Chapter 2
He doesn't know what prompts him to continue speaking when he asks "So, you're a serial killer?
How's that working out for you?"
"What makes you think this isn't my first?" he asks and yeah, totally a psychiatrist.
Only psychiatrists have mastered the answering a question with a question skill.
It's probably a secret passed down among them.
"You're too calm," Marvin answers.
"Even with a witness, you're still calm."
"Have you killed before, Marvin?" the man asks.
"Only in my dreams," Marvin replies.
No point in lying now.
He kicks his other shoe off and watches the water welcome it.
"Is that why you plan to kill yourself?"
"It's a little late for a psychoanalysis, Doctor."
Unbidden, a thought rises to Marvin's mind.
He wonders what it would be like being able to empathise with the killer as they murdered someone - as they murdered
him
.
There's always a kind of disassociation from every other killer he's empathized with.
It's never been face to face, in the moment.
Leftovers, he thinks.
"Edmund," the man corrects him.
First name basis with a serial killer.
How proud his father would be.
The sun is completely absent now, Marvin notices.
Sophie will be finding his note soon.
It wasn't a suicide note, but a simple message:
Going out of town.
Feed the dogs for me?
.
She'll still worry, nonetheless.
She knows he hates going into work, let alone out of town.
"Would you like to kill me, Edmund?" The words sound distant to Marvin, as if he isn't the one speaking them.
He thinks he's not asking - he's offering.
Edmund pauses, then courteously decides to mention, "I'm also a cannibal."
That's enough to make Marvin look at him.
They get a brief spark of eye contact before Marvin looks away.
"Ah, I suppose you are," he realises.
Then, "You should probably avoid my liver.
I'm quite fond of scotch."
Edmund smiles curiously, like he isn't quite sure what Marvin is (that makes two of them) and offers Marvin his hand.
He accepts it.
*
"Nice car," Marvin comments as he undoes his seat-beat, an absurd act considering he's offered himself to be murdered and eaten, and gets out of the vehicle.
"You're knowledgeable on cars?" Edmund asks.
"Only enough to tell that this one was expensive," Marvin says, "I'm more one for boat motors."
Edmund nods in acknowledgement but remains silent.
It's a comfortable silence, oddly enough.
Edmund's house is even grander than the expensive suit and car led him to believe it would be.
Marvin feels kind of awkward entering the place without shoes, although he reasons that food hardly has a dress code.
Edmund leads him to his kitchen - which looks way too clean for organ harvesting, he does not want to know how much Edmund spends on cleaning products - and turns on the lights before offering Marvin a seat at the counter.
"You cook your meat, right?" Marvin asks and Edmund gives him a very unimpressed look.
"I am civilised, Marvin," he replies.
Marvin shrugs.
In the brightened room, it's hard to believe that barely an hour ago Marvin was preparing to jump off a bridge.
He still wants to die - well that's not right, he still thinks it's best that he dies - but this way seems better.
There's something nice about the idea of being cannibalised, like he's giving back in death.
Or maybe that's the Elritus Raven talking.
There are so many point of views sometimes it's hard to tell which is his.
He wonders briefly how things might have been different had he said yes to Dave.
Maybe helping catch murderers would have made his moral compass a little clearer.
Maybe things would have gone exactly the same, just that he would have been witnessing the crimes from their scenes rather than across the pages of the
Scoop
.
He watched as Edmund flicked through what he was pretty sure was a bunch of recipes.
"What are you planning on making?"
Edmund pauses long enough to give him a considering look.
"Something special," he settles on as a reply.
Marvin shrugs.
"It's not everyday that someone offers himself up to the Chesapeake Ripper, I suppose."
Edmund gives him an indecipherable look.
"What makes you think I'm the Ripper?"
"Why do you eat people?" Marvin counters.
Edmund picks one of the pieces of card out and hands it to Marvin.
Marvin reads.
Or tries to.
The recipe is in Galenrian or something, he realises.
"Does that sound acceptable?" Edmund asks.
"I'm not going to be eating it," Marvin replies.
Edmund seems to accept that and starts to pull things out of cupboards and drawers.
"It's not often I can discuss my meal preferences with someone," he says.
"Or ever," Marvin corrects and the other man nods.
"You didn't answer my question."
"What question was that?"
"Why do you eat people?"