Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE: EXECUTION STYLE

"The man visited by ecstasies and visions, who takes dreams for realities, is an enthusiast. The man who supports his madness with murder is a fanatic."

     — Voltaire.

—

I'm back here again. Sitting on this couch, in this cozy little office filled with plants. It's too comfortable. Too nice. So is the woman I'm here to see — Dr Lorene Albright. She's rather short, with dark skin and curls that she keeps in the same tight bun. Her propensity to wear colourful dresses and cardigans reminds me of Garcia and, oddly, the connection puts me at ease. Today she's chosen a black and red dress with a fuzzy red cardigan, a cat-shaped broach pinned below her collarbone. "How are you doing today, Sully?" she asks warmly.

My shoulders tense up to my ears as I scowl back at her, arms crossed tightly around my middle. "You know, same old same old. Woke up, went to work, came here."

"Did you eat?"

"Granola, extra nutty. Dahl. And those iron tablets — gross, by the way."

Sympathetic as always, she remarks, "It's only temporary. Unfortunately, not everything that benefits us is pleasant."

I feel like a kid when she says that. "You're telling me."

She can sniff out sarcasm a mile away. With me, it's a theme. I wonder how much it will take for her to crack. I profiled her during my first session and her niceness isn't an act, though I sense that she is perfectly capable of getting mean when she needs to. Right now, she's still in nice mode, her voice saccharine sweet. "Well, I know it's only been a few weeks since we started working together, but do you think you've seen any changes?"

"You know, I did notice that I woke up this morning feeling remarkably sane. Guess I'm cured!"

She quirks an eyebrow disapprovingly. "You're deflecting again."

"So?"

"Why are you here, Sully?"

The question stops me in my tracks. She hasn't asked me that since we started, and this has a very different feel to it. There's an underlying firmness in her tone that intrigues me. "What do you mean?" I ask cautiously.

Closing her notebook, she sets it aside. "This isn't compulsory. You came to me of your own volition, you could leave anytime. So if you truly see this as such a waste of time, why don't you just leave?"

I stare at her, mouth agape. I'm not sure if this is some type of reverse psychology, but it's getting to me. Really, why am I here? What's the point? Wetting my lips, I answer, "I guess... I don't wanna be like this forever."

Her eyes narrow slightly out of curiosity. "Could you tell me a little bit more about what 'this' is for you?"

I take a deep breath. Here goes. "I'm emotionally unavailable, self-destructive, reckless, pretty much never let myself have anything good. Long story short: I'm a piece of shit. At least I'm self-aware, though, right?"

"Your self-awareness is promising," she agrees with a soft smile. I find myself relaxing a little more. If she hasn't kicked me out or given up on me, there must be something she can do. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to focus on this idea of never having anything good. What did you mean by that?"

It's a good question. Mulling it over, I just say whatever comes to mind, "For starters, I live in a shitty neighbourhood. I drive a cheap car, I wear cheap clothes. I smoke because I know that I can never get properly clean. My vacations consist of me staying home alone because I don't have anyone to spend them with. I don't have many friends and I don't let them know the real me. Closest thing I have to a father is gone. And I haven't had a relationship that's lasted longer than a few months since... well, ever. I just push people away, over and over. Even if I don't mean to. Even if I really want them to stay."