3. Sophie

3

SOPHIE

S oft snowflakes collect around our bodies.

“So talk,” I finally whisper. Soren lifts me from the ground, dragging me back to the car. I stumble over rocks, trying to keep up with his strides as he pulls me along. He looks down at me. I glare, goading him to complain. Instead, he quickly sweeps me off my feet and into his arms. He fireman carries me back down the small slope through the trees. I scoff.

“How charming. For a killer ,” I hiss. He raises an eyebrow.

“Let me go!” I finally scream, my voice echoing off trees. Soren sighs.

“I will silence you if I have to.” His arms tighten around my body as he makes the final steps back into the restaurant parking lot.

We both spot the bartender, and joy swells in me. I feel like gloating, rubbing his face in the fact that he won’t be able to kidnap me.

The moment I start to scream, I’m whipped around and plopped back on my feet. It’s dizzying the way he moves me around so easily.

Soren crowds me, pressing my back against the cold metal of an SUV. His arm wraps around my waist tightly as he pulls me into him. One of my arms gets trapped between our bodies as he forces us together.

Then his mouth is on mine, tongue and teeth eating me alive. A jolt of shock spreads through me. I was not expecting this.

Soren holds me in place as he devours my mouth. He kisses with wild abandon, lapping up my scream like it's sweetened cream and he’s starving.

My heart pounds in my ears. I bring up my free arm and try to claw at his coat, pounding against him and gripping the fabric. Without breaking the kiss, he grips my fist and shoves our hands into my coat pocket.

Our fingers sink into gooey brie cheese and sticky cranberry jam. He stills for a second, shifting our hands in my pocket a little. Then he continues on with our kiss, dipping his tongue in my mouth.

I’m not sure when I stopped screaming. I’m not sure how long he’s been kissing me. His distraction tactic is overwhelming me. My mind hasn’t entirely caught up to the fact that I shouldn’t be excited by this.

My knees go weak, and Soren chuckles against my lips. He angles his head further and kisses me deeper.

It’s unfortunate I’m kissing him back. Truly. My ethical dilemma of lusting after a patient is suddenly overshadowed by kissing a fucking murderer. Maybe this was his entire plan since we first met. Stalk me, kill my date, and then drag me back to the sex hovel he made for me.

Honestly, no one’s ever made me anything before. That’s a level of commitment that’s as flattering as it is disturbing. I mean, depending on the state of said hovel. A hole in the ground would fucking suck.

What the hell am I thinking? He lets me rip away and looks down at me in surprise. I shouldn’t have moaned. How embarrassing. Kidnapping one-oh-one: don’t moan .

I’m starting to miss my date with Thomas. Everything was straightforward, and my shame had limits.

Soren looks over his shoulder.

“She’s gone, come on.”

Oh, yeah. Fuck . I open my mouth to scream, and his gloved hand covers my face. He drags me back to Thomas’ car. The engine is still humming, the exhaust spilling clouds into the night. Soren pulls us through the open door and closes us in.

I’m back to where we started, minus the umbrella and the bartender.

Soren takes a moment to stare at the cheese and jam covering his glove before he wraps his arms around my waist, positioning me directly in his warm lap.

“Are you stealing food from the restaurant?” He asks in confusion. He peels open my coat pocket and sees my smashed dinner and a few napkins. “Weird,” he mumbles.

“Leftovers are normal. Murder, however, isn’t,” I snap.

He said he wants to talk. Okay, we can talk. My tongue darts over my lip, and I taste the leftover ghost of his kiss.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to hide leftovers in your pocket,” he says. I scoff.

“Like I’m listening to social advice from you. Can I sit on my own?”

“Will you run from the car?” He asks.

“No,” I blurt out. His chuckle rolls over my shoulders.

“Therapists are supposed to be good liars, aren’t they?”

I stare at my dead date sitting in front of us, our corpse chauffeur for our fucked up conversation.

“If you’re good, maybe you can sit on your own.” The arms around me loosen, and Soren spreads his legs wider, trying to find more space in the backseat. He settles his chin on my shoulder again. I feel his breath on my neck, creating goosebumps.

“Let’s talk,” he says.

“Are you stalking me? Why did you kill my date? Are you kidnapping me?”

“Calm down,” he demands. I grind my teeth.

“Stop telling me to calm down.” I squirm in Soren’s grip. He stiffens, his hand shooting out and gripping my knee tightly.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. I go completely still. My ass is pressed against his pelvis and upper thighs without an inch of space.

“You told me to get a hobby,” he says slowly.

“What?” I ask, my eyes dragging to the garrotte he left on the leather seat beside us. My eyes bug as understanding comes to me. “No.”

“Yes.”

“I did not mean murder,” I hiss. I feel him shrug. “ You said photography.”

“That was a euphemism. I wasn’t sure about therapist protocol for reporting hypothetical crimes. I’ve looked it up since.”

“Okay,” I say, swallowing thickly.

“And you have to report if you think I’m a threat to myself and others.” I can feel his jaw move every time he talks.

“That’s right,” I say quietly. There’s a layer of snow starting to collect on the windshield. I look at the car clock.

Will the bartender call someone? I don’t think she will. I can feel Soren’s convincing makeout session humming through my body, mixing with fear. Sex and violence make for a lethal combination of tension. This car is too small for it. I eye the corpse again. Thomas is still slumped over on the steering wheel. I’m not sure who's technically the third wheel anymore, but at least it’s not me.

“This is an accident,” he says. I look at the garrotte again. “No, not the murder. You being here. Were you on a date with this guy?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“Sophie,” he sighs. It’s the first time he’s used my first name. His hand wraps around my knee and squeezes. I squirm again. Soren lets out a long breath against my neck. “Maybe you should sit next to me.”

Soren picks me up and puts me in the seat beside him. His attention travels over my body in a quick assessment.

“Hands on your thighs. Don’t move them.” I grind my teeth but do as he says. A smile blossoms across his face.

“ Good , Sophie. Also, your date… Not a good guy.” My mouth drops open.

“You killed someone.”

“A bad someone,” he corrects, pointing at the corpse. I shake my head in disbelief.

“You chased me down.”

“You left in the middle of a very important conversation.”

I squeeze my hands between my thighs. The door handle is right next to me, but it might as well be a mile away.

“He’s hurt women,” Soren says after a moment. “I had no idea you’d be here. Good thing I was… right?” I’m exhausted. It hits me like a semi-truck as I eye Soren. He wants me to agree with him, to justify his murder. Instead, I stay silent. Which doesn't seem to bother him. Does he even care if the murder is justified? Or was that just the excuse he needed to get started down this path?

“You know, I think you’re right,” Soren says.

“About what?” I sigh.

“I do feel a lot better already.” He winks at me. My eyes bug.

Someone bangs on the window. Our heads snap to attention.

“Police,” is mumbled through the closed door. Soren lunges at me. I squeak before his hand presses to my mouth, stopping any potential screams before they can begin. His other hand reaches down. I feel fingers spread over my thigh, spreading my legs. I suck in a breath behind his gloved hand as he settles comfortably between my thighs.

“Just a little show,” he whispers into my ear. Oh God, not this again. I won’t moan this time. I really won’t.

I hope I don’t.

Soren grabs my dead date and roughly tugs him into the back with us. What the fuck? I scream behind his hand. Thomas is shoved into the back seat under Soren and squished against me.

“Police,” the officer grumbles urgently, tapping again. Soren blindly smashes the car door with his shoe until he finds the window button. Cold air sweeps into the car as the window goes down, revealing the three of us in the most fucked up cuddle I’ve been part of. I stare at my dead date and whine. Our cheeks are pressed together like we’re getting ready for a selfie.

“Officer!” Soren gasps in surprise. The policeman’s eyes bug as he sees the three of us in the back.

“What’s going on here?” His flashlight sends a beam of light inside. Soren tries to block both me and the corpse with his wide shoulders.

“Um, well…” he trails off. He looks down at me and mouths “fuck” like we’re both in on this. I am not in on this.

“Are those two people okay?” The cop asks.

“Well, you see. It’s just… It’s almost Christmas, and she wanted to try something new.” Soren winks down at me. My eyes bug.

“I’m sorry?” The cop asks.

“My wife wanted a three-way,” Soren says bashfully. I scream behind his hand. “Sorry, honey. Cat’s out of the bag.”

“Is that other man okay?”

“Oh yeah, he’s fantastic. Great guy. Perfect really. Found him on a dating site.” Soren looks at Thomas for a moment. “Kind of looks like me, doesn’t he?” He shoots me a brief look, and then he grips my dead date's head, twisting his fingers in his hair and tightening his grip.

“I've never kissed a man,” Soren chuckles. “But avoiding jail is a good reason to get the nerve. Right honey?” Christ, he’s joking about getting arrested by the cop.

“Sir, that's not necessary,” the cop says.

Soren kisses the corpse. I can’t take my eyes away. It’s the most disturbing thing I’ve ever witnessed. Soren groans a little, then pops his eyes open and winks at me.

“Now it's your turn, honey,” he chirps, pulling back with a grin. I shake my head frantically.

“Uh, really, that won’t be necessary," the officer says.

“Just a little kiss,” Soren insists, angling Thomas’ face towards me.

“Really, no. I don’t want to see anything else,” the officer says.

“Well, okay. It’s just… if you want to join…” Soren looks over his shoulder at the officer. The cop back peddles frantically.

“Do that in your own house or a hotel,” he yells out before rushing back to his car. We listen to it drive away, and Soren sags. Then his head pops up, and he looks down at me.

“Last chance. Want to kiss our date goodbye?” He shakes Thomas' head and then drops it with a thud. Soren chuckles. “That was weird.”

Definitely a psychopath.

I’m in shock as he crawls out from between my legs, closes the window, and then pulls me in front of the car. I stare out the window as he buckles me in. He’s a psychopath. A killer. It’s almost… a relief. I knew it. I fucking knew it. I’m not out of my mind with paranoia. There are psychopaths all around me. Well, maybe not all around me, but Soren is one, at least.

A moment later, he puts the car in drive, and we take off. That stirs me out of my thoughts.

“Where are we going?” I ask. He looks in the rearview.

“Christmas tree shopping,” he says, flicking on the radio. The cozy purrs of Dean Martin spill into the car. Let it snow! he croons as Soren gets on the highway. I look in the backseat and see Soren has buckled in the dead body, too. Lord forbid he gets a head wound in a collision.

“Jesus,” I sigh, bending over my knees and rubbing my temples. Academic texts are rearing up in my mind, a Pandora's box of information spewing facts about psychopathy.

I blow out a breath and sit back up as I feel the car switch lanes. Soren’s taking an exit. A big sign pointing East says a tree farm is up ahead in two miles.

“You’re serious,” I deadpan. “Christmas tree shopping?” His attention flicks to me briefly before focusing back on the roads.

“Well, it’s more romantic than his car.”

“Romantic?” I blurt while looking at him in horror. He remains silent as we approach the farm, slowly taking the turn in and driving around until he finds a desolate spot to park near a work building.

Soren gets out of the car, looks around quickly, and then leans back in.

“Come on.” I do as he asks. There isn’t much choice, is there?

Once I’m beside him, he pulls my hand under his arm as if walking me like a gentleman instead of a kidnapper.

He opens the back door, and we look at Thomas, still buckled up.

“Is this the romantic part?” I ask sarcastically.

“If you find this romantic, maybe you need some couples therapy, not me.” He snaps the door shut again.

“Now I’m being picked on by a man who thinks murder and chasing therapists is a hobby.”

“Chasing you wasn’t a part of the hobby, but I have to say… It wasn't bad.” He pulls me away from the car and towards the lines of trees. I trip on my own feet.

“You’re just leaving him in there?” I ask in a panic, looking over my shoulder.

“He’s not going anywhere.” Soren walks through lines of bushy firs. The scent of pine fills the air. “Where’s Norwegian spruces?” he mumbles.

Tonight is one confusing situation after the next. The corpse kissing was shocking, but the hand-in-hand Christmas tree shopping takes the prize for disorientation. It’s so normal in an abnormal situation that it makes everything feel unreal. But it’s not fake; this is happening. A murderer is pulling me through rows of trees while his victim is growing cold in the car.

I don’t want to ask if he plans to kill me, but I wonder if that’s why we’re here. I look around at blue-green pine needles and watch soft snow collect on the limbs. This wouldn’t be the worst place to die. Obviously, I don’t want to, but I like to prepare mentally for the worst.

Soren Erikson is likely going to kill me tonight. No one is more desperate or dangerous than a man caught doing something bad.

My throat is growing smaller, my eyes stinging. He walks us deeper down rows of trees. The edge of the farm is up ahead. The forest is thick and dark, waiting like a monster to suck me in.

I’ll fight. Of course I will. But I also want to accept what might happen so that I don’t spend my last moments in blind anxiety, terrified of the darkness closing in.

We stop walking towards the forest, surprising me.

“This one is perfect,” Soren says. It’s the thickest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen, not a bald spot in sight. He looks at me for a while. I feel the weight of his gaze burning into me. The violence that I know is brimming under his skin is so well hidden.

No one should look that normal and upbeat when, not even an hour ago, they murdered someone in a parking lot. And that’s not all the night has offered. This has been a shitshow for him. He was caught by me, lost me briefly, nearly got sussed out by a bartender, and had a police officer show up. He should be a nervous wreck.

He’s positively beaming, though, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. It definitely wasn’t Christmas trees making him metaphorically wag his tail.

I wonder if his fingers and palms still sting from holding the garrote’s wooden handles—a physical aftertaste of the murder.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks.

“You,” I admit. Soren nods and looks back at his perfect tree. Snow is collecting in his hair. The lines of Christmas lights that are strung up above the tree park make everything glow softly.

“Doctor Moore, I’m going to have to insist that you marry me.” He pets the tree’s branches with gloved hands as my mouth drops open.