Chapter 4

The next morning I awoke with those same loving eyes still staring at me. It was just Elenita, she must have sent the others on their way, with a generous bonus – she usually did, and they certainly earned it.

Although it was accompanied by a bit of disorientation, I felt at peace. No stolen memories lingered in back of my mind, no guilt gnawed at guts, no paranoia crawled along my spine, no rage pressed on my skull. It wouldn't last – but I had it now.

And I intended to enjoy it.

"Magangdang umaga. What a lovely site to wake up to."

Warm fingers encircled my semi-rigid cock, quickly eliminating the 'semi'.

"Are you still compelling me to need your cum?"

"No, that stopped when I fell asleep."

"Well then, I guess that I just want it."

Elenita grinned a gorgeous grin as her head disappeared under the thin sheet.

A warm mouth replaced the gentle fingers. I didn't use the empathic link. I was currently sated, addiction wise, and if I turned it on, I was pretty sure it would stay on until I passed out. Not that I couldn't turn it off – I just knew it was unlikely.

It didn't take long for her to get what she wanted.

I closed my eyes allowed myself to float ... dozing on a comfortable cool cloud of orgasmic afterglow and emotional contentment. That too was a hedonistic weakness of a sort. A mental vacation that I hoped would recharge my defenses and help me keep my darker nature at bay – or, at least solidly on task. This freedom, this high, would slowly dissipate throughout the day, but it would enable me to look in a mirror for a while.

When I opened my eyes Elenita snuggled against me, awake but still, as though she didn't want to disturbed me. I don't know how long I had dozed.

I sensed she knew I had awakened. I had been in her mind many times, shared far too many empathic links with her. When things were quiet, when it was just us, alone and peaceful, she could sense my mood.

"I've called down for breakfast, but there's already coffee service on the table."

"Thank you, you think of everything."

"Walang anuman, mahalko." (You're welcome, my love) "Are you here for a time or will you be leaving sooner?" She spoke with a typical Filipino accent – every word painstakingly enunciated, whether it was the right word or not.

I may have been on the down slope of my high, but I hadn't lost too much altitude yet – so I barely felt the twinge of guilt or the rush of sadness. The sadness I had wanted to avoid.

"I'm working, I should leave today."

"That is too bad ... you have not been here for a while."

Because it was getting too hard to leave. A feeling I was trying to understand, but hadn't, as of yet.

"How is school coming along?"

She knew me, once I changed the subject, it stayed changed.

Her voice was soft. She didn't move her head from my chest.

"It is going well. Two more semesters and I am a nurse."

"Elle, I'm so proud of you."

And I was. She had overcome numerous obstacles to get to where she was. By rights she should be a drug addled street hooker by now.

She had grown up on the streets of Tondo, a tough, crime ridden part of Manila that even most natives avoided. Her mother had died giving birth to her younger brother and her father was a low rent criminal whose best efforts got them a house that was nothing more than a few two by fours and sheet of corrugated tin to keep the rain off. He tried to pass his meager skills to his children.

She'd wanted more and worked hard for an education. As a little girl she had dreams of becoming a nurse as she strung flowers for an older woman, selling them to Jeepney and taxi drivers to earn the few pesos it took to go to school each day. It wasn't enough for the required skirt and blouse, but her father's lessons did allow her to steal the clothing she needed.

As she grew, her beauty became apparent and by fourteen many of those drivers wanted more than flowers and offered more than a few pesos. She'd resisted those offers.

Tondo was the sort of place where knives are the weapon of choice and most grown men bear scars from their youth. Nasty scars that, at first make you wonder how they survived – then you realize that quite a few hadn't.

When she was sixteen her brother was killed in a gang fight shortly after her father went to prison. The offers then became too tempting to pass up. That eventually led her to Manny and then to me. But she'd never given up on her dream, never stopped working towards her goal.

"Are you?"

"You know I am."

"Yet, you do not marry me."

"I can't."

"You love me, don't you?"

"I've never said that."

I didn't have to. When we were together like this ... She just knew.

Her voice remained soft.

"Yes, parang nakitako rin. (I've noticed that too)"

"What good would it do to say it? Where would it lead? You know what I do – I would be gone all the time and you would be in danger if anyone I went after got away from me."

"But I love you. Shouldn't an American consider it ... ano sabe mo... 'respectful' to let me make my own choice?"

"Not this American. This American hunts dangerous people for a living, people who know how to hunt right back. My wife would be a prime target, my girlfriend too. You're only safe when you are a whore that I use – nothing more ... you can't be anything more."

"And when I am no longer a whore?"

"My heart will break ... you will never see me again ... and you will live a long, normal ... happy life."

"So this man you will kill, what has he done?"

I knew her, once she changed the subject, the subject stayed changed.

We often talked about jobs I had been on, or was going on. Not what I did to them, but what they had done to deserve it. She liked hearing about the bastards – like reading a tabloid, I supposed.

"Elle, not this one, he's a psychopath."

"Please, tell me."

"It's horrible ... why would you want to hear such things?"

"So that as you tell me, you will remind yourself why you must stop him."

She knew I didn't like to kill ... most of the time.

"This one needs stopping. He kills his victims slowly, painfully."

"How?"

"Why do you want to know that?"

"Because it will steel your resolve, help you find your center and enable you to focus properly."

"Where did you get that?"

"You told me."

"I told you? When?"

"Last night, right before you went to sleep. You were hard to understand, but that is what you tell to me."

"Well, you can't believe everything I say, I'm a notorious liar."

"Not about this. What does he do to them?"

I could see no way out – not without starting a argument, and I wouldn't be here long enough to let something like that waste time.

"Fine, but remember, you asked.

"He tortures his victims slowly, breaking or crushing most of the bones and joints. The docs say they endure days, maybe a week of it before he kills them ... then he drags that out as well by attacking certain internal organs ensuring enough damage to be fatal. Some die over the course of a few hours, some have lasted as long as a day or two."