Perhaps I was hasty. I could use her warmth tonight. Not just the physical warmth of her body, but the internal warmth. Her soul, her heart. Her blood.
Outside, people emanate heat. Inside, they are on fire. Some of them. Those who allow themselves to be. Others, those who ignore their yearnings, who silence their inner voices, they become as cold as I am.
I went to the house, the one they showed on the news. It was ultra-modern, with all the newest amenities. Yet stepping inside was like walking back in time. I could see Helen’s father lying in the scattered ashes. I could see her mother hanging in the outline on the wall.
I know the scenario absolutely. I did not commit the acts, not this time, but the crime belongs to me.
And now, I think I understand why I am here.