The Blonde

Zero a.m.

The Dublin Inside Her Head (last call)

It was the sight of J.J. s blood that pushed her over. Something snapped, permanently. What she saw, she was not able to unsee. She would never be the same. She hated the Operator for that.

And for the fact that even when presented with the sight of the blood-soaked corpse of a man she’d been kissing just a few hours ago, the most pressing need on her mind was this: Use the bathroom. She didn ‘t know if she’d have another chance. Maslows hierarchy of needs. She’d learned about it in high school. Urge to eliminate waste versus respect for a human corpse? No contest. The urge would win.

She used the bathroom, her body contorting to avoid touching any part of J.J.‘s body. She hated herself for it. But she hated the Operator worse for having put her through these indignities.

It was the scorched-earth policy from then on.

She’d do what she must to destroy hi?n.

Vanessa mastered many skills in the next few weeks: Meeting married men, seducing them. Not that it took much. Half the time, they were ready to rape her in the bar But she ‘d say, “No, not here. ” She ‘d have them take her to their flat or a hotel room. Preferably a hotel. Buy her room-service dinner. Invite her into bed.

The next morning, she’d call for a cab and insist the driver escort her to it; she ‘d claim her companion had been abusive. Nobody would question that. And the subject would be most likely happy to get rid of her, once she started crying and raving. Happy until about ten seconds after she left. The Mary Kates only needed a few hours to replicate and spread throughout a bloodstream enough to kill.

They usually didn’t scream, which was good. And it didn’t bother her too much after the second subject. These men were adulterers, after all.

By the fifth murder, she thought someone surely would have come after her. The trail of bodies was too long to ignore. Didn ‘t anyone do a blood test? See so?nething a little off in there? She had been hoping for a public outcry: SHOCKING MURDERS, MEN FOUND ACROSS THE COUNTRY, BRAINS EXPLODED IN THEIR SKULLS. Once the nation was horrified, and Anderson Cooper was talking about it on CNN, she planned on turning herself in to the New York Times.

But nothing.

Where the fuck were the reporters?

If these men were buried with the Mary Kates inside them, her tour of vengeance was for nothing.

She became increasingly desperate. Tired. Her body revolting against irregular feedings and physical abuse. If she hadn ‘t lost it already … well, her mind was overdue for a serious vacation.

Then a day ago, she’d been on a plane from Houston to Philadelphia and overheard someone say, “Oh, you ‘re a journalist?”

This was a man she had to meet.

Journalist Jack Eisley.

Her Jack, her savior, her last hope.