There’s this girl, Malinda, who claims she went on a date with a serial killer once. To be fair, she couldn’t tell from his profile, she said. Ricky certainly was weird. Malinda wasn’t even attracted to him anyways.  

      Malinda calls herself an anthropologist. I find that a little presumptuous. She says she’s obsessed with finding out what makes people tick. And sometimes, getting a free meal from a liberal arts major fulfilled that need.  

      She showed me his opening message: 

wanna be whisked off to italy? i’ll make u some homemade pasta and we  

can watch the godfather in my tiny but endlessly charming apartment? haha  

don’t worry, i live alone ;)  

     It didn’t exactly give serial killer vibes, but certainly horny vibes, so she decided to go on one condition: he wouldn’t make pasta. He would make salmon with boxed mac & cheese . 

      That’s Malinda’s favorite meal. I’ll never understand why she thinks that fish and powdered cheese are a good combo. 

     Malinda told me she realized he was a serial killer while rummaging through his drawers. They were filled with polaroids of women.  

       Six photos of pretty women that now lived in the drawer forever. Each woman was posed in front of the same Etsy art print, the one in his apartment’s living area. The women looked happy. They looked comfortable.

Taped to every polaroid was a memory of the woman, perhaps the last remnant of her. Some were typical creepy incel things like a lock of hair. Very Mary Shelley-esque. Others were more creative, like a library card that belonged to Annabelle Bronstein.

Then Ricky called from the kitchen that the salmon was about done. 

Malinda didn’t leave. She was hungry and he had made her favorite meal. She argued that it wasn’t any more complicated than that.  

      When he set the plate down in front of her, she swore to me that she saw a cartoonish neon green gas rising from it. So, she waited for him to make the first move and pick up his fork. But he didn’t, so she made the first move and started potentially the last conversation she’d ever have in her life. 

      She asked him about his experience studying abroad, something he bragged about in his Tinder bio. Better to get him going, talking about himself, not noticing that she hadn’t made an effort to touch her poisoned food.  

      With every question she asked him, she felt like an interviewer. She’d forgotten how to speak normally.  

      Ricky went on about his time in Barcelona. Malinda spared me the details on this, thank god. She only focused on him butchering the name of every Spanish dish and place. 

      At that point, she wasn’t scared of dying. She was scared of dying in such a boring, calculated way. And she wasn’t going to die without learning why he did this. Anthropology, she said. 

      She has never taken an anthropology course. 

      By the way his eyes were locked with her chest heaving out of her top for the entirety of this story, Malinda knew she had only one solution. 

      She walked over and sat on his lap, one hand wrapped around his neck, the other carefully balancing a full glass of poisoned wine. She polished his ego; she told Ricky exactly what he wanted to hear. He was in a daze. She asked him if he would take her to bar-thu-loan-uh one day. Well, if things got serious, of course.  

She leaned in to kiss him and then some clumsiness overcame her. She spilled her wine down his cheek. He winced and jerked his head back as the wine streamed like a red tear down the side of his face.  

It looked like blood.  

      Then, in one quick motion, she smashed the glass against the table and positioned a shard right under his chin. 

I asked Malinda when she got so bold, what made her think she could pull this off. She looked at me like this was the most irrelevant question I could ask.  

    She told him she knew he poisoned her food and drink. She knew about his plans to kill her. And she knew he’d done it before, and that he should really keep those pictures more hidden if he planned to do it again.  

      She said the women are very pretty. He corrected her: were very pretty. That was the closest he’d admit to killing them all, she said. 

      She asked Ricky if he ever got bored of killing.  

      He didn’t answer. 

      She told him she had a more entertaining opportunity for him. 

      He rolled his eyes before meeting hers. 

      Instead of waterboarding him with wine, she wanted to kill someone with him. Spare her life, but take another.

      She said it simply: “I want to learn about everything, try everything, do everything. I’ve never killed someone before. It’d be nice to learn from a professional.” 

He was annoyed. He said he kinda had his own system, and he wasn’t interested in adding anyone else into the equation.  

She took a swig of wine from his glass and then spit her mouthful into his eyes. 

Malinda told me he stopped whining after that.  

She moved to his couch and sprawled out so he would have no choice but to sit on the armchair next to her. 

“Let’s order a pizza,” she said. 

Ricky laughed maniacally. He said he’d never met a girl like her before. But then again, he didn’t really take the time to know any of his victims beforehand. 

She ignored this and placed her hands firmly on her knees. 

“I’m serious. You promised me dinner—no, you promised me Italy. I’m hungry. Pizza,” she said. 

“I thought you were serious about killing someone,” he said. 

“Yes, but I can’t kill on an empty stomach,” she replied. 

Ricky squirmed in his seat. He clearly wasn’t used to spending this much time with a woman. She was probably supposed to be dead by now.  

Malinda pulled up the Dominos app on her phone. 

Ricky crossed his arms.  

“Who did you have in mind? Think carefully about this, this could be your only shot,” he warned.  

Ricky seemed to be focused on getting something out of this. 

Malinda was focused on getting a good deal. If they ordered a large pizza, they would get a free 2-liter bottle of Sprite.  

“No, no, better to be a stranger,” she said, not breaking eye contact with her online order. “You like pepperoni?” 

“Okay, I like where you’re headed, but this will be more of a challenge. We have to find a way to lure someone over here,” he said. “Oh, and yeah. But I want mushrooms and onions too.” 

“Okay, but can you, like, Venmo me for this afterwards?” she whined. 

“Just put in the order so we can find our victim,” he said with gritted teeth. 

I raised my eyebrow at her when she got to this part. Malinda told me she “was like really hungry, though.” 

They argued about who their target should be. They went back and forth.  

Ricky suggested his neighbor who was always blasting Taylor Swift when he was trying to sleep. Malinda said that Ricky should have to suffer a little, given his hobby. She suggested that it be a man, any man. Since Ricky loved killing only his dates, Malinda wanted to even out the gender scale a little. Ricky didn’t seem to appreciate the jab. 

Malinda jumped up. “How about the pizza delivery person?” 

Ricky considered this. “How long till she gets here?” 

“They?” 

“It’ll be a she.” 

Malinda pretended to ignore this. I pretended that this whole conversation was completely normal. 

She checked her phone. “Thirty minutes.” 

Ricky nodded. He said it was plenty of time for them to prepare. 

Ricky went through the motions of planning the attack. Malinda wouldn’t tell me what he said. She promised him that his secrets would stay between the two of them. 

It seemed like she got what she wanted: connection and understanding with another person. But why was she so loyal to him all of the sudden? 

There was a knock at the door. Ricky gave Malinda a thumbs up before she got up to answer it. She smiled to herself. She admitted she was having fun. 

She swung open the door. A woman.

“Hi, I have a large pepperoni, mushroom, onion and pineapple for Malinda?” she said brightly. 

Malinda swallowed hard and then smiled back. “Yes, yes, thank you,” she said and took the grease-stained cardboard box. 

When the worker turned to leave, Malinda placed her hand gently on her shoulder. Ricky tried not to wince at this move.  

“Okay, this is kind of a silly request, but could you settle an argument between me and my boyfriend?” Malinda asked. 

Ricky threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Oh my god, baby. Just admit you’re a sore loser,” he said. 

The Dominos delivery woman glanced between the two of them and laughed. “Sounds like fun, guys, but I have like five pizzas in the car waiting to be delivered.” She pointed to the gray Honda Civic outside. 

Malinda inched closer to her. “Come on, come on, we gotta prove him wrong,” she said, implicating her. She backed up, maintaining eye contact while fishing her wallet out of her pocket. “We’ll give you a huge tip, I swear.” 

Ricky sighed dramatically. “Mal, she doesn’t want to be a part of this. Just let her do her fucking job.” 

Malinda opened her hand to reveal a crumpled fifty and winked. “Please?” 

The girl glanced back at her car and then stepped inside. Malinda let out a small cheer. She walked forward and took the woman’s hand, leading her to the couch. She scooted as far away from Malinda as possible. Ricky was on Malinda’s other side, their knees glued together. 

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Malinda asked. 

“Caroline,” the girl said, growing bored. 

“Can we just get this over with?” Ricky asked. 

Malinda playfully shoved his shoulder. “You’re being rude!”  

She turned to face Caroline. “Okay, Caroline, so I assume you are some sort of pizza expert. I have the ultimate test for you. Ricky over here thinks my Dominos order is disgusting. But he obviously has no taste, well, except for when it comes to women—” 

“Just stop,” he whined. 

Malinda sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay, fuck! Anyways, Caroline, I need you to try a slice and tell us who is right.” 

Caroline giggled, but none of their faces moved. “Oh, you’re serious?” she asked. 

“Dead,” Malinda answered. 

Caroline looked at the box on the coffee table in front of them and shrugged. “Easiest fifty dollars I’ve ever made.” 

She flipped open the box then whispered “shit” under her breath. “I’m sorry, Ross forgot to slice up the pizza.” 

Malinda and Ricky jerked towards each other. This was off-script.  

Malinda stood up and headed over to the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it.” She began loudly rummaging through drawers. “Hey, baby,” she called out. “Where do you keep the pizza cutter again?” 

“Drawer furthest to the left,” he yelled back.  

Ricky leaned toward Caroline and whispered, “I’ll get a spit bucket if you need one.” 

“I heard that!” Malinda yelled from the kitchen.  

She finally found the pizza cutter and made her way back to the couch. She stood behind Ricky and rested her free hand on his shoulder.  

She peeked her head over his and playfully said, “Are you ready to lose at your own game?” 

Ricky, confused by this comment, tilted his head backwards up at her. 

She blushed at his upside-down face.  

“It was your idea,” he said, now serious. 

And he was right, it was.  

Before Ricky could put his senses together, the blade of the pizza cutter met his throat and sliced  up to his chin.  

Malinda evenly sliced his face in half with the same work Ross should’ve done with their pizza. In the swift motion, his head split into two, his blood drenching Malinda’s face, dying the ends of her hair and tie-dying her top.  

She took a shaky breath and the pizza cutter clattered onto the tile floor.  

Caroline burst out laughing. 

“I bet he’s never done that before,” she said through hysterical laughter, gripping her stomach. 

Malinda bounded over towards Caroline and scooped her into a hug. “I can’t believe I fucking did it. I fucking did it,” Malinda whispered in awe into Caroline’s hair. 

Caroline pulled away and rested her hands on Malinda’s shoulders. “I know! Girl, you should come work with me. Those are some real slicing skills,” Caroline joked. 

Malinda rolled her eyes and wiped some of the blood off her face with her arm. “Stop, I’m serious. You always said you’d be my in-case-of-an-emergency call for dates. This was fucking next level,” Malinda said. 

Caroline brushed this off. “I wanted to kill that guy the moment I heard his whiny-ass voice. Friendship was my second motivator.” 

Malinda giggled. The two squeezed back on the couch, Ricky’s body right beside them. 

They each kicked their feet up on the coffee table and reached for a slice. The pizza was splattered with Ricky’s blood, but they didn’t care. They chowed down, laughing with their mozzarella-filled mouths as it set in with what they've done. 

Malinda told me if you were to go back to that apartment, you’d see a guy with his head sliced open, pizza cutter in hand, with polaroids of his victims scattered around him.  

I’m sick of my coworkers going on about their personal lives when nobody even asks. All I wanted to know was how she got so good at slicing up the pizzas.