Page 27 of Headcase
Mom would say God was punishing you.
Zane could hear the smug humor in Gage’s voice. It was how Gage said everything. Like the whole world was funny and beneath him. He was right about their mother, though. She would say that. She would shake her head and wave her hand while swilling down another martini and complaining about their family’s terribly bad luck. Only his mother could make being an upper middle class lady an albatross.
He wiped the perspiration off his forehead. Who was he kidding? He was feeling sorry for himself, too. Nothing like one life changing event to realize he was barely hanging on by a thread. He’d thought he was strong, resourceful, that he had it all figured out. But one tiny crack—okay, massive crack—and Zane was fracturing into a thousand mentally unstable pieces.
Was it possible to have a mid-life crisis in his mid-twenties? If so, this was it. He was unraveling. He’d spent his whole life with one goal: being a crime journalist. He’d thought it would be the best way to put his love of true crime into something good for the world, by telling victims’ stories. So noble. So altruistic.
But no. Because he wanted fame, too. Needed it, even. Not money, not celebrity, just fame, because fame might garner just a crumb of his mother’s affection. His desperate laugh echoed around the empty bathroom. He didn’t even like her and, still, he was willing to die to impress her.
Zane really was a fucking masochist.
And Asa was a sadist. A literal sadist. Zane hadn’t had to work at all to feel wanted by him. He still didn’t. There was a weird thrill that came from knowing even the slightest amount of interest would earn Zane more of Asa’s unwavering attention, like waving a red cape in front of a bull.
Yeah, a bull who murders people. Why doesn’t that bother you anymore? It only took five hours to smash your moral compass?
Zane closed his eyes, their encounter flashing through his memory. The feel of Asa stretching him, his breath against his skin, the way he almost purred in Zane’s ear as he’d fucked him, holding him tight enough to leave bruises, fucking him hard enough to make him forget how fucking lonely he was.
Asa had said Zane smelled like prey. If any other man had ever uttered something like that, Zane would have rolled his eyes hard enough to sprain them. But Asa meant it. He lived it. If they’d done it outdoors, Zane didn’t have to stretch his imagination to know Asa could find him. Asawouldfind him. It was beyond unhealthy how much that turned him on.
Zane was supposed to advocate for victims, tell their stories, get them justice, and instead, he was trying really hard not to fuck the perpetrator.Fuck him again, you mean?Zane shook his head. He’d never gone condom free with another man in his life. Not that there had been all that many, but still. The intensity of their connection had felt… holy? Ritualistic almost. Certainly more animalistic than human. But it had soothed the neediness in Zane, the desperate need to feel like just one fucking person saw him.
And now, he was kneeling in a shitty little bathroom in a greasy spoon diner after almost puking on the table in front of two psychopaths and a barista. But why? Zane had been reading books on true crime since he was ten years old. He’d readHelter Skelterin fifth grade. He’d seen gruesome crime scene photos, read victim impact statements, and crime reports more horrific than anything Stephen King could manage. So, why was this case getting to him?
Because some part of you now wonders if I killed myself over some fucking game.
Did you? It would be just like you to think gambling your life was something to be done for sport, leaving me behind to pick up the fucking pieces. Again. Always. Mom and Dad had no idea who you really were.
He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until fireworks danced behind his eyelids. If he didn’t stop talking to himself, he was going to be the one who ended up locked up, not the Mulvaneys. He didn’t even care, that was the kicker. For weeks, he’d eaten, slept, and breathed all things Mulvaney and was sure he’d uncovered some giant conspiracy.
Surprise. You did.
Maybe. But it didn’t matter. Being right didn’t matter. Asa Mulvaney had told him with his own sexy-as-fuck mouth that he was a stone cold killer, that his entire family murdered people…and it didn’t fucking matter. The world would never know about it. Asa would kill him before he let the story get out, and if he didn’t, his family would. And none of it mattered.
There was no story big enough, no reward or achievement impressive enough, for his mother to give a fuck about him or say that she loved him. For his father to look up from his World War II books long enough to realize one of his sons had actually survived. At Zane’s age, he’d imagined it would hurt less, being this alone. But really, he was just a lot better at ignoring the big, gaping hole Gage had left behind.
I fucking hate you for this, you fucking asshole.
He didn’t, though. Not really. It wasn’t Gage’s fault his parents coddled him. Gage was just as uncomfortable being the chosen one as Zane had been as the invisible one. Their lives were equally hell, just for different reasons. Gage had only wanted to experience life. He’d never met a reckless idea he hadn’t immediately wanted to try. He reminded Zane of Asa in that way.
As if on cue, the heavy door to the restroom creaked open like something out of a horror movie. “Lois?”
“I didn’t escape out a window if that’s what you’re worried about,” he muttered.
“You okay?” Asa asked, his voice closer than it had been a moment ago.
Zane could feel his face contorting with exasperation. “No, I’m puking my guts out in a dirty diner bathroom. I’m definitely not okay.”
Asa sighed. “This is my fault,” he said, with the same tone a parent uses when their child gets sick eating too much sugar.
“No shit,” Zane snapped.
He was right outside the stall now. “I should have taken better care of you.”
A shock of awareness rocketed through Zane, his heart rate skyrocketing, leaving him breathless. “What?”
“What we did earlier…it can cause an adrenaline surge. When that chemical drops, it can leave you feeling a lot of different ways. Sad. Sick. Drained,” he said, his voice somewhere between condescending and educational. “Usually, I only play with pros, but I should have told Jericho to fuck off so I could take better care of you. It was irresponsible.”
Zane hated the way something inside him shriveled at Asa’s casual dismissal of his downward spiral. Of course, it was all just chemical. What a polite psychopath Asa was. Zane shook his head, immediately regretting it when the room spun. What was wrong with him? Asa was a hookup. Why was Zane so upset that he was treating him like one? Well, aside from the kidnapping.
