“Buckle up,” he says. Soren turns up Mariah Carey while I have a crisis of morality in the passenger seat.
“So you want to watch?” He purrs the question, teasing me as he maneuvers through windy roads. The ski slopes are lit up tomy right. I stare out the window, seeing a group of snowboarders sitting in the snow.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I sigh. This isn’t a wildlife documentary. I’m not a BBC cameraman watching a lion eat a gazelle. I slump in the chair, groaning. Soren reaches over and pats my knee. There’s a smile on his face.
“Don’t look so conflicted. He’s a bad man, I promise.” I close my eyes, and we sit in silence for a while.
“You look happy,” I comment. “Are you still feeling depressed?” Trees speed past in my windows as I pretend this is a normal conversation and we aren’t headed out to murder someone.
“Still want to be my therapist, Doctor Moore? I thought you only wanted to study me.”
“I’m more your therapist now than I was before. Don’t you think you need one?”
“Maybe. I’m feeling better, though. You give great advice.” He chuckles.
“Goddamnit Soren. Can’t you paint?”
“Like… with blood?”
“No! Or kayak, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to murder people when I said get a hobby.” I sink into my chair with a frown.
“Yes,” he says somberly.
“Yes, what?”
“I do still feel depressed sometimes,” he admits. I sit up straighter in my chair. “Getting out of the house, concentrating on bettering myself—” I make a choking noise and he flashes a quick grin at me. “Those have helped a lot.”
“You aren’t out of the woods. A hobby isn’t a bandaid. It’s a path towards improvement,” I tell him. He nods. I let out a groan as I remember exactly what we are discussing.
“But your goddamn path is psychopathy, and the personal interest is serial murder.”
“Whoops,” he jokes.
“I need to get used to this,” I comment. He pulls up to the mall. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Get used to what?”
“Being a therapist for a serial killer.” The shopping mall is decked out in Christmas decorations. The parking lot poles all have festive flags. The mall itself has a massive wreath with ribbons and lights.
Soren finishes parking the car and looks over at me. I massage my temples. I have a headache again.
“Are you going to try convincing me not to kill?” He asks. I glare at him before opening the door. I don’t have an answer. First things first, see if he actually goes through with it a second time. Part of me is in disbelief. Especially since he’s taken me to the mall. He rounds the truck with the gym bag.
“What's in there?” I ask, looking around the parking lot as we head towards the entrance.
“Costumes for both of us. I was hoping you’d come along.” It’s interesting he anticipated me coming.
“Like, to hide our identity?” I ask.
“Eh. That isn’t really their point.”
“I don’t get it,” I say in confusion. His hand lands on my lower back as we get close to the entrance. Gently, he tugs me closer. Our hips touch as we get to the doors.
“You’ll see.”
“Do you have to be so close? Clearly, I’m not going to run away.”
“What do you mean? I’m just walking normally with my wife. Right?”
