“Aren’t we all?” he asks with a sly grin on his face. It’s strange that the
profiler would bring something like this up in the middle of dinner.
Perhaps it’s the caramelized ‘lamb’ adorning his table? No, something else is going through the young man’s mind. “Is this thought related to your mother?”
Mentions of his mother still manage to rankle him, and exasperation at his own reaction flickers across his face. “Borderline Freudian of you, but no. We’re all collections of the influences in our lives, but I doubt most people end up feeling like a distorted reflection instead of a solid whole.”
