Page 42 of The Psychopaths

I can feel it, in my heart, in the depths of my stomach. Our eyes meet through the glass, and he blinks before shock and horror fill his eyes. He mouths something urgently—what looks like “run” or “go”— then shakes his head violently. In the distance, I notice the treadmill’s whirring abruptly stops.

It’s a warning. The sign telling me that it’s time to go.

I look back through the glass. The face I’ve known since childhood stares back at me, transformed by captivity. Aries’s usually perfect hair is matted and dirty. His cheeks are hollow, eyes sunken with exhaustion or dehydration or both. It doesn’t matter. Dirty, clean, exhausted, or on the brink of death, I’d recognize him anywhere.

I press my palm against the glass in a silent acknowledgment. He mirrors the gesture from inside, his own hand trembling.

Questions flood my mind. How long has he been here?

The cell is sparse—a cot, a toilet in the corner, a water bottle beside a half-eaten meal. No windows except this viewing portal. No visible way out except the heavy door with its electronic lock. He’s trapped.

He mouths words I can’t quite understand, but his desperation is clear. He points at me, then toward the exit, making a shooing motion.

Leave. Now.

Fuck. I should go—logically, I know this. But abandoning him feels impossible now that I know he’s here. The real Aries is imprisoned while an impostor walks free, wearing his life like a costume.

I hold up my phone, showing it to him through the glass. The blood drains from his face, making his ghostly complexion pasty. He gives his head a violent shake.

No calling for help? No police? I don’t understand.

He moves sluggishly toward the window, cupping his hands around his eyes so he can see me better. My eyes are glued to his lips, and the words that he speaks slowly so I can understand them.

“He’s. Dangerous.”

A pause.

“My. Brother.”

Brother?Aries sees understanding dawn on my face. He nods grimly, then continues his silent communication.

“Get. Out. Don’t. Tell. Anyone.”

Don’t tell anyone? How can I not?

His twin brother—a twin none of us knew existed—has him locked in a cell while perfectly impersonating him to the outside world. This isn’t just kidnapping; it’s identity theft on an unimaginable scale. I think about it for a minute. Does Mother know? Obviously, Richard had to know he had two sons, but does he know the second is alive?

I try to communicate back, mouthing, “Who is he?” while making a questioning gesture.

Aries glances nervously down the hallway behind me.

His lips form a single name:

“Arson.”

Arson.Like destruction. Like fire. A chill runs down my spine. What a fitting name.

He continues, “He’ll. Hurt. You.”

His eyes carry a level of urgency that cuts through my senses. Whatever history exists between these brothers, Aries genuinely fears for my safety. He presses his hand against the glass again, his expression soft, almost tender—an emotion I’ve never seen from him before.

“Please. Go.”

A booming sound echoes down the hall, coming from the direction of the treadmill—the clatter of a water bottle falling, or equipment being moved. It doesn’t matter because whatever it is, Aries senses my fear.

Panic flashes in his eyes. “RUN!”

And this time, I don’t hesitate.

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