Deanna Madden #1 The Girl in 6E Read Online Free PDF Page B

heart is beating erratically. I am wet.”
    “Wet—from rain?” Derek implores.
    “No. Wet, as in aroused,” I clarify.
    “Are you often aroused in your fantasies?”
    This was taking us off topic, and I wanted to finish telling him my damn fantasy. He often did this, jumping on a random thing I’ve said and chasing it down till we’ve exhausted the poor little subject to death.
    “Sometimes.” I knew he wanted more, but I plunged on. “I start to go upstairs, and the third step squeaks—loudly. A dog from above me whines, and I know I must kill him to keep him quiet. I don’t want to kill him, so I almost turn around. But the need has taken me over, and is drumming so loudly in my head, along with the damn smoke alarm, that I have to satisfy it.”
    I pause, but thankfully Derek stays quiet, and I continue. “The top of the stairs is lit by a small Santa Claus night-light. I am confused, because it is not winter. I stare at it for a moment, before I hear a scratch on a door. It’s the dog. I reach for the handle, and suddenly I have a knife in my hand. I open the door slowly; the room is dark inside. The dog looks up at me. It is an old golden retriever. His back is swayed, and he is looking up at me with eyes of cloudy blue. His tail wags, and I start to cry. Not sob, just small streams of tears that leak from my eyes. I don’t kill the dog, but my thirst for blood is angry at me for my weakness.”
    I shift, the memory of the dream filling me with renewed urges. “The pounding in my head increases. It’s like that feeling when you are really aroused; when your body is consumed with the need for release—you would do anything, and are in such a blind fervor that you lose all rational thought. The need overtakes my rational, compassionate side, and I rush into the room, worried that they are awake and that I have lost the advantage of surprise. I stop by the bedside, and wait for my eyes to adjust. I am mad at myself for leaving the dog alone, and I hear the soft pad of his old feet on the carpet as he walks over to me. He sits at my side and pants up at me. The soft pants of his happy breath increase the maddening chorus of my mind, and I know the only way to shut it up.”
    I stop for a moment—breathing hard—the description of the fantasy making me excited, making the need stronger. It was a double-edged sword, talking to Derek. He helped me to calm the urges, but getting to that point often gave the urges strength.
    “My eyes have adjusted and I see the room: a master bedroom. There are two bodies on the bed. The man has thrown the sheet off and is lying on his back. The woman is on her side, facing away from me. I go around to her side of the bed and do her first. Then I—”
    “How do you kill her?”
    I pause, clenching my hands, trying to stop the flow of excitement that is building in strength. “I use a knife. I stab her neck. She struggles but can’t speak. I watch her die.”
    “And how did you feel as she died?”
    “Empowered.” I close my eyes as I say the word, knowing that it is not the answer he wants. He keeps thinking that something is going to change. That the emotion of regret will start to enter my fantasies.
    “Then what happens?”
    “I go to him. I take more time with him and start with his chest. I stab him there, which instantly wakes him up. I wait for him to see her, then I finish him quickly.”
    “Why wait for him to see her?”
    I rub my forehead. “I don’t know. Because I’m psychotic.”
    “You don’t seem happy with this fantasy.”
    “Do I ever seem happy about my fantasies? It’s just so fucked up. I hate that I enjoy the thought of this disgusting shit. Lately, it’s been depressing me more than usual.”
    “Do you want me to prescribe you something?” There is something in his voice, in his question, but I can’t tell what it is.
    “ Fuck , no. I want you to find the magic key that will make me normal.”
    “No one is normal. Everyone is