Tobias stiffened. “I didn’t think it was necessary.”
Soren’s hand fell to Tobias’s thigh. “Relax, it wasn’t a criticism, just a request for information. This is how dates work. Two people exchange information to see if they are compatible or to enjoy each other’s company. Now, you ask a question.”
Tobias turned in the booth until he could look Soren in the eye without craning his neck to do so. “But I only have one question left.”
Soren once more stared at him quizzically before seeming to remember they’d had an agreement. “How about I suspend the rules for tonight? You can ask me anything and it won’t be held against you. But I reserve the right not to answer.”
Tobias gave a tentative nod. “Thank you. I accept your terms.”
Soren rolled his eyes but he was smiling so Tobias imagined it wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t going to waste the gift Soren had given him. “How old were you the first time you killed somebody?” he inquired, once more earning a horrified look from an old lady at the adjacent table.
Soren chuckled, glancing at the woman. “I’m a doctor,” he explained casually. What he was was an excellent liar, though it didn’t seem to bring the woman any comfort. When Soren’s attention returned to Tobias, he dipped his head close, murmuring, “If you’re going to interrogate me about my job, Glasses, you’re gonna have to keep your voice down.”
Tobias heaved a sigh, trying to quell his frustration. “I apologize but my question still stands.”
“I’m not sure. Nineteen? Twenty?”
“Did it bother you?”
Soren seemed to consider the question. “Not really. It needed to be done.” Maybe Soren was the sociopath?
Before he could think about it too deeply, Soren said, “My turn.”
Tobias bristled but met Soren’s gaze. “All right.”
“How old were you the first time you noticed you weren’t like other people?” Soren’s fingers traced distracting patterns high up on Tobias’s thigh, almost like he was trying to hypnotize him into answering honestly.
The question brought Tobias up short, though. He’d never thought about that. After a long moment, he shrugged. “On some level, I always knew. I knew what I was supposed to feel, how I was supposed to behave, but I just didn’t, couldn’t do what other children could.”
“Did you realize it before you knew what your father was?”
Tobias considered him for a moment. “Sure, but my parents blamed it on my insanely high IQ. Told themselves I was just too smart for other children my age. It was true. I couldn’t relate to my peers in any way. I was reading by the time I was two, mastering algebra before I was out of kindergarten. Everything came too easily to me.” He looked Soren in the eye. “I wasn’t killing neighborhood pets or anything. I didn’t show signs of the Macdonald triad. Arson, bedwetting, cruelty to animals. I’ve always been rather drawn to animals. They’re loyal to a fault. Trustworthy, unlike people.” As the last words left his mouth, he clamped it shut. He was saying too much.
“Who betrayed your trust, Toby? And did they live to tell the tale?”
Should he be honest? Did he dare to pull the mask away completely? “Killeen was my first kill, but he wasn’t my first attempt.”
“How old were you for your first attempt?” Soren leaned closer.
“Ten.”
“Ten? Jesus. Did somebody steal your Legos? How could someone betray you so early in life?”
Tobias’s gaze strayed out the window over Soren’s shoulder. “My piano teacher. He was…handsy. My mother didn’t believe me, thought I was lying because I hated piano. But it was just the opposite. I hated piano only because of my teacher. The next time he came to my house for our lesson, I snuck up behind him while he sat at the piano and attempted to strangle him with piano wire.”
Soren barked out a surprised laugh, then immediately stopped. “You tried to garrote your piano teacher?”
“It was a feeble attempt at best.” Tobias gave a helpless shrug. “I completely miscalculated our size difference and his will to live. You’d think I wouldn’t have made the same mistake with Killeen, but twenty-two years makes memories hazy.”
“How did you not end up in a nuthouse? I imagine attempted murder is hard to cover up.”
Tobias scoffed. “Not if you’re my mother. She’d sorted the whole thing before she’d finished her ten a.m. gin and tonic. She was more irritated by the bloodstains on her eleven-thousand-dollar Persian rug than she was by my first homicide attempt. She told me I’d cost her a great deal of money, then she took me into the spare room closet, the one that was always empty, and she told me that I could do anything I wanted in that space. Kick, scream, stab pillows, punch holes in the walls. But the moment I stepped out of that closet, I had to be her son. Her perfect son. And I was never to bring anybody in that room with me. I think she was a little afraid of me.”
Tobias watched understanding dawn on Soren’s face. “Your room. With the red light. That’s your version of that closet, huh?”
“I call it my rage room. But yes, that’s where I go whenever I feel.”
“Whenever you feel what?” Soren prompted.
