‘That’s true,’ Chlo remarked resignedly.
‘Thing is, a lot of serial killers are absolutely excellent at social camouflage. Harold Shipman, for example, he was trusted as a GP in his community before all of his skeletons came tumbling out of the closet. I don’t think the TellTale Killer is any different, I think he’s hiding right in plain sight, and he could be anyone. A topprosecution lawyer, an all-star police officer. Hell, he could be Oscar for all we know.’
I know talking about serial killers had become awfully typical and commonplace for me, but I thought Chlo may have a little laugh at that; she didn’t, not even a smirk. I suppose, if she was falling head over heels for the guy who took her to Disneyland, she didn’t want to think she’d awaken to him with Micky Mouse ears perched upon his head, holding a blade to her throat.
‘I just don’t think I can understand it…’ Chlo said, half thinking aloud with me just happening to be present for her soliloquy. ‘What is it thatmakessomeone so awful, so horrendous? This total absence of any basic human empathy with no guilt whatsoever. I mean, people like that aren’t well. Is it a bad childhood? Is it being hit on the head as a baby or something?’
‘It can vary,’ I murmured.
‘I just think, at that point, you’re not even human anymore, are you?’ Chlo asked. ‘You’re something else, just a husk of a human. Breaking any kind of human morality is nothing to you anymore. It’s… meh.’
So, two years ago, the idea of carrying Greta’s cling-film-wrapped heart in my coat pocket was a thought that would be reserved for the very darkest parts of my psyche, yet here I was, doing exactly that to imitate, ironically, a serial killer. Did the fact I was doing this make me a morally devoid husk, too?
See, I was never afraid I was becoming a serial killer, I had absolutely no compulsion to kill or harm for my own hedonistic pleasure. I just worried that, like them, I didn’t really constitute a human anymore. I was just something of an empty, emotionally stunted shell, isolated from the world because there was no one else really like me. What frightened me most was realising that the soul most like mine in all the world was also the one I loathed the most. Maybe we were just two lost husks of human beings.
Changing the conversation, Chlo began telling me about a swamp ride she went on in Florida with Oscar and how every year, there was an annual Mullet Toss where thousands of Floridianswould stand at the state line and throw dead fish into Alabama. I didn’t find that quite as interesting as she did, just sounded like collective littering.
Chlo dropped me home, along with an invitation to meet Oscar again. I agreed, though she did add a condition: no talking about serial killers. A pretty fair and reasonable ask, I felt.
‘You know his friend, Nico?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He thought you were quite pretty, you know?’
‘He did?’ I responded suspiciously, I was unconvinced. ‘What are you trying to say?’
Chlo’s face became one big beaming smile as she lifted her hands aloft. ‘All I’m saying is maybe give him a call, that’s all. Maybe you didn’t scare him off as much as I thought.’
It might be nice to see Nico again, he did have one of the most impressive noses I had ever seen. I’d quite like to marvel at that again, was it weird that I wanted to kiss it?
I mostly laughed her off and told her to text me when she got back safe, just as I always did. Though I knew the TellTale Killer wouldn’t be operating tonight.
As I began to dawdle towards the front door, Greta’s heart still nestled in my pocket, I felt Chlo’s footsteps behind me, then her hand reached around, clasped mine, and pulled me backwards into a tight embrace before I even realised what was happening.
‘Hey,’ I croaked, meaning to come across as soothing, but I think I sounded something like a deflating broken bagpipe, as Chlo coiled round me like a ball python wrapped around its prey, unknowingly and lovingly wringing every last gasp of air from my lungs.
‘I don’t want you to ever think I’m cross with you,’ Chlo said softly. ‘I… I sometimes feel you slipping away from me, Ruthie. Slipping away from people in general. And I worry about you,so much.’
I didn’t quite know how to respond to what she was saying, but the way she held me, close and unrelenting, told me she wasn’treally expecting a reply from me. She just wanted me to know how she was feeling.
‘And also…’ she continued, not quite done yet. ‘I miss Greta too. I miss her every day and I don’t want you to think I don’t. I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten her. I know things have been hard for you, but I’m always here.’
‘Except when you don’t want to pay for the data roaming costs,’ I said, with a flicker of jest.
This time she laughed at my joke and nestled her chin into my shoulder.
‘Sometimes I worry that you pull away from the world because you think it doesn’t want you, Ruthie. But I just want you to know… I think the world needs people like you sometimes. People who see things differently to everyone else.’
Sickos? I wanted to reply. But I stayed quiet. It was nice to be held like this again, to be properly hugged. Not one of those fake pleasantries where your nipples barely graze the other person’s, but toreallyfeel held in someone’s arms, like someone wanted to actually be near you.
Chlo left then, and I made my way to the door. Both cars were on the driveway, which meant Ben and Bill were home, probably exhausted after the chemo session that had stretched into yesterday evening.
I let myself in, brushed the dirt from my shoes and peered into the sitting room, curious about the hush that had settled over the house. At first, I saw only Bill, cradling a mug of tea, then, as I leaned a little farther, the outline of none other than Detective Carlota came into my vision. The jolt of seeing her while I had a human heart in my pocket and the TellTale Killer practically on speed dial, obliterated any chance of me registering what outfit she was wearing. So, I’m afraid I couldn’t give a wardrobe report on her attire at this particular juncture. Abject dread poured through my veins.
‘Hi, Ruth,’ Bill said, his tone mostly indifferent ratherthan hostile.
Detective Carlota smiled, rose from the sofa, crossed the carpet and wrapped me in a hug before saying a word. This one was nowhere as nice as Chlo’s. I flicked my coat back and returned the embrace as lightly as possible, determined not to let the defrosting organ squelch between us.
