Page 25 of Ho Ho Homicidal Mania
Blake
The cookie decorating classwas even more fun than I expected. We created a whole herd of zombies, one of which I even based on my brother. And while I still remembered accusing Nico of wanting to take my legs, the longer the date lasted, the sillier I felt about jumping to such outlandish conclusions.
Once the event ended, he took me to the ice skating rink, where I got to demonstrate my quite formidable skills and show off a little, and for lunch we went to a fancy little restaurant priding itself on modern cuisine based on products obtained through hunting and foraging.
Nico was shocked to find out I have never shot a gun and promised to teach me, which actually sounds like a fun day together, unless it turns into him hunting me down with a rifle. Though as I spend time in his presence, I worry less and less about being hurt. How odd, thatbeing around him feels almost as if I’m living in a movie about happy people going on adventures together.
We laughed at some unfortunate people slipping on the ice outside, had the most amazing cinnamon mochas, and by the time the sun started descending the sky, he surprised me with a group tour focused on the mystery of the Christmas Killer.
Mrs. Pratchett, like most of the business owners I’ve met today, knows and likes Nico. She delivered a colorful experience as she leads us through the snow-covered streets and points out sites associated with Vermont’s most famous serial murderer.
We stay at the back of the tour so Nico can fill me in on details or correct some assumptions. The focus is mostly on the historical murders, to not spook the tourists, but the guide does mention two kills from the last few years, strongly suggesting that there’s a pattern to the beheadings. When she talks about the bauble maker, Nico is once again eager to whisper to me that it was the copycat’s doing. He even promises to share details of his investigation once we’re back home, and I can’t help being giddy.
I’ve never been on a date before, but I have to admit this couldn’t have been a better day. Maybe aside from Nico being a dangerous man who abducted me. Then again, am I not free now? Sure, he has his eye on me, but I don’t have a self-destructing chip in my brain. I’ve been in the proximity of people and phones all day yet keep delaying my plan to alert someone. It doesn’t feel urgent when I’m having fun with the person whom I’ve found fascinating all my life, not in spaces that promised me safety.
So as we near the end of the tour and walk into the town’s famous Christmas market, bustling with joyfulpeople and full of stalls offering everything from traditional crafts to snacks, I can’t believe how fast time has passed.
“And remember,Be nice or the Christmas Killer gets you,” Mrs. Pratchett says, accompanied by the whole group, which at this point knows the slogan by heart. This is where the tour is to conclude, so we all applaud our guide, who in turn recommends a visit to the Winter Emporium, before winking at Nico.
“Look at you, so excited you’re all flushed,” Nico teases and pinches my cheek.
If this day wasn’t magical enough already, I notice snow falling, the flakes glistening in the lights all around us and above the market stalls.
I grin, meeting his gaze as the small crowd of tour-goers disperses, leaving us alone by the big Christmas tree that looks straight out of a cheesy movie. For once, I don’t quite hate that.
“Well, I just had the most exclusive serial killer tour. Crime Mind and Dead Pumpkin would have cut their arms off for a chance like this,” I tell him, beaming with joy.
It’s so incredibly exciting to get firsthand knowledge correcting popular misconceptions about the murders, and each time Nico whispers in my ear, my skin heats up, until I no longer know what cold is. He puts his hand on my back as he leans in, and every time he does that, my insides flutter like a shaken snow globe. I have to admit I have a bit of a crush on him, but even now, I scan our surroundings for an opportunity for alone time so that I can get my hands on a phone and call my brother. That’s not what someone does on a normal date, which reminds me that my situation is anythingbutnormal.
“Are they your podcast nemeses’? How did you get so into true-crime anyway?” he asks as we stroll past stalls filled to the brim with handmade soaps, candles, and crocheted angels.
I snort. “They tried to create unnecessary drama earlier this year. I don’thate-hate them, but feel free to leave negative comments and downvote their content,” I tell him, bumping my shoulder into his arm. It feels good to talk to someone with such ease, someone who’s close enough to touch, not somewhere in the virtual space, and I breathe in the sugary aroma of donuts as we pass a stall making them fresh. “This is a bit dumb, but I got into true-crime, because I was afraid of crime.”
“How so? Did something happen to cause it? Is this about your parents?” Nico asks in a softer voice and strokes my shoulder. His gaze penetrates me like a sharp needle, making my heart beat faster. He’s a handsome man, I’ve seen how people look at him, yet his attention is on me only.
I clear my throat. “No, my parents died in a boat accident. But when I was younger, Carl would often talk about home invasions, and people who might want to take advantage of me if I wasn’t careful, so I started researching to prepare myself and know what to look out for. To have some peace of mind.”
Nico’s hand slides across my back, awakening my skin, and I don’t want it gone, not when it’s so cold our breath creates beautiful swirls of vapor. “Did it help?”
I snort. “No. I mean, yes, in the long run. I decided to take precautions and even hired a self-defense teacher. Look how usefulthatwas when that fucker spiked my drink,” I add, shaking my head.
Nico nods. “Don’t blame yourself, unless you’re always alert, someone can sneak up on you. So the crimes don’tunnerve you anymore? You often sound excited on the podcast when you can share new tidbits.”
I smirk as we come near the Winter Emporium and see it full of customers. It is the weekend after all. “I would ask if you think it’s weird, but I already know the answer. I guess it’s fascinating to know what motivates people, especially serial killers, who really don’t seem to think like the average person. It’s… so interesting,” I say, meeting Nico’s gaze. “And yet, there are commonalities. Does the Christmas Killer collect the teeth as trophies, or is there some meaning to pulling all of his victims’ teeth?” I ask in a low voice.
Nico’s smile widens, and my heart skips a beat. Could I ever feel this way about a normal person? Maybe his true identity is part of the thrill and I’m just ashamed to admit it to myself?
A normal person in my situation would have long sought help. Maybe I’m not as normal as I always thought?
That, or Stockholm Syndrome is already taking root.
“I have to keep some secrets to keep you interested,” he says playfully as if we weren’t talking about murder trinkets but his shoe collection.
“Well okay, do you take photographs then?” I ask, biting my lip.
“If I do, would you like to see them?” Nico repositions my hat, but it’s surely just an excuse to touch me and I don’t mind. Wearing clothes he got for me, all the way down to underwear gives me a buzz. It’s as if he’s marked me with them. The question stirs something deep in my chest, a hunger for information no one but me would be privy to.
I would be disturbed if I found a dead body, but it’s different to see pictures. On top of that, if they’re all of terrible people who deserved what came for them?
