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Music, for Villanelle, is at best a pointless irritation and at worst a lethal danger. In silence lies safety.
‘The truth, Oxana Borisovna, is that the world has a problem with people like you. Men or women who are born, as you were, without a conscience, or the ability to feel guilt. You represent a tiny fraction of the population at large, but without you . . .’ He lit another cigarette, and sat back in his chair. ‘Without predators, people who can think the unthinkable, and act without fear or hesitation, the world stands still. You are an evolutionary necessity.’
A predator, an instrument of evolution, one of that elite to whom no moral law applied. Inside her, this knowledge bloomed like a great dark rose, filling every cavity of her being.
Or could any woman, correctly programmed, be turned into a professional executioner?
The joke about narcissistic types like Martín is that they always think they’re in control – at work, in conversation, during sex.
