His cynicism waned and his hardened features softened. "Or just fucked up."

"Maybe a little of both." Pushing her drink away, she eyed the scuffed toes of her high heels under the table.

Why did it always have to be like this? Couldn't Victor just tell Mr. Black to screw off for one night so they could enjoy the evening? Frustrated and disheartened, she picked at a piece of lint on his tie. "I've lost my appetite. If you're planning on doing something dreadful to me, then let’s go home and get it over with."

A look of distress followed by guilt washed over him. “Now who’s presuming to know intentions?”

***

An abrupt change of subject was needed. After everything Victor had shared, he wasn’t in the mood for any more drama. “Your birthday is coming up,” he reached across the table and touched the top of Elsa’s hand.

She immediately relaxed but puckered her mouth. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Thirty is a milestone. Aren’t you excited?”

Her eyes zoomed in on the movement of his fingers caressing the flesh of her hand. “Not really. It’s just another day.”

“Are you afraid of getting older?”

The psychologist in him had always found it interesting how people dreaded their eventual demise. As shitty as things were for him, he welcomed his eventual passing into, hopefully, a happier realm. The only fear he had about growing older was becoming a burden on society. The thought of someone wiping his ass for him, feeding him, taking care of him because he couldn’t perform the basic tasks of life would be like a mental death sentence.

Burden on society. Like his worthless father. Although, he was a burden for a completely different reason.

“Not of getting older,” she pulled her hand out of from under his and glanced around the bar.

She left her unfinished response hanging in the air.

“Then, what? Of being alone?” he dared to ask.

Her eyes shot back to his. “Everyone is afraid of being alone,” she whispered in response.

It was telling that she always answered his questions sideways; never really answering them directly nor revealing too much. She had learned to play his game well. “Not everyone, Elsa. Some people relish their independence.”

He was trying to convince himself of his own statement, but he knew it was total bullshit. He sure as hell didn’t want to face a life filled with loneliness.

“Being independent and being alone isn’t the same thing. Someone can be independent and still want someone to share their life with.”

Something far back in her eyes darkened. Her expression, too. Sadness. But why? She had someone. Fucking Nathan, Goddamn, Duncan. She wouldn’t be alone.

Quickly becoming irritated with the thought of her spending her life with a man who didn’t deserve her love, Mr. Black kicked into high-gear, plotting out his next course of action. It was a wicked plan, but Victor swiftly cut him short and added his own personal touch. It would be her birthday, after all, and no one, should have to go through the kinds of birthdays he had endured.

12: A Gift

Four days of planning is all it took to pull things together for Elsa’s birthday. Surprisingly, Victor had found the actual planning of it, cathartic. In the moments that he would get frustrated with work, he would pick up where he left off to ease his tension.

He had kept his distance during those four days, feeling the need to separate himself from her. After the last Q&A, Mr. Black had harshly pointed out that he was getting too emotionally attached to her. And he was. However, his feelings were stemming from the personal nature of what he was telling her and nothing more.

Emotional detachment disorder.

He had read about it in textbooks; written endless essays on it and even witnessed it directly when interviewing suspects and convicted criminals. It was a subject that hit close to home for him. He had diagnosed himself with an attachment disorder his last year in post grad school. Thinking back, he had been in denial up to that point, always wondering why he could never form normal friendships or why he wouldn’t allow people into his life on a personal level. His failure to form a normal relationship to his mother in early childhood resulted in problematic social expectations and behaviors. It wasn’t pretty, but it was his reality and the aftermath of neglect and abuse he had endured as a child. If he had dared admit his past to any physician or psychologist, he had no doubt they would’ve concurred with his analysis.

It had been difficult to face initially, but after time, and after Chapter One, he accepted who and what he was– a selfish, emotionally disconnected asshole like his mother and a heartless motherfucker like his father. The small part of him that was good, the part that Elsa claimed held his inner light, wasn’t near enough to overcome all the other fucked-up parts of him.

But that benevolent part, the one that was begging to come out, was growing a set of balls. He could feel it. That suppressed inner voice had been quiet for many years. Until Chapter Eight. And now, as he sat there, finalizing her birthday party, that voice had legs. Determination. Power.

And Mr. Black didn’t like it.

Glancing at his case file and the correspondence Anthony had received the past week, his gut clenched with one of his intuitions that foreshadowed something bad. Or something really good - like a big break in a case. After all his years of being an FBI Agent, he had never quite figured out how to hone in on that feeling and decipher it. He just knew it meant something and to keep his eyes open.

He made one last phone call regarding his birthday plans for Elsa, when his father popped into his head. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. Undoubtedly, because of what she was putting him through. After the foreboding feeling he had just experienced, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with him.

From everything he learned about his father, and seen firsthand, there were similarities in personality traits, most especially his tendency toward sadism. However, he wasn’t his father and he knew that deep down. Not in the same context as being a murderer, anyway. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he had chosen criminal psychology as his field of study. He wanted to keep people like himself and his parents off the streets, and to make a difference in the world.

He laughed under his breath, a derisive, self-loathing sort of chuckle. He sure as hell had made a difference in the world of his Chapters. And not a good one.

*

Victor’s nerves prickled with excited energy as he looked at his watch. Elsa was meeting him in a few minutes and by the people gathering at Grace Street Brewery, everything was falling into place. When he saw Nathan enter the establishment, he ducked out of sight. His plan was to just hang back and watch the festivities from afar. Like he always did.

Right on time, she pulled into a parking space and exited her vehicle. When she approached him with a wary smile, a pang of longing shot through him.

“Happy birthday,” he tugged her close and into a darkened area.

Her body shivered from the cold wind and she tucked herself into him for heat.

“Thanks for reminding me,” she wrinkled her nose.

His mouth touched hers in the darkness. “You age well, Peach.”

Guiding her to the entrance of the pub, he gently pushed her inside where the small group was waiting, and then backed away before anyone could see him.

He heard the loud voices all wishing her a happy birthday and could hear the surprise in her voice. He moved across the bar to get a better look at her face as she mingled around. As he watched her interact with her friends, just for once he wanted to be a normal person, to have normal problems and live a normal life. Normalcy. Something so simple, but seemingly so far out of reach…