Page 9 of The Unbecoming

“I am a TA for Professor Green,” I say.

“Ah, Vincent,” he says. “A little weird, but a wonderful professor.”

“Weird compared to you?” I ask, raising my eyebrow at him.

“He eats pizza with a fork,” he remarks with a chuckle. Okay, I’ll give him that one.

“Why did you pursue criminal psychiatry?” I ask.

“Because I wanted to be a doctor without all the blood,” he says with a smile.

“Afraid of blood?” I ask.

“You certainly aren’t,” he says, gesturing to my arm that I am keeping tucked close to me. I’m trying not to move it too much to control the bleeding. “Not a fan of disorder. Being a medical doctor requires disorder to find order.”

“Criminal psychiatry thrives on disorder, though,” I say.

“Humans are predictable,” he says.

“Yet you’re surprised I came back?”

“You came back, yes, but your wrist tells me a different story,” he says. “Humor me, Nora. Am I right?”

I stare at him and evaluate the potential consequences of telling him the truth. But it seems as though when I give him a little, he gives me a little. He finds comfort in common ground. Maybe reciprocity isn't about trust. Maybe it's about control. As long as I don’t share anything identifying or too telling, what harm could it do? Also, no one said I had to tell the truth. He won’t know the difference.

“Yes,” I say, and he nods once.

“Why criminal psychology?” he asks.

“I want to understand why people do the things they do,” I say, and he shakes his head.

“That is your rehearsed answer. What is the real reason?” he asks.

“I wanted to make sense of why bad things happen to good people,” I say.

“No one is free from guilt for something.”

“So eighty-two-year-old…” I say, glancing at my folder. “Martha Shilling deserved to be murdered and dismembered because she may or may not have held guilt for something she had done in her life?”

“I can’t imagine an old lady would be deserving of that level of violence,” he remarks.

“So, not that she didn’t deserve to die, but not so violently?” I ask.

“Good catch,” he says. “But to clarify, it is not up to me to decide who deserves what.”

“Then why did you murder her?” I ask. I note right away that a direct accusation triggers irritation by the way his jaw flexes. “I’ll reword. If that is your opinion, why are you sitting here awaiting trial for her murder?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, and his tone is tight. He’s upset at me for accusing him. Interesting.

“You seem to be sure of everything else you’ve said, but not this. Why?”

“Is this relevant to your assignment, or are you intentionally provoking me?”

“Is there a difference?” I ask with a small smile. “You seem bothered now. Why?”

“I find it exhausting to be accused of a crime I did not commit,” he says. “I have faith in the justice system, though, so I have to have patience. I’ll admit, it’s not my strongest attribute.”

“The downfall of a society built off instant gratification,” I muse. “Moving back to the charges. What reason did they have to charge you?”