A Killer's Lover

9

"I think you need to shave your head." Scott said it casually as they drove on, back toward his house a different way than he had been going last night. Mitch looked over at him, a perfectly trimmed eyebrow raised.

"What? Why?"

"If you came from the police department, then they must need you for something. If you get caught then you could spend time in juvenile detention."

"I'm...I'm older than eighteen now. I'd go to jail," Mitch said with a wavering tone.

Scott shook his head at the thought. There are terrible men in jail...a lot of them belonged there the rest of their lives. Mitch was only a kid. He couldn't defend himself from the terribleness of the devils on the inside.

After a pause, Scott responded. "I'll say it to you again, Mitch. I think you need to shave your hair off."

"Pfft. I think that me and my bleached side sweep can make it out of Arlington," Mitch joked, but Scott's serious expression made the color drain from his face.

"You'd be surprised at how observant people can be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. But you still need to shave your hair, kid. I know my stuff."

Mitch frowned, defeated. But he nodded, and Scott let a breath out that he didn't even know he had been holding. "That may be the smartest decision you've made since I met you."

-

"Wait, you're not going to hurt my head, are you?" Mitch squeaked, shrinking back into his chair. The room was dimly lit, which was a major red flag all in itself. Scott's house was definitely nicer than he'd expected, but it was closer to the the questionable side of town. The windows were shut tightly and there were sheets over a lot of the furniture. His feet dangled, considering his legs were too short for the legs of the chair.

A tall man like Scott was perfect height for it, though.

"If I wanted to hurt you then I would have done it already," Scott mumbled, focused on making sure everything was set up. He had a tarp laid underneath Mitch's seat, ready to get rid of the rest of the hair. If things went south, he wasn't going to be caught with evidence of Mitch's being there.

"That's what everybody in the movies say."

"Well, do I look like a villain to you?" Scott asked, but then he pursed his lips before adding, "don't answer that."

Mitch laughed halfheartedly, which made Scott smile for whatever reason. His laugh was pleasant, not rough or fake.

"I have to ask a stupid question."

"On a scale from one to ten, how stupid is it?" The blond asked.

Mitch hummed. "Like...like a four, maybe?"

Scott sighed over dramatically. "Hit me with it, kid."

"Well um..." Mitch started. "I haven't really cut my hair in a long time...do you think I could hold your hand or something?"

Scott was thankful that his face was in shadow. His expression was a cross between confusion and slight nervousness.

He had never touched a boy before. Not in...not in a friendly way. Was there a wrong way to do it?

"Uh...yes?" Scott asked, answering the question with one of his own. It was like he was asking for permission.

Mitch's hand was cold and small, compared to Scott's larger fingers. In comparison, the kids' fingertips landed a few inches just below that of Scott's. He wasn't sure whether or not to squeeze, and for how long, or if he was doing it right.

But he knew for certain that it felt nice.

-

"I'm bald," Mitch announced the obvious as he stared into the mirror. The face that looked back at him was strangely distant. Older looking. Almost mature. His hair was gone.

"Yeah, and I didn't nip you with my razor. You're welcome."

"Thanks," the younger of the two said, admiring his face still. "It feels smooth, like a crystal ball or something."

"Haha, wish you could tell my future," Scott said offhandedly as he cleaned up the hair. He might be a murderer, -and a lethal one at that- but he wasn't an animal.

"You never know," Mitch teased, looking over at Scott from the other side of the room, "I could be magic."

"You could be," Scott shrugged. "But I've never met somebody with powers. Especially not with mediums or psychics. Every single prophesy or reading that I've been given has been wrong." The words seemed to...to flow out. He rolled his eyes at his carelessness.

"Have you ever talked to mediums about dead relatives or family members?" Mitch asked. "Wait, you don't have to answer that if it's personal."

Scott had his back to Mitch, so he couldn't see the way he bit his lip.

She knew.

She could read the victims that haunted Scott from the very beginning. They all whispered to her, chanting in unison.

The way she looked at him was with horror. With sheer disappointment. It was as if she was reading him like pages from a book.

She knew.

"Yeah..." he mumbled. "Relatives."

"I wonder what it's like to talk to somebody who's dead," Mitch thought out loud, his tone hesitant and curious. Scott fought the urge to turn around and face him. Instead, he kept his eyes down to the ground.

"Well, kid," he sighed. "Let's just say that some people are better dead than alive."

-