23. Chapter 23

23

Q uinn was tugged from his sleep, not by Mars's sharp claws, but by his phone buzzing repeatedly. He was back home again, had been for a few days. He groaned, swiped a hand down his face, then reached for the phone.

"What?"

"You need to put the news on, right now."

He hadn't spoken to Cleo in almost two weeks, too afraid she'd mention Zane and he'd do something as embarrassing as beg to know how he was.

Quinn rubbed sleep from his eyes, then looked at his watch. "It's three in the morning."

"Just turn the goddamn TV on."

"Fine, fine," Quinn said. Then he patted the space beside himself on the bed for the remote.

"Hurry up—"

"Jesus, Cleo, I am hurrying, here we go."

Quinn shuffled up on the bed and pressed the red button on the remote. The TV took a few seconds to come alive, and then Quinn was blinking blearily at the bright screen.

"The news. Channel one," Cleo said.

"Okay, okay, 'm on it."

The channel changed, and all drowsiness vanished from Quinn when he saw Zane's face. He couldn't even process the headline and blurted, "Is he all right?"

"Zane's fine, Quinn. He's fine. Read the headline at the bottom."

Quinn tore his eyes from Zane's mugshot and frowned at the red banner sliding across the screen. He couldn't speak, but it didn't matter, Cleo filled the silence.

"He didn't kill them, Quinn. He didn't kill Danny or Jessica Saunders."

Quinn still couldn't find his voice.

"It's crazy," Cleo said. "It was a setup, Danny and Jessica set him up."

"What?"

"They went round to his house, right? Drugged him, made it look like he'd killed them, stole a shit load of money, then escaped out the back, leaving their car behind on Zane's front drive."

"I don't…" Quinn managed. "I don't understand."

"Karma must've caught up with them, though," Cleo continued. "That's how they've been found out."

The footage on screen changed from Zane's mugshot to an image of Danny and Jessica. Quinn's heart pounded so hard in his ears he couldn't hear what the news reporter was saying, and he shook his head.

"What…what is this?"

"It's Danny and Jessica Saunders, a year after Zane supposedly killed them."

Danny still looked the same in the image, but Jessica, she was sitting in a wheelchair, frail and pale with a woolly hat over her head. They were both talking with a nurse.

"Jessica got cancer, some kind of aggressive type. The image is from a clinic in Switzerland, taken at Danny's request. They used their real names, their real IDs and didn't bother hiding their faces. They checked in, both of them…"

"They're dead?"

"Yes. They died together and were buried close by. The graves are being exhumed to confirm their identity. Zane's been locked up for over two years, believing he killed them, but it was a lie. He was innocent."

Quinn frowned. He was sure he was getting only half the story.

"What…" Quinn rubbed his forehead. "What happens now?"

"They're going to release him."

Quinn's heart missed a beat. "What?"

"Of course they are. Zane did nothing wrong."

Quinn clutched his chest and tried to calm his breathing. He heaved and stooped forward. "This…this can't be real."

"It is, he's getting released, maybe as soon as tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!"

"Yeah. But the governor's keeping it hush-hush. He doesn't want the prison to be swamped with reporters."

Quinn dropped the phone on the bed and gawped at the TV. He heard Cleo shouting his name but was too stunned to reply.

It was arrogant to assume Zane would seek Quinn out, but he still stayed at home the next day, checking out the window, waiting for a taxi to pull up and Zane Black to stroll up the drive with his textbook confident swagger.

Cleo didn't message him. And Quinn didn't message her.

Quinn kept the TV volume low and would mute it altogether at random intervals to listen out, but no wheels squealed to a stop outside his house.

The clouds drew in, and outside it turned dark. Mars meowed at him, demanding his dinner, and Quinn slumped, accepting Zane wasn't coming.

Either he hadn't been released, or he had no desire to find Quinn.

Both were disappointing, but the latter stung.

"Okay, okay," Quinn said, opening up a tin for Mars.

He forked half onto a plate, then set it down on the floor.

Mars tucked in while Quinn changed the water in his bowl.

That's when he heard the knock at his front door.

He froze, bowl in hand, but his hand shook enough for water to spill and spatter on the floor. Quinn set the bowl down, took a deep breath, then went to answer.

It might not be Zane. He kept chanting the words in his head as he approached, but even though he couldn't see the visitor through the frosted windowpane, he knew it was him.

Quinn opened the door.

Zane Black stood on his doorstep, wearing black trousers and a black shirt. He had two see-through plastic bags at his feet, full with clothes and toiletries and a few books.

Gone was the confident Zane Quinn was familiar with. This one had wide eyes and stroked a hand over his hair as his mouth opened and closed without words.

Quinn swallowed and took a step back. "Would you like to come in?"

"Yeah," Zane blurted. He blinked. "Yeah, that would be great, thank you."

He grabbed his bags, stepped through the door, then stopped on the doormat.

"Quinn…"

Quinn waited, but Zane didn't say anything else.

"Would you like to come into the house?" Quinn asked. "Actually, in it."

"Yeah, sure, sorry," Zane said, taking another step. He lowered his bags to the floor and turned around to close the door. Next, he slipped his shoes off and waited for Quinn to say something else.

"Tea? Coffee?"

"A coffee sounds great," Zane said.

Quinn turned around and led the way into the kitchen. Mars had licked his dish clean and sat on his favourite kitchen chair. His eyes were fixed to Zane, and his tail swung wildly at his back.

"Ah. Mars." Zane laughed softly. "The violent cat."

"He hasn't scratched me in months actually," Quinn said, "But that doesn't mean you should try to stroke him. He'll definitely scratch you."

Zane sat down at the table, and a silence fell over them as Quinn made Zane a coffee and himself a tea.

"Sugar, milk?"

"One, and yes please," Zane replied.

Quinn nodded, then set Zane's mug down on the table. He retreated, leaning against the counter with his own mug within reach on the side. The silence was stifling. Zane wrung his hands together on the table.

"So…you're not a murderer then?" Quinn said to set the conversation in motion.

"You knew that," Zane said softly. "I told you."

"Danny and Jessica set you up."

Zane winced. "That's what the news and the papers are saying." He lifted his head. "But you know there's more to it than that."

"Tell me," Quinn said, finally picking up his mug and coming closer. Mars saw his approach and jumped onto the table. Zane jolted into his chair in surprise while Quinn took his seat opposite him at the table. Mars hopped down from the table onto Quinn's lap and got comfortable.

Zane sighed. "I wasn't as careful as I should've been when I was younger. My dad warned me to keep my private life private, but I didn't listen. I was… adventurous , and the people I surrounded myself with weren't friends. All they saw was this studly rich guy flaunting himself and his wealth, and at first, the news reports, the kiss-and-tells, the articles, they didn't bother me."

"They painted you in a light you liked."

"The lover, the guy that knows how to party, who's good at sex and satisfies his lovers." He shrugged. "Yeah, I'll admit, when I was younger, I was proud of those headlines, and the pictures, and I played up to the journalists following me, but when I didn't want that anymore, when I wanted privacy, I couldn't have it. That's when I paid someone to stop an article being released about me. It was full of lies about me enjoying rape fantasies and she'd taken photographs of me too…"

"Photographs?"

"Snorting something I shouldn't have been. I thought that would be the end of it, but more and more people came out of nowhere, trying to sell stories, conspiring, telling lies. It was a nightmare. I wasn't the party animal anymore; I was turning into a villain, and villains sell more papers, villains generate more press. My dad, he tried to protect me. He encouraged me to get away for a while, but the press followed me everywhere. He said I should ride it out, carry on, be professional, but it was hard, so hard, then he died…"

Quinn dropped his gaze to the table.

"The one person who knew I wasn't like what the papers were saying I was…he was gone. My rock. He always had people around him; you can't run successful businesses without them, but they were his people, not mine. They sensed weakness, and the accusations being thrown my way started to be internal, from the company, from people I'd never met. We were losing money, not just the company I ran, but all of my dad's companies, and it was because of me, because of this train of hate gathering momentum."

"Where did Danny and Jessica come into this?"

"Danny was best friends with my dad. I liked him. And despite what I told you during our sessions, I'm not anti-relationships or anti-love. My dad never got over my mum, but Danny and Jessica loved each other, and I wanted that one day too. He was there for me when my dad died, when everyone was turning against me or looking the other way, Danny was there. But someone discovered he'd been fiddling with the accounts. He'd stolen hundreds of thousands from the company. He was arrested and bailed to await sentencing. I was so angry with him, so betrayed, and I told him so."

"That day he went round to your house. A week before the murders ?"

"Yes. He told me Jessica was ill; he'd stolen money for some experimental treatment, but it hadn't worked. Her cancer was terminal, and he broke down in front of me. He was going to go to prison, and she was going to die alone. I didn't want that, so we came up with a plan. We'd make it look like I'd killed them in a rage, and they could get away, enjoy the time they had left together, and when they were…ready…they could go to Switzerland…"

"Why would you even consider that?"

"Quinn…I was on the edge. I couldn't see a way out, and I'd stopped leaving the house, filled with anxiety and dread. I was days away from ending it all."

"Zane—"

Zane held up his hand to stop him. "I wanted an out, and by doing this, I could keep Danny and Jessica together for as long as they could be, and once I was inside, if I wanted to end it all, I still could."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know. As soon I was shut in a cell, the anxiety was gone. I didn't have a phone, couldn't constantly see all the hate, and I valued the peace. Before I knew it, a year had passed. The world forgot about Zane Black, and I forgot about the world." He slipped his fingers into his shirt top pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Danny wrote to me when they went to the clinic. He told me the date and time it would happen, even put in which cemetery they were to be buried in, and thanked me for giving them a year. It was more than they'd thought they'd get." He lifted the letter. "I had the means of getting out of prison, Danny made sure."

"Why didn't you?"

Zane shrugged. "I'd got used to it. It had become…habit, I guess. There was nothing I wanted on the outside, nothing I missed badly enough to want to get out."

"Why did you volunteer for my study?"

"Curiosity, I guess."

"You knew from the start what I was looking for."

"I didn't know for sure." Zane bit his lip. "But I heavily suspected from the tasks you made us do. When I went to my friend's lectures, I, too, had an interest in the darker aspects of human behaviours. I knew what you were looking for, but I didn't…" He grimaced.

"Didn't what?"

Zane slumped. "Mean to mess up your study. I didn't…I didn't think about the implications of my lies. I just…I wanted to stay on the study, get to the end of it. I sabotaged your results, answered the way you wanted, but I swear, Quinn, that was an oversight. It wasn't my intention, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making six months of your life meaningless."

"They weren't meaningless," Quinn murmured. "I learned a lot. About behaviour, psychology itself, how it has its flaws, and about myself and my flaws. I learned about you, both the fake and the real Zane Black."

Zane tensed his jaw. "I enjoyed our sessions. It was nice to talk to someone. I'd forgotten what it was like. The prison officers keep conversation to a minimum, and the men in the neighbouring cells…well…you wouldn't want to talk to them. You…you were different, and attractive, and innocent, and…I fell for you."

"Why now?" Quinn asked, gesturing to the letter on the table. "When you've had that the whole time, why now?"

"You. The study ended, and I missed you. It felt like a hole in my chest, and I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. I wanted out for you"—he took a deep breath—"and for myself. I've been inside a long time, and just walking here, being in the fresh air. Trees, and grass, and clouds, even the rain on my skin. They're small pleasures that I'd forgotten about, but when you put them all together, they're really quite special."

"It is beautiful here," Quinn whispered, looking towards the window. "It was good to get away, but such a relief to come back."

"You got away?"

Quinn nodded. "Went to visit my mum. I stayed with her for two weeks. It was…it was needed. I feel better for it."

"I'm glad." Zane smiled.

"What…what are your plans now?" Quinn asked.

Zane let loose a slow breath. "Find a place to lie low until I'm ready to confront the press again, not log back into social media." He cocked his head. "I don't know, maybe hire a boat, go fishing."

"That sounds good."

"And you, Quinn, what are you going to do?"

"I've been invited back to the university to help one of my professors. He said if I show promise, there could be a permanent role for me in the department."

"That's great, Quinn." Zane beamed.

"But the term doesn't start for a few months, and I thought I might go camping, see the stars, maybe set up a tent near a lake or a river…"

Zane's eyebrows shot up his head. "The kind with fish in it?"

"Maybe."

"And…will you have company on this trip? Perhaps…the guy that gave you his number months ago? Or someone new?"

Quinn shook his head. "I never messaged the guy from the club…or the gardener in France my mum tried to set me up with."

"A French guy, huh? Was he handsome?"

"Yeah, he was, but I wasn't interested. I was…waiting to see if someone would choose me."

"Ah." Zane stroked his chin. His eyes had their dangerous glint, and his smile was smug again. "It looks as if that someone has chosen you. Question is, do you choose him back?"

Instead of answering, Quinn took his mug in both hands and took a sip.

"Let's see how this camping trip goes first," he said finally.

Zane laughed. "It's a date."

Quinn nodded, then frowned. "How did you know I lived here?"

"Water Hollow?"

"This cottage…this street."

"Ah," Zane said, lifting an eyebrow. "It was the position of the sun, paired with the tan on the right side of your face—"

"Zane…" Quinn mumbled.

Zane laughed. "I knocked on doors asking until someone pointed me in the right direction, and here I am," he admitted. "But that doesn't sound very interesting and mysterious."

"I think I'm done with you being mysterious," Quinn said. "I'd like to know the real you. The real Zane Black."