The sun shone brightly outside the window, but the room was unlit. The curtains were drawn tight, not letting a sliver of light through.
Roland Larkin stayed in the gloom, completely enveloped by darkness. His heart was filled with a thick sense of unease and fear.
Eileen Coleman had been dead for five days, Daphne Dalton for three.
For the past five days, aside from one trip to the 13th floor, he had stayed home.
He'd killed two people and was terrified, plagued by nightmares even in his sleep.
He dreamed the police caught him...
"No, they can't." Roland Larkin patted his furiously pounding heart, trying to console himself. "They can't. I'll be fine."
'I took the stairs, and the security camera in the 13th-floor hallway was broken. It didn't record my visit.'
'Besides, I mopped the floor of the apartment until it was spotless. I didn't miss a single strand of hair.'
'Most importantly, Daphne Dalton, the one with the evidence, is dead.'
