Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile
The click of Namjoon’s patent leather shoes echoed down the ominous hallway. He shifted his sweaty grip on the briefcase hanging at his side. The nerves in his skin were sharply aware of every little sensation. The brush of his pants past his thighs, the crisp collar of his shirt pressed to his neck, the cool air blowing against his nervous face.
He’d only received his doctorate in Psychology a year ago and was already being asked to study one of the most notorious criminals in Korea. His family and few friends that he had insisted he take the opportunity. So here he was, being seated at a cold metal table with an ominously empty chair on the other end. The prison guard closed the door to the tiny room behind him with a harsh metallic clank.
The eerie silence ate away at Namjoon’s nerves as he waited for his patient to arrive. He’d done some preliminary research before coming in just to get an idea of how big of a mistake he’d made. The presence of the two armed guards outside the room did little to ease Namjoon’s anxiety. He knew what she could do with any weapon you put in her hand, but he also knew what she could do with nothing at all, just her bare hands.
The metallic squeal of the door broke him out of his thoughts. His head whipped around to see her being marched in with an officer at each arm. The aura she carried made her almost look like a princess being escorted by two gentlemen at a ball. Her navy blue jumpsuit hung on her lean body in all the right places. Her long, curly red locks were piled into a bun that was rather pretty considering her living conditions. She looked extremely put together for a person who’d been in prison going on two years and in solitary for half of that time. She gracefully took her seat across the table, her fox-like eyes piercing holes into him. She looked as though she already carried a distaste for him. Or was it curiosity?
It was late spring two years ago the first time Park Emma’s name was introduced to the world. Namjoon was almost twenty-five years old at the time and already successful with his fresh career in forensic psychology. He was actually one of the first to hear about the police finally catching the criminal responsible for all of the torment she’d caused for the past few years.
When her face was finally revealed to the public, many people were stunned. Everyone's mental image of the culprit was some ugly, old creeper but the real face behind the crimes was not only a woman, but a stunning one. She was only twenty-three, almost twenty-four at the time of her arrest.
Namjoon remembered the day his secretary threw her brick of a file onto his desk. He never had the time to watch tv, so he was blind to the face behind the crimes. The first time he laid eyes on the photo secured to the file with a paper clip his breath caught in his throat. Her burning blue gaze seemed to stare at him through the camera. Small cuts were scattered over her pretty lips and face and a faint red bruise rested on her cheekbone. It then hit him that he was admiring the literal mugshot of a serial killer and quickly tore his gaze away from the photo, ashamed.
“As much as I enjoy this quality eye contact, aren’t you here for a more important reason than to stare at me?” Her smooth voice broke Namjoon from his daze. As she spoke, her words seemed to wrap around him like a blanket. It was so soothing and they seemed to coax him to come closer. He didn’t expect her presence to weigh this heavily on him. Of all the problems he predicted could arise, this wasn’t one of them.
“I’m Dr. Kim Namjoon. I’m here to get to know you, ask some questions, and possibly-”
“Figure out why I did all those ghastly things.” His faltered face brought a small smirk to her face. “You think your my first shrink? I know the drill.”
“I don’t want you to think of me as some doctor who’s gonna poke and prod at you like a lab rat. I just want to talk.”
She folded her arms and bounced her knee a few times. After a moment of quiet contemplation and chewing the inside of her cheek, she spoke. “Your worried about messing this up.”
“What?” She nodded towards his briefcase.
“Monogrammed briefcase without a scratch, new suit, not a wrinkle in sight. Shows you’re family has money. See now one might think you just like to keep things neat, but your nails are bitten down to nubs and you keep messing with your cuff links because your not used to wearing them which means someone else must’ve bought them for you. You were fresh out of college, what? Two years ago? Daddy gets you a nice little office in a position you don’t deserve with no experience. You work up a reputation for yourself, until you get thrown into the deep end with me and your not so sure your ready.”
The room was silent. Namjoon’s lips were slightly parted in shock. His father had pressured him to be a psychologist like him and had gotten him a job in his office after he got his degree. He had a private practice now, but he’s never taken anything like this before. He remembered reading that she was smart, IQ 152, but he didn’t expect to see it in action so quickly.
“So I’m right.”
“I assure you, I’m well qualified to take this case.”
“I never said you weren’t. I can tell you’re smart. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t.”
Trying to ignore her scarily accurate observations, he flipped open the thick manila file that he’d laid on the table before she arrived. He scanned the information for a minute, trying to think of the first question he’d ask. Her delicate fingers drummed against her arm as she watched him intently, like a lion in the tall grass.
“I prefer to get to know my patients in person rather than paperwork, so I’m gonna ask you sum questions so I can’t get an idea of what your like as a person.”
“Have at it.”
“What was your life like growing up?” Namjoon pulled a fountain pen from his briefcase and clicked it with his thumb, ready to take notes on whatever she said. Emma shifted into a more comfortable position in her chair.
“Let’s see...we grew up poor. My family and I. Didn’t get much sleep at night because we never knew when my dad would have one of his fits and try to shoot us through the door. Is that deep enough for you?”
Namjoon ignored her little comment and jotted down something on a notepad. “Your father,” he finished writing the last of his note, “his fits were from his PTSD?”
“That, and his temper didn’t help.”
“Would he often get violent during the day?”
“Sometimes.”
“And what would he do?”
“Depended on whatever was closest.”
“He would abuse you? What about your sister and brother?”
“My brother took most of it for us, but when he got kicked out, it was up to me. I learned a lot from him, so it wasn’t too bad.”
“Mhm...” There was a small silence while he finished writing.
“I think that’s enough of that subject. What did you want to be before you...”
“Became a serial killer?”
“Uh...yes.”
“I wanted to be an artist. I was in art school majoring in fine art and painting. You know, oils, charcoal, all that good stuff.”
“I bet you make some amazing work.” For the first time, the cold look she carried cracked and a genuine smile spread across her face. Her bright eyes crinkled and her plush pink lips hugged her pearly teeth.
