And that's when an idea hits me.
“How many people have you killed?” I ask, spinning around suddenly.
He cocks a brow. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “I need a reference.”
“A reference.”
“Yes. If I can’t sense anything from her, maybe I can sense something from you.” I tap my fingers against the table. “You're a killer, right? If you’re as guilty as she is, I should be able to feel it. Consider it a controlled experiment.”
For a beat, he just stares, like he’s offended he didn’t think of this first. Which, let’s be honest, is fair—he seems like the type of man who loves a good murder hypothesis. But I guess his mind had been occupied elsewhere. Probably with the“I wonder what happens if I touch my chained-up Grim Reaper”thoughts.
“Alright,” he finally says, closing the file and setting it aside. “Together with the man you saw before, I killed four people in total.”
I sit on the table and cross my legs. “Who were they?”
“Murderers,” he replies without missing a beat. “One of them killed my mother.”
I still at that.
Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t on the list.
Nathaniel, the sharp-eyed, methodical killer, had a mother.
I mean… duh, everyone has one, but still.
For a second, I picture him as a kid—smaller, softer, not yet someone who would kill four people without hesitation. Maybe even innocent.
Something about that messes with me.
Damn…
Why are feelings so damn disgusting?
I clear my throat. “How did it happen?”
His lips press together. He leans back against the bed frame, tilting his head slightly, considering. Then, after a beat, he gives me the details like he’s reciting facts, his voice calm. Detached.
“She was a nurse. Worked night shifts. One day, she didn’t come home. Police found her body in an abandoned apartment two days later.” His fingers drum idly against his knee. “They said it was a random act of violence. Wrong place, wrong time. She bled out slow.”
I swallow.
“Let me guess.” My voice is quiet. “The man who did it walked free?”
Nathaniel hums in agreement. “Lack of evidence. Technicalities. All the usual bullshit.” He exhales through his nose, like he actually finds it funny now. “Didn’t matter. I made sure he paid in the end.”
I don’t have to ask how.
I know what that kind of justice looks like.
I stare at him, my fingers tightening around my own arms. This should make me feel something. Disgust, maybe. Or at the very least, wariness. But all I feel is...
Understanding.
I shake it off.
“One of them you saw yourself. The other two were doctors,” he continues. “My colleagues, in fact. I used to be a doctor myself.”
