Page 7 of The Unbecoming

“It is atypical for a serial killer to choose victims who are not connected by sex, age, demographic, or even region,” I say. “It’s as though they were, as I stated, experimenting. Alternatively, they could have simply not liked one method of murder and changed their pattern on the next victim.”

“Do I strike you as someone inexperienced, Nora?” he asks.

“Is this your admittance to the crimes?” I ask, sitting back.

“On the contrary,” he says. “For something you describe as inconsistent, I find it interesting that those traits are being observed in myself as well. As a graduate student, you should be confident in your findings.”

“If you were creating a profile for this killer. What is a trait you think they would possess?” I ask.

“You have issues with authority,” he remarks. “Tell me, Nora. Was it your father who hurt you?”

“My trauma has nothing to do with this interview,” I snap, and he smirks. I take a deep breath and try not to imagine smashing his fucking face into the goddamn table. Why can’t this motherfucker just answer the goddamn questions?

“Ah. There it is,” he says. “I hit a nerve.”

“Are you going to answer, or should I consider this another refusal?” I ask. My heart rate is high, and my body feels flushed with heat. I need to chill the fuck out before I blow this.

“To answer your question, I’d say this individual possesses a high level of confidence in themselves,” he says.

“You think so?” I ask. “Because it looks a lot like a commitment issue, and tiny dick syndrome.”

“Interesting that you lash out with a sexualized insult. How often do you sexualize your environment?” he asks.

“So you think he has an ego. What else?” I ask, trying to divert the attention back to him.

“You stated that it seemed like a commitment issue,” he says. “Why?”

“Why? He couldn’t be consistent with any part of his method. No victim was similar to another,” I say. “If he was committed, he would be consistent.”

“Not necessarily. How did the police connect the crimes?” he asks.

“I was never given the files, so I am unsure,” I say.

“So are you profiling the perpetrator of these crimes or me?” he asks.

“You tell me,” I say. “Were they dismembered before or after death?”

“Most people ask something normal like their last words, but you went straight to the gore. Does this habit coincide with your anger management issues?”

“Why do you continue to deflect as if I am not aware that you are avoidant?” I ask.

“You knew that before you ever entered this room,” he says with a smile. “Why don’t we talk about something that you don’t know?”

“Tell me about your family,” I say. I know I’m fucking up my plan because I didn’t intend to talk about his upbringing right now.

“Not much to tell. I had good parents, a loving home, and I was an only child,” he remarks. “I have a lot of fond memories with my dad.”

I flip the page and scribble some notes before looking back at him. “Did Daddy wait until puberty to touch you, or was he the one checking your bed for monsters?” he asks.

I have my teeth gritted, and I know I am visibly angry. I am gripping my pen, trying to calm down. I know he is doing this intentionally. I am quickly losing control of the situation, and I need out of here. I am reacting instead of observing, and I will make a mistake if this continues.

I close my notebook, and he chuckles as I stand. “Interview over so soon, Nora? You didn’t even make it halfway,” he remarks, taunting me as I go to the door. I press the button to leave, and I can hear his movement behind me. I can tell he is trying to intimidate me, but I don’t feed his ego. I just face the door as if he isn’t there and wait. Although keeping my back to an alleged serial killer isn’t one of my smarter ideas.

The door opens, and I step out. Without looking back once, I walk away.

I sit on my bed and listen to Liam knock on my apartment door. I have my phone silenced, and he’s calling me at the same time. I kind of ghosted everyone today, but I’m still so pissed off. Not at Gabriel, but myself. I fucking knew not to let him get to me, but I still did. I don’t even know how he did it. Professor Green trusted me to be the one to handle this, and I feel as though I failed not only myself, but him.

Eventually, Liam goes away. His calls continue to go unanswered, and I’m not willing to read his texts. I decide to shut my phone off and go into the bathroom to retrieve my blade.