Selena looked at her patient, sprawled on the couch.
He looked almost at peace with his hands folded on his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles, bouncing ever so slightly. Selena hadn’t had a full calendar in years, her load now reduced to a small handful of regular appointments, plus the occasional session with her longest-standing client.
“Are you still experiencing these compulsions?” she asked him.
“Yes,” Adam said. “But I’ve learned to control them.”
She wasn’t supposed to be seeing him. Not like this. And her use of hypnosis to indulge his fantasies …
There wasn’t an advisory board in the world who wouldn’t see what they were doing as highly unethical, even though it had been happening for years. Exchanges like this were at the start of so many unsavory things.
“How have you learned to control them?”
“Just like you taught me.” A half-smile formed at the corner of his lips.
“And what did I teach you?”
“So many things.”
“Tell me one …”
“That we cannot truly change ourselves without losing ourselves, and so the only option is to control ourselves.”
“Is battling your urges a strength or a weakness?”
“It feels like a weakness. Because I don’t want anyone to control me. Not even myself.”
“Imagine yourself as a child. Christmas is right around the corner. You can see all the boxes sitting beneath the tree, including the biggest one. It has your name on it, and you cannot wait to tear it open. Can you see that box, Adam?”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel the excitement?”
“Yes.” The elation on his face said that he meant it.
“Now it’s two days until Christmas. Do you do entertain your mind with diversion, or fantasize about that box day and night? What increases desire?”
“Both. I do other things, but I can’t stop thinking about what’s inside.”
“And what is in your box?”
“Everything.”
“Go ahead and unwrap the box.”
A moment passed, then Adam said, “I’ve unwrapped it.”
“Now open it and tell me the first thing you see inside.”
“Her.”
“Describe her.”
“She’s beautiful. Five foot six or so. Bright blue eyes and a smile that appears when she sees me. Her body is perfect, snug in her uniform. Her skin is too pale and she’s always blushing. Her lipstick is the color of blood.”
“Why is she in the box?”
“Because she is waiting for me.”
“What is she waiting for you to do?”
“To take her.”
“To take her how, Adam?”
“Sexually.”
“Is that all?”
“She’s waiting for me to take her humanity.”
Selena let that settle, then after several seconds of silence said, “Let’s talk about the blood.”
Adam grinned like a little boy. Like he really had a box.
“It’s thick. Hot. Wet.”
“What do you do with it?”
“Mark myself with it. Everywhere.”
Selena squirmed in her chair as Adam slid his hands over his crotch. Hematolagnia was the technical term for his fetish. He wasn’t a vampirist, and the thought of drinking blood disgusted him, but he found its presence deeply arousing. Most people with Adam’s condition would naturally be into BDSM and bloodplay, using blades to bloodlet their partners. Adam stayed inside his fantasies rather than acting them out, and Selena got him off, without the guilt.
Blood wasn’t her fetish like it was his, but sex was never hotter than in the fantasy with Adam. So why was she feeling so impatient with him?
Because she had a new theory burning a hole in her brain.
And that’s what she wanted to discuss.
No. This is his time. Don’t make it about you.
She couldn’t help it. “Do you fantasize about being the Almond Park Killer?”
Adam took a moment to answer. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
Another moment, then, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“He’s not getting close enough.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Maybe he’s not ready.”
“What would he be waiting for?”
“Maybe he wants the time to be perfect.”
“Perfect for what, Adam?”
“His masterpiece.”
“And what would his masterpiece be?”
“Blood everywhere.” Hands back on his crotch.
Selena crossed her legs. Squeezed. Leaned forward. “What do you think he—?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
“The Thick Red Line. It started that night.”
“What started that night?”
He hesitated. She hated this part. But the part she loved came right after.
Finally, “Her.”
“Tell me who she is,” Selena said, without so much as a hint of the irritation scratching at her insides.
“She’s beautiful.”
Selena didn’t want to hear that.
“And young.”
Or that.
“She thinks I’m funny, and always laughs at my jokes. Even when they’re bad.”
And I bet it’s a barista, and you overtip her every time.
Adam described the girl, sharing all the details that Selena didn’t want to hear. Fine if he wanted to think of this girl when he fucked her, covered in blood or not. It still felt good for her. But she didn’t need the play by play on her tits and ass.
His prior fixation had blood-red hair, and Adam was obsessed. He even begged Selena to dye her hair that shade. She did, hated it, and kept it for one of the longest months of her life. That was five years ago. She should be grateful that it had taken him so long to cycle through to another obsession.
Now it sounded like she would be changing her shade of lipstick.
“It’s so red. Every time I see it I wonder if everyone else sees blood on her lips, too? It’s so sexy. I just want to lick them. I want to lick her.”
Selena swallowed, tried not to be bothered, reminded herself that this was a small price to pay for all they had.
Her man had fantasies. It was her personal and professional job to indulge them.
And it was best for Adam not to know.
Because he was not the dormant killer that he believed himself to be. She had allowed him to think that he was. Led him to the conclusion because she had to.
Yes, there was a time when Selena believed that Adam had murderous urges. But soon after his treatment started she realized that his impulses were merely a blood fetish. Her husband didn’t have a murderous bone in his body.
But the dominion she held over Adam’s mind when he believed that she was helping him to suppress the worst of his urges and become the decent man he couldn’t otherwise be, and the awe in which he held her — it would all be gone if she told him the truth. So she let it continue.
Adam’s breathing sped up and his hands fisted around his erection. He was almost ready.
“I want to lick the blood off every inch of her body.”
She should have stopped there. Torn his clothes off. Bled off all that excitement and anger by fucking him on her couch.
But something in her couldn’t resist pushing him. Proving that her husband wasn’t a psychopath.
“Why haven’t you killed her?”
“Because that would be wrong.”
“Why would it be wrong?”
“Stealing her life just to give mine a thrill, taking her from her friends and family forever.” Adam shook his head, looking visibly upset even with his eyes still closed. “I just couldn’t do it.”
Psychopaths were emotionally crippled. Adam was not. He felt good after helping people, and always wanted to do his best. He was kind and considerate most of the time. He felt deeply, which was one of the many reasons that he was funny, even if she didn’t always give him the props he deserved. Adam was motivated to do good things and avoid the bad, probably more than most people. The man clearly had a conscience. Psychopaths could never be happy, because happiness is emotional and they were a vacuum.
Adam wore his emotions like a winter coat.
He was a nice guy with a creepy fetish. Not that Selena was judging.
“But then,” Adam said, with something ugly catching in his throat. “Sometimes I think that maybe I could.”