Creep - Jennifer Hillier [94]
Ethan seemed to be listening. He slipped the gun back into the waistband of his jeans. “I’ll think about it.”
“Think harder.”
He chuckled. “You sound like my mother.”
“I thought your mother was dead,” she said, taking advantage of the opening. The tension had passed. They were okay again.
“She is.”
“Did you kill her?”
Ethan didn’t blink. “Ha. Right. I was just a kid when she died.”
There was a minimum age requirement for monsters? “Sorry,” she said, attempting to sound sincere.
“I know you don’t give a shit. That’s okay. Neither do I. She died in a house fire.”
“What happened?”
He snorted and settled back into the sofa. “You want to know this stuff? Fine. My father left us when I was five and my mother went batshit crazy. She died when I was ten. Burned the house down.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“Why not? The death of a parent is one of the most damaging things that can happen to a child.” Or an adult. Her father’s face flitted through her mind. She pushed it away.
“You trying to headshrink me, Dr. Tao?”
“Just making conversation. Were you in the house?”
“Yep.” His voice sounded robotic. No anger, grief, or bitterness. His jaw stayed relaxed. “I was locked in the closet, as usual. Neighbor smelled the smoke, heard me screaming, pulled me out. It was all very dramatic. Would have made a great after-school special about the dangers of playing with candles.”
“They couldn’t save your mother?”
“Her dress caught fire.” The corners of his mouth twitched and she realized with horror that he was trying not to smile. “She died in the hospital three days later. Third-degree burns over eighty percent of her body.” His face looked dreamy. “I like to imagine that she was in great pain when she finally went, but she was unconscious and never woke up.”
Sheila shuddered.
“I got a nice, fat inheritance when I turned eighteen,” he continued, his eyes blank and staring into nothing. “Insurance from the house, the trust she had from the grandparents I never met. Came to just over two million bucks.”
Sheila’s shock was genuine. “That’s a lot of money.” And it explained a lot. The souped-up vintage motorcycle, for one. A thought occurred to her then. “Do you own this place? Whatever this is?”
“This is my house, yes.”
“So why pretend to be a poor, starving student?”
“When did I ever pretend?” Ethan shrugged. “People assume. I don’t correct them.”
“You’re awfully young to be a millionaire.”
“You think so?” He finally turned his gaze toward her. “How much money does Morris have, anyway?”
Somehow their conversations always drifted back to Morris, which frightened her. “I don’t know, I’ve never asked him. It never mattered. I make my own money, you know that.”
“Just making conversation.”
Silence filled the room and she felt a desperate need to say something before Ethan retreated inside his head. Taking a deep breath, she blurted, “So why do you do what you do?”
His blank gaze became more focused. “Which is what, exactly?”
“You’re a master’s student in psychology.” She cleared her throat and spoke in her best professorial voice. “Why are you the way you are? What possesses you to do the things you do?”
He laughed, his face a picture of delight. “What, you want me to headshrink myself? That’s a first. Planning to teach a course on antisocial personality disorder, Dr. Tao?” He saw her expression and laughed again. “What, you don’t think I can diagnose myself?”
“That’s your diagnosis?”
“I was being facetious.” He rubbed his head, his eyes bright with amusement. “Au contraire, I would say I’m a highly intelligent, highly motivated individual with good impulse control.”
“So you don’t think you’re a psychopath?”
“Psychopath,” Ethan repeated. “Let’s see. The definition according to the Hare Psychopathy Checklist is ‘a predator who uses charm, manipulation, intimidation, sex, and violence to control others and satisfy his own needs. A psychopath lacks