I sat across from her for a few minutes. She was humming quietly, staring directly at me, relentlessly. I stared back, almost afraid to break her gaze, which is ridiculous, when you’re being stared out by a child, but most children are not killers.
I thought I should ask something. Anything, just to break the silence, or to move things along, but I couldn’t really comprehend her.
“Why?” She tilted her head, inquisitively, a smile spreading across her face, but the answer still elusive. “Why did you write this?”
“I was bored.” She swung her legs against the chair, almost melodically. “It’s the most interesting thing my sister has ever been involved in.”
Every motion was chilling. She seemed almost excited to discuss her crime. I couldn’t decide whether I should push her for more information, or run for my life.
“How do you think she felt about it?” She smiled again, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger.
“Who cares?” Her callousness was appalling, but intriguing. “She’s got bigger problems now.”
“And what would they be?” She sank back in the chair, apathy creeping across her face, which concerned me, because she didn’t seem to take apathy or boredom well.
“Duh…” She rolled her eyes. “She’s dead.”
That was when I knew, Querida was an incredibly dangerous little girl.