Page 98 of Psychopath

“I like the colour.”

“I’m getting ready for autumn.”

Quinn looked over his notes, wondering whether to ask the next question on his list.

Noah noticed and nodded.

“If you could speak to your victims’ friends and family, what would you say?”

“How sorry I am. That I didn’t mean what I did, and it was a stupid mistake.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing I could say that would help. My reasons for hating Darren came out at the trial, but his lawyer was right, that wasn’t an excuse for what I did, never could be. I take full responsibly for what I did, and I know I’m never getting out of here.”

Noah wiped his eyes. Black smears covered the back of his hands. “We’re the same age again,” he said. “Twenty-four.”

“I didn’t realise you had your birthday.”

Noah waved a dismissive hand. “It was a week ago. Did…”

“Go on?”

“Did you have good parents?”

“Yes. My mum is still alive, but my dad passed away.”

“And friends at school?”

“I was never popular, but I had a few good friends.”

Noah nodded. “You went to university?”

“Yes, and studied psychology.”

“Was it fun?”

“It was.”

Noah smiled. “Do you think…”

“Do I think?”

“If we’d walked in each other’s shoes from the beginning, we’d have turned out the same? I would’ve gone to university, and you would’ve ended up here, and it would have been me that side of the glass and you over here, and I’d be asking you why you killed a load of people.”

“I don’t know,” Quinn admitted softly. “Maybe.”

Noah’s smile grew bigger. “Yeah?”

“Who knows… Does that…does that make you feel better?”

“It doesn’t take away from what I did. I can’t blame my parents or the bullies. My bad decisions led to that moment, but maybe there was a time when I wasn’t a monster, when I was a good person.” He swallowed. “I know I was, and Mr Hawk knew it too. He might see me as a monster now like everyone else, but I know there was a time he didn’t, and that’s the only piece of happiness I’ll allow myself. No one’s born a monster, right, Doctor Quinn?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Noah slumped in his seat. He exhaled like he was exhausted, then repeated, “No one’s born a monster.”

The next day, when faced with Virgil’s crimes, Quinn started to doubt whether that was true.

17

Virgil knew he was a murderer at six years old before he’d even killed anyone. He was obsessed with it, dosed on violence and fear, intoxicated by it to the point he spent whole days fantasising about stabbing strangers to death.

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