all those long years getting your degree so you could be prudent? So you could work at treating eating disorders and sexless marriages?”
“I worked hard so I could help people.”
“No… not really. Not truly. I don’t believe that. You didn’t sit there watching documentaries on Carl Rogers going ‘Ooh… I want to heal the world!’ No, you told me watching Silence of the Lambs was what inspired you. You told me that darkness and depravity drew you like a moth to a flame. You said you wanted to study evil and see if it held up to your expectations. Do you remember that?”
Crane had indeed said those things. He even remembered the night he’d said them. One too many beers, Silence of the Lambs on Netflix, Mary working late at the Montreal General, his cellphone in hand with Max’s last message waiting like an invitation to bare his soul: tell me everything. He let out his breath, a harsh counterpoint to the quietly ticking clock above.
“Are you afraid of me, Dennis? You shouldn’t be. I’m trying my very best to make you understand that I like you. And I’m offering you the very thing you desire the most: me. You know I’m a fine specimen of amorality. I’m giving you the opportunity to look behind the curtain. No holding back.” Max stood, his smile friendly but gaze intense.
Crane almost flinched when the young man took a step towards him.
“No,” Crane said. “I’m not interested in your head games, and I’m certainly not impressed with your attempts at intimidation.” Crane’s heart was beating too fast, and the resulting light headedness hoarsened his voice.
Max raised his hands and took another step. “Intimidation? I’m not trying to intimidate you, Dennis. See?” Max dropped down to his knees and stared up at Crane, his cheek dimpled. “I’m as harmless as a kitten.”
Crane could smell Max—his cologne, the deodorant he used, the slight mint on his breath. He straightened in his chair and swallowed thickly. Max was far, far too close. Crane thought he could feel the heat emanating from him. It was ridiculous and shocking… and arousing. He should have been afraid, but instead, he was terribly excited. Crane clenched his jaw when he saw his patient’s smile slip a notch. Max’s eyes seemed to darken farther—there was hunger in them.
“Don’t fight it,” Max murmured.
“I’m not fighting anything.”
“No head games. No lies. No manipulation. No holding anything back.”
“You said you were being honest before,” Crane pointed out.
“I lied.”
“Then how can I be sure this time?” he heard himself ask in a calm voice that belied his speeding pulse.
“You have my word.” Max placed a hand over his heart.
“The word of a psychopath.”
Max’s dark brows shot up in amusement, and he clicked his tongue twice. “Ouch, Doc. You make it sound like such a bad thing. Besides… That’s not a real diagnosis.”
“It’s a personal observation.” Max’s personality disorder didn’t fit neatly into a single category. Not paranoid, too careful, too self-aware, too grounded, too emotionally stable—Max was confident and driven by an unshakable and fully formed sense of self. But then there was this imaginary friend Eddie. Crane was still uncertain whether Max actually believed Eddie existed or if he was aware he had created him as a sort of mental prosthetic—the conscience and moral compass that he had been born lacking.
Crane narrowed his eyes at Max. “What does Eddie say about this?”
Max smirked. “Eddie says he’ll protect you from me.”
Licking his bottom lip, Crane frowned. It was tempting to take him up on his offer. So tempting. Ever since he’d started seeing Max, it always felt like he was brushing the surface. This was a golden opportunity to see the true twists that Max’s mind took—witness what he was capable of.
What the hell are you thinking?
“Come on, Dennis. I’m laying my soul bare here,” said Max, tilting his head back. He lifted the peaked brim of his cap before settling it back down over his flattened curls, an easy smile on his face. “Come down the rabbit hole with me…”
During their sessions, Max had hinted at things he’d done. Terrible things. Crane knew he had purposely kept from reporting any of Max’s criminal allusions so he’d keep coming back. He already had a foot in the rabbit hole.
“I promise I’ll be as honest with you as I can be,” Max said, his expression blank. Crane trusted that more than the sunny smile.
“I have to abide by the limits—”
“—of confidentiality. Yes, I know. And that’s