Psycho by Onley James
Lucas couldn’t get to his office fast enough. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he shut the door and locked it, as if the devil himself chased him. Maybe he did. The things Lucas had seen when he’d touched him, the man he’d thought attractive just moments before... He blinked the sweat from his eyes, willing his heart to stop thundering in his chest before he lost consciousness.
It was his first day. His first fucking day. There had to be some sort of explanation for the blood and the screaming. Maybe he’d been in the military and seen combat? Maybe he worked in law enforcement? No. That didn’t make any sense. Those screams… Those men were being tortured.
He brought his knees up, bracing his elbows on them to cradle his head in his hands. Lucas knew better than anyone that serial predators hid in plain sight. Sometimes, right under your nose. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes until little sparks of light danced behind them. This was his first. Fucking. Day. He couldn’t go accusing a coworker of being a murderer. Not after last time. He couldn’t handle anybody else looking at him like a…crazy person. He’d just left that environment.
“Have you thought, perhaps, you’re projecting your impulses onto your co-worker?”
“You must admit it’s far-fetched, Lucas.”
“You have to understand our concerns given your behavior.”
“He’s a federal agent. We think, perhaps, you just need a break.”
“You’re not well.”
“You can’t just attack people.”
Their words swirled around in his head on repeat. There was nothing worse than having people who once respected him suddenly look at him as if he were crazy. He’d spent his life as an outcast. As a child, he was too small, too quiet. An easy target. Afraid of everything. Every object had the potential to send him into a downward spiral of pain and suffering. But, at the bureau, he’d had a home.
Unlike many law enforcement agencies, the FBI had lots of people like him. People who were more brain than brawn. People who were accountants and statisticians. He’d had a home there, even as the book nerd. But that was all gone, ripped away from him because he’d had the audacity to put aside his self-preservation to let his higher ups know they had a wolf among them.
They’d repaid him by branding him a lunatic and throwing him in an institution for weeks. He shook his head. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was crazy. Things he’d once been so sure of now seemed impossible. The meds they put him on just made it worse, made him doubt who he was and what he saw. Made it harder to shield himself from unwanted visions.
When his heartbeat settled into a normal rhythm, he stood, walking to his desk, attempting to mentally pull himself back together. There was no way his peers weren’t out there gossiping about his collision and hasty escape. The man—the one he collided with—had to be faculty. He’d had a lanyard around his neck like Lucas. But he hadn’t been able to view what it said.
He needed to stop being so reactionary and do what he’d been trained to do… Investigate. He pulled up the directory for the school. It only took two pages of scrolling the faculty before he had a name. August Mulvaney, Ph.D. Professor of Quantum Physics.
That man was a physicist? He was in good shape. There was no hiding that. When they’d collided, Lucas felt like he’d hit a brick wall. Torturing people was probably taxing on the body. He concentrated on the man—August’s—face, hoping maybe he could pick up any more flashes without having to touch him. Sometimes, it worked with photographs, but this wasn’t a photo. It was a computer monitor.
Lucas placed his hand over the picture on the screen. Nothing. He sighed. August Mulvaney looked like that actor. The one from all those kid movies. Daniel something? But taller and with broader shoulders.
Harry Potter!
That was it. Harry Potter…if he moonlighted as a stripper. Lucas didn’t consider himself a person who made assumptions, but he imagined physics professors as older nerdy guys with pocket protectors and glasses. Men who wore blazers with patches on the elbows.
August had thick brown hair that swept away from his face in a wave and the beginnings of a beard over a strong jaw. His nose was just the tiniest bit crooked, like he’d broken it, and his top lip was slightly smaller than his bottom, which in no way detracted from his attractiveness.
Lucas dragged his gaze away from the man to his profile. Christ. A brief scan of his curriculum vitae showed the man not only held a Ph.D. in quantum physics but also in biomedical engineering and two masters degrees, one in applied mathematics and the other in…Russian literature?
Who the fuck was this guy? That many degrees didn’t seem remotely possible. He couldn’t be much older than Lucas. He clicked on the awards tab, brows raising when he had to scroll to see them all. There were pages full of honors with names like the Presidential Early Career Award for Scientists and Engineers, Alfred P. Sloan Research Fellowship and Rackham Graduate School One Term Dissertation Fellowship. Lucas wasn’t dumb, but he didn’t know what any of that shit meant.
Lucas closed out the tab and pulled up Google, typing in August Mulvaney, expecting to find a link to the same CV listed on the school’s website and maybe a LinkedIn profile. Instead, he found article after article about not only August but the entire Mulvaney family.
August Mulvaney was the second oldest son of billionaire Thomas Mulvaney. One of seven adopted children. August’s list of accomplishments were well documented. He could read and write at a college level by five. He had an IQ that rivaled the likes of Einstein and Hawking. Was the second youngest member to ever be inducted into MENSA at age six. Finished high school level classes before he reached double digits, attended college when most kids were hitting puberty. Achieved his first Ph.D. at eighteen. That had to be enough to make anybody a little crazy. Right?
Lucas opened his drawer and popped two of his clonazepam before leaning back in his chair. He ran the flashes over and over in his mind. Blood. Knives. Screaming. Body parts. Nothing made sense other than murder. A shiver of fear ran along his spine.
Lucas couldn’t go accusing the genius son of a famous billionaire of being a serial killer, especially without proof. And Lucas had learned the hard way that passing off an ability people didn’t understand as intuition only got him so far. The Fox Mulder and X-Files references used to be funny, just camaraderie among colleagues.
Until one of those colleagues turned out to be a killer. A killer, who was still getting away with murder. Fuck. Lucas had already lost his reputation, his credibility, his job. He couldn’t very well tell authorities that he’d touched a fellow professor in a hallway and saw, psychically, that he’d tortured people. He sounded like a fucking nut, even to himself.
Maybe he was crazy…like his mother. They’d practically run her out of town with all her talk of visions and auras and psychic bonds. Even Lucas hadn’t believed her until it started happening to him. By then, it was too late. His mother was long gone and he was left alone with his grandfather, who was determined to beat Lucas into toughening up. He learned to hide quickly—not just his abilities but his love of books, his soft heart, and his attraction to boys, not girls.
Lucas shook off his memories. His past didn’t matter. If August Mulvaney was a murderer, why did Lucas even care? The last time he’d stuck his neck out for what he believed was right, the FBI had lopped it off. They’d ruined his life. He no longer believed in the infallibility of the police. He no longer believed in much of anything.
There was a soft knock at the door. Lucas ran his hands over his face and shut out of his browser before turning the lock and swinging the door open to find…August Mulvaney.
He looked so…normal. His expression affable, his hands tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. Lucas’s heart rate began to gallop once again. August was even hotter now that they were face to face. Not that it should matter. The man was likely a murderer. His brain seemed completely okay with that. Lucas ran a hand through his messy hair but then crossed his arms to keep from fidgeting.
“Can we talk?” August asked, voice deep and smooth, almost cheery.
Lucas sniffed. “I’m not really feeling that great. I skipped lunch and I think my blood sugar is low.”
“Let me take you to lunch,” August offered. When Lucas opened his mouth to refuse, August held up a hand. “We can go somewhere public if you like, say the faculty lounge.”
Lucas’s tongue shot out, licking over his lower lip. Did he know? Did he know Lucas could…see things? Of course, he did. He’d been the talk of the campus for weeks. But why would August care what Lucas saw if he had nothing to hide? And, if he had nothing to hide, why would he think Lucas would only want to talk in public? Wasn’t that as good as an admission of guilt?
Something withered within him as reality sank in.Admission to who? Him? Lucas already knew he was right. Clearly, August did, too.
“Why? Why would I want to go to lunch with you?” Lucas asked, unsure how else to frame it.
August took a single step, just one expensive loafer crossing the threshold. But it was enough for Lucas to smell his expensive cologne, something spicy that made Lucas want to lean in, to press his face against August’s throat where the scent would be strongest.
“I think you know.”
Lucas swallowed hard. “Do I?”
August’s smile was wolfish. “You know, I don’t believe in psychics or mediums. But, given the way you reacted when you touched me, I’m willing to suspend my disbelief.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Lucas lied.
August examined his face. “You’re really very pretty.”
Lucas blinked at the unexpected compliment. “What?”
“When I saw you on the quad, I thought you were attractive, but up close…you’re almost pretty. Delicate even. I always pictured cops as being these big, tough, former military types, but you’re…kind of sweet looking.”
“You do realize you’re speaking out loud, right?” Lucas asked, unnerved by both his lack of manners and the raw hunger in the other man’s eyes.
“I’m aware.”
“Do you often speak to strangers like this?” Lucas asked, hating how raw his voice was.
“No. But most people haven’t been inside my head. I figured we’d moved past politeness.”
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to threaten me or flirt with me,” Lucas admitted, willing his pulse to stop hammering in his throat.
“You could call this flirting. I don’t really make threats. Threats imply that the threatened has a chance to escape punishment. That’s never the case with me. The guilty are always punished.”
“So, you admit it,” Lucas whispered. “You admit that you’re a killer?”
“Was that ever in question? Do you not believe your own visions?” August asked, head tilted like he was trying to figure Lucas out, like Lucas was somehow the odd one.
Lucas stuffed his shaky hands in his pockets, his gaze dipping to his shoes. “I believe them. Most others don’t.”
“I work in quantum and theoretical physics. Many people think my work borders on science fiction. I don’t know about clairvoyants, but I do know how you reacted when you touched me. You weren’t faking that.”
Lucas’s head was spinning. This man, this killer, was standing there telling Lucas he believed him, believed his gifts. August Mulvaney was a murderer and he knew Lucas knew it. “And you…what? Just wanted me to know that you know? Why are you here?”
August shrugged. “I had hoped to offer you an explanation. Something to appease your panic. I imagine, given your past, the idea of working beside a killer would seem daunting.”
“Who are you?” Lucas asked.
August held out his hand as if they were at a faculty mixer. “August Mulvaney.” Lucas just looked at it until August dropped it once more. “Alright. Well, if you don’t want to have lunch with me, I have no reason to cancel lunch with my brother. But if you change your mind, my cell phone number is on the back. We could always do dinner.”
Lucas looked down at the card offered, hesitating before he took it. What was happening? The man in front of him was clearly a psychopath. Lucas had interviewed enough of them to know they didn’t understand societal norms enough to fake them.
His blood felt hot in his veins as anger took root. “You can’t flirt or threaten your way out of this. I know what you are.”
August chuckled. “And what am I?”
“A killer,” Lucas said again. They were just talking in circles and it was making him dizzy.
The look August gave him was so devoid of emotion it made his stomach feel hollow. “Oh, I’m so much more than that. But if you want to know the rest, you’ll have to go to dinner with me.”
“I could just go to the police,” Lucas snapped, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached.
“You won’t do that,” August said, that wolfish smile returning.
Lucas shifted from one foot to the other. “And why’s that?”
August leaned in close enough for his breath to fan over Lucas’s ear, his voice a low rumble as he murmured, “Because we both know nobody would believe you.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Lucas to stare after him with his card practically burning his fingers.
Shit.
