It had been nothing to get him into this position. She’d started him on the pint of rum as soon as she had picked him up. Of course, as always the bottle contained more than mere alcohol. So, by the time he’d had several healthy swigs, followed by the shower, he was “medicated” enough to be pliable. But then, they always were.

The vagrants along Airline Highway were easy prey. Even better, they were rarely, if ever, missed. When they disappeared no one asked questions. No one wondered where they might be. No one, except maybe the others like them with whom they spent their pathetic lives each day and night. But, no one listened to them. And, just like her chosen sacrifice, none of them even mattered. Like all men, they were there for her amusement, and because these wretches led such an unremarkable existence, they were perfect for those times when the need arrived unannounced.

She just had to be careful which ones she chose. But then, Miranda did the choosing, and She was always careful.

Except for Saint Louis.

Annalise stared into the man’s face. His fear was making the rum and Diazepam cocktail wear off quickly, which was exactly what she wanted. She needed his fear and his pain, for with them came his undying love. And, these were the currency that brought the reward.

She could see a newfound sobriety in his watery eyes as he peered back at her, silently pleading. She could barely hear his hoarse moans and squeals through the several loops of duct tape encircling the lower half of his head, securing the washcloths she had stuffed into his mouth.

At the moment, she was kneeling astride his chest, resting her weight primarily on her knees, which pressed down hard upon his upper arms. It wasn’t so much that she needed to do so for a practical purpose. There was no way he could escape the ropes with which he’d been tied. But, the position made her feel even more in control, and she was certain that it brought him pain. It was a demonstration of her power over him, for her own benefit as much as his.