Page 6 of Psycho
“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 thePresidential Early Career Award for Scientists and Engineers,Alfred P. Sloan Research FellowshipandRackham 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 andX-Filesreferences 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 hewascrazy…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?
