14. Chapter 14

14

" H ow's it feel to be twenty-four?" Zane asked.

Quinn snorted. "You know what, it feels the same as twenty-three."

"For my twenty-fourth birthday, I got a suite in the Seychelles."

"Now you're just showing off."

Zane smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "The paparazzi hired yachts so they could photograph me."

"I think…I think I remember that one."

"Of course you do. I was stark naked, stretching on the decking outside."

Yep. That was the front-page picture Quinn had hidden under his pillow and enjoyed over and over. He blushed, stealing a glance at Zane, but for once Zane wasn't staring back. He looked to the corner of the room.

"I picked up a bottle of beer I'd left out the night before, and the headline said that I was an alcoholic who liked to start early."

Quinn hadn't paid any attention to the headline.

"Not everyone believes what's in the papers."

Zane narrowed his eyes. "And did you believe I was an alcoholic?"

Quinn lowered his head.

"Exactly. Don't preach what you don't follow yourself."

"I know better now."

"That extra year is making itself known already."

Quinn snorted softly.

"I guess I can't complain too much about that picture." Zane winked. "The pixels made me look massive."

"Made you?" Quinn's cheeks burned. "So you're not?"

"I am. My dick just looked massive-er."

Quinn laughed.

"Did you like the pictures?" Zane asked.

"I was seventeen when they came out."

Zane narrowed his eyes. "They clearly made an impression."

"Let's…let's change the subject."

"Busted." Zane smirked. "But really, how was your birthday?"

"It was okay."

"I see Mars gave you a present." Zane pointed at Quinn's neck.

"Oh that." Quinn rubbed the fading scratches.

"You really know how to pick them, don't you?"

"It wasn't his fault."

Zane folded his arms. "Let me guess, you tripped and fell on his claws."

"No." Quinn bit his lip.

"Then what?"

"It doesn't matter."

Zane tensed. "I think it does."

"Damon scared him."

Zane surged forward. He was up against the glass, wide-eyed, searching Quinn's face. "What the hell was Damon doing at your place?"

"He came over unannounced, wanted his stuff back." Quinn waved a dismissive hand. "It was nothing—"

"It doesn't sound like nothing."

"Well, he tried to take Mars, scared him." He gestured to his neck. "This was the result."

"What a bastard."

"I told you; it wasn't Mars's fault."

"I wasn't talking about Mars." Zane took what looked like a calming breath. "Has he got a key to your place?"

Quinn hesitated.

"Tell me he hasn't still got a key," Zane demanded.

"I kind of never asked for it back."

Zane looked away. "Even if you did ask, I wouldn't trust him. He might have got another cut."

"I don't think—"

"You need to change your locks."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Quinn shook his head. "That's hardly necessary."

"We've established you have a knack for drawing in the crazies. Why would Damon be any different?"

"Are you one of the so-called crazies?"

"Yes." Zane looked him in the eyes. "Possibly the craziest."

"Zane, I'm not changing the locks."

"You need to."

"I don't need to do anything."

Zane held up his hands in surrender. "Just hear me out. Damon comes to your house on your birthday completely unannounced—"

"He wanted his stuff back."

"He wanted to know whether you were alone on your birthday."

Quinn shook his head and spluttered on a bitter laugh. "Zane, he didn't know—"

"Of course he did. No doubt it's on your social media pages. He wanted to interrupt, cause a scene, put a downer on your birthday."

"That doesn't mean he's dangerous."

"Maybe not, but it does mean he's a shit-stirrer. It means he could turn up unannounced whenever he likes."

Quinn sighed. "Can we get on with the session?"

"No."

"There's no point in me being here if you're not going to cooperate."

"Quinn," Zane growled.

"Zane."

"Fine." Zane sighed. "What have you got for me?"

"A distraction task and another word association game."

Zane rubbed his hands together. "Let's get started then."

The task was simple enough. Quinn told Zane to read a word flashed to him as fast as he could. Each word was printed on a background. One was a forest in the height of summer, another of a forest burning, one of a fast sports car, another of a smashed-up truck.

The backgrounds started off innocent and progressively got worse, ending with violent, disturbing scenes behind nonchalant words. For most people, saying the words took longer, the more graphic or violent the picture behind them. Longer times indicated either disgust or enjoyment for the images, but quick recalls indicated the participant was able to focus on the task at hand and block out the backgrounds altogether, suggesting a lack of empathy.

There were thirty cards in total, and Quinn held each one up to the glass while he held a stopwatch in his hand.

When Zane had finished, he cracked his neck, then asked, "Who…who came up with this experiment?"

Quinn blinked. It was the first time he'd ever asked, and they'd done lots of tasks over the months. Quinn frowned. "I did. It's a variation of one I invented for my dissertation at university."

"Huh…" Zane nodded. "I'm guessing there was less blood and violence in your university version."

"That's correct."

"And how did I do?"

Quinn smiled. "Good."

"Good? Was I…quick?"

"Quicker isn't always better…"

Zane slumped into his chair. "Sexual innuendo, Doctor Quinn? How inappropriate."

Quinn rolled his eyes and tidied away the cards.

Zane looked troubled in a way Quinn hadn't seen before.

"You okay?" Quinn asked.

"Me? I'm good."

"Word association now."

"Hit me with it."

"Autumn," Quinn said.

Zane tilted his head. "Change."

"Sweet."

"Your."

"Umbrella.

"Locks."

"Zane," Quinn groaned. "The first thing that comes into your head."

"All that's in my head is you changing your locks." He shrugged. "There's an easy fix. Promise me you will."

"No. Tree."

"Lock."

Quinn shook his head. "Anger."

"Smith."

Quinn balled the piece of paper on his desk in his fist.

"Destroying valuable data. Tut-tut."

"Earth," Quinn said.

Zane sighed. "New."

"Destruction."

"Keys."

Quinn glanced up from the word selection he was reading from. "Why do you want me to change them so bad?"

"It'll help me sleep easier," Zane replied.

"You didn't even know about the locks until today."

Zane rubbed his chin. "Not true, I had thought about it, but I didn't think you'd be that stupid not to have at least asked for the key back."

"Right." Quinn began to gather his things. "I think we're done—"

"I'm sorry." Zane pressed his hand to the glass between them. His eyebrows twitched. "Stay?"

"Are you going to stop being an arsehole?"

"Never, but I am sorry for calling you stupid…again, but you can't blame me for getting worried."

"Worried?"

"About you."

Quinn shook his head. "Why?"

"I don't know, but I am." He slumped. "I don't know Damon, but I've been in here long enough to know there's some messed up people in this world, and I don't want to risk even the possibility that Damon could be like that with you."

"He's not," Quinn said. "He may not be perfect, but he's not…he's not—he won't hurt me. Not physically."

"Will you consider changing them?" Zane pressed his hands together in a prayer pose.

"I'll talk to my landlord, okay?"

Zane grinned. "Okay."

"Now, back to the word association—"

"Lips."

Quinn blinked. "What?"

"Word association." Zane shook his head in mock annoyance. "I thought you'd be on top of this."

"I start—"

"Cat," Zane blurted.

Quinn sighed. "Scratches."

"Stars."

"Peaceful."

"Allotment."

Quinn smiled. "Beans."

"Pixels."

"Massive, no—wait."

Zane pointed his finger at him. "Ha, first one that comes to your mind, and when you think of pixels, you think of the word massive, which means you think my pixelated pen—"

"Zane…"

"Big."

"Better. Fuck." Quinn squeezed his temples. "You're putting words in my mouth."

"Big means a better fuck." Zane smirked. "That's good to know."

"Right. We're ending this game—"

"Birthday."

"Cake," Quinn replied.

"Did you have one?"

"I did. The next day when it was stale."

Zane studied him. "And did you make a wish?"

"Maybe."

"Did it involve me?"

"You really are an arrogant—"

"You didn't say no."

Quinn narrowed his eyes. "It didn't involve you or the study. Now. Time's up."

"Spoilsport."

"Yep." Quinn hugged his folder to his chest. "Thank you for your time."

"I'm always happy to give it to you, Quinn."

"Zane…"

"That wasn't dirty in the slightest." He winked. "Oh, and Quinn…"

"What is it?"

"Get your locks changed."

Quinn got to his feet and spoke into the mic with a smile, "Arsehole."

Zane's eyes sparkled as he grinned back. "You love it."

Quinn got the locks changed on Saturday.

He spent Sunday cursing himself over his closeness to Zane and reminding himself of the traits of a psychopath. The problem was, Zane didn't feel like a psychopath.

Harris unsettled him in a way that was hard to explain. There was something missing in his eyes, like his mind worked on a different level and he viewed Quinn as something mildly interesting and nothing more.

Virgil was scoring just as high on the tests as Harris, if not slightly more. He had an energy around him that was hard to put into words, but Quinn could sense it. He was well-mannered, always answered and didn't linger when the sessions ended early, but there was something unhinged, something that put Quinn on high alert despite the officer in the room.

On the other end of the scale was Noah. He was underscoring. The poisoner who killed six people and injured several more was not the cocky, proud of his crime young man Quinn had been led to believe he was.

He showed empathy in his tests and cared what people thought of him, particularly Quinn, and he was loyal towards his ex-teacher. He'd asked if Quinn could find him and check he was okay. Quinn said he couldn't, but Noah didn't kick off like he expected. He hung his head and nodded. He, from all Quinn's research, wasn't a psychopath.

But Zane was scoring high enough to be one, just , but…

His results on the last test, Quinn's own invention, confused Quinn. Harris was able to read the words without the backgrounds distracting him. Virgil took longer when the images were violent, particularly with blood and gore. Richard got distracted by facial expressions behind the words, both Noah and Tony were in the normal range of reaction…and then there was Zane.

His results varied on the test with no obvious reason why. One word with a bloody background he read instantly, then later on, the exact same card and word, he took his time.

It was the only test Zane had given confusing results.

Quinn glanced up from his notes. Mars sat on the coffee table, watching him.

"Wishful thinking, huh?"

Mars blinked.

Quinn risked reaching out and stroking him and was rewarded by Mars leaning into the touch.. "You've forgiven me for letting Damon grab you?" He smiled, "Looks like birthday wishes do come true."

Cleo stopped Quinn at the reception. "I was supposed to call you."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Zane—"

"Is he okay?"

Cleo chuckled. "He's fine but an idiot."

"An idiot?"

"Yep. He was caught smoking weed in his cell this morning." She shook her head. "Literally, spliff in hand. He tried to flush it, but we'd already seen him."

"Is…is that normal for Zane?"

"It's the first time he's been caught, but who knows if it's the norm for him in this place. We try to keep that stuff out, but prisoners find a way." Cleo shrugged. "He said it was a birthday treat. He's on the segregation unit and has been busted back to basic."

"Oh." Quinn hugged his folder to his chest.

Weeks had passed from Quinn's birthday to Zane's, and in that time, rather than distancing himself, he was drawn more and more towards Zane. They talked about movies, books, food, their likes and dislikes, but only when the tape recorder was off. A few sessions had stretched over the allotted hour without Quinn noticing, and at home he tried to come to his senses, pep-talked himself into backing off, even found photographs of Zane all smiles with his victims to remind him why he was even talking to him in the first place, but that didn't make Quinn like him any less. It just made him more uncomfortable with himself.

How could he like Zane Black?

"I was going to call you but got distracted." Cleo pulled a face. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"Maybe we could…" She came closer.

"What?" he murmured.

"Like last time. Ask David for a favour."

That was the moment Quinn realised Zane had got caught on purpose. His heart began to thump, and time seemed to slow around him. He had a choice to make.

The right one vs the wrong.

His mouth went dry, and he avoided Cleo's eyes.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

It was a bad idea. The worst idea. "Means you won't have a wasted trip."

Quinn lifted his folder and shot her a quick smile. His voice didn't sound like his own when he finally said, "Well…I'm here now."

"Exactly," Cleo said, reaching for her set of keys. She led the way down to the segregation unit, and the drop in temperature was welcome. Quinn was flushed, and skittish, and he knew he shouldn't be heading down there, but he couldn't stop himself.

David appeared at the window when Cleo tapped.

He dropped his serious expression and smiled, his eyes darting from Cleo to Quinn.

"I guess you're here to visit the birthday boy." David chuckled as he welcomed them inside.

"I got distracted with some new arrivals and forgot to call Quinn to cancel his visit," Cleo explained.

Quinn had his folder clutched in his grip. He glanced back at the door they'd just come for, knowing he should walk away, interview Zane the following week and send a clear message that the time before had been a ‘one-off' and nothing more.

"Is thirty minutes okay?" David asked.

Quinn turned to him. "That's great."

"Keep the cell door open. I'll be in the officers' box as usual." David strolled up to cell number eight and unlocked it. Unlike the first time, Zane wasn't standing up facing the window; he was sat on the bed, eyes on the door.

"I've got a birthday treat for you," David said.

Zane's smile twitched. "Lucky me."