2. Sophie

2

SOPHIE

M y date from hell is getting the car warm while I listen to Last Christmas in the restaurant's bathroom. To say this date was a mistake is an understatement.

If Thomas came into couples therapy with someone, I’d pull the woman aside afterward and tell her to run. He seems to be operating under the belief that I’m impressed by him demeaning my intelligence. And that I think scoffing is a more attractive alternative to smiling. Oh God, and the smell .

I couldn’t even enjoy my baked brie and cranberry jam. There’s rosemary in the jam, too. I’m such a sucker for savory mixed with sweet. But every time it started to melt on my tongue, I got a whiff of Thomas and had to discreetly spit it in my napkin. At some point, I had the bright idea to skip the chewing part and started to hide little pieces of my meal in a napkin so I could nibble on it later like a rat.

Maybe that’s weird, but I know it’s going to be delicious when I can eat it without the scent of unwashed ass tickling my palate. Which is why I’ve got a pocket full of sticky brie and the determination to get home as soon as possible.

Hiding in the bathroom is only going to save me for so long. At the table, I asked about taking me home. He sliced me a look that sent the hairs on the back of my neck up. I’m concerned about getting my brie and me home without a nasty fight.

“Ugh,” I lean over the bathroom sink. It was time for some hard truths with myself.

I saw Thomas on my dating app and thought he looked similar to my new client. That’s why I swiped. Didn’t even read his bio. I saw the pictures, squinted, and a warmth spread low in my belly.

Go on , my inner therapist says.

Who cares he was sort of nasty when we chatted? The horny haze had me in such a strong grip that I lost every hard-earned year of wisdom I’ve achieved as a serial dater for the past decade.

I look up at myself in the mirror. The volume in my messy brown bob has deflated to match my enthusiasm.

What else?

I even had delusional fantasies that this could be a regular thing.

And why would you want a regular hook-up with the look-a-like?

The idea might have crossed my subconscious that I could speed-dial Thomas after every appointment with Soren.

There, I said it.

I’m turning into a pervert at thirty-two. Or maybe I was always a secret pervert like my barista is a secret psychopath. He’s strangling gerbils, and I’m pretending to fuck my patient via cheap knockoffs mixed with dinner cocktails.

With a sigh, I retrieve my phone and pull up Uber. Thirty minutes is the earliest it can arrive. It seems like all the town’s drivers are waylaid at the airport, picking up early vacationers now that the ski resort has opened this week.

I order one with a sigh. It’s time to deal with Thomas. This is going to suck.

As I push from the bathroom, I remember the look he gave me when I suggested he drop me at home and shudder. Normally, I’d never agree to share a ride for a first date but again, horny haze.

I stride over to the bar and lean on the wood. The entire place is dressed up pretty for the holidays. It’s a rustic charm with pine branches, soft yellow Christmas lights, forest greens, and deep reds against its dim wood interior. Thankfully, it’s not busy, and the bartender is over in the next second.

“I need to grab something from the car and tell the man I was with goodbye. Can you start me a hot toddy? I should be right back.” She looks up from the counter, and we exchange a knowing look. I hate that I'm going to attempt smoothing Thomas’ feelings over when he doesn’t deserve an explanation. But… he has my umbrella in his car. It was a splurge gift that I got myself for my birthday. It’s Italian and has an enameled brass flamingo head on the handle. Handmade, double cloth.

Maybe karma is punishing me for spending so much on something as asinine as an umbrella.

“Five minutes?” The bartender asks. I drag my teeth over my bottom lip as I look at the door.

“Yes, five minutes. Thank you. If I’m not back…” I can’t believe it’s come to this. I’m never downloading a dating app while horny ever again.

“That’s when my break is. I’ll come out and look for you.”

“Thanks,” I sigh. I bundle up in my wool coat and scarf before pushing into the cold. The temperature has dropped even further, and the sun is long gone. The frigid bite on the tip of my nose makes me guess it’s below freezing. I pull my scarf higher, trying to cover more of my face. After a few steps into the parking lot, I notice the snow falling.

Everyone thinks a ski town is a mecca of snow, but this is still the Southern East Coast. Plus, the Appalachia is mild compared to other mountain ranges. This means that most of the time, the snow on the slopes in December and January is machine-made. Snow cannons blast fresh artificial snow over the mountain for skiers while we get to enjoy slick free streets.

This year, the travelers will be happy. It’s the first week of the season, and snowflakes are settling in my hair. I love snow. It’s one reason I traded in my beachy hometown for the mountains.

I spy the running car. The glass is fogged, but I can see Thomas moving around. God, what is he doing? I don’t know, but I’m afraid I’m going to find out.

As I walk over, I make a plan of action. I’ll open the door and grab my umbrella before I say anything.

They’d called for freezing rain, which is why I brought it. This snow alternative is at least one good thing about this date. After I have my precious flamingo umbrella, I’ll say I’ve grabbed an Uber and bid him farewell before quickly shuffling back into the bar before he attempts to kidnap me or run me over.

Okay, that’s extreme… hopefully. I’m not really sure. I should have at least googled the man. There’s something about him that makes me feel unsafe, not just icked.

I get to the car, and the fog is too thick on the windows to see anything inside anymore. What he’s been doing to fog the windows up that bad is probably nothing I want to know about.

I decide to give it a little knock. I’m not trying to traumatize myself by opening the door and seeing him cranking his cock like a faulty Jack in the Box.

Nothing happens. I lean closer but can’t hear a single sound, so I open the door. Thomas is slouched down, his head resting on the steering wheel. Is he depressed? Is that why he acted odd?

Thomas looks terrible. His eyes are puffy; has he been crying? I'm going to soften the blow of finding him repulsive. I slip into the car. The bartender will be out in five minutes, and Thomas looks like he needs help.

“How are you feeling?” I ask. He gives a snort. I look out the foggy front window at the fuzzy restaurant lights across the parking lot. The moment I saw his posture in the car, the professional side of my brain woke up. This isn’t a date anymore. So, instead of getting angry with his snort, I accept his reaction. It’s normal.

“I know, right? A therapist asking if you’re okay is so stereotypical. Is there maybe a reason you wanted to go on a date with me specifically?” This happens a lot. With my job listed on my profile, I get a lot of mini cries for help.

Thomas refuses to answer. I sigh.

“Look, I’ve got an Uber coming. I think it’s best that we end the night here.” I reach down and grab my flamingo umbrella. He remains silent, still slumped over. He’s pathetic all of a sudden, and I can’t leave him like this. I keep business cards for the other therapists in town in my office. I don’t have them here, though. I should, considering how often this happens.

I eye the clock in the car. I only have three more minutes before I need to get back inside. I’m tipping the bartender very well after this. But first, I need to leave this situation without any regrets. He’s not making it easy. He’s barely even moved, not said anything, and won’t even look at me.

“Hey, really, are you okay?” I ask. Finally, I turn, giving him my full attention.

There’s something wrong with him. He’s too still, too slumped. In my subconscious, I know. But I don’t allow myself to think of the words.

There’s a bright red line across his throat, and his eyes aren’t puffy; they’re bugging. His tongue lolls out of his mouth. My fingers are shaking around my umbrella as my eyes dip to his chest. I hold my own breath as I wait for his chest to rise and fall. It doesn’t.

My breathing picks up. The shake in my fingers is spreading. I tell myself it’s the cold. That it’s worked its way into my bones.

The bright red line around his throat is violent and unnatural. This isn’t like last week when my client died of natural causes. This is dangerous.

A couple of fingernails are peeled from Thomas’ hand as if he was roughly clawing at something. Desperate, fighting.

This car doesn’t feel safe. Such a small space should never feel so threatening. I’m so viscerally aware of the potential jeopardy that I lock up.

Thomas is dead.

And I can put two and two together. He was alive when he got in the car, and only a minute before I got inside, there was a lot of blurry movement.

Someone is in the car with me. Someone who killed Thomas.

I need to get out of here as fast as I can.

Something shifts behind the driver’s seat. I gasp as pale eyes blink from the shadowy hiding space. Somehow, an entire man is folded up on the floorboard. I feel betrayed and shocked that this entire time, someone was right there, staring at me.

And that someone is Soren Erikson.

He sags slightly before unfolding his massive body and sliding into the back seat.

“What’s going on?” I ask. A wave of confusion has me bewildered. Why is someone I know in the back seat of this car? The familiar, windswept hair and searing gaze have me stunned for a moment. It’s just as jarring as when I looked at Thomas and realized he was dead.

When coming across a murder scene, no one is prepared to see someone they know, but Soren is wearing leather gloves. Soren has a garrotte in his fist.

Soren killed my date.

“Shit. You’re going to scream,” he says, watching my expression change. He lunges forward. I taste his leather gloves as I open my mouth to scream. Before I know it, he grips my arm and pulls me over the center console, dragging me into his lap in the backseat. His leather-gloved hand presses hard against my mouth, muffling my screams. He wraps an arm around my waist tightly as I try to thrash.

“You need to calm down,” he purrs into my ear. I go stiff in his arms.

“That’s a good girl, Doctor Moore. We can’t let our emotions control our actions, right?” The humor in his voice is discombobulating in the situation. Just like it had been in my office. Fuck me, I was right. Soren isn’t normal. I shoot a glare at him. He sets his chin on my shoulder and chuckles.

“Alright, I’ll leave therapy to you. By the way, your enormous fee wouldn’t include body disposal, would it?”

I grip my umbrella and jab it as hard as I can in his stomach. It has the immediate reaction I need. His hold on me loosens to nothing as his body is impacted by the blow. I dive for the door handle and pull it. Immediately, I’m barfed onto the snowy asphalt of the parking lot.

As he reaches for me, I thrust my umbrella at him again. The flamingo head gets him between the legs.

“Doctor Moore,” he wheezes. “Wait.” I scramble on my hands and knees a few feet from the car. I stumble my way to half-standing as I blindly make distance between Soren and me.

The half-open car door pushed me in the direction of the woods instead of the restaurant. Now, I need to loop around if I hope to make it to safety.

Soren rolls himself out of the car and crawls a few feet. I eye the restaurant behind him. He looks at the restaurant I’m eyeing and then settles icy eyes back on me.

Fuck.

I take off running. Cold tears trail from my eyes. Freezing air stings my skin and throat. I dropped my umbrella when I scrambled away from the car and have nothing to defend myself now. Red maple trees sprout in my path as I try to weave my way through thickening woods. The flat ground ends, and my thighs burn as I climb the rocky slope up.

Soren eats up the space like it’s nothing. His long, powerful legs make him nearly twice as fast as me. I grab a tree, and bark bites my hand as I twist, changing directions. I shoot to the right and increase my speed as the elevation flattens out again.

I’m hoping his size and speed cause him to take turns like a moose. If I can get more space between us, I can twist back towards the restaurant. So far, all I’ve done is lead us farther away from others. It’s just him and me out here.

He runs his hand along the same bark I did and twists with ease. I nearly fall over as I realize I can’t escape. It makes my body want to give up. Each step is twice as hard, my eyes burning with despair and fear.

The cold air burns my throat as I hear him getting closer. I can feel him at my back, a large looming presence. Leaves and twigs break under his boots. He’s so close. A cry of alarm escapes me a second before I’m tackled.

Soren’s arms wrap around my waist before we hit the ground. I stretch my arms out, clawing at the rocks, dead leaves, and dirt. But there’s no getting away. The press of his muscled body settles over every inch of me and I’m pushed into the earth. His size chases away the cold while I’m trapped beneath him. His chest rises and falls against my back.

When Soren catches enough breath to speak, it’s right against my ear.

“Doctor Moore, we need to talk.”