She was hungry. Dirty fingernails scooping large handfuls at a time, swallowing chunks without a moment's hesitation. She never smiled when she ate, but she'd talk to me. She had a soft voice, but her words were full of spite. She licked her fingers delicately. My innards were her favourite. 

I couldn’t stand it any longer. I wanted to break the glass that separated us, grab his neck and squeeze it until there wasn’t a single breath left. 

It had been days and we still didn’t have a single shred of evidence.

I could hear him though. It was as clear as actual speech. I knew where she was, where he’d kept her, what he’d done to her. I even knew his reasons.

I felt sick with every thought of his that swept into my own. It was as if my own hands had done it. I could feel the touch of her skin; I could see the glint of the shovel as it bore down onto her head. I could even taste the lust in my mouth. Yet none of these senses belonged to me. They were his. 

He was going to be released, let loose to do this to another poor girl. I couldn’t let that happen. We needed him to admit it out loud. I had to make him say it. 

I never used to be this in control. At first, it was like I had a special frequency. I could just hear things. Suddenly, I knew strangers’ inner most desires, their worries, even their pain. It wasn’t for a long time that I realised I could do so much more than that. I could control their thoughts, manipulate them into doing what I wanted and I knew then, what I had to do.