Psycho by Onley James
Like most nights, Lucas woke screaming, his heart hammering in his chest, body shaking, sweat soaking his sheets and boxer briefs. The nightmares never stopped, even after months, even after drugs and therapy and all the techniques he used to shield his mind from the visions that plagued him. Sometimes, he wondered if this was all that was left. Blood and pain and fear.
Did he want to live like this? Was he even living at this point? It felt more like existing. Getting up, going to work, coming home, eating. It was just…muscle memory, just reliving the same day over and over again.
He rubbed his eyes, then rolled off the bed, padding into his bathroom. He didn’t turn the light on, navigating his movements by the small night light near the sink. He wrenched the water in the shower to the coldest setting and stepped beneath the icy spray, the shock tearing a gasp from him. He just stood there, eyes closed, hoping to wash away the remnants of his visions.
Women screaming, begging, crying. Blood. The whirring of a motor of some kind, almost like a dentist’s drill. He slammed his fist into the wall, trying to will it all away, but nothing worked.
Finally, he turned off the water, toweling dry and walking naked to the bedroom. He pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs before heading back to the bed. He’d intended to strip the sheets but, instead, just dropped to the edge of the mattress and stared at the wall.
His shoulder throbbed. It was always worse after the nightmares. Maybe the doctors were right. Maybe it was all in his head. It had been three months since the attack, since a fellow patient at the hospital had plunged a shard of glass into his shoulder. Lucas had never seen it coming.
The little hairs at the back of his neck suddenly stood at attention, a terrible realization hitting him as some deep, dark recess of his brain began to scream danger. He wasn’t alone. He turned his gaze, scanning the darkness, brain short-circuiting at the figure sitting in the chair in the corner, shrouded in shadow.
Lucas snatched the knife he kept on the bedside table, grateful it was still there. He didn’t stand, though, just whispered, “Who’s there?”
He hated the fear in his voice, especially when, the truth was, he’d known this day would come eventually. It was only a matter of time before Kohn came to finish what that patient had started, or maybe he’d hired somebody, just like last time.
The stranger’s body shifted until only his face was in shadow. “Do you always wake up screaming?”
Tension drained from his body. Not Kohn. August. August Mulvaney. The other serial killer to enter his life. Equally as deadly, probably more so, but he hadn’t arranged to have Lucas killed, so he was still better than the alternative.
“How did you get in?” Lucas asked, gripping the knife handle.
August rose, prowling closer until he loomed over Lucas, partially illuminated by the slice of moonlight that cut through the bedroom. Lucas sat hunched over on himself, but he lifted the knife just enough to show August he was armed.
“Stay where you are.” There was no heat in his words. He was just so fucking tired. He wanted it all to be over already.
August’s voice was low, almost crooning. “You’re holding it all wrong.”
“What?”
August dropped to his knees before him, his face finally revealed. Lucas had to fight the urge to reach out and run his hands along the scruff on his chin. He’d never wanted to touch a person so badly in his life. Touch had always meant bad things for Lucas.
He shook the thought away. Normal people didn’t find murderers attractive. How had Lucas ever passed the FBI’s psych evaluation? They should have just locked him up on sight.
He sucked in a breath as August’s fingers began to trail over his forearm, the pads of his fingers tickling the hair there in a way that gave Lucas goosebumps. There were no flashes this time, just the barely-there caress of his touch that had his cock hardening. He watched, transfixed, as August’s fingers advanced slowly until he reached the hand holding the knife.
“Are you here to kill me?” Lucas asked, finding the thought didn’t scare him like it should.
August gave him a cryptic smile but didn’t answer. He gently unwrapped Lucas’s grip from the hilt of the weapon. He hoped he’d just plunge the blade into his heart and be done with it.
Instead, August turned the knife, point out, then closed Lucas’s fingers around the hilt once more. “Holding a knife like that will get you killed. The blade’s no good pointed at the floor.” He gripped Lucas’s wrist, placing the tip of the knife over his own heart. “Like this, you can stab here.” He moved the blade to rest beside his throat. “You can slice me open here. I’d bleed out in seconds. With the blade like this, every glancing blow will cut your opponent. Even if it doesn’t kill them, they’ll be in pieces before you finally end their suffering.”
There was no malice in his tone, only a trace of amusement.
“Is this funny to you?” Lucas asked, trying to make sense of any of it. “I’m not going to tell anybody, if that’s what you’re worried about. Like you said, who would believe me anyway? If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
August gave him a pitying look, brushing the back of his hand along Lucas’s cheek. “Are you alright?”
Lucas choked on a sob. Was he alright? No. Of course, he wasn’t alright. He was losing his mind. He saw things, heard things. He’d lost his career, his credibility, the full use of his right arm. He woke up screaming each night and needed a dozen pills just to be a functioning human being. He didn’t want to do this anymore.
“Please,” Lucas begged, closing his wet eyes. “Just do it already.”
He waited for the pain to come, but it never did. Instead, warm soft lips pressed against his in a kiss that lingered. Lucas didn’t pull away. It didn’t even occur to him. But then it was over.
When his lids fluttered open, August said, “I work for an organization that eliminates dangerous people. People who slip through the cracks in our justice system.”
Lucas frowned. “You’re a genius, billionaire, crime-fighting vigilante? You’re…Batman?”
August grinned. “Exactly. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m a good guy.”
“A good guy who tortures people and kills them?” Lucas deadpanned.
“Yes,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
There was something so unsettling about August. He was trying so hard to be a person, but it just didn’t work. His smile, his intense gaze. He was a psychopath. That much was obvious. He’d suspected it in his office, but this confirmed it.
Still, Lucas didn’t want him to leave. He imagined it was like somehow befriending a wolf. He might eat him, but the thrill of being near such a creature was too exciting to pass up.
Lucas shook his head. “That’s… You sound crazy.”
August’s gaze met his. “Crazy is such a hurtful word. You’d think somebody with a degree in psychology would know that,” he chided. “Touch me. See for yourself. You can look around my brain for as long as you like.”
“Are you trying to get me to put down the knife?” Lucas asked, realizing how stupid that sounded, even to him. August could have disarmed him at any time. Lucas was basically a sitting duck. A big, half-naked sitting duck.
August pushed Lucas’s knees apart, leaning in until the blade pierced his skin, red blooming across the snowy white fabric of his dress shirt. “You can keep the knife if it makes you feel better. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
Lucas’s brows knit together. “Why?”
“Why?” August echoed, making no attempt to hide his amusement, seemingly unworried about the fact that he was now bleeding, leaning in even more, like he’d let the knife sink into the hilt just to be closer to Lucas.
Lucas had to be dreaming, or maybe he shouldn’t have taken his meds with that shot of whiskey, but he’d just wanted a single night of peace. But that was long gone. “Yeah. Why don’t you want me to be afraid of you? Why do you even care what I think?”
“Because I want you,” August said simply.
“For what?” Lucas blurted.
August’s gaze raked over him, all trace of amusement leaving, replaced with a raw hunger that made Lucas shiver. “For many things. But none of that can happen until I know you believe me.”
Lucas pulled the knife free of August’s chest, setting it on the bed beside him. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.” He lifted Lucas’s hands and pressed them to his face, eyes closing, like August was in need of comforting. “Do it.”
Lucas shook his head at the other man’s stubbornness. He took a deep breath and dropped his shields, opening his mind to August, bracing himself for whatever came next. But there was no blood. No screaming. This time, the visions were…orderly, like August was guiding him somehow. There were files and computer screens, flashes of mugshots, a conference room of men, faces pinned to a white board. There was no one image that proved August’s words, but he could feel the truth of them.
Lucas opened his eyes, still cupping August’s face. “You’re…a superhero.”
August laughed, the sound rich and smooth, pouring over Lucas like cool water. “You’re the one with superpowers. But we don’t kill innocent people. It’s against the rules. I won’t hurt you.”
Lucas believed him. He just didn’t know what to do with that information. It explained everything and nothing. They were total strangers. Yet, they were sitting in Lucas’s apartment in the dead of night, August on his knees and Lucas half naked, sharing an experience more intimate than sex to Lucas.
“Why did you break into my house?”
August’s gaze lowered, his expression sullen. “You never called or texted. I needed to see you.”
“You needed to see me?” Lucas parroted.
August looked up, nodding earnestly. “Very much.”
Lucas blinked. “You needed to see me, so your first thought was to bypass my complicated as fuck security system to break into my house to watch me while I slept? You could have texted me, you know.”
August shrugged. “You didn’t give me your number.”
“I didn’t give you the code to my alarm system either, but that didn’t slow you down too much,” Lucas pointed out.
“Would you have let me come over if I had? Texted you?” August asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Lucas thought about it. Would he have allowed August to enter his home knowing what he knew? “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But you can’t just break into my house every time you want to see me.”
“Alright,” August said, voice cheery, as if he’d won a major point in whatever weird contract they appeared to be negotiating. “Can I kiss you again?”
Lucas felt a bemused smile starting to form. “No.”
August pouted. “Fine. Can I stay with you tonight?”
“What? No?”
“Why not?” August pressed, clearly offended.
Lucas floundered. “What do you mean, why not? Because you’re a stranger, Batman or not.”
“What if I promise not to touch you?”
That was the problem. Lucas wanted August to touch him. That part of him that had once believed in logic and reason had died, leaving behind the worst, most reckless parts of Lucas. The parts that wanted August to stay, wanted him to touch him. How long had it been since Lucas had let anybody close to him in that way? “Why do you want to stay?”
“To keep you safe. Protect you.”
“You can’t protect me from my own brain.”
“I can try,” August said. “You could at least let me try.”
Lucas examined August. He looked so sincere, like he was trying so hard. “This is crazy. I feel like I’m hallucinating.”
“Please, let me stay,” August said, giving him his biggest, saddest eyes.
Lucas snorted. “Now, you’re just manipulating me.”
“Of course, I am. Is it working?”
Lucas took a huge breath and let it out. Yeah. Yeah, it fucking was. They should have left him locked up in that psych ward. “Fine. But take your shirt off.” A smirk spread across August’s face as he began to unbutton his shirt. “You’re bleeding,” Lucas reminded him.
August glanced down as if he’d forgotten. When he peeled his shirt off, Lucas realized he’d definitely made a mistake. August wasn’t built like a stripper, as Lucas had originally imagined, but he was toned, his chest and belly coated with dark curls. He should have let him keep the bloody shirt.
August helped Lucas change the sheets. Lucas slipped between them, then erected a pillow barrier between them.
August watched, clearly amused. “Can I take my pants off?”
Lucas gave a surprised laugh. “No.”
“Please?”
“Ugh, fine.” He gave in, just wanting another couple of hours of sleep before he had to get up for work. August dropped his pants, then slid between the sheets. Lucas closed his eyes. August’s head popped up over the pillow wall. “Can I take you to breakfast in the morning?”
“No.”
August flounced back onto the bed. “I can’t kiss you or touch you or take you to breakfast? You’re taking all the fun out of this sleepover.”
Lucas chuckled. “Then go break into another man’s home.”
August reappeared. “There’s no other man. Just you.”
Lucas wasn’t August’s man, but he didn’t say as much. It wouldn’t matter if he did. August was nothing if not stubborn, and he seemed to have come to some internal conclusion that Lucas was his. The idea of being the sole focus of a homicidal psychopath should have sent Lucas into another panic attack. Instead, he rolled over and quickly drifted off to sleep.
