The Blonde

1:58 a.m.

Jack and Kelly lay on their backs on the carpet, joined at their wrists by Pleasure Chest handcuffs. Jack’s tongue was throbbing; Kelly was crying softly. Once again, Jack found himself in the strange position of feeling guilty about how he was treating his captor. Never mind that she’d head butted him in the face, cracked a rib, squeezed his chest, and bit his tongue nearly in half. He felt awful about kissing her. As if he’d tried to date-rape her.

“I don’t know why you’re crying.”

“You didn’t believe me. You lied, and listened to me like you believed me. But if you believed me, you wouldn’t have done that.”

Jack sat up and looked at her. Kelly moved her free hand up and placed it on his chest, almost as if she were expecting another kiss.

“Don’t worry—I’m not trying that again. There’s no need for a restraining order.”

She stared at him, through him. Her eyes were rimmed with tears, and her face was racked with exhaustion. Her lips trembled slightly.

“Wait. You’re worried I’ve poisoned you in return. When I kissed you. That’s it, right?”

“No,” she said softly.

“What is it?”

“You still don’t believe me. You were my last hope. I can’t keep running anymore. I’m so tired of running, talking, plotting … every second of every single fookin’ minute of the day….” Kelly’s Irish accent was returning. “Don’t you know what I’ve done to you?”

“What are you taking about? ”

“The Mary Kates are inside you! Right now! Multiplying! I killed all of the others to make a point. But you were supposed to be the one who would vindicate me, who would explain it all.” She touched his cheek. “Now we’re both dead.”

But Jack didn’t seem to hear.

“Killed all of what others?”