"Shhh... take it like the good girl you are."
"I'm a good girl?" I whispered.
He gazed up at me, eyes glowing in amusement. "Do you want me to prove it to you?"
My eyes glistened with his reflection.
"I can prove it to you," he answered, "but I'll...
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Riley
I had been in the basement for almost half-an-hour, and during this time, I waited for Paris to stop looking for me.
So since my legs got tired from crouching, I sat on the concrete and pulled my legs to my chest, staring off into the darkness as I still held the shard of glass tightly in my hand.
I even stopped feeling the pain of it eventually.
But then footsteps receded down the stairs, and I stiffened, heart pounding.
And without even a little bit of looking, Paris came around the boxes I hid behind and sighed, shaking his head.
"Wow, you were very lucky. The moment you ran, my guard reset the security systems and it took a while for it to reboot. Otherwise it would've been easier to find you."
He meant they had security cameras? Great.
"Riley," Paris said.
I backed myself against the wall, shaking my head to indicate him to not get closer.
"Riley," he said, stepping further toward me, "don't panic."
I pressed myself further to the wall, rose my hand, and pointed the shard of glass menacingly at him.
He only sighed and kneeled before me, clearly not afraid of the silent threat.
I just noticed the cut I left on his cheek.
It clearly wasn't attended to, and there was blood slipping down his skin like red tears.
"Come out of there," he said then.
I shook my head.
"What happened?" he asked me. "Was it the car ride? I was trying to protect us."
I shook my head again, afraid if I spoke, my voice would waver.
"Then..." he said, tipping his head to the side, "what is it?"
"I found her jacket," I told him, making him blink in surprise.
"Who?"
"What do you mean, WHO?" I yelled at him, though he didn't flinch back. "BELLA'S!"
His eyes darkened as if he realized something and he looked away, sighing. "That's why. I didn't think you would get the wrong idea."
I stared at him worriedly. "But serial killers take keepsakes."
"I'm not the killer," he said, annoyed. "Will you let me explain?"
"Did you kill her?" I questioned him.
"No. I was trying to save her."
I drew back in shock.
"I took the jacket to hopefully get DNA from the attacker," he explained. "But I only found his blood-type."
"Show me," I demanded sternly, still keeping the shard at him.
