The Makings of a Serial Killer

A Bad Taste

"Apologies. What I meant to say was, I know it's difficult for you to connect to your childhood, in large part because Alice was present for a big portion of it instead of you. If Alice could describe her relationship with her brother, what do you think she'd say?"

"...Well, I think she'd say she wishes she'd been closer to him."

"Good." Emily muttered under her breath.

After running through a slew of questions related to her siblings and their roles in her family dynamic in her youth, Emily handed her a few worksheets Sam wouldn't be bothered to look at until she got to her car.

"Now." Emily clasped her hands tightly together, pensively staring at the younger woman before her.

Sam dreaded this part of the conversation. She was grateful to Emily, it was nice to have reprieve in relaying her nightly activities. Yet between rehashing her childhood trauma and her murders, she'd always preferred the first option.

"I haven't killed anyone in a while."

"And your...accomplice?"

"The only man she'd killed was Phillip Turner. She thought she was saving my life." The sound of a metal crowbar cracking against bone reverberated through her head. Her thumb passively flicked the ring on her wedding finger.

"And Luke?"

She'd only mentioned Luke twice in session, not enough to be notable by any means.

"...What about him?"

"Well, he is a friend of yours. I want to be sure you're benefiting from the relationships in your life as much as you're able. It's important we remain in touch with our human side."

She wanted to laugh. She knew as well as Emily that neither of them were human. They were something other, perhaps, but neither possessed the ineffable qualities that allowed one to claim the title of humanity--least of all Sam.

"I haven't seen him a while."

Emily hummed in disappointment.

"That's a shame. I think it would greatly benefit you to check in on your friends from time to time."

"...Do you know something?"

The therapist shook her head.

"How are the others?" She switched the subject, returning her focus to the pencil in her hand and the sheet of paper that remain blank before her.

"Fine, as far as I know. Penny was out Tuesday."

"Do you know what triggered it?"

"No idea. Some moms in the grocery store were talking about a yoga class. I think the social element of it pulled her to the front." She flicked her ring. More and more, the mere mentions of the alter was enough to wake her from her inactivated state.

"And how does she feel about..."

"Bad, Emily. They're not happy I'm fucking murdering people and they don't trust a therapist that would encourage their client to murder people." She scoffed, realizing the irony in any part of her being unhappy that Emily would keep her secrets.

"Are they people, though?"

Emily and Sam shared a knowing look. Emily had not mentioned too many details, but she knew she'd lost her child to a man.

"...No. No, they're men."

"Atta girl." Emily's voice lingered in Sam's mind, the compliment and encouragement filling a void in her chest she didn't know needed filling. Emily probed for details of Sam's alters and murders.

"Sometimes I feel like a fucking joke. I mean it's a little cliche, isn't it? An 'evil identity,' murdering people?" Sam chuckled, but it was a dry and humorless laugh.

"You're not evil, Sam. I happen to think the work you're doing is just. And even if it is a little cliche, you wouldn't be the first. Nicholas Godejohn had dissociative identity disorder and he killed people." Sam was familiar with Gypsy Rose's partner in crime, the boy she'd conned into killing her mother.

"Please, he was manipulated into it." Sam rolled her eyes.

"Well," Emily bargained, "It's better than being viewed in the alternative light. An attention seeking, malingering adult."

"I suppose." She huffed, sinking into the soft cushion behind her back as though the embrace of the upholstery would cure her. Sam agreed she'd rather be feared than mocked or disbelieved.

"...What was it like? Killing your first. I always thought about killing Sean when he..." The therapist didn't bother finishing the sentence. They both knew the ending to that story.

"...It was terrifying. He fought back, I thought he'd actually end me at first."

"...And then?" Emily leaned forward with an eagerness Sam had never seen in the woman before.

"Well, I...I got lucky. He was prone to public...self pleasure, and I used the time it took him to pull his pants up to stab him in the neck."

"After the initial shock wore off, what did you feel?"

"...I felt powerful, Emily. I felt like I'd taken charge of my life for the first time."

"...You know, if Sean hadn't died all those years ago I would have killed him." Emily laughed. It was a bitter laugh, a laugh that begged to go back in time to do things right.

"Why don't you turn me in?" Sam asked. She didn't feel the need to hide from Emily. She didn't hide her true voice, which differed from that of her body. She didn't hide her gaze which was different from Alice's or Penny's or any of the others, different in a fashion noticeable only to Emily.

"Women have to stick together, Sam, the work you're doing...you are the epitome of sisterhood."

She didn't like being the center of attention, she didn't like being worshipped. She didn't need gratitude because every act she partook in was aimed to serve herself and herself alone. Yet as Emily's blonde hair swung from the synthetic breeze of the fan, she noticed the wrinkles in her forehead and the circles beneath her eyes and imagined, even if just for a moment, the mother Emily could have become. She wondered if Emily viewed her as a daughter.

Sam was certainly beginning to view Emily as a mother, a mother superior to the one she'd been born to.

As the session wrapped up, Sam noticed a bad taste in her mouth.