“There’s something wrong with me,” Margot confides in her. “I’m losing time; I wake up wandering around outside in the middle of the night; sometimes I see him—Hobbs, I mean, like a shadow I can’t shake.”
“Stress can have strange effects on the body, both physical and mental.”
“I’m afraid, Dr. Bloom.” She stares down into her glass of wine and asks, “What if I like killing someone in my sleep as much as I did when I was awake in that goddamn kitchen?”
“We are her mothers now,” Alana tells Margot outside of Abigail’s room, leaving after a mostly pleasant visit. Margot had lied to their almost-legal daughter, telling her killing was ugly, Alana knowing her potential protégé better. She hasn’t told Margot about her own extracurricular activities, however; Alana’s uncertain of Margot’s reaction to discovering her lover is both the Chesapeake Ripper and the Copycat Killer.
“How do you feel about adopting a killer and a cannibal?” Freddie Lounds asks, ambushing them on the way to Alana’s car.
Margot scowls as she says, “I wouldn’t anger someone who thinks about death every day and has the money to get away with whatever she wants.”
[read on ao3]
