. It was hard to tell.
Taking a quick look at herself, Molly tried to assess any damage, but could hardly recognise herself. She had a long jagged cut in her forearm, a large chunk of her side stung, and she could see bloodstains from under a tightly wrapped bandage.
She had been redressed in some sort of silken, floral nightdress. She might have jumped to some sort of conclusion, but her head roiled and pounded too much to risk thinking.
"Well then," She thought. "Might as well go by instinct."
She shifted her weight over the side of the bed, began to stand, but instantly found her knees knocking underneath her own weight. She fell over in the next second, head still throbbing. Using unprecedented strength, she lifted herself to her hands and knees.
Panting, surprised at the infinite soreness racking her body, she slowly began to crawl to the door. Wrapping her hand around the doorknob, she struggled to pull on it, and found it swing open easily. She might have found it odd that a door was left unlocked, had her mind been in a lesser haze.
She wasn't sure exactly of what she ought to do. The last thing she remembered happened in the cabin, bleeding out, Collin holding her back, and fainting.
Her arms quivered underneath her, turning rubbery as she began to crawl down the hallway. She didn't have enough strength to hold up her head, and so she stared at the ground. White carpet. Bleach white – as though it was constantly cleaned.
As she moved, a pair of socked feet came into view, accompanied by a silky whisper. "I see you've woken up, then, Kitten."
Before she knew what was happening, she was lifted in the air. Her vision dazed in and out, spinning and blurring everything. She swung her hands out, trying to swat away, but to no avail.
"You shouldn't have moved," Collin said evenly, carrying her across the room. "The drug's still in your system. Pretty cool, though. The more you move, the more sedated you become."
He placed her carefully on a wiry futon, sitting her up on a pillow.
"No, shhh," He cooed. "Relax. You'll be better off."
Molly tripped over her tongue, feeling as though it took up the entirety of her mouth. "Let me…let me go."
"Shhhh," He repeated. Molly couldn't tell, the room still seemed dark and hazy and moved around in erratic patterns like a dark kaleidoscope.
She tried to blink away the haze, as she felt sudden external pressure moving against her chest and something warm, wet and slimy gliding across her lower lip. Shaking her head furiously, she swatted around her face as though at a million gnats.
Molly shook her head, as the swatting stopped, her arms suddenly restrained against the futon.
"I told you," Collin's voice came in her ear. "If you're still, it'll get better."
After a moment of sitting still, the room came into focus. It was possibly the cleanest flat she'd ever sat in, the smell of bleach hit her nostrils in a nauseating chemic breeze.
"See?" He drawled, tracing her collar bone lightly. "Better."
She twitched slightly, wanting to burn off her skin as he pressed against it.
"Don't." She managed to shake out on a restrained breath.
Collin jolted back, looking confused. "Oh. Right. You're still upset over what he did to you, aren't you? Too soon. See – this is why you're better – you're sensitive, fragile. You need me."
Molly just blinked, trying to lift up her heavy arms to swat away, but found them rendered immobile.
"Oh," Collin said after a moment. "That reminds me. I found your hair."
"My…my hair?"
Collin left her eyeshot, coming back momentarily with large fistfuls of long hair. "When I heard you got it cut," he explained. "I set off for your barber – you know you shouldn't have done that, right? Always ask me before altering anything – and found your colour and bought extensions. Now, let's get it hooked up."
Molly blinked, finding her limbs too heavy to move them, and feeling utterly helpless as he approached her, running his hands through her hair, and beginning to fiddle with her head.
He talked the whole time while he fiddled with her head from behind.
"You know, Kitten," He said. "I've gotten a lot more patient lately. You should've seen me years ago. I'd have gotten so angry with you. But, not anymore. You just require," He pulled on her head, attaching hooks to a bottom layer. "Some adjustments."
Trying to remain coherent, Molly managed to utter out, "Ad…adjustments?"
"Uh," Collin explained. "I've been trying for so long – so fucking long – to find someone. Someone perfect who would just love me. Just me. I had that once, you know. Susan. But she died. Celeste wound up being a piss poor choice. She tried to run away when I tried to fix her. I just wanted to talk to her—get here away from that chav. I couldn't find anyone else good enough for years. Thought I was gay for a bit, really – couldn't stand girls, too overt, flirtations, sluttish." He sighed. "But then Shaelee and I started dating. That went fine, for a long time, really. But then she fucked it up. This huge bloke just started being around her all the time. Kept files of my efforts too. Then she went and banged that librarian."
He pulled on Molly's hair again, sharply. "What is it with you girls, anyway?" He asked, frustration dripping from his voice. "You all get off on this fatal attraction shit. She almost called the police. Thankfully I'd hacked into her phone so the 999 call wouldn't go through. Little whore."
In the next moment, he was right beside Molly's face, tracing her jaw with his fingers. "But you…you're different. You're the closest thing to perfection I've seen – the prototype of the perfect woman. God, Molly…Kitten, I just—I love you so much. My soul is twisted into you, you're mine. I breathe for you. I'm so lost and all I can see is you. But—and just fuck it all with my luck – you aren't perfect."
Molly squirmed away, trying to ignore the way her world was beginning to blur. Collin, however, grabbed her wrists, hard enough to leave a bruise. Involuntarily, she cried out.
He went on. "Not yet. But, close enough to take my breath away. You're all I see – the only person I want to be with forever. And I know I'm the only person you want to be with. The way you shy away from strangers – you like lonely evenings, the soft timbre of you voice. You don't like people. See, Molly, we're made for each other."
He quickly took out an eyedropper, jammed it through her lips, and sent some sort of gritty liquid spurting down her throat.
She held her breath, afraid to move, but feeling her chest begin to prickle with numbness.
Collin, however, carried on as though he hadn't done anything. "But, still. You aren't perfect yet. You didn't ask my permission to get your hair cut, or to leave London. That's how this relationship works, Kitten. I'm in charge of you. You talk to too many people, yet. You've a sluttish streak. You could've fought a bit harder when he tried to pin you down. Just…for me, tell me that he forced you."
Molly shook her head, the room zoomed in and out in her vision, pulsing the setting.
"Tell me." He growled, his voice growing threatening. "Tell me now."
She couldn't find words, her mind hazed.
"Of course he did – what a stupid question on my part. You just went along with it because you had to. He didn't offer you a choice. Well, don't worry. I have the video and I have access to the records, and we'll ruin him. Just like I'm ruining Billy Morrison and Maryann Thompsen. Making it look like they're involved in drug rings, setting them up with people to make that a reality – even putting my neck on the line to show that sex video to involve Maryann. I'll be creative with Greg, though. Give me a bit, and I'll whip up a bender."
He smiled at her. "And then we'll live happily ever after, like in storybooks. That's what you want, isn't it, Kitten? Of course it is."
"I—I…" Molly stuttered.
"Shut up." Collin demanded. "Oh, Molly, just swear you'll stay with me. Forever. Fuck – I need you. You need me. Just swear you'll stay. Swear you'll be perfect. Swear you won't whore around anymore like the rest of them."
She felt the room spin, she was losing her focus. What had just happened? She struggled to remember, but seemed to remember the eyedropper poking between her lips again.
"See – this –" Collin explained, holding up a black memory stick. "This is your second strike. I give all my girls three strikes. Three chances to be a whore before I crack down on them. I think it's rather valiant of me, don't you?" He shook his head. "But don't let that get to your head. That's what Celeste did. I still remember it like it was yesterday."
He began pacing, walking over to the window, the image of his first kill still fresh in his brain. Celeste on her knees crouched in a corner, her whimpers deliciously pathetic.
"Oh, please – Collin," she'd begged, crying. "Stop it! Stop! We never went out. I love Billy! Please, Collin. Just…please. I won't tell anyone, I promise."
Well, he thought bitterly, if she'd loved the chav so much she shouldn't have led him on—she shouldn't have told him that they'd always be together. She had almost been perfect, but there it went down the drain – and she denied everything, the bitch. Collin shook his head at the memory. It was so unfair. He was so unlucky in love.
He continued addressing Molly. "Of course, don't deny everything. I hate that, too. You need to be honest with me. You'll find I'm flexible for the girls I love. But when you lie – Shaelee did that – well, I get angry."
All he had wanted to do with Shaelee was to talk to her, let her know she had two strikes. She denied everything, acted like she wasn't even dating any man. As though he hadn't noticed the way he was around all the time – oh what's his name? – George Willis. She'd even claimed she was a lesbian, the cunt. He hated liars. What did she think? That he'd be okay with her fucking with him like that? Saying she loved him, and then denying the cheating. What was that all about?
All of a sudden, he snapped back to the room. Kneeling beside Molly, he took her hand in his. He stared at her—his little kitten. The way her eyes glazed, the film of sweat building in on her face. She wouldn't use her last strike. He could tell.
He even considered giving back her first strike. That one had been a full year ago, after all, before they'd even been together. But Jim had told him how attached she'd been – that was strike one for such attachment and the innuendo that carried in his late friend's voice. Strike two had been her allowing the Detective Inspector to burrow inside her.
How could she have let that happen, anyhow? The Detective Inspector was much too old for her. He'd seen him with women before – and Collin had been utterly disgusted.
How could they let someone so perverted into Scotland Yard? And as a senior officer, no less. He wondered how many people knew he fucked in cabs and then left his date without breakfast in the morning. That, he thought solemnly, was demented.
Collin let his eyes move back to Molly and found himself smiling. She was worth mercy – she was perfect. And she'd love him. He wrapped a hand around her sweaty face, and pulled her in, gnawing at her limp tongue. She wrenched away with what little power she could.
Exasperatedly, he pulled a little packet from his trouser pocket, opening it, he poured the whole contents into her mouth, shutting her mouth and blocking off any other airways, forcing her to swallow.
For a moment while the powder clogged the inside of her throat, Molly forgot everything. Her head felt heavy, her arms of lead, and, once again, everything faded into blackness.
When she woke up again, either an hour or two days later, she found that she couldn't be any more vulnerable if she was completely paralysed. The drug kept her in a fog. Time passed slowly, but she couldn't remember what happened a minute before. A drip in the faucet pounded in her ears making her head throb.
She was awake but every movement would have taken all her stamina. She tried to work out a plan to run away, but wild obstacles appeared in her mind and she could not have a single coherent thought.
Through her intoxicated haze, Molly was able to make out the flat slightly. Everything was painstakingly cleaned, dusted to perfection, shining and reeking of bleach. She paused herself. Hadn't she realised this before? But, wasn't this the first time she was in the room?
She tried to make herself focus, letter her eyes catch on a framed photograph across from her on a white shelf. Using everything she could, she just tried to focus. Soon, a girl came into view. She was a young, blond, pretty thing. At least, as far as Molly could tell. The next photograph over was one of another girl, a bit older and thinner. And right next to it, it seemed, was a mirror.
But, wait, was she standing in front of it? That's the only thing the image seemed to convey. So she must've been. But…no, she was lying on her back.
She groaned, feeling stupid and worthless, unable to comprehend something so simple as her current position.
Collin sat at a desk, surrounded by several large laptops and desktops, busying himself with something, occasionally talking over his shoulder towards her, except she couldn't follow the conversation. Never before had she felt so completely stupid.
After what felt like years but seemed like two minutes, he approached the futon once more, sitting next to her, all together too close.
He reached over, and played with her extensions. "So, Kitten. Doesn't it feel good to be home?"
Molly flapped her jaw up and down, but felt unable to make her vocal chords vibrate.
"I suppose it does. After all – you'll be here all the time now." He grinned. "Doesn't this feel so much better than being in that shitty morgue all the time? With all those cadavers – not that that's all too bad. It's kind of sexy, actually—all those dead bodies. But, I can't afford you traipsing around with all those other men down there."
Molly blinked.
"So, I think it's rather obvious why I had to get into Bart's files and have you sacked." Collin shook his head. "You know though, it was actually pretty fucking hard. Somebody else was messing with your files. Probably that wanker-stalker you've got. Your bank accounts and all that just disappeared – I couldn't find anything to hack into."
He almost smiled at the memory. It had brought them closer together, after all. If he hadn't noticed anything dodgy about her files, he might have not realised she was being followed. And then where would they be?
No, it was better for them both that he'd found the early warning signs. So, he'd paid her rent to keep her safe from the roads and from that old fucker – and he arranged for the hospital to let her go. After all, if she could support herself, she wouldn't need him.
That was no good – she ought to be dependant on him for everything. After all, the perfect woman, she needed her boyfriend for all things.
"Well, before we can start in our lives together," Collin said, moving her legs over his and putting an arm around her. "We have to do some tests. We have to make you perfect."
Her heart beat, thumping through her whole body, she felt as though she was flickering in and out of the room.
Collin continued. "We're going to try a beta test. You know, like a hard-drive. Everything you do that bothers me, I'll correct it. And you'll learn. Give you data reports. But, I have to wait for you to remember." He shook his head. "Remember the way it really is. The way it can be. Not what he told you."
Molly shook her head, feeling it pound at the movement.
"No, no, don't talk, Kitten," He said. "Don't talk while I'm working. That's our first problem, here. You're not perfect because you talk out of turn and negate me. I hate it when people say no. It's your job to say yes. To everything." His eyes burned through her. "Every last fucking thing that comes to my mind."