Killing Ways

She went back to her apartment. I need Ben. I need to fuck him. I need to fuck. I need to fuck now. She took a shower, then went into the bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed. She dialed Ben’s number. He picked up right away.

‘Are you alone?’ she said.

‘Yes.’

She lay back on the bed. ‘I need you to talk me through something …’

She lay there afterwards, staring at the ceiling, her left arm up over her head, her right hand holding the phone.

‘It was fun while it lasted,’ she said. ‘Now we’re just alone, which sucks.’

‘I’m at the supermarket …’

Ren laughed. ‘Ben … I’m sorry about earlier. I was hungover and cranky.’

‘That’s OK, baby.’

‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m good, busy. How about you?’

‘We’ve got that murder case – the Hope Coulson one, and I’m thinking … there are similarities to another rape/murder from two months ago.’

‘I thought the fiancé was looking good for the Coulson case …’

‘Trial by media, yes. And Gary.’

‘You’re still having issues with him …’

‘Has he said anything to you?’

Ben and Gary had been friends for years – Gary trained Ben in the Undercover Program, as he had trained Ren.

‘No, but I doubt he would,’ said Ben.

Paranoia. ‘So, anyway, I got to thinking about serial killers—’

‘Whoa, what? You think this is a serial killer?’

‘Well … I think the same guy may have raped and killed two women – does that count?’

‘Technically? No.’

‘OK – forget that,’ said Ren. ‘In general, though, how do you feel about the following? A problem with the wiring of the brain results in: me. And: serial killers.’

Patient pause.

‘I’m serious,’ said Ren.

‘What exactly are you saying?’ said Ben. ‘Are you trying to relate the two things? You and serial killers?’

‘What I’m saying is – I have something in common with serial killers.’

‘That’s just nuts,’ said Ben.

That’s not a very nice thing to say.

‘Is that what you’re actually thinking?’ said Ben.

‘No.’ Yes.

‘Ren, I know you don’t like me reading up on these things, but I know that bipolar people can sometimes think everything is their fault. Like, they see a natural disaster on the other side of the world, and can manage to feel guilt on some level about that. This sounds to me like a version of skewed thinking.’

‘But … think about it,’ said Ren; ‘a serial killer goes around thinking things that no one knows about. He has these internal thoughts that he can’t say out loud because people would know. They would know.’ She paused. ‘And I have thoughts like that.’

‘All thoughts are internal,’ said Ben.

Oh, yeah.

‘And your thoughts are not about raping and murdering people … That makes a serial killer just that little bit different.’

‘I like how your mind works.’

‘It’s pretty much how most people’s minds work.’

Ouch.

‘I didn’t mean it like that, before you get weird.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’m going to stop talking now.’

Ren laughed. ‘I think that would be very wise.’

10 (#ulink_33a3ac56-5d34-57c4-8650-5b63769a513b)

Donna Darisse reached out of the shower, grabbed a faded towel from the hook on the wall, and wrapped it around her slender body. She stepped onto the tiled floor of the tiny bathroom, grabbed a second towel and quickly dried her fine, wispy dark hair. She looked in the mirror. She sometimes expected to see her pre-chemo hair – this fragile, but fighting hair still had the power to startle her.

There was a knock on the bathroom door.

‘Mommy, can I come in?’

‘Just give me a moment, Cam,’ said Donna. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Yes! I just wanted to say hi!’

Donna smiled. ‘Hi yourself,’ she said. ‘Now, you go back in to your movie, I’ll be out in a little while.’