Why, always why at this point. Paige had her answer to that question ready, as well, as carefully pre-prepared as if she’d been defending her thesis in front of a committee.
“Because if we know that, we might be able to do something to change it and make the world safer. It might also make it easier to catch the ones who commit crimes.”
They were both good, safe reasons. Reasons that people would understand. Reasons that made the average person listening understand that, as esoteric as her field sounded, it had potentially direct benefits for the world. Both of those reasons were also lies.
There was one reason that Paige wanted to know all about serial killers: to understand why one of their number had taken her father from her.
Maybe even to track them down, one day.
The thought of that was even more uncomfortable than usual, coming so soon after Adam Riker had reminded her of it, had thrown the fact at her like a weapon. Paige found herself running her hand over the ring she wore, a brief memory of her father laughing in the sun flashing through her mind. He had always been quick to laugh, seeming big and strong enough that the world couldn’t touch him, and nothing could hurt either of them while he was there.
How wrong she’d been.
She could still remember standing over his body in the woods, looking down at it lying so pale and empty of blood. Paige remembered confusion, and horror. She remembered standing there for what felt like hours, just staring.
Paige could only sit there and think about her father until the Thorntons’ place came into view. It was large and timber framed, older than most of the neighborhood around it, although the Thorntons had remodeled it until it seemed to fit them like a glove. She got out and hurried to the door, heading for the safety of company, rather than the danger of being left with her own thoughts, making sure to manage a smile as she rang the bell to the large, timber framed family home.
Haley Thornton was the one who answered the door. She was in her fifties, as short as Paige was, but plump and round faced, in a way that served to make her look almost perpetually cheerful. Her short blonde hair was currently spiked, and she wore a particularly impressive collection of earrings through both ears, all of which contrasted sharply with the understatement of her usual slacks and t shirt combination.
She hugged Paige, just about the only person who did at the moment, if she didn’t count the awkward hugs that came when she went back to Virginia to visit her mother every year. Haley took the wine from her, smiling at it as if it were some great vintage Paige had brought and not just whatever had been cheapest last time she’d been shopping. The Thorntons knew about wine. One of their bedrooms had even been converted into a kind of makeshift wine cellar, with racks around the walls.
“Come in, come in. Francis is in the kitchen. You know what he gets like when he starts cooking.”
Paige knew, and it was probably strange that she knew that about her thesis supervisor, but it didn’t feel that way to her.
Haley led the way through the house, although Paige knew it perfectly by now. It had been a shock, the first time she’d found herself invited to her doctoral supervisor’s home, but now she’d been there so many times that it felt almost as familiar as her apartment. She was as likely to have a meeting about her thesis here as at the university, because Prof. Thornton spent plenty of time working from home these days.
The kitchen was large enough that it could have served an entire restaurant, a vision in stainless steel work surfaces. Prof. Thornton stood at the heart of it all, wearing tweed pants, a cream shirt, and an apron. He was much taller than both his wife and Paige, with a short, dark beard that had acquired a lot more gray hairs since Paige started her doctorate. It was hard to believe sometimes that this was one of the most respected psychology professors teaching out of Georgetown.
“I’m making steak Dianne,” the professor announced, “with chocolate souffle to follow. We’re celebrating, after all.”
He gestured to a large dining table that took up half the kitchen, solid and made of dark oak. Paige took a seat gratefully, happy to just forget for a moment or two.
“How does it feel to have finished your residency?” Prof. Thornton asked.
“It’s…,” Paige hadn’t paused long enough to really process it all. “A relief, I guess.”
“But?”
Of course he saw that there was a but. A professor of criminal psychology wasn’t about to miss anything as obvious as that. Their tutorials were halfway to being therapy sessions, most of the time.
“But there are all the uncertainties of what I do next,” Paige said. “And we don’t even know that my thesis will be accepted.”
“Of course it will be,” Prof. Thornton said. He flashed a smile. “You have a brilliant supervisor, for one thing.”
Haley snorted. Quite a lot of their relationship seemed to consist of her poking holes in her husband’s attempts at grandeur. “And modest, with it. But on one part, I’m inclined to agree with Francis: you’ve done all the work. Your thesis is ready. Maybe you have to make a few minor corrections, but other than that? Soon, it will be Doctor Paige King, PhD.”
The thought of that brought a thrill of excitement with it, because it was everything that Paige had been working towards for years now, but also did nothing to get rid of any of the fears she had about what might come next for her.
“It’s still a lot to process,” Paige said. She’d come to the end of years of work, and just like that, it was done.
“Well, maybe take some time to do that,” Prof. Thornton suggested as he brought over food. “Relax a little. Maybe take the time to catch up with your family.”
“I thought you said relax,” Paige replied.
There was nothing relaxing about visits to her mother. She couldn’t understand why her daughter would want to study serial killers after her husband had been killed by one.
She never mentioned the things her new husband had done, either. It was just a wall of silence between the two of them, impossible to breach.