13. Chapter 13

13

T he prison governor learned of the attack on Quinn, and instead of being sympathetic or even apologetic over the incident, he held the study hostage and told Quinn if he reported what had happened or told his peers, the study would be cancelled.

Quinn agreed to keep his mouth shut, and after a week of negotiations, he was able to continue interviewing his selected prisoners.

Cleo led him to a different room. One that was used as a visiting room with added protection. It kept prisoners and visitors separate, with a reinforced window between them. They needed to talk into a microphone on the desk, and their voices came out of speakers.

It was impersonal and added a distance between Quinn and his subjects he didn't like.

"It'll keep you alive, though," Cleo told him.

"But how do I get documents to them?"

Cleo tapped a hatch beneath the window. It looked like a letterbox. "Slide them through here." She squeezed his shoulder. "I'll go get Harris for you."

"Thanks."

While he waited, he stroked his throat. A faint bruise had formed from ear to ear. The scratches had healed, and the scabs had fallen off, leaving small slashings of white skin. Quinn couldn't touch the area without thinking of Zane's mouth, and that led to thoughts of his hand, and Quinn not having been strong enough to resist.

He got aroused, and ashamed, a few times a day, every day, and had almost taken the easy road and reported the incident with Mackie to his superiors to get the study ended.

That would've been months of hard work thrown away.

That would've meant no more seeing Zane.

Not one of the participants complained about the new room. They all knew Mackie had attacked him and expressed, or at least faked, concern over Quinn.

When Friday arrived, and Zane strolled into the room. He glanced around, zeroing in on the camera, then took his seat at the desk on his side. He leaned into the microphone.

"Now this is more like it."

Quinn sighed. "It feels like I'm separate."

"You are."

Quinn flapped his hand. "I didn't mean physically. I'd built up a…trust, and now—"

"You can't trust anyone in here."

"I know, I didn't mean…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"This looks much safer," Zane said, "But I will miss our games of footsie under the table."

"We never played footsie."

Zane snorted. "I was building up to it, and of course, there's absolutely no chance of me groping you anymore."

Quinn widened his eyes. "Behave." He shook his head. "Besides, I thought you preferred this Hannibal Lecter arrangement."

"I do. It's better for your safety, which means I can sleep at night."

"I don't think I've had a good sleep for weeks," Quinn admitted before shaking his head. "Ignore that I said that."

"I can't ignore anything you say." Zane pressed back into his chair. "Is it a good kind of insomnia?"

"How is insomnia ever good?"

"Are you lying in bed thinking about a particular erotic incident that leaves you aching and unable to sleep?"

"Zane…" Quinn warned. He massaged his reddening cheeks.

"Only asking." He smiled.

"It's inappropriate."

Zane tipped his head back and barked a laugh. "There it is. Your favourite word."

"Do you want to know another of my favourite words?"

"Of course."

"Arsehole."

Zane snorted. "Happens to be one of mine, particularly if I add ‘I want your' before it."

Quinn squeezed his temples. "You're terrible."

"You started it." Zane's smile faded. "Did you hear the news about Mackie?"

Quinn nodded. "Cleo said he's being transferred."

"His life was under threat."

"Did that…" Quinn swallowed. "Did that have something to do with you?"

"Harris said he would gut Mackie alive the first chance he got, and when Harris says something like that, everyone tends to believe him."

Quinn nodded.

"Noah was planning on poisoning him too."

"What?"

Zane hummed. "There's something about you that makes the crazies protective."

"Does that include you?"

"You can bet your sweet arsehole that includes me."

Quinn wiped his face to hide his laugh.

"So…Doctor Quinn."

"Quinn."

"What are we doing today?"

Quinn looked down at the forms on his desk. "I need to make sure you're suitable for the MRI scanners."

"Can't you just look at our medical files?"

"I need your consent for that."

Quinn slipped the first form through the hatch for Zane, along with his pencil.

It didn't take long for Zane to complete everything. Quinn took the forms back through the hatch and slipped them into his folder. He braced himself, flicking his eyes at the camera. Zane was grinning at him, and Quinn had an inkling of what was on his mind, but he caught Quinn off guard when he asked, "Are you going to do anything nice for your birthday?"

Quinn dropped his folder. "What?"

"Twenty-four, am I right?"

"How could you… I've never…"

Zane held up his thumb and closed one of his eyes. He held it out in front of himself, staring at Quinn like he was measuring something.

"What?" Quinn asked.

"It was the number of eyelashes and the space between your eyebrows that told—"

"Bullshit."

Zane laughed, dropping his thumb. "You got me. It was Noah."

"Noah," Quinn said softly.

Upon learning they were the same age, Noah had wanted to know whether he was older or younger than Quinn. He'd told Noah his birthday.

"May 13," Zane said. "Which is Saturday."

"It is."

"What are your plans?"

Quinn shook his head. "I'll be typing up the next lot of notes."

"Oh, come on, you have to do something."

"I'll probably go to the allotment." Quinn shrugged. "See how the beans are growing."

"You are too cute."

"If this glass wasn't between us, I'd ball up a sheet of paper and throw it at you."

Zane displayed his teeth in a grin. "Now that sounds inappropriate."

Quinn shook his head.

"You've got a cake, right?"

"No, I've not got a cake."

Zane gaped. "No cake on your birthday?"

"Do you get cake on your birthday?"

"No, but I'm in here. You're out there…with the cakes."

Quinn smirked. "Seems a bit sad having cake for one on my birthday."

"Your mum isn't visiting?"

"No, I…I told her not to, said I was too busy with the study."

"Why?"

"Because I am, Zane. If I'm not here talking to you, I'm at home writing everything up or listening to tapes."

Zane hummed, sounding unimpressed. "Promise me you'll get a cake."

"Zane…"

"And a candle. You've got to make a birthday wish."

Quinn rolled his eyes. "It would be along the lines of, I wish this study—"

"No! Don't say your wish out loud, or it will never come true."

"How old are you?" Quinn groaned.

"Thirty-three," Zane said. "My birthday is next month. June 14."

"And are you going to celebrate it?"

"No, but I'm in here, and you're out there."

Quinn sighed. "Fine. I'll buy a cake. Happy now?"

"Yes."

Zane smiled, and Quinn found himself smiling back.

On his birthday, Quinn decided against writing up any more notes. He took a day away from psychopaths and listening to his recordings of potential psychopaths. He called his mum for the first time in what felt like forever while holding the card she'd sent him. After wishing him a happy birthday, she then guilt-tripped him for not visiting her, but she was no longer a few villages away after moving to France. He promised her when the study was done, he'd fly out to see her. After that, the conversation turned to Damon and her assertion that he was such a nice young man, and through gritted teeth, Quinn had agreed he was, but sometimes people just weren't compatible.

After he'd ended the call, he strolled to the allotments, helped out Mark planting carrots in the neighbouring plot and then got the ingredients to cook himself a Thai green curry for dinner.

He almost took a picture of the finished product to show Zane before catching himself, phone in hand, and startling back in shock.

Zane was a murderer.

He was a participant in his study.

He was potentially a psychopath .

Quinn put his phone down on the side and resisted the urge to take a picture.

He ate at the kitchen table. Mars sat on the seat opposite, eyes shut, faking sleep in case Quinn would be so stupid as to leave his dinner unattended.

Quinn had also bought a cake.

It was a chocolate cupcake with orange chocolate frosting. After he'd washed up and fed Mars, he stuck a candle in the top, lit it and inwardly rolled his eyes as he thought of a wish. He didn't get a chance to blow it out; the front door opened with a bang, and Damon stepped inside.

"I'm here for my stuff," he said, strolling through the door and into the kitchen.

Quinn put his cupcake back onto the plate. The candle went out.

"I got rid of it."

Damon frowned at the cupcake, then sneered at Quinn. "What the hell do you mean, you got rid of it?"

"I told you to collect it several times, and you refused."

"So you threw it all away?"

"I gave it to charity."

"That's worse!"

Quinn shook his head. "Trust you to think that's worse."

"You had no right to do that," Damon snapped. "They were my belongings." He placed his hands on his hips and glanced around the kitchen. There were a few birthday cards propped up on the table.

"It's your birthday."

"Yes."

Damon smirked at the single cupcake. "That's just sad."

"Look, I gave your things to the Oxfam on Green Street. There might be some things left."

"I have to buy back my own things?" Damon shook his head. "What about that?" he said, pointing to one of the fridge magnets.

Damon had bought it for Valentine's day, a heart with their names engraved inside. Quinn had forgotten all about it until Damon drew attention to it.

Quinn pulled the offending magnet off the fridge. "Have it."

Damon snatched it and shoved it in his pocket. "And I'm pretty sure I paid for the kettle."

"Then have the kettle," Quinn said, unplugging it from the wall.

Damon didn't take it. He turned his focus to Mars, who hadn't moved from his favourite kitchen chair. His tail swung back and forth, displaying his agitation, and he flicked it with more venom when he noticed Damon staring at him.

"What about him?"

"Mars?" Quinn shook his head. "What about him?"

" We decided to get a cat. We chose him."

"You're not taking him."

"How is that fair?"

Damon took a step towards Mars.

"This is his home," Quinn growled back, matching Damon's step.

"It was my home before you kicked me out."

"I never kicked you out."

Damon held his hands out. "So, I can still stay here then? It's still my home?"

"No, but it is Mars's."

"Whatever." Damon grabbed Mars. "You can't keep him."

Mars revved up, hissing and spitting. He swiped for Damon, catching his chin. Damon cried out and threw Mars. Quinn caught him against his chest, but Mars tore into him, scratching up the side of his neck as he clambered up and over Quinn's shoulder. Mars's fur stood on end, and he arched his back, hissing.

Damon swung a foot out at him but thankfully missed.

Mars bolted from the kitchen.

"Damn it," Quinn winced, touching the scratches.

Damon shook out his hand. Blood speckled the tiles.

Quinn took a deep breath. "Get out of my house."

"This wasn't how this was supposed to go," Damon said, clutching his hand to his chest.

"What did you think would happen when you came into my house unannounced?"

"I just wanted my stuff back."

Quinn stiffened his jaw. "Oxfam. Green Street. Good luck."

Damon spun around and slammed the door behind himself as he left the kitchen. The whole house rattled when the front door went bang too.

"Fuck," Quinn said, gingerly touching his throat. He wetted some kitchen towel and dabbed the wound as he went upstairs to find Mars.

He could hear him grumbling beneath the bed, spitting and hissing. Quinn lowered himself to the ground, not daring to peek underneath.

"He's gone now," Quinn promised. "I'm sorry I didn't stop him."

Mars fell quiet but didn't come out from the bed. Quinn sighed and dragged his pillow to the edge of the bed so he could lean against it. The scratches to his neck stung, but he stopped dabbing them, choosing to ride out the pain instead.

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Some birthday, huh?"

Quinn didn't mean to fall asleep but stirred at the soft touches to his thighs. He didn't move his head, just glanced down through his lashes and watched Mars walk in circles on his lap before settling down.

Quinn didn't touch him.

He wasn't a soppy cat, and after the unexpected grab from Damon, he doubted Mars would let Quinn pet him for a while, but he didn't mind.

Mars on his lap was enough.

"I'm sorry, bud." Quinn sighed. "I won't let him do that again, I promise."

Mars blinked owlishly at him, then began to purr.

"Love you too."