1
The fluorescent light in the garage revealed three vehicles: Greta's, a motorcycle, and a Jeep. On another occasion, Daros would have chosen the motorcycle without hesitation, but he had shopping to do. The SUV was no longer necessary. He'd only needed it to leave the gas station, where he'd arrived by bus while following his target's trail.
Mentally, he listed what he needed to buy for Greta. He repeated it from time to time so as not to forget.
"Pads. Overnight. With wings. Dry cover."
He'd spent the day distracted, obsessively revisiting his last targets, trying to identify who could have searched the motorcycle plate. The impossibility of reaching any conclusion was frustrating.
Even with his mind so agitated, he couldn't stop thinking about the woman, about what he was doing to her. The uncomfortable feeling of guilt had grown throughout the day. At first, he'd had no choice. She was a witness, and needed to be neutralized. Then, he'd needed the car to leave the crime scene, but he didn't want to simply steal it from her. He'd seen the bruises, the marks of violence. Someone had hit her. Hit her badly.
She was vulnerable, he thought, turning the Jeep key between his fingers. He couldn't simply abandon her on some deserted road, alone and at the mercy of other risks.
He clicked the remote to open the door, started the engine and began to reverse. But what was he still doing with her? The car was no longer necessary. He could have left her in Torres. Even if too late, he now realized the obvious. She was running from someone. He doubted she'd go to the police to file a complaint. No, that would be giving away her location to her pursuer.
Daros stopped short, his heart squeezing in his chest as if it had skipped a beat. The answer had been there all along. And he, too blind, too busy being efficient. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Because he was on a mission, switched to autopilot, simple as that. But it didn't matter. He had a chance to fix the mistake.
He followed the dirt road to the highway, where he headed toward Capão da Canoa. The town had a large mall, but that wasn't exactly why he'd made the choice. He'd already been seen buying women's clothes in Torres, something unusual for a man alone. It was something that could raise suspicions if it kept happening. Women usually buy their own clothes. Believe it or not, many even enjoyed the task.
Most important of all was making sure he wasn't being followed. The highway was deserted, signaling the end of summer vacation season. March was turning into April. It would be easy to notice another vehicle continuously traveling nearby.
At the mall, he passed by a bookstore. The woman was a university professor. A book might help her relax, keep her occupied. People tend to be more cooperative when they're calm. A sky-blue cover in the window caught his attention. He went in and bought the book.
He headed to the pharmacy, where he wandered without really knowing where to go.
"Can I help you?" An attendant with pink glasses approached.
"Yes, please. Where can I find some pads?"
"Over here. Please follow me."
A few yards to the side, she pointed to a shelf.
"There you go. Just call me if you need anything else."
He assessed the products. There were too many choices: it was hard to know where to start looking. Noticing his confusion, the woman approached him.
"What type do you have in mind?"
"Overnight. With wings. Dry cover," he recited.
"Any particular brand?"
"No, just that one that might be... Efficient?"
The woman failed to contain a smile.
"This one here is from a famous brand. Sells quite well."
He grabbed two packages.
"Is there anything to go with them?"
The attendant frowned. When she processed what the customer meant, she replied:
"Yes, of course. I'll get you some painkillers."
He relaxed his shoulders. The hardest part of the mission had been accomplished.
The next stop was a clothing store. He chose practical and comfortable pieces: shorts, pants, T-shirts, and more underwear. He added two caps, socks, and sunglasses to the bag.
The final destination was the market. Following an employee's guidance, he found the vegetarian products section. He bought nuggets and burgers made from plants and some cheeses. He needed to make a good impression on Greta, even if belated. He added some beers, in case she was the type who liked beer. If she preferred wine, he had a wine cellar at home. Maybe she didn't consume alcohol at all.
After adding vegetables to the cart, he went to the register to pay for the purchases. He didn't forget the cigarettes. He chose a light brand. He'd prefer not to have caused a relapse in her, but he had. It would be easier for her to leave the addiction behind once more if she smoked milder cigarettes.
Throughout the entire trip back, his attention was divided between the road and the rearview mirror. But there was no one behind the Jeep.
Even so, he remained parked on the road for almost ten minutes with the headlights off. His gaze leisurely scanned both sides of the highway. Only after the careful surveillance did he turn on the headlights and enter the dirt road that led to the ranch.
2
Greta woke with a sharp stab in her abdomen, as if her organs were being twisted slowly. Turning on the light, she saw the door was open again. Then she looked at the table where she'd had her meals. Several things had been left there, and the first she identified was a package of pads. Thank God. She ran to the bathroom and put one in her panties.
Comfortable and relieved, she returned to the table to investigate the other items. Ibuprofen for cramps. Two croissants, orange juice, some cheese slices, another bottle of water. She bit into one of the croissants before continuing the examination.
She saw the cigarette pack and a plastic ashtray. She'd never smoked in the bedroom. But, by Daros's logic, this was now a hotel, and she was a guest without the right to leave. There was a box of matches beside it. She opened it. Only two sticks inside. The psychopath was cautious, there was no denying it. Then she saw the blue book. Holding the croissant between her teeth, she turned the volume to read the cover.
The title was Learning to Be Optimistic. She blinked, her brain needing time to process the information. That was it. That monster had a sick sense of humor.