Page 132 of Psychopath

Quinn frowned. He was sure he was getting only half the story.

“What…” Quinn rubbed his forehead. “What happens now?”

“They’re going to release him.”

Quinn’s heart missed a beat. “What?”

“Of course they are. Zane did nothing wrong.”

Quinn clutched his chest and tried to calm his breathing. He heaved and stooped forward. “This…this can’t be real.”

“It is, he’s getting released, maybe as soon as tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!”

“Yeah. But the governor’s keeping it hush-hush. He doesn’t want the prison to be swamped with reporters.”

Quinn dropped the phone on the bed and gawped at the TV. He heard Cleo shouting his name but was too stunned to reply.

It was arrogant to assume Zane would seek Quinn out, but he still stayed at home the next day, checking out the window, waiting for a taxi to pull up and Zane Black to stroll up the drive with his textbook confident swagger.

Cleo didn’t message him. And Quinn didn’t message her.

Quinn kept the TV volume low and would mute it altogether at random intervals to listen out, but no wheels squealed to a stop outside his house.

The clouds drew in, and outside it turned dark. Mars meowed at him, demanding his dinner, and Quinn slumped, accepting Zane wasn’t coming.

Either he hadn’t been released, or he had no desire to find Quinn.

Both were disappointing, but the latter stung.

“Okay, okay,” Quinn said, opening up a tin for Mars.

He forked half onto a plate, then set it down on the floor.

Mars tucked in while Quinn changed the water in his bowl.

That’s when he heard the knock at his front door.

He froze, bowl in hand, but his hand shook enough for water to spill and spatter on the floor. Quinn set the bowl down, took a deep breath, then went to answer.

It might not be Zane. He kept chanting the words in his head as he approached, but even though he couldn’t see the visitor through the frosted windowpane, he knew it was him.

Quinn opened the door.

Zane Black stood on his doorstep, wearing black trousers and a black shirt. He had two see-through plastic bags at his feet, full with clothes and toiletries and a few books.

Gone was the confident Zane Quinn was familiar with. This one had wide eyes and stroked a hand over his hair as his mouth opened and closed without words.

Quinn swallowed and took a step back. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yeah,” Zane blurted. He blinked. “Yeah, that would be great, thank you.”

He grabbed his bags, stepped through the door, then stopped on the doormat.

“Quinn…”

Quinn waited, but Zane didn’t say anything else.

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