Page 1 of Mayhem and Minnie

1

It’s been one hundred and seventy-four days since my last kill.

One hundred and seventy-four days since I last felt the thrill of the hunt.

My heart beats faster in my chest as the images flash in my brain. The sight and smell of blood fill my senses until I’m almost drunk on it. But memories are a paltry substitute for the real thing.

I tap my foot uncontrollably against the hardwood floor. Biting on my nail, I move my finger a bit farther into my mouth until I bite down on flesh.

The pain makes it a little more bearable.

“Mr. Spencer-Astor, I asked you a question.”

My gaze shoots up.

I blink.

“You did?”

“Yes. I did,” Dr. Leonard, my therapist, says with a roll of her eyes.

I’m pretty sure she shouldn’t be rolling her eyes at a patient. But I’m a rather aggravating case, if I do say so myself. We’ve been meeting twice a week for three months now, and we’ve barely made any progress. Not that I don’t want to. I really do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have sought her help. But I have a very limited attention span thanks to my ADHD, and she speaks far too much for me to be able to focus on everything she’s saying.

Like now.

She’s been asking too many questions.

Shouldn’t a patient speak more than a therapist?

But I suppose she just loves hearing the sound of her own voice—not the best quality in someone whose job is to listen.

Perhaps I should kill her. But that would go against my moral code—I do have one, albeit it’s rather skewed. I don’t kill women. And no matter how annoying Dr. Leonard is, the sessions have helped temper my urges.

A little.

I bite harder on my finger.

“Can you repeat the question?” I ask, letting my lips curve into an amiable smile.

She presses her lips together in annoyance. She does that quite often.

“I asked when the last time you’ve seen your family was,” she repeats.

I blink again.

“A year ago,” I answer with a shrug.

The tapping on the floor intensifies.

“When will you see them again?”

I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes at her.

What’s she trying to get at?

“I’m here to talk about my urges, Doctor, not my family,” I say in an even voice.

Not that she knows exactly what urges I’m talking about. That would be criminal, and she’d be forced to report me to the police.