Page 9 of Psychopath

Quinn gestured to Mackie’s arm. “Did he do one every time you misbehaved?”

“Yeah, he told me it was for my own good. Teaching me.”

“What did he count as misbehaviour?”

“Being loud. Breaking something. Not eating all my food.”

“Not eating food?”

“He worked hard to put it on the table, and if I didn’t eat it all, he would punish me for it.” A big smile spread Mackie’s lips, and he rubbed his large stomach. “Worked, I don’t leave a scrap on my plate, and I haven’t since I was a teenager.”

“Do you believe his punishments were fair?”

Mackie rolled his sleeve down and shrugged. “Punishment is fair when it’s the same for everyone.”

“And did your dad punish others the same way?”

“No, only me.”

“The punishment wasn’t fair,” Quinn concluded.

Mackie nodded. “No, it wasn’t. But I got my revenge on him in the end when I—”

“We’re not going to talk about that today.” Quinn glanced down at his notes and cleared his throat.

“Right.” Mackie wrung his hands together. “Childhood…”

“Yes, tell me what you can remember…”

Mackie did not have the nicest of childhoods. His father was abusive, verbally and physically. He drank more nights than he didn’t and went through women as fast as his bottles of whisky. They didn’t stay around for long, and when they left, Mackie’s father blamed him and would belt him. Mackie didn’t break down or look sad at any point during the hour session; in fact, he looked elated to be sharing stories of his childhood, no matter how disturbing Quinn found them.

After the hour ended, Mackie thanked Quinn over and over and backed out of the room blushing. Quinn jotted down a few key notes but stilled when he felt the weight of someone’s gaze.

Mackie stood in the doorway.

He was no longer smiling but picking at the wooden frame in an obsessive manner. His nails were cracked, chipping more than the wood.

“Something wrong? Quinn asked, giving him an encouraging smile.

“You’re going to be talking to Zane.”

Quinn nodded. “He volunteered, same as you.”

“There’s something… There’s something not right about him. You shouldn’t trust him.”

Quinn stuttered, thinking of a suitable reply but came up with nothing.

“I see how he is with the prison officers.”

“And how’s that?”

“He wraps them around his finger. I don’t want him to do the same to you.”

“He won’t.” Quinn threw up another smile. “I promise.”

“I’m first.”

“First?”

---