Page 58 of Psychopath

Quinn walked up to her like a naughty schoolboy with his eyes on his shoes.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yeah, must’ve been coming down with something on Friday.”

She hummed, unconvinced, then unlocked the gate. “You’d tell me if Zane did do anything though, right?”

“He didn’t.”

“But if he did.”

“I’d tell you.”

Cleo locked the gate behind them, and they walked down the corridor side by side.

“Mackie was agitated after you left.”

“What? Why?”

“He was worried about you, thought something might have happened.”

“Happened?”

Cleo sighed. “Between you and Zane. He thinks he might’ve done something.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Quinn said, avoiding her eyes. “Set him straight.”

“Good. He’s your first participant today, right?”

“Yep, Mackie’s participant number one.”

When Mackie walked into the office, he stopped and stared. His eyes whipped round Quinn’s face, taking him in. Whatever was upsetting him only faded when Quinn spoke.

“Mackie, take a seat.”

A smile bloomed across Mackie’s lips, and he hurried to sit down and tuck himself under the table.

“What are we doing today?”

“Some small tests. We’ll start with the questionnaires.”

Quinn passed Mackie the empathy test. The sheet was filled with scenarios and statements, and participants had to write how they would be feeling and what they’d do next.

Quinn studied Mackie’s facial reactions when he read each scenario. He didn’t ball up his face in disgust or grimace with concern. He grinned through each question, no matter the grotesque nature.

Mackie was still the most eager of the participants and would talk and talk if Quinn didn’t interrupt or guide the conversation. He got double the notes from Mackie’s session than the other participants all put together, and his wrist ached with how fast he had to follow the stream of information coming at him.

If Quinn stopped writing at any point, Mackie would stop talking and ask if something was wrong.

“Done,” Mackie announced proudly after thirty minutes. He slid the papers across the table, and Quinn took them.

“Next, I’m going to show you some pictures, and all you’ve got to tell me is what you see or how they make you feel.”

Mackie bounced up and down in his seat and nodded.

The splats of black ink didn’t look like much, but Mackie likened them to blood splats, male genitals, knives, and fire.

Quinn noted his responses down with a passive expression.

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