Page 81 of Psychopath

“Do you get cake on your birthday?”

“No, but I’m in here. You’re out there…with the cakes.”

Quinn smirked. “Seems a bit sad having cake for one on my birthday.”

“Your mum isn’t visiting?”

“No, I…I told her not to, said I was too busy with the study.”

“Why?”

“Because I am, Zane. If I’m not here talking to you, I’m at home writing everything up or listening to tapes.”

Zane hummed, sounding unimpressed. “Promise me you’ll get a cake.”

“Zane…”

“And a candle. You’ve got to make a birthday wish.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “It would be along the lines of, I wish this study—”

“No! Don’t say your wish out loud, or it will never come true.”

“How old are you?” Quinn groaned.

“Thirty-three,” Zane said. “My birthday is next month. June 14.”

“And are you going to celebrate it?”

“No, but I’m in here, and you’re out there.”

Quinn sighed. “Fine. I’ll buy a cake. Happy now?”

“Yes.”

Zane smiled, and Quinn found himself smiling back.

On his birthday, Quinn decided against writing up any more notes. He took a day away from psychopaths and listening to his recordings of potential psychopaths. He called his mum for the first time in what felt like forever while holding the card she’d sent him. After wishing him a happy birthday, she then guilt-tripped him for not visiting her, but she was no longer a few villages away after moving to France. He promised her when the study was done, he’d fly out to see her. After that, the conversation turned to Damon and her assertion that he was such a nice young man, and through gritted teeth, Quinn had agreed he was, but sometimes people just weren’t compatible.

After he’d ended the call, he strolled to the allotments, helped out Mark planting carrots in the neighbouring plot and then got the ingredients to cook himself a Thai green curry for dinner.

He almost took a picture of the finished product to show Zane before catching himself, phone in hand, and startling back in shock.

Zane was a murderer.

He was a participant in his study.

He was potentially a psychopath.

Quinn put his phone down on the side and resisted the urge to take a picture.

He ate at the kitchen table. Mars sat on the seat opposite, eyes shut, faking sleep in case Quinn would be so stupid as to leave his dinner unattended.

Quinn had also bought a cake.

It was a chocolate cupcake with orange chocolate frosting. After he’d washed up and fed Mars, he stuck a candle in the top, lit it and inwardly rolled his eyes as he thought of a wish. He didn’t get a chance to blow it out; the front door opened with a bang, and Damon stepped inside.

“I’m here for my stuff,” he said, strolling through the door and into the kitchen.

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